A/S/L

18/male/Bhopal here. Looking for a good clean chat.

This was the time of 1999-2001. The time when the internet connection at home was still a big-ask. The only player providing internet connection being Satyam with packages of Rs. 3000 for 3 Gb download.

Me and my friends would go to one of the many a internet cafes and pay anything between Rs.60 per hour to Rs. 80 per hour to log into the world of the mythical internet. At that time having an email address was nothing less than owning a Blackberry today. Rediff was a rage then and so was 123india.com. Yahoo was still a rank outsider and most people were more content with having a desi address in indiatimes.com.

The failing of the Mahatma

Why is Mohandas Karam Chand Gandhi  a taboo subject to write on , especially if you are not supporting whatever he did. Critically evaluating his actions have never been a favourite subjects of commentators alike.

For me he has always been a leader, maybe a leader who was above his contemporaries but still a leader never the less. And he was no god, but a human being.

The more and more I read about him the more my feeling that he has been given a status of  demigod gets strengthened. Whether it was bestowed on him or he actually demanded is something that I cannot comment on. But I am forced to believed that we have ignored his fallings whenever we have thought about our Father of Nation.

As I have aged, my image of Mahatma Gandhi has also changed. First he was the Father of nation, someone who is immune to any wrong doings and as I write now I look at him as someone who was a mortal man who was swayed by his desires and carried his share of bias. He too like us was prone to love and hate and to success and failure.

I feel that his actions during the time period of 1915 when he jumped into the Indian National Movement and to his subsequent death should be studied with an open mind. Not with a preconceived notion that we are looking into someone who was always a god or as it turned out eventually, the father of the Nation. 


To bestow on him the title of Father of the nation is asking something too much from him. It’s best if he was not bracketed but left in the history for the coming generations to judge his actions and his success. Perhaps if he was alive he would never have agreed to his such a supreme position. More so when he would have been confronted with his repeated failings which he continued to ignore.

Kalmadi and Raja reunited

New Delhi : Suresh Kalmadi and Andimuthu Raja are long lost brothers who got separated at childhood when they were running away from a BSNL linesman after they had stolen copper wires from him and if it was not for their respective embezzlement in 2G and Common wealth they would not have been reunited again, a ‘We-leak’ cable has revealed .

A cable no 01010101 dated 20.01.2010 from Joginder Clinton, Field Director, India CIA ( Corruption India Accentuated ) to Shri.Lalu Yadav ( State Head, CIA, Bihar) has revealed that  Kalmadi and Raja were brothers who got separated while trying to hide reel of telephone cables that they had taken from a BSNL linesman when he had come in their locality to repair a minor fault.

The linesman, whose name is Sardar Mohan Singh, after discovering the embezzlement, gave the brothers a chase as a result of which Raja took a train to South and Kalmadi landed in Pune, all at the tender age of seven years. Surprisingly though the CIA was aware of this fact for the last few years yet it chose to remain a mute spectator to this meteoric rise and fall of the brothers rather than acting as a guardian.

According to sources if it was not for a loose mouthed ED officer who was a part of the team that conducted raid on Kalmadi’s house, both the brothers would have never met.

of Shaadma and her tale

It was 1.30 AM in the night and the craving for tea forced me to ask the driver to stop at a Dhaba on NH3 about 65 kms before Jalgaon in Maharastra.  I had a train to catch the next morning from Jalgaon and had more than ample time to do some badly needed stretching and catch up on some food and some tea and fag.

We, me and my driver had been driving for a couple of hours and had left Nashik long back. The dhaba was built in midst of a picturesque landscape. It was on NH 3 surrounded by tall mountains of black rocks and tree. 

I didn’t ask for the menu and simply told the waiter to bring Dal Tadka and Roti. And the driver too gave his silent assent to the choice of menu with a discreet smile. If you are at a Indian dhaba and you prefer vegetarian than rest assured the best  meal that you can have is Dal Tadka and Tandoori Roti.  With time  I have developed a strong reason to believe that The taste of Dal Tadka is virtually the same at every Dhaba, be it in Bastar, Koderma,Nangloi,Meerut, Vindhyachal or Solapur. It’s the best bet you can play without caring for how it will taste. The hardness and the elasticity of the Tandoori may differ but the Tadka in dal will always remain the same.

And Like many of us, I too have a kind of liking to sit on the charpai when having dinner at a Dhaba. And this Dhaba had nothing but charpai strewn all over, where one could sit with your legs folded or lie down and gaze at the stars which were shining like small moons on a clear March night.

I, Aruna Shanbaug

I was a nurse at a hospital in Mumbai, full of life just like a 24 year old girl. I had many dreams, countless aspirations just like all. I was about to get married to a handsome doctor. And then everything fell apart.

On the night of 23 November, 1973 I was sexually assaulted by a boy who was working in the same hospital where I was. And I lost my power to speak , I was paralysed and slowly I slipped into a vegetative state. That was 37 years ago. With time everyone left me, my family, my fiancé, my friends and my death too.

A vegetative state is a condition which arises after a patient suffers from severe brain damage. It’s a state of coma. In the vegetative state patients can open their eyelids occasionally and demonstrate sleep-wake cycles, but completely lack cognitive function. I have been in this state for the past 37 years. This was before India won the world cup in 1983, or before the calendar turned 2000. I don’t know who is Sachin Tendulkar or who is Shahrukh Khan.

Still nationalist at heart

A letter to Sagarika Ghose in reply to her fear of the death of the liberal democracy

Dear author of ‘bloody mary’

I will be very honest to the extent of being brutal here as I write this to you. I have very occasionally read your column before. If my memory serves me right I read it some months back because you had written a piece on another idiot of the Thackeray clan, Aditya Thackeray. And I appreciated it, just like many others might have.

I have not put any effort to decipher why I don’t like reading what you write. Perhaps I am not attracted by the subject matter on which you write but one thing that I am sure of is the fact that I like your way of writing, the use of poets and poems etc. But that's where the appreciation ends.

Your recent write-up “Still old at heart” is something that I decided to read because I thought that it was something that was fresh and different from your too repetitive ranting for a ‘liberal’ Indian. And guess what, you proved me wrong. But then if only I had started from the last paragraph I would have been spared being ‘enlightened’ by your delightful thoughts.

As guilty as Rupam Pathak

The murder of BJP MLA Rajkishore Keshari by a school principal Rupam Pathak has brought back Bihar in news, albeit for a wrong reason.

The popular MLA was stabbed in full view by the lady when Kishore was receiving visitors at his home in Purnea. According to her, the MLA along with his associate had raped her earlier.

During the election campaign in the state earlier, she had filed an FIR against the MLA but later withdrawn her complaint saying that she had registered her complaint under the influence of political pressure from opponents of Kishore .

This crime in itself cannot be termed or seen as just another murder. For two reasons.

Firstly for a forty three old educated lady to kill someone that too in public without giving a damn to her life which she knew would be at perils once the supporters of the MLA catch her in itself speaks about the mental stress and pressure that she might be experiencing for a long period of time which finally burst out in open through the killing of Keshari. What prompted such a drastic step?

Binayak Sen – we a nation of hypocrites

The conviction of Dr.Binayak Sen for life by a Chhattisgarh court for supporting the naxalites has drawn expression of anger and sadness from many quarters. Which I dare to say was expected.

Sen was arrested by the the Chhattisgarh police in 2007 for allegedly acting as a courier between a jailed naxal leader and a businessman.

The reactions that have come from various sides of the globe have blasted the Indian judiciary, the Indian governing system and alike to all corners. Activists have till now organized many a rallies in support of the doctor. One such rally was organized in the heart of Delhi where the great “Arundhati Roy” too made her presence felt. Online petitions have already flooded emails of many an enlightened Indians asking them to register their protest. Amnesty too has joined in.

The charade of the 'intellectuals' is at full swing for the world to see and to mock the Indian democracy which according to them is trembling in fear of a doctor.

Media unbiased- A 'mythical shit'

The spotlight has never been as intensely focused on the media itself as it is now as the respected Fourth pillar find itself being subjected to the same questions that it showered all these years on the other three pillars of a vibrant democracy.

One after the other, incidents,leaks,expose have come out in the public sphere bringing out in open the dirt that was always present in the media but was very subtly swept under the carpet.

Journalism is about truth and spreading the information. But rare are periods where it was confined under these limits. Ethical and moral limits in journalism are loosely codified and very rarely followed.

Politics,Police,Paisa which ostensibly amounts to ‘power’ have always been a part of the media. And when these three walk with you side by side you are bound to enjoy the rise associated with them and equally share their disgraced fall.

Candle light- Mumbai's only way out

It will be exactly two years, two hours from now when the insanity that is called Jihad played havoc in Mumbai . And as we remember the innocent death due to the countless senseless bullets I am sure many of us will light candles at the busy squares of our cities.

Last year this lighting of candles happened in every city be it Mumbai,Delhi,Patna or Bhopal. At that time I was in Bhopal and I saw two radio jockeys standing under a pandal as they distributed candles to the curious guys that had gathered around them.

And like everyone I too noticed that the reason that so many candles were burning to death was not because of the cause but because of the girls who were distributing them.

I don’t have issues with it- lighting of candle nor I find forming of human chains a very senseless act of displaying oneness. But what troubles me is that why do we stop at such symbolic gestures. Why do we have this feeling of contentment and satisfaction after a hard night work of lighting candles.

Once there was a man called Lalu

Not long time ago Lalu chalisa was a very common thing in the streets of Patna. You could easily purchase it from the many a small shops that are lined up in front of the Patna railway station. These Lalu chalisa that were written by many of the faithful followers of Lalu Yadav would sometimes outsell the more original Hanuman chalisa.

And like his other predecessors from Bihar Lalu too had a fondness for the Indian railways.

Lalu Yadav and Indian Railway shared a very cordial relationship till he was the Railway minister. And both gained from each other. More aptly - it was the Indian railway that gained more. Not going into the economics, it was because of Lalu that the railway became a household name in Pakistan and world over. And it can be debated upon that whether the Railway as an institution gained any long term benefits during the tenure of Lalu.

Lalu Yadav was at that time Bihar and Bihar was nothing but Lalu. And even now that memory has not faded from the minds of many.

Why Barkha Dutt needs to be defended

I have been at the receiving end of highly critical words and statements for the recent post on my blog in which I have defended Barkha Dutt. Few of them have come through authentic source and they have attached their email address in case I feel that I should revert back to them.

Mostly though have been under the hood of anonymous. And I have no problem with the person being anonymous, since it’s me who has exercised this option of having anonymous comments. But I have been a bit disturbed by the use of language and words which to put it mildly is inappropriate.

All of the comments and feedbacks barring a rare few have said that I am acting as an agent of Barkha Dutt and I am one of those 'educated idiot' who has been recruited by Congress.

I am sure not many of those who have commented on the recent post of mine have gone though my previous posts. And I don’t expect them to do so. None of the commentators have been following my blog so it would be unfair on my part to expect them to know I am ‘what’ leaning. As in am I a Leftist, a Centrist or a bloody Rightist.

In defence of Barkha Dutt

I have never admired Barkha dutt. I found no reason to do so. I always see her as someone who has gorged on the self manufactured hype that she has attracted towards her. She went to Kargil and made sure that she along with India emerged as the sole winner. The focus I still remember shifted from the Bofors to her as she reported the war with dramatic effects that were meant to portray a picture of a woman who is risking her life to cover the war.

She made sure that the right visualizations were carried out to the viewers just like the way she did years later when she was reporting the Mumbai attack. She would cover her ears in articulated gestures as to show how near she actually was to the real shooting that was taking place. The intensely scared look on her face made sure that the viewers had to forcibly digest the fact that she was actually doing a very good job.

She did everything good, no pun intended. But when she tried to cash on it and tried to turn into a larger than life situation, she flunked. Exaggeration fetches and catches the ‘ooos’ and the ‘aahhs’ but modesty and humility makes sure that the real admiration stays forever.

And in the case of Barkha Dutt she has never stopped from making sure that the headline shifts from the news to the anchor.

Why I 'hate' India

A long list of people will come up if I start thinking of people who are Anti-Indian. (And what may be anti-Indian to me may be a patriotic individual to you, but that’s a subjective matter.)

But maybe then that list will appear peanuts if I start thinking about those who glorify such people who like to dislike India.

I pose this question to myself and search for answers that why we glorify those who de-glorify India? And for the starters I will make a disclaimer that No I am not a saffronwadi nor a Swaymsevak nor a BJP supporter.

The moment someone starts talking about people who propagate anti India feelings they are attached to an invisible tag of a fundamentalist, a dogmatic and an unsecular intellectual.

You blurt words against the professional dissenters like Arundhati Roy and you are called someone who is in cahoots with the people who perpetrated the terrible riots in Gujarat. The moment you call Geelani , both the Kashmiri and the Professor , anti Indian, you find yourself being measured on the scale of a Saffron promoter.

The man who moved the mountain

In this midst of election fever that sweeps Bihar I randomly remembered a Greek tale that I had heard many years back. And like every other Greek tale this was also a story of love, valor and determination. Of words of courage that were transformed into action. And like every other Greek story it had a sad end.

I first heard this story when I first came to Patna in 1997. And the story goes like this.

There was a young man who lived in a village. He was a frail built man with not much ambition but to live a simple happy life with his beautiful wife. He used to earn his bread while working as a farmer. And whenever it would rain, he and his beautiful wife would sing local love songs that would enthral the whole village.

Every morning he would arise and cross the huge mountain that separated his village and the small piece of land on which he cultivated vegetables. It was a treacherous pass with high raised sharp rocks. This bed of black rocks would become even more dangerous during rain as people would slip and devoid of any medical facility would be disabled for life.

One day her wife who was bringing lunch for him slipped and fractured her ankle. And that day this hero of ours decided that the mountain that had caused hurt to her wife will have to go.­­

And he sold his goat to buy a hammer, a chisel and a rope to chisel the mountain away. And he started working, day and night, ignoring the voices that called him insane.

He hammered and hammered and this went on for twenty two years. And when he finally finished he had excavated a 360 feet long, 30 feet high and a 25 feet wide passage. Due to the carving out of this new passage the distance between his village and the neighbouring village was reduced from 75 km to 1 km. Yeah you read it right, from seventy five to one.

And then one day this man died. As another Greek story of love, courage and determination ended without much fanfare, just like the many other fictitious stories. But this story is different.

The hero in this story was no Greek, but an Indian. And this was not a tale of fiction.

Dasrath Manjhi was a SC (Mushar, rat eating family). And he was born in a village of Gaya in Bihar. And it was sometimes in 1960 when he was still in his 20s that his wife slipped and it was on that day he decided that he would move that mountain.

And it was in 1982 that he chiselled that mountain away. All with a hammer and a chisel.

He died in 2007, long after his wife had passed away. He died amongst tall claims made by political leaders who saw him as a good investment to bank on. While he was alive, leaders visited him and made sure that this visit was publicized as it would mean a good impact on the backward class.

A movie was made on his deeds. But he himself died as a common man.

Promises that were made during his time still remain unfulfilled. Still his family continues to live in poverty and still there is no sign of the hospital that was promised by the state government that would be made in his name.

I am sure that when he decided to break the mountain he never had any intention that he should become famous. He chiselled those mountains because his wife broke her ankle. He made her a promise that he will remove those mountains.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe that human deeds of such higher degree was born out of such small reason.

It’s even harder to believe that we still live in a society where some huge, painstaking promises are fulfilled by an individual while some less difficult ones are forgotten by the state.

But then if they would have been fulfilled then this tale wouldn’t have qualified to be called as a Greek tale.

Why are we such a great nation

Socho yaar kitna mast desh hai apna,not taunting,but think.

We are spending crores of rupees daily on Kashmir. So many people have given their life and its repercussions are felt all over India. Majority of us know that India is trying to thwart attempts of Pakistan to win over Kashmir yet we have no complaints when an author openly shouts in Delhi that India should free Kashmir. The same lady once wrote an eye watering piece on Naxalism and she famously said that one should not cry over the CRPF personnel killed in the anti-naxal operation as they are getting killed because they are killing the naxalites. Tit for tat. Simple.

We have kept alive Ajmal Kasab so that he can spit on the judiciary. Remember we have also kept a guy called Afzal Guru? He should have been hanged long back. Why? Don't quip that judiciary will take its own course. It will only work as it should if we don't ask it to go slow. But sadly that’s exactly what’s happening. Accepted that terrorist attacks are common in India but even a diehard secularist will say that it’s not daily that you have attack on Parliament or it’s not every third morning that you wake up to find five gun totting men consigning everything that falls in their sight to flames. Parliament attack and Mumbai attack were, are and will remain "a remarkable, out of the blue" incident. And it requires action of the same kind; an action that will be remembered and will serve as a precedent.

Why it is that one leader or author speaks for the whole Muslim community. Who asked them? Who told them that Indian Muslims will feel insecure if the parliament accused is hanged and they will feel anger if Kasab is sent to the gallows? None of my Muslim friends told me so. And I never felt that I should ask them this question because I know they too feel the same like every Indian feels.

Why do these intellectuals say that Kashmir is not a part of India, it never was? Just because they are intellectuals? Didn't we had intellectuals before? Or is Roy the epitome of the Intellectual culture of India? And why shouldn't we condemn her statements? And why is that whoever speaks anything that’s against Roy and her intellectual coterie termed as a Fundamentalist? Why is it that we have adapted ourselves to such double standards? And adapted so well that we don't even realize that we have reached the zenith of hypocrisy and the nadir of having respect for India, which I am sure many of us still regard it as our Country.

Yeah, I am done for now.

But for the tea at Jamshedpur railway platform

I

The quizzed look in her calm eyes made him flinch for a moment and he was transferred to the past when he would look into those same eyes and would find himself drowning without any regret in the blissful ocean of love, trust and care.

It was during a train journey that he had first met her. 

There was nothing romantically unusual about the first meeting. They both had alighted at the Jamshedpur railway station to have tea and by some innovative method, known only to girls, she had managed to miss her train and if it was not for the classical scene from Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenege, he wouldn't have known to how to give your hand to a girl who is running to catch her train like a bride escaping from her own marriage.

That was the first time their eyes met and soon the casual glance turned into an attentive stare. Her eyes were like the best thing that he had ever seen. The light blue Kurta, the black cascade of black falling hair and a spread of innocence worth their weight in Scottish chocolate was too much for him to fight against.

His non belief in love was taking a serious dent, for he was experiencing the gravity of love that was pulling him down. Something was happening, he could experience it. But to describe it in words was something he would have miserably failed even if he would have tried.

He was falling in love. And he knew that had no chance of coming it out of alive.

This happened on a quiet day of a warm winter of January, 5 months ago. And soon their love became the talk of the small train.

And as their love blossomed from Bhopal Express to the dim lit walkways of Connaught Place he discovered that she was the more extrovert of two, always cajoling him to hold hands, swing legs, run aimlessly on roads, pushing through crowds. When she was in her full bloom she could make a 5 year toddler look like a man planning his retirement.

Every stare of her, her every word were like a gentle flowing stream or a subtle blowing air of a cold breeze. He was living in a world that was weaved by her, every string, every colour of this world was painted by her for him.

She was last thing that came to his mind when he closed his eyes. Wordly desires lost their identity as the intoxicating potion of love started flowing in his veins.

She was like a hand that was guiding him though this world.

II

And then everything came back from the past to the present. A crowd had assembled around the body that was very still. Yet there was something unusual about it as one could sense that a final wisp of breath was still trapped somewhere inside

The people watching him sighed in amazement as he opened his tired eyes for one final time, as the light inside those once bright eyes dulled the rainy morning.

And for the last time in eternity their eyes met again. She had the same quizzed look which she had at that time 

when he had pulled her on the moving train.

He saw her for the last time and his eyelids fell down; never to open again.

Is the Marathi manoos at Stake?

A few hours back I was going through a blog of a friend and I came across his recent post in which he has written about how a member of the Thackeray clan, Aditya Thackeray, son of Uddhav Thackeray walking on his ancestral footsteps, forced the prestigious St.Xaviers college, Mumbai to stop prescribing to a book because he felt that this particular book is not worthy and suitable to be taught at the college.

Just for the records it was not a cheap publication that are available at the numerous book stalls on the railway station of Dadar. The book is titled “ Such a long journey” written by the well known writer Rohinton Mistry. It was first published in 1991 and was nominated for the Bookers and won many recognition including the “ Common wealth writers prize”. In 2007-2008, it was prescribed for the BA ( English) course in Mumbai university. And since then it is being taught there. It is a novel about how a family go about their daily life.

But one fine day a boy who is still struggling with the pull and push of attaining puberty, decided that he has to do something to gain some media attention as he was about to start his political career and add more stench to the already nauseous gutters of “India’s secular politics”. As he was considerate enough to not to resort to use of sticks and swords, he decided to go after “Such a long Journey”.

This guy, Aditya has nothing much to write about him. He is a student of the same college from where Rohinton passed out. And by gods grace he has also managed to churn out a collection of poems which he has aptly named “Black and White”.

Its noteworthy to mention that when Rohinton Mistry was penning down the lines of his book, this dude was probably wetting his nappies while listening to the gory achievements of his father and grand father post 1992 bomb blast.

But then creativity and hooliganism runs deep in this family. His father is a photographer, his grand father too is a cartoonist and his uncle as we all know is a painter. So it was but obvious that Aditya too would inherit this creativity and this rogue character. So, I don’t blame him.

This Thackeray feels that the book talks about the Shiv Sena in a negative sense. As far as he is concerned no other reason is required. If the Thackerays don’t like something ; then they don’t like it. And he issues a dictum 'banning' the book. Simple as that.

I won’t talk or write much about Mr. Poet Thackeray because as much as I know this guy by now has gained enough media coverage and I am sure the sycophants Barati around him would add more color and push him more towards the sky for his success in losing his virginity of hooliganism. He passed his debut test of showing his strength without a blood being shed and a office being vandalized.

Welcome to the world of right is might Mr.Black and White . But as a friendly advice, keep writing heart rendering emotional poems, for you have to show the people that you have a tender side too; just like the other members of your clan.

But I would like to comment on the audacity on the part of the university officials. I mean I just can’t stop admiring their ‘bravery’. They just couldn’t stand a college teen hooligan because he was from the notorious Thackeray clan and was going to start his own group of activist , which he has proudly christened “Yuva sena” . This sena will see to it that India’s cultural value or more specifically Marathi culture is not vandalized, burnt or destroyed.

I would like to commend people on their maturity for still regarding the Sena as a political entity. My immaturity suggests that it ceased to a political party long back. I always thought it was a bunch of mentally deranged goons who had decided to conglomerate on one fine day and start a party. Post the 1992 riots my inexperienced mind told me that soon this ‘party’ will disappear from the political scene of India. But as I now see, I was a fool then.

I was in a good mood today as I watched India successfully concluded the Common wealth games. I was enjoying every moments as I felt goose bumps when the army contingent played the band and I was ‘liking’ every facebook status that my friends were posting about the success of the CWG.

But then reality dawned and I realized that still we are what we were. Still we fear some Hindu clans and still we bow too their fancies without even taking a ‘token’ stand.

I have friends in Maharastra and they are much more forward and liberal than me and they are more into activism than me but I just can’t find questions to my answer that why they keep tight-lipped when they should speak.

I am not in Mumbai, many of us are not. But those who are in Mumbai why don’t they say that “ Ok you may not like whats written in the book but that doesn’t give you the right to destroy it”. Is it that difficult thing to make people understand? Does that require too much of courage?

Is being called ‘Bhartiya’ sounds more derogatory than taking pride in being called a Marathi manoos, UP ke Bhaiya aur Tamil Nadu ka Mallu.

You have to decide that , not those bunch of goons who pride themselves in hurting and destroying everything that doesn’t please them.

Its not Marathi manoos at stake, its your freedom to oppose tyranny and to speak your mind out thats the burning question right now.

Dejavu’ing in Patna

Everything is back to the same place where it all started. Couldn't help but loose myself under this sense of Déjàvu. In Patna .

It seems that I have traveled two years back in time. Everything is the same. The same maths teacher who helped me with my IRMA,CAT and PO preparation is coming at my home to teach me maths , again. The purpose too is the same.

We study the same books, sit at the same place. We talk about the same things, the same political situation in Bihar. And before leaving he always ask me whether Bela is chained in or not, just like the way he used to do two years back.

At that time I had two parrots who would chitchat with me and inquire me about my progress in Quants. Times changed and one of the two died and the other flew away. Now I have two new parrot couple who too like their ancestors don’t mind poking me about my helplessness when it comes to maths.

The same room at my home provides me and Bela with a peaceful slumber as we sleep under the antic Khaitan fan. The age old fan in my room is still yellow and still it works in a silent manner unlike its counterparts who have either passed away or hanging in some obsolete corner and who cry out loud whenever they are switched on. I first slept under its cool air in Rajkot in 1987 when I was still trying to learn to recite humpty dumpty...

Two years ago I was not able to attend Abhivyakti in Bhopal because of my ensuing exams and this time too I will have to give it a miss and I will "miss it" dearly. The heart will require some consoling but I know it will manage, somehow.

II

Its election time in Bihar. The same political atmosphere easily identifiable by the flags on the street and the waves of white Kurtas that cover every corner of the city has engulfed Patna. Two years back it was the General election and this time its the assembly election. Two years back my neighbor Dasji tried his luck as a BSP candidate from Hajipur and lost. The slogan “Jahan hai Das, wahin hai Aas” didn’t help his cause much. 

But still he regards this particular slogan as one of the best he used at that time.

I met him yesterday while he was taking a stroll with his grandson and when I asked him 'which way the political river will flow in Hajipur this time', he replied that he is done with politics. He had decided that he would not contest any election again. Man of emotions and creativity are easily hurt and they find it aimless to bounce back and thats what happened to Dasji, who retired as a DSP and is an accomplished Tabla player.

Somethings I guess have changed.

Udankhatolas of various color and size are flying over the Patna airspace. As the Lalus and the Nitishs try to outwit each other.

For me this is the flight and fight for life and death for Lalu.He won’t form the government in Bihar that is a surety. Nitish kumar will come back again is a possibility that has to come true and will come true. But for Lalu, if he doesn’t performs substantially this time, his political career will be over for good and no amount of minority or Yadav appeasement will be able to bring him back from his political oblivion. He has to win more than 50 seats to command some respectability at the state and Center level.

It would be interesting to watch Congresses performance in the state as the party has decided to go alone this time. It was Rahul Gandhi who was more adamant in Congress going alone in Bihar, and he deserves accolades for that. It was sort of a huge political question that how a national party can be nonexistent in a state like Bihar. The absence of Congress in the state had created a vacuum that had led to the growth of regional parties like RJD and Ram Bilas Paswan’s LJP who were running the state like a fiefdom.

Read somewhere in a magazine that its "Resurgent Bihar" time. Hope this time goes on and on.

I sleep to rise again

People say that I am past my days of glory. They say that my days are numbered now. They feel that I have nothing to give, nothing to take and nothing to smile about.

They say that the last time I shined was years back when some politicians decided that I was shining and they came out with the "India Shining" slogan. And when the truth dawned, everyone lost, including those very leaders who had banked on me to make sure that they enter the revered house, affectionately called Parliament. I was not shining, I was still sleeping on the street, hungry and I was still nakedly poor. And nothing has changed much even now.

But that doesn't mean that I cannot and don't fight back.

They thought that I was a bride without golden ornaments when I had to pledge myself at the World back in the early 90s.

More than a decade later its me who helps out the World Bank when it needs financial assistance. I have bounced back.

One day my neighbour Pakistan thought that I would go down without a fight and Kargil happened. Young boys then turned into men as they fought with courage to reclaim whatever was lost to the enemy. And I bounced back.

Years back I was struck by the pains of Bhopal Gas tragedy. Then recently a fallacious judicial pronouncement that exonerated the accused increased the pain and with that came a rude insult to those who died on that fateful day. Everyone thought that, me, India had lost this time. But it was not to be, as people took to street and announced that enough was enough and this time they will not go down. And I bounced back.

When some insane mind attacked Mumbai, it was not just a part of me that stood tall, rather, it was the whole India who stood as one. Martyrs from many a different state died that day , fighting the terrorist and successfully ending the terrible crisis.

Yet there are times when I myself feel that its better to bid a final goodbye rather than to bounce back again and again. I felt such emotions when incidents like Godhra and post Godhra happened. I felt bad when I see a helpless person being brutally beaten just because he is from a different region. And I feel bad when I see thousands of hungry stomach going to sleep when thousands of tonnes of grains in rotting away.

I am India, and I am full of stories of happiness and Sadness. Of hope and despair. And When it looks that I have fallen never to rise again I do bounce back.

Every end that happens here is a new beginning. Just like every night signifies arrival of a new morning. I am India.