The Politics of Death

The news is so full of resignations and new appointments that we might just forget, that its been less than 5 days since close to 200 people were killed. Another political drama coming out of death. There will be new people in power, announcements of new laws, followed by a period of inaction, and then an election, following by another period of lull and then another disaster, blame games, resignations, rewards, compensations and the drama goes on. WHERE DO I FIGURE IN THIS BLOODY FARCE??

Why did we have to call NSG from Delhi and wait for 9 hours for them to arrive? How many politicians and VVIPs do we have in Bombay and the whole of Maharashtra? Do they not use commandos as personal body guards? Why weren’t they sent to engage the terrorists? We might have saved a few more lives. It pains to know that my life means nothing to those I elected to protect it. The people who live off the taxes I pay.

May be like we have always done, we will live to forget this horrific death dance. May be we will forget that we were cheated and our trust was misplaced. Maybe we will reconcile with our fate. And maybe when we are reminded of all this by another bomb and another attack, we will learn to blame ourselves. Just may be. . .

Beloved Father...

My dad used to say, “Pain is an interval between pleasures”. I never really understood the meaning of this when he first told me. Like always, I just considered this to be a start to another one of his sermons. But, today like most other sermons. I understand what he meant. I miss him a lot these days. I had him by my side, telling me right from wrong, when I was totally confused, as a teenager. But, like most other teenagers, I was closed to advice. Today, when I understand what he meant, I wish he was here, telling me what should be done.

With age comes experience, and my dad had a lot of that. I was never too attached to my family, and this was quite evident to my dad. He always let me do what I wanted, and when mom tried to question me, he stopped her, saying, “he will find his own way, he is smart”. I wish he was right…

There are a few moments with my dad which are landmarked in my memory. When I was really small, mom had a massive heart attack and was bed ridden. Dad had to come and pick me up from my granddad’s place. No one was too sure of what would happen to mom. My dad saw me and started crying, he kept whispering in my ear, “what will happen to you now, who will bring you up”. Seeing him, I started crying too, more ‘cause I couldn’t understand what he meant. Today I do. He didn’t want me to miss anything that a child would need.

There was this time as a kid, when I told him that one day, I will grow up and read all the books in the world. He must have been the proudest father in the world that day. For years after that he continued bragging about my innocent resolve. Then there came a day, when I told him that I didn’t want to study anymore and I wanted to work. Again, I saw tears in his eyes. I was ashamed of myself but too proud to admit it. I fulfilled my adolescent resolve and broke his heart. Today, when I want to study and need him to guide me, he is no longer there.

It was September ’05, a very gloomy month, doctors had given him a month. Mom asked me to come home for a few days, so I could spend some time with him. He was being shifted in and out of hospitals and could barely sit up. He had lost close to 40 KGs. I knew what his condition was, and was reluctant to go home, hoping he would get better some day and I wanted to see him then. I was used to his sense of humor, and mom had told me how grumpy he had become. He was an energetic man who loved to talk and entertain people. But, he was depressed and didn’t like to meet anyone in his current condition.

I had never heard him complain earlier and always spoke of finding solutions. But, now when I spoke to him over the phone, he always complained about how rude the nurses were at the hospital and how the pain increased everyday. Not once did he ask me if I was coming. I knew why, he knew, seeing him in his current state would sadden me, and he didn’t want that.

I reluctantly went home. He was admitted in the hospital and was on saline and oxygen all the time. I had heard that he could barely get up, and spoke with a lot of effort. The chemotherapy and heavy dose of medication had weakened him. As the cancer had spread to his stomach, he could not digest food either, so his only source of energy was the saline. I didn’t tell him I was coming and wanted to surprise him. When I entered his room, he was a new man. He found all the energy to get up from his bed, and give me a hug with his frail figure. The smile never left his face. He was still proud of me and it showed. He asked everybody else to leave and wanted to speak to me. He told me a lot of things. About how mom would need me more than anybody else, when he was no longer there. That she would break down and I would need to support her. How I would have to form one unit with my sisters and take care of mom. He spoke for hours everyday, while I was there. Those were our last conversations and he made a lot of sense...

How I wish he was here today, to tell me what to do, 'cause i find myself totally confused again, like in my teenage days...

Where is the God?

Has God created man or did man create God? This question has haunted me for a long time.

As I sit to write, there are about 20 people held hostage in a hotel in Bombay, by men who are fighting to prove their God is the real God. The families of these hostages are praying to their Gods, so they see their loved ones come out of the situation walking, rather than in body bags.

To think, that religion was created to bring man peace. Can’t remember the last time, it caused anything but war. Don’t know what the most intelligent creatures of this planet are headed towards, but the path is bloody.

Bombay is one of the most resilient of cities. It has faced more calamities than any other city, I can think of. I was present during two of these and was amazed at how fearless the residents of this city are. At that time, I felt they did not know how to react, but I know how to react, and I did not. The spirit is contagious.

It was an amazing feeling to be walking in shoulder high water for hours, in the middle of the night and find that you are not alone. There were people who did not get a full day of electricity in normal times. But, they stood at their door steps with candles, through the entire night, to show the way to stranded people. Their roofs were leaking, but they went out to help people through the flooded roads. The experience was overwhelming.

It was the day after the 7/11 train blasts. 7 bombs went off in 11 minutes, coinciding with the date, 11th of July. 209 people lost their lives, 700 were injured. We had a project to be piloted at work. Our clients had come down from the UK and seemed distressed by what happened. They were sure the project would never go live that day. Surprise! Surprise! Everyone who was a part of the project was present at work that day. I was sure, I would be the only guy present, and was pleasantly surprised! The trains were running on time, like nothing had happened.

We have another attack tonight in this God forsaken city. God, if he exists, seems to overlook this bit of land lying on the sea. But, come Ganeshotsav, every calamity is forgotten and God is praised for everything he never did… Lucky him!

Marathi Manoos

I don’t speak Marathi and I have been living in Maharashtra for the last three and a half years. Someone called Raj wants me lynched because I’m taking away jobs from the Marathi Manoos and I’m also disrespecting his culture. I should no longer stay in Maharashtra.
Well, I'm part of a population that is close to 60% in major Maharashtrian cities like Mumbai and Pune, that runs all the major companies that Maharashtra (that boasts of being the state with one of the highest GDPs in India) gets its revenue, investments and jobs from.
Should I still be asked to leave? Well, let’s see…

I have been living in Pune for the last 2 years. When I first came here, the road in front of my house was a very smooth and wide road. Then, the telephone company had to stuff some wires under it, they dug it up and never fixed it properly. Now, children who are used to playing on this road, fall and injure themselves regularly, I see so many vehicles not able to travel on the road. In fact my mother had a bad fall the other day because of the unevenness of the road and my landlady’s asthma attacks have become more frequent due to the dust on the road. I wonder how many people this Raj, the savior of Marathi’s, has lynched for spoiling this road.

Every year at least a thousand farmers and their families die or commit suicide in Maharashtra because their crops fail. The irrigation system has to be improved. More importantly, these farmers have to be saved from the hands of ruthless money lenders by introducing better credit facilities for them. Are these farmers biharis or bengalis? Are they immigrants? I don’t think so. Are they not Marathi manoos? Hasn’t the government not disrespected their lives by not taking care of it? I wonder how many politicians, Raj lynched for the loss of so many Marathi lives.

The reason for lack of jobs among Maharashtrians is illiteracy. Maharashtra stands at 77%, which is above average for an Indian state but, if you look at the literacy rates among Maharashtrians alone, it is pretty low. The state government needs to look at implementing compulsory education till 10th standard and looking at ways to introduce vocational training in Marathi medium schools. Look at increasing the female literacy rate which stands at 66%. We don’t see too many scholarships or grants for brilliant Marathi students. How many from the education department have got lynched for eating up taxpayers’ money? None.

So, are we hoping to get more jobs for Maharashtrians by lynching non-maharashtrians? Sir Raj, let me inform you – You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong.

What Raj and his political colleagues are trying to do is, distract the Marathi Manoos from the real issues and, get him involved in some fighting and rioting, while he and his friends can stuff their large pockets, with the Marathi Manoos’ money. Tell me, is it more important for me to learn Marathi than getting roads repaired? More important than saving a 1000 lives by using the state funds for giving credit and better irrigation systems to farmers, more important than using state funds to give out educational grants and to introduce vocational training in schools?

They are all in it together, all the parties. They all think that the Marathi Manoos is a dumb chicken. They are all fooling you everyday with their rhetoric. Are you that helpless, that you can’t find yourself a job? Does a politician have to send his goons to beat up other people because you can’t find yourself a job, ‘cause you are not qualified enough. Why can’t they instead give you an opportunity to be more qualified? Or do they think this is the best you can do? What wrong did the poor old bihari man do, who lost his only son to lynching? His son was doing what you too should have been doing; looking for a job.

Wake up Marathi Manoos, you are being under estimated, you need to prove yourself, not by beating another man up, but by proving you are as good as the rest. Don’t forget, even a group of pygmies can kill someone found in their territory. Today, when a colored man; with a Kenyan father and an Indonesian step father; educated in a madrasa for 2 years, and a surname that rhymes with the name of his country’s greatest enemy, can be the President of the United States, the possibilities are infinite. So don’t stop till you get enough…

Letter from a loser..

Dearmost,

I want you to know, that I'm happy for you and I wish nothing but the best for both of you.
Tell me baby, is he just an older version of me? Is he perverted like me? Would he make out with you in a theater? Does he speak eloquently? And would he let you have his baby? I'm sure he'd make an excellent father…
The days we spent holding each others hand and me feeling our baby, what happened to the promise you made? I thought, I broke all the promises, or was this your way of getting back? When will you bear me the promised child, because I still cry for the one we sacrificed. Why did you build a fairy tale and wait for it to turn into this nightmare. I can’t live with this pain anymore, and it kills me to think, you don’t care...
You seem very well, things look peaceful. I'm not quite as well though, and I thought you should know. So, have you forgotten about me already? It was a slap in the face, how quickly I was replaced. Will you be thinking of me when you fuck him? ‘Cause I'm not going to fade away as soon as you close your eyes and you know it. And every time you scratch your nails down his back, I hope you feel me...well you will feel me.
And every time you take his name, does he know how you told me you'd hold me until you’re dead, but you're still alive. And I'm here to remind you of the mess you left, when you went away. Maybe I’m dead for you, but it's not fair to leave me with the scars I bear, that you gave to me.
Baby you ought to know...

Its me, the dead soul you forgot to bury, after you killed...

Hail Lucifer...

I’m mad, I’m crazy…. I’m bad, I’m sexy…

That’s what being a Luciferean has made me. I am passionate about all that is hated. I hate just one thing and that is hate. Do you know why people hate dope??? I found the answer… Coz dope kills hate. Man has hated so much and for so long that he can’t live without hate. Hate is what drives everybody. Some hate poverty, others hate loneliness. Now, you may think I’m preaching hate. You may ask why so many hates, why no love. That’s where lies the irony. Everybody hates love and love hatred.

Love is just an excuse, to make it look like hatred exists in its absence. It’s the other way around. Why else would a young man’s giving his seat to an elder in the bus be considered an act of love? Isn’t that what he’s supposed to do? Am I thinking communism? May be I am. May be that’s why the common room in Presidency is so full of smoke. Try this…

Choose a day when you are totally stressed out, meet up with a few junky friends, have a bottle of chilled beer and top that up with a joint. You’ll agree with me. There’s nothing better than just that to save you on your worst day. You’ll love the guy who tried to kill you. That’s what dope does. It kills hatred and that brings love and lots of it.

Being high is a state of contradiction. They say emotions don’t allow you to think straight. Bull crap. Blow yourself and see for yourself. Your mind is at the highest possible emotional node, but you’ve never thought clearer. You find every error pardonable and isn’t that what all our holy scriptures preach. Love thy enemy and stuff.

Dope makes you spiritual. I never think of God when I’m in need but I debate on God when I’m high. I wouldn’t debate on something when I don’t believe it. Not just the concept of God but the most spiritually preached virtue – Love. I can’t think of not loving when I’m stoned.

Dope can’t repair a heart break. Nothing can, but dope can help with the pain. You know pain is inevitable but suffering isn’t, we can skip that bit and dope is the skipping rope. I live a life of heart breaks and like a heart patient needs to keep Sorbitrate in his pocket, I need dope.

Dreams

“Life is a bitch, lets f**k it“. That’s what a friend of mine once told me. Ever since there has been no end to the fun I have had with life. For most average people my age, I’ve seen a lot. But, I still feel there is a lot more I could have seen. I just lost focus. I had circumstances to back me there. I lost my dad when I was just starting off at work. I sound like I blame him for the misery but the fact is I started looking at life more seriously after he left. My only refuge from bankruptcy was gone.

When I come to think of it, I never really had focus. I was just cruising along hoping to get lucky, which I eventually did, but I did have to change my ways to get there. Before I knew, dad was gone. I was on my own, I stopped goofing around, and before I knew I was there, sitting for the interview. Before I realized, I was in a new place, at a new height. Did get a little dizzy but I managed to stay put, though most of it happened while I was busy being clueless.

Here I am today, writing about myself as usual. That’s me in a nutshell. Self obsessed. I am my favorite topic, that’s what my friends tell me. I doubt if they are wrong. When I’m not busy being self obsessed, I’m normally dreaming. But then, I’m quite consistent. I dream mostly about myself in situations that would normally seem impossible at that point but to me they are real. I don’t think we humans can achieve much without dreaming, that’s what some of us seem to believe. Though, most people believe that we can start achieving as soon as we stop dreaming.

I dream a new dream everyday, that’s possibly why I’m never focused. Every time I start working towards achieving a particular dream my mind is clogged by a hundred other dreams. Thus, over a span of time I have a million dreams wooing me, like a million camouflaged demons seducing me to my destruction. That’s life… every moment a new dream is born and with that a new way to finish this little skit called life. It could be a comedy or a tragedy. It all depends on the audience and, the act being played out. Some last long, some are shorter than the rest and some don’t last at all. The longer they are, the more august is the gathering.

The most fascinating thing about life, is life itself. It exists without anyone wanting it to exist and then, it stops when everybody wants it to go on. There is no director as such, just actors and their dreams. Everyone hopes to get there and get there fast. But, no one knows where. It all ends up in a Brownian motion, helter and skelter. We're all like elements, and we collide with each other in this motion. Some collisions have a good reaction and others don’t, but we continue, in our strive to achieve the unknown.

Some day we may just find what we’re looking for, what will we do then? Will that make us happy or will it make us sad? Or we might just feel some undiscovered emotion.

The Two Roads

There are many roads to run down. And I love to run.
I guess that’s because I'm an escapist, running is the best thing I can do.
I can't run fast but I still can run. There are two roads I love running on.
One is the all time favorite - Memory, and the other is my personal favorite - Imagination.

Memory
Everyone’s got one or you got amnesia. Then, even if you have amnesia, you do have memories, but you don’t remember them. Running down memory lane, I see a lot of things. Like the way I got pardoned for any folly when I was a kid, all I ever had to do was stick my tongue out. Well, that was when I was 3, I try it now and I’d be called indecent. Also remember the times I hated going to school and wished I had a job like dad. I now hate going to work and wish I was in school. I remember the times I fought with my best friend and we decided we’d never talk again, but we inevitably did and we always ended up being best friends again. I don’t know where he is now, and I’m sure he has no clue of my whereabouts. I hated my dad for scolding me when I was naughty, but he always got me candies when he came back from work. Don’t remember the last time someone gave me a candy.

Memories are like chilly nights, they don’t seem too exciting when they happen but you miss them during the summers. They are bitter to start off with, but end up giving a sweet flavor to life. Memories are what we live with…

Imagination
When the going gets tough, the tough get….. whatever crap. We shape our lives based on our imagination. The tough just imagine more. We all imagine. The more practical we think we are, the more we imagine. The more fanatical we think we are, the more we imagine. We die for our imagination, we kill for our imagination. We also live for our imagination. Imagination is a way to power. Because god is a creation of our collective imagination. Hope is nothing but imagination…

Long long time ago, when men lived in caves, they had a lot of hardships to face. They lived on top of a mountain in a cluster of caves. Every night these caves would be attacked by wild animals who would carry away their family. This went on for a long time and the men felt helpless. One night, a man lost his entire family. He was distraught. He ran out of his cave, looked up at the sky and cried out in pain and disgust. At that very moment, in the horizon, rose the Sun, and the animals were gone. Thereafter, every night, the men came out of their caves, looked up at the sky and cried till the Sun was up. Thus, was God born.

Imagination is like a cold breeze, that we feel on a summer afternoon, when we think of the next winter. Since we don’t know what future holds for us, everything we think of doing is imagination. Imagination is what we live for…