I had wished if someone had hurled a shoe at me, or at least a hawai chappal. I was terrified of perishing without getting a chance to display my magnanimity. It seemed like eternity to wait to pardon someone and soak myself in a pool of narcissistic pleasure, letting out orgasmic moans thinking of the noble deed.
But here in our state we don’t pardon any such fellas. Hurling chappals is not our culture you know. We believe in upholding the mantle of culture and morality higher and higher. If you have any doubt, just ask the girls we bashed up for trying to import the firangi culture and spoil ours.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
A tag of 25
Okay, after much procrastination-the kind that might’ve made the prince of Denmark turning in his grave- I’ve decided to do the tag. Thanks Mixed Blessings 89 a.k.a Aditi for tagging me.
Here goes the list of 25 things few people know about me
1 My name, Arun, I was told, was suggested by a then friend of my father who later attained iconic status by leading a one man crusade against a wily politician.
2 I still regret about the first cigarette I offered to a friend who smokes 40 to 50 cigarettes a day now.
3 I had a romantic notion that self destruction was cool.
4 I don’t have anything against nurses, in fact I believe that it’s a noble profession, but still, when they try to get rid of the bubbles out of the syringe by pushing forth the plunger right in front of my eyes I can’t help thinking them as sadists.
5 More than once I shamelessly asked nurses weather I can take some pills rather than an injection.
6 My mother once told me that as an infant I didn’t trouble her as she could make me sit wherever, even upon a table and I didn’t move a bit, I guess I was too afraid thinking of the fall, and not much has changed till date.
7 The poem I remember from my school days is ‘The School Boy’ by William Blake
“I love to rise in a summer morn
When the birds sing on every tree
The distant huntsman winds his horn
The skylark sings with me
Oh! What sweet company
But to go to school in a summer morn
Oh it drives all joy away…”
8 I hardly fit in and I never try to fit myself in anywhere.
9 I have a copy of ‘Crime and Punishment’ and I read it thrice so far, but only upto a particular point. Even though I’d found myself deeply engrossed in it, all the three times I had to discontinue. I also love Marmeladov, immensely.
10 Sometimes I feel that I read to escape from the bloody mundane ways of the world which I can never figure out. Often, I get a chill down the spine as the wonderful world I was just a part of in the book disappears, in a jiffy.
11 I believe the following as an immensely powerful combination, an inspiring trinity which can rally charge me up; in fact it did charge me up more than once. They are ‘Thus Spake Zarathustra’, ‘Metallica’ and ‘Old Monk Rum.’
12 I prefer getting hurt rather than hurt the people I love.
13 My cousin who had been with me for a whole evening ended his life that very night. We were pretty close but I couldn’t figure out what he was upto. We share our birthdays and he’s younger to me by one year.
14 I smoked my first cigarette on the last day of the last annual exam. I was in eighth standard then.
15 I tasted liquor for the first time during SSLC vacation. It still lingers in me, memories of the aftermath.
16 Sometimes a fear seeps in me that I will end up as an alcoholic.
17 The only drug I ever did was cannabis. I smoked it thrice and the last time after a few swigs of beer. That was so terrible an experience that I thought I wouldn’t survive the night.
18 I had never thought that I would ever fall in love. But once I did, at the age of 27.
19 I want to die when my dear and near ones are still around. I know it’s selfish but still…
20 I was such a staunch follower of the game of cricket that I used to watch it ball by ball, it was unimaginable to miss a single ball. Somewhere along I lost my interest and I no longer watch it.
21 I hate twenty twenty for I believe it’s everything but cricket.
22 I’m such a traditionalist when it comes to cricket that it pains me to see horizontal bat swats of ‘dashing batsmen’ with poor technique.
23 I never used a mobile phone in my life and I don’t know how to operate it. I don’t think that I’ll ever use one.
24 Though I claim that I’m a non-violent person, the violent thoughts erupt in my mind often makes me quite disturbed.
25 I’m a man of extremes.
Here goes the list of 25 things few people know about me
1 My name, Arun, I was told, was suggested by a then friend of my father who later attained iconic status by leading a one man crusade against a wily politician.
2 I still regret about the first cigarette I offered to a friend who smokes 40 to 50 cigarettes a day now.
3 I had a romantic notion that self destruction was cool.
4 I don’t have anything against nurses, in fact I believe that it’s a noble profession, but still, when they try to get rid of the bubbles out of the syringe by pushing forth the plunger right in front of my eyes I can’t help thinking them as sadists.
5 More than once I shamelessly asked nurses weather I can take some pills rather than an injection.
6 My mother once told me that as an infant I didn’t trouble her as she could make me sit wherever, even upon a table and I didn’t move a bit, I guess I was too afraid thinking of the fall, and not much has changed till date.
7 The poem I remember from my school days is ‘The School Boy’ by William Blake
“I love to rise in a summer morn
When the birds sing on every tree
The distant huntsman winds his horn
The skylark sings with me
Oh! What sweet company
But to go to school in a summer morn
Oh it drives all joy away…”
8 I hardly fit in and I never try to fit myself in anywhere.
9 I have a copy of ‘Crime and Punishment’ and I read it thrice so far, but only upto a particular point. Even though I’d found myself deeply engrossed in it, all the three times I had to discontinue. I also love Marmeladov, immensely.
10 Sometimes I feel that I read to escape from the bloody mundane ways of the world which I can never figure out. Often, I get a chill down the spine as the wonderful world I was just a part of in the book disappears, in a jiffy.
11 I believe the following as an immensely powerful combination, an inspiring trinity which can rally charge me up; in fact it did charge me up more than once. They are ‘Thus Spake Zarathustra’, ‘Metallica’ and ‘Old Monk Rum.’
12 I prefer getting hurt rather than hurt the people I love.
13 My cousin who had been with me for a whole evening ended his life that very night. We were pretty close but I couldn’t figure out what he was upto. We share our birthdays and he’s younger to me by one year.
14 I smoked my first cigarette on the last day of the last annual exam. I was in eighth standard then.
15 I tasted liquor for the first time during SSLC vacation. It still lingers in me, memories of the aftermath.
16 Sometimes a fear seeps in me that I will end up as an alcoholic.
17 The only drug I ever did was cannabis. I smoked it thrice and the last time after a few swigs of beer. That was so terrible an experience that I thought I wouldn’t survive the night.
18 I had never thought that I would ever fall in love. But once I did, at the age of 27.
19 I want to die when my dear and near ones are still around. I know it’s selfish but still…
20 I was such a staunch follower of the game of cricket that I used to watch it ball by ball, it was unimaginable to miss a single ball. Somewhere along I lost my interest and I no longer watch it.
21 I hate twenty twenty for I believe it’s everything but cricket.
22 I’m such a traditionalist when it comes to cricket that it pains me to see horizontal bat swats of ‘dashing batsmen’ with poor technique.
23 I never used a mobile phone in my life and I don’t know how to operate it. I don’t think that I’ll ever use one.
24 Though I claim that I’m a non-violent person, the violent thoughts erupt in my mind often makes me quite disturbed.
25 I’m a man of extremes.
Friday, January 23, 2009
A Recipe
Gastronomical experiments of many a blogger leave me drooling these days, thanks to the high resolution pictures of dishes they post. Here I offer one, but of an entirely different kind and without any pictures. This is not an original recipe; I had heard and read about it. But only recently I got a ‘hands-on’ experience of it. Those with a ‘spiritual’ streak in them may find it useful, those who keep the opinion that “alcohol is evil”, please don’t bother to go any further.
Allegiance to rum, especially Old Monk Rum is a prerequisite to taste the ‘Green chilly-lemon-salt-OMR’.
Ingredients: Old Monk Rum, Green Chilly (preferably the smaller ones known as ‘Kanthari’, as per the legend) Lemon and Salt. Considering the non-availability of ‘kanthari’, I used normal green chilly.
How to make the drink: Squeeze a bit of lemon in the glass and make it reach the whole of the inside. Rub salt on it and put a pinch of salt in the bottom of the glass too. Cut green chilly horizontally into two and put it in the glass. Pour rum and chilled soda on it. The drink is ready.
It’s better to wait for a while. If you raise the drink immediately the piquant spray generated by the fizzy carbonated water may make you sneeze. And before you sip, enjoy the heavenly aroma. When I took the first sip, what surprised me was the pleasant taste but without ruining the original flavour of rum. As I gulped down the last drop of the mouthful, the real taste of rum came back. I guess even the purists wouldn’t have much to complain about ‘Green chilly-lemon-salt-OMR’. It’s simply superb. After all, rum will sure taste better this way than it with coke or any such damned drinks. Have a great time.
Allegiance to rum, especially Old Monk Rum is a prerequisite to taste the ‘Green chilly-lemon-salt-OMR’.
Ingredients: Old Monk Rum, Green Chilly (preferably the smaller ones known as ‘Kanthari’, as per the legend) Lemon and Salt. Considering the non-availability of ‘kanthari’, I used normal green chilly.
How to make the drink: Squeeze a bit of lemon in the glass and make it reach the whole of the inside. Rub salt on it and put a pinch of salt in the bottom of the glass too. Cut green chilly horizontally into two and put it in the glass. Pour rum and chilled soda on it. The drink is ready.
It’s better to wait for a while. If you raise the drink immediately the piquant spray generated by the fizzy carbonated water may make you sneeze. And before you sip, enjoy the heavenly aroma. When I took the first sip, what surprised me was the pleasant taste but without ruining the original flavour of rum. As I gulped down the last drop of the mouthful, the real taste of rum came back. I guess even the purists wouldn’t have much to complain about ‘Green chilly-lemon-salt-OMR’. It’s simply superb. After all, rum will sure taste better this way than it with coke or any such damned drinks. Have a great time.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Tiger, tiger, burning bright…
It’s great to see what one desires most to be seen. And the joy is double if it’s something that defies the norm. Ever since ‘The White Tiger’ started to make headlines, there was a horde of ‘critics’ preaching against the dark portrait. And with each bitter assault and the extracts they provided I knew that I would love ‘The White Tiger’. I’m a self-confessed lover of dark, bleak and brutally honest portrayals. Vijay Nair’s ‘And the winner is…’ in the Literary Review of The Hindu dated 04-01-09, was a respite, rather one piece of a helluva, I’ve been waiting to savour.
It was interesting to read the reviews after the coveted ‘Booker’ was bestowed upon Aravind Adiga for ‘presenting the dark side of India’. Emerged as the dark horse from a list of celebrity authors including Amitav Ghosh and Philip Hensher, Adiga became only the third debutant after Arundhati Roy and DBC Pierre to bag the Man Booker Prize. From seasonal critics to amateur bloggers, there was a hurry to join hands against ‘The White Tiger.’ The only few good words - barring a couple of desi reviewers - came from the western media and that might’ve added fuel in the fire of the much abused ‘catering to the western sensibility’ allegation.
Years ago, there was a rage against ‘The God of Small Things’ when Arundhati Roy was awarded with ‘Booker’. That time it was not just the academic critics but also the comrades who were up in arms against her for her alleged anti-Marxist remarks in the novel. “Obscene” pronounced the ideologues and the rank and file repeated the refrain without bothering to turn a single page. I personally knew a handful of people who spent much of their energy denying the novel any literary value. And when asked “Have you read it?” the answer was a belligerent “No” that implies “What does it got to do with my bashing Roy”? Where ignorance is a bliss, it’s folly to be wise. But ironically, it was the Marxist critic Aijaz Ahmad who showered praises on ‘The God of Small Things’ for its rich imagery, brilliant narrative and the bold experiments with language, even before it was accorded ‘Booker’.
Vijay Nair began his piece by raising the question, the root cause of the hostility the recent booker winners, Arundhati Roy, Kiran Desai and Aravind Adiga has received and is still receiving. “Is it because they hold a mirror to realities we refuse to acknowledge?” he asks. Partly the answer lies there, and another part in this paragraph of his article:
“The White Tiger is the most recent of the three and it may be worthwhile to explore the book as well as the anger it has generated among Indians. Not just among stuffed-shirt critics who for years have been struggling to write their first book and despairing, frustrated writers who have had to deal with the “no advance, no royalty; feel blessed you have been published,” vagaries of Indian publishing houses and who cannot but resent the outsider who gets catapulted to a different league of big advances and international celebrity-hood riding on that one “lucky” book, but also the average Indian reader who patronises English fiction. This is the class that grew up reading Sydney Sheldon and Danielle Steel, but would like to own the work of “that Indian Bloke, what’s his name, who won that jackpot of a prize”.
Hobnobbing with the press after receiving the award, Aravind Adiga said: “I grew up in the south, which was very different culturally and economically to the places along the Ganges where I was traveling. For the first time, I met people like rickshaw-pullers, and it got me thinking about India in a different way. This book was an attempt to capture the voice of the men I met”. And the central character of the book was partly inspired by a rickshaw-puller he met, who angrily said, “You’ve listened to me, but when you go back, you’ll forget about me.” “I did not forget”, concluded Mr.Adiga. All one needs to find out that he didn’t is a journey through the brilliantly original ‘The White Tiger.’
As an indication that nothing is left behind untouched by the prevailing characteristic of a particular period, Adiga too didn’t be spared of intolerance. It ranges from calling him an ‘outsider’ to question his patriotic credentials. But ironically he has proved more insider than anyone of those detractors. If patriotism is jumping the bandwagon of the false “India Raising” and turning one’s back towards the ever-growing poverty and injustice meted out to the millions who live like worms, of course Aravind Adiga is not a patriot, nor am I.
What makes Vijay Nair’s article sweeter is the one that preceded it. Appeared in the November issue of the Literary Review, Amitava Kumar in the essay ‘On The White Tiger’ wonders; “Is it a novel from one more outsider, presenting cynical anthropologies to an audience that is not Indian?” Begins with that query, the essay details on how Mr. Kumar got to know about the novel for the first time and how excited he was to start reading it after he met Adiga in New York and came to know that the novel “had been a fruit of his labours as a reporter in India.”
There are two things I want to address in Amitava Kumar’s essay. The first one is his outright denial of Adiga’s description of the way the women at home treat their men when they came back from the city. (He also hails from Bihar, which was mentioned as ‘darkness’ through out the novel). “I had witnessed such men, and sometimes women, coming back to their village homes countless times. The novelist seemed to know next to nothing about either the love or the despair of the people he was writing about”, says Mr. Kumar. I believe that it was necessary for Adiga to describe the scene in that manner. Balram Halwai, the protagonist, as far as characterization is concerned, is near perfect. The character was moulded and developed with utmost precision. As a student he was bright, his own parents were “too busy” to give him a name so he was called Balram by the teacher when he went to school for the first time. From being called as a ‘White Tiger’ for his intelligence he was thrown to the tea shop in the next scene with his classmates ridiculing him calling “The Coal Breaker”. When he and his brother took his father to hospital, the poor man wasn’t given any treatment at all and eventually he met with a pathetic end there vomiting blood, the ward boys made them clean up the premises. The funeral of his mother, which he witnessed when he was a kid, was ‘grand’. The woman who had nothing decent to wear throughout her life was carried to the pyre “wrapped in saffron silk cloth which was covered in rose petals and jasmine garlands.” All these, the utter helplessness and the cruel contradictions life throws at him, contribute greatly in the characterization of Balram. The root of his realization, that Kusum is exploiting him and will continue the same, lies in his memory of his father “being fed after the buffaloes were fed” by the women at home. There’s no doubt that Balram Halwai knew it inside out where he came from, and it is this knowledge that makes him go. One can easily spot a ‘raging desire’ in his tone and manners to ‘come up in life’, to ‘arrive’. The scene in which he begs for the job at the Stork’s home and eventually gets in is just a typical example.
Another issue Mr. Kumar raises is that Balram’s reaction when he returned to his village is not that of someone who “has only recently left”. “Does it appear to be the account of a man who is returning home?” he asks. Sorry sir, it was a great mistake by Adiga here. Balram Halwai, in true filmy style, should’ve stepped out of the car as soon as he entered the village sporting an excited expression (cho chweet!) before he appreciates the intricate patterns of cow dung strewn all over. The next scene should’ve been a song sequence featuring Balram running through the field, probably with a camera in his hand and a horde of bare-torsoed, malnourished children running behind him, only to be vanished after the song. (Haven’t you seen those countless bollywood flicks in which the US returned or city educated girl comes to her grandpa’s village with a precarious tendency to fall in love with the village fool Mr.Adiga? Shame on you dude, shame on you.
This sentence in parenthesis, “No boy remembers his schooling like one who was taken out of school, let me assure you” defies the arguments that Adiga lacks compassion and ‘The White Tiger’ is an outsider’s narrative. It’s not just knowledge but deep compassion that ultimately makes the sentence shine like a jewel.
There’s no doubt that Adiga’s ‘tiger’ is burning bright. But what we see in the brightness, in the light, are not at all pleasant things to see. Dehumanisation, the dark side of ‘the shining India’, the utter helplessness of the poor…Aravind Adiga has captured it all making ‘The White Tiger’ a mirror held against contemporary India.
It was interesting to read the reviews after the coveted ‘Booker’ was bestowed upon Aravind Adiga for ‘presenting the dark side of India’. Emerged as the dark horse from a list of celebrity authors including Amitav Ghosh and Philip Hensher, Adiga became only the third debutant after Arundhati Roy and DBC Pierre to bag the Man Booker Prize. From seasonal critics to amateur bloggers, there was a hurry to join hands against ‘The White Tiger.’ The only few good words - barring a couple of desi reviewers - came from the western media and that might’ve added fuel in the fire of the much abused ‘catering to the western sensibility’ allegation.
Years ago, there was a rage against ‘The God of Small Things’ when Arundhati Roy was awarded with ‘Booker’. That time it was not just the academic critics but also the comrades who were up in arms against her for her alleged anti-Marxist remarks in the novel. “Obscene” pronounced the ideologues and the rank and file repeated the refrain without bothering to turn a single page. I personally knew a handful of people who spent much of their energy denying the novel any literary value. And when asked “Have you read it?” the answer was a belligerent “No” that implies “What does it got to do with my bashing Roy”? Where ignorance is a bliss, it’s folly to be wise. But ironically, it was the Marxist critic Aijaz Ahmad who showered praises on ‘The God of Small Things’ for its rich imagery, brilliant narrative and the bold experiments with language, even before it was accorded ‘Booker’.
Vijay Nair began his piece by raising the question, the root cause of the hostility the recent booker winners, Arundhati Roy, Kiran Desai and Aravind Adiga has received and is still receiving. “Is it because they hold a mirror to realities we refuse to acknowledge?” he asks. Partly the answer lies there, and another part in this paragraph of his article:
“The White Tiger is the most recent of the three and it may be worthwhile to explore the book as well as the anger it has generated among Indians. Not just among stuffed-shirt critics who for years have been struggling to write their first book and despairing, frustrated writers who have had to deal with the “no advance, no royalty; feel blessed you have been published,” vagaries of Indian publishing houses and who cannot but resent the outsider who gets catapulted to a different league of big advances and international celebrity-hood riding on that one “lucky” book, but also the average Indian reader who patronises English fiction. This is the class that grew up reading Sydney Sheldon and Danielle Steel, but would like to own the work of “that Indian Bloke, what’s his name, who won that jackpot of a prize”.
Hobnobbing with the press after receiving the award, Aravind Adiga said: “I grew up in the south, which was very different culturally and economically to the places along the Ganges where I was traveling. For the first time, I met people like rickshaw-pullers, and it got me thinking about India in a different way. This book was an attempt to capture the voice of the men I met”. And the central character of the book was partly inspired by a rickshaw-puller he met, who angrily said, “You’ve listened to me, but when you go back, you’ll forget about me.” “I did not forget”, concluded Mr.Adiga. All one needs to find out that he didn’t is a journey through the brilliantly original ‘The White Tiger.’
As an indication that nothing is left behind untouched by the prevailing characteristic of a particular period, Adiga too didn’t be spared of intolerance. It ranges from calling him an ‘outsider’ to question his patriotic credentials. But ironically he has proved more insider than anyone of those detractors. If patriotism is jumping the bandwagon of the false “India Raising” and turning one’s back towards the ever-growing poverty and injustice meted out to the millions who live like worms, of course Aravind Adiga is not a patriot, nor am I.
What makes Vijay Nair’s article sweeter is the one that preceded it. Appeared in the November issue of the Literary Review, Amitava Kumar in the essay ‘On The White Tiger’ wonders; “Is it a novel from one more outsider, presenting cynical anthropologies to an audience that is not Indian?” Begins with that query, the essay details on how Mr. Kumar got to know about the novel for the first time and how excited he was to start reading it after he met Adiga in New York and came to know that the novel “had been a fruit of his labours as a reporter in India.”
There are two things I want to address in Amitava Kumar’s essay. The first one is his outright denial of Adiga’s description of the way the women at home treat their men when they came back from the city. (He also hails from Bihar, which was mentioned as ‘darkness’ through out the novel). “I had witnessed such men, and sometimes women, coming back to their village homes countless times. The novelist seemed to know next to nothing about either the love or the despair of the people he was writing about”, says Mr. Kumar. I believe that it was necessary for Adiga to describe the scene in that manner. Balram Halwai, the protagonist, as far as characterization is concerned, is near perfect. The character was moulded and developed with utmost precision. As a student he was bright, his own parents were “too busy” to give him a name so he was called Balram by the teacher when he went to school for the first time. From being called as a ‘White Tiger’ for his intelligence he was thrown to the tea shop in the next scene with his classmates ridiculing him calling “The Coal Breaker”. When he and his brother took his father to hospital, the poor man wasn’t given any treatment at all and eventually he met with a pathetic end there vomiting blood, the ward boys made them clean up the premises. The funeral of his mother, which he witnessed when he was a kid, was ‘grand’. The woman who had nothing decent to wear throughout her life was carried to the pyre “wrapped in saffron silk cloth which was covered in rose petals and jasmine garlands.” All these, the utter helplessness and the cruel contradictions life throws at him, contribute greatly in the characterization of Balram. The root of his realization, that Kusum is exploiting him and will continue the same, lies in his memory of his father “being fed after the buffaloes were fed” by the women at home. There’s no doubt that Balram Halwai knew it inside out where he came from, and it is this knowledge that makes him go. One can easily spot a ‘raging desire’ in his tone and manners to ‘come up in life’, to ‘arrive’. The scene in which he begs for the job at the Stork’s home and eventually gets in is just a typical example.
Another issue Mr. Kumar raises is that Balram’s reaction when he returned to his village is not that of someone who “has only recently left”. “Does it appear to be the account of a man who is returning home?” he asks. Sorry sir, it was a great mistake by Adiga here. Balram Halwai, in true filmy style, should’ve stepped out of the car as soon as he entered the village sporting an excited expression (cho chweet!) before he appreciates the intricate patterns of cow dung strewn all over. The next scene should’ve been a song sequence featuring Balram running through the field, probably with a camera in his hand and a horde of bare-torsoed, malnourished children running behind him, only to be vanished after the song. (Haven’t you seen those countless bollywood flicks in which the US returned or city educated girl comes to her grandpa’s village with a precarious tendency to fall in love with the village fool Mr.Adiga? Shame on you dude, shame on you.
This sentence in parenthesis, “No boy remembers his schooling like one who was taken out of school, let me assure you” defies the arguments that Adiga lacks compassion and ‘The White Tiger’ is an outsider’s narrative. It’s not just knowledge but deep compassion that ultimately makes the sentence shine like a jewel.
There’s no doubt that Adiga’s ‘tiger’ is burning bright. But what we see in the brightness, in the light, are not at all pleasant things to see. Dehumanisation, the dark side of ‘the shining India’, the utter helplessness of the poor…Aravind Adiga has captured it all making ‘The White Tiger’ a mirror held against contemporary India.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Will you call it an ad?
It’s a crazy thought and I just couldn’t ignore the temptation. Call it an ad, spoof or even bashing. We, as usual me and Ratheesh, had no problem giving it a ‘go’. Expecting more brickbats than bouquets, yours truly.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
The crooked clowns and their antics
No Minister in the BJP-ruled States had resigned after bomb attacks. “So why should the Congress alone own moral responsibility,” he asked. He said he was not under any pressure to resign and he had full faith in the high command. “I only offered to quit because the party has put its faith in me and if it thinks I did not do my job then I should go.”
The Hindu, 02-12-08
It’s not just Mumabi, it’s the whole nation, if not the whole world, trying to grapple with what happened in the city last week. Grief and anger is in the air refusing to be doused, it’s not even a week yet as heinous perpetrators held the nation’s collective conscience on gun point. We lost scores of men, our citizens as well as our guests. But still, the death toll stands to a comparatively low 200, thanks to the brave men who dealt with terrorists head on and those who gave their life in the attempt to save those trapped in Taj, Trident and the Nariman House. It could’ve reached such mammoth figures as huge as 5000 but for the unparalleled bravery of the men in uniform.
Now, please read the first two sentences I sourced from today’s ‘The Hindu. The ‘he’ here is none other than the Maharashtra Chief Minister Mr. Vilas Rao Deshmukh. I know that barring a few, politicians don’t care. They won’t move a single finger even if the country goes to the dogs. But I haven’t come face to face with anything of this kind for quite some time. It’s not just gruesome. It’s ridiculous, it’s silly. It’s a Chief Minister and a senior politician utters something that will put even a kindergarten kid to shame.
“So why should the Congress alone own moral responsibility.” The message is clear. People may die, terrorists may repeat such dastardly acts, but I am all for power and I am going to cling on my chair. Now, I’ve a doubt. I’ve been thinking of it for a long long time but I stopped myself from asking it for the fear of being ridiculed. Everyone loves to use such metaphors as ‘hot seat’, ‘crown of thorns’, ‘hot bed’ etc when it comes to describing power and the various positions it offers, then why these people try to get into power by hook or crook? Yeah, I know I’ve been ridiculed, I‘ve been called naïve.
Mr.Deshmukh’s deputy, Mr.R.R. Patil, of the “such small incidents happen…” ‘fame’ has been stepped down. And the reason cited in ‘The Hindu reads as:
“Nationalist Congress Party (NCP) State president Arun Gujarathi said the party did not ask Mr. Patil to resign. “He took the decision on his own in a bid to own responsibility for the attacks.” “ Why should the Congress alone own moral responsibility” and “in a bid to own responsibility for the attacks”. Hilarious, isn’t it?
Once again I’ve been reminded of the infamous “when big tree falls…” remark by the late Prime Minister Mr.Rajiv Gandhi in response to the anti sikh riots that broke out in Delhi after the then Prime Minister Ms. Indira Gandhi assassinated by her own security personnel.
And the credit for addressing the media for the first time from ‘ground zero’ goes to the Chief Scientist of the ‘Gujarat Lab of Hindutwa’ Mr. Narendra Modi. With no qualms he offered monetary help to the family of the slain ATS Chief Hemant Krakare, whom he was badmouthing till the other day for exposing the Malegon blasts. Properly it was turned down by the widow and family members of Karkare. Properly, for that gesture contains a message. A message everyone will understand except the politicians.
The Patils, the Deshmukhs, the Modis…and hordes of those who belong to this species will never change. They will indulge in blame games, they will do anything to ensure their positions, and they will even sell our country. These clowns and their antics remind me of a story which I was taught when I was in 2nd or 3rd standard. The story of a wolf which made the goats fight and started to drink blood when it oozes out. Eventually the wolf was killed by the goats as they came to know about its intentions.
If not to these people to whom else I’ll use such expletives as “Fuck off”. Fuck off you morons, just fuck off.
The Hindu, 02-12-08
It’s not just Mumabi, it’s the whole nation, if not the whole world, trying to grapple with what happened in the city last week. Grief and anger is in the air refusing to be doused, it’s not even a week yet as heinous perpetrators held the nation’s collective conscience on gun point. We lost scores of men, our citizens as well as our guests. But still, the death toll stands to a comparatively low 200, thanks to the brave men who dealt with terrorists head on and those who gave their life in the attempt to save those trapped in Taj, Trident and the Nariman House. It could’ve reached such mammoth figures as huge as 5000 but for the unparalleled bravery of the men in uniform.
Now, please read the first two sentences I sourced from today’s ‘The Hindu. The ‘he’ here is none other than the Maharashtra Chief Minister Mr. Vilas Rao Deshmukh. I know that barring a few, politicians don’t care. They won’t move a single finger even if the country goes to the dogs. But I haven’t come face to face with anything of this kind for quite some time. It’s not just gruesome. It’s ridiculous, it’s silly. It’s a Chief Minister and a senior politician utters something that will put even a kindergarten kid to shame.
“So why should the Congress alone own moral responsibility.” The message is clear. People may die, terrorists may repeat such dastardly acts, but I am all for power and I am going to cling on my chair. Now, I’ve a doubt. I’ve been thinking of it for a long long time but I stopped myself from asking it for the fear of being ridiculed. Everyone loves to use such metaphors as ‘hot seat’, ‘crown of thorns’, ‘hot bed’ etc when it comes to describing power and the various positions it offers, then why these people try to get into power by hook or crook? Yeah, I know I’ve been ridiculed, I‘ve been called naïve.
Mr.Deshmukh’s deputy, Mr.R.R. Patil, of the “such small incidents happen…” ‘fame’ has been stepped down. And the reason cited in ‘The Hindu reads as:
“Nationalist Congress Party (NCP) State president Arun Gujarathi said the party did not ask Mr. Patil to resign. “He took the decision on his own in a bid to own responsibility for the attacks.” “ Why should the Congress alone own moral responsibility” and “in a bid to own responsibility for the attacks”. Hilarious, isn’t it?
Once again I’ve been reminded of the infamous “when big tree falls…” remark by the late Prime Minister Mr.Rajiv Gandhi in response to the anti sikh riots that broke out in Delhi after the then Prime Minister Ms. Indira Gandhi assassinated by her own security personnel.
And the credit for addressing the media for the first time from ‘ground zero’ goes to the Chief Scientist of the ‘Gujarat Lab of Hindutwa’ Mr. Narendra Modi. With no qualms he offered monetary help to the family of the slain ATS Chief Hemant Krakare, whom he was badmouthing till the other day for exposing the Malegon blasts. Properly it was turned down by the widow and family members of Karkare. Properly, for that gesture contains a message. A message everyone will understand except the politicians.
The Patils, the Deshmukhs, the Modis…and hordes of those who belong to this species will never change. They will indulge in blame games, they will do anything to ensure their positions, and they will even sell our country. These clowns and their antics remind me of a story which I was taught when I was in 2nd or 3rd standard. The story of a wolf which made the goats fight and started to drink blood when it oozes out. Eventually the wolf was killed by the goats as they came to know about its intentions.
If not to these people to whom else I’ll use such expletives as “Fuck off”. Fuck off you morons, just fuck off.
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