At the End - before the Beginning

He stood before the man with the flowing beard

“How do you justify your existence?”

“I did not choose to exist. I don’t have to justify it.”

He wasn’t sure if that was the right answer. He did not know how things worked here.

“Were you a good father?”

“Yes”

“Were you a good husband?”

“Yes”

“So were a million others. What did you do?”

“I thought you knew”

“I want to hear it from you”

“I started my own company. I introduced a new concept to the world.”

“Did it help people?”

“Yes – it was something they needed but did not realize they needed. I helped them.”

He could not stand it any longer. He blurted out, “Are you going to send me Hell?”

“Where do you think you were for the past 75 years?”

That made sense. He smiled – “You know – I always thought it was so – “His flow was stopped by a wave of the hand. He stuttered again – “Is this Heaven?”

“No”

“What is this?”

“Nothing”

“Where am I?”

“Nowhere”

“What am I doing here?”

“You tell me.”

“Who are you?”

“No one. Do you like helping people? A couple is trying to have a child – would you like to help them?”

“Yes”

“Would you like to go to Heaven?”

“Yes”

“Which would you rather do – help these people or go to Heaven?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“Not at all. I am just curious. I never lie. You know that.”

“I would rather go to Heaven.”

“Ok”.

“What are you doing?”

“What you asked me to do.”

He was falling – he was crying out. He was screaming - “Why are you sending me back?” “You will understand – I did not lie.” The screams were gone.

The old man laughed. “The fool!” – he thought. “The blessed damned fool!”

And then there was life.

A Night At Home

He couldn’t understand it. What had gone wrong? Again. After hours of concentrated effort, wads of cash and countless counselling sessions, things were exactly the same as they had been this time last year. He had sacrificed so much – received so little. Waves of self pity and self contempt crashed upon him and soon his face and chest were drenched. How could it be?! It was perfect – he had been sure it would work this year and yet it hadn’t. What were they looking for? His mails had gone unanswered; telephoning was out of the question.

He went through his profile again. He had described himself with humorous self-deprecation. He had confessed himself to be a libertarian agnostic. And it was true. He had looked up the meaning of the words – and they were exactly what he was. He had to be. It was what everyone was these days. If you weren’t one of them – you stood absolutely no chance. In activities and interest, he had positioned himself carefully – he played tennis and football, avidly followed politics – you could have quizzed him on the latest political sex scandals across the globe and he would have answered them as nonchalantly as he updated his status. He liked travelling and was very interested in lateral thinking – he had figured out that it was a midget who took the elevator every day. The lateral thinking bit was particularly ingenuous – or so he had thought.

Books – they had been a little tricky. But if you followed the right forums, got the right feeds, it was quite easy. He had cleverly chosen a collection of humour, classic literature, history and philosophy. Of course The Fountainhead was there. That was a no-brainer. Anyone who was anyone had read it. It was the intellectual’s bible. He had liked it actually – it had struck a chord with him – he was sure only a few could identify with the book the way he had. So they really couldn’t fault him for authenticity. The movies – Ah! Those had been his trump card. He had been a movie buff since he could remember. He had displayed a rare taste – all time epics, marvellous directors jostled for space with forgotten masterpieces. He had to have stood out. This was his differentiation.

Of course, there were all the other regular features. He had been voted most sexy by 790 friends, been sent thousands of gifts, had taken most of the quizzes and scored highly on them (General knowledge was one of the things he prided himself on most – he even got a 100/100 for the “how many celebrity children do you know” quiz). He was most likely to be involved in a threesome, most likely to go on to be a Mars explorer, most likely to help a three-legged puppy and most likely to be able to detect the difference between Chateau Margaux and Chateau Haut-Brion by just sniffing them. These were only the most notable “Most Likely…” of course – there were hundreds of others. He had far surpassed the minimum requirements in all categories.

His picture had been carefully chosen – his mom had sifted painstakingly through all of them and picked the best one. He had then used his favourite image editing software to make a few subtle changes – the rules were strict and the picture had to be at least 75% authentic.

After all this work, he had sent his complete profile to KYBY (Know Yourself, Be Yourself), the best company for vetting profiles. They had gone from a start-up to a billion dollar company in 6 months 3 days. These guys were geniuses. They simply did not miss. It cost him $2000 dollars, but it had seemed worth it at that time.

Now it did not. He stared at the glossy envelope in his lap.

To: Jack Crick,

C/O Mr. Jonah Crick,

23 Hemingway Street,

New York City - 50686

New York.

Dear Jack,

Thank you for your interest in the Facebook “Do you have the best profile” Awards. We regret to inform you that your entry has not been deemed worthy of entering the second round. We hope you will work harder and return next year.

Wishing you all the best,

The Facebook Team.

It was late. He had not slept for three days in giddy anticipation of this letter. And here it was. He put it back in the envelope. The monitor’s light was too bright. He switched it off. He stood and stretched. He felt free. The wait was over. He had been taking sleeping pills he got off the net to help him sleep – two a night. They had not worked obviously. Tonight, perhaps he would take a stronger dose. Tonight he would sleep well.

The Puppet Master

The incessant sound of ball hitting concrete did not irritate him. It was music to his ears actually – the boy was undoubtedly gifted, in more ways than one. He would definitely go a long way, all the way in fact. It was destined – and all this practise would only put the ‘deserved’ tag on him. Enough to appease the journalistic hyenas that encircled the family 24/7.

That was main reason for this sudden family vacation – to give him a breather, to gather his wits about him again. The king maker needed a rest and he had had to go to the other end of the world to get it. So here they were – and yet the boy, his son, would not rest. It’s all in the genes – he smiled inwardly. It was an indulgent smile, it was an inevitable smile. He did not like surprises – his whole life had been planned. He had always known what he wanted and how he would go about doing it. It hadn’t been easy. The convoluted, almost Romanesque circles he moved in had thrown up its fair share of surprises, mostly unpleasant, hence the unhealthy dislike – and experience had taught him to plan like a Chess grandmaster. Think three moves ahead, wrap your opponents into a warm fuzzy blanket of security, and move in – slowly, carefully and precisely. The boy had been a bonus – so talented, so industrious, so…lucky. The boy was his sole concession to fate – yes it had been fate that had dealt him this kind hand – there was no other explanation. The boy would rule – for a long long time, longer than he had. He smiled again – almost laughed. His thoughts had swerved. Democracy was the biggest hoax ever played on the most populous nation on earth. He knew – he was the hoaxer after all. And his son would continue this elaborate façade in two avatars – perhaps his son’s son after that. This empire would become a dynasty and he would be the founder. No one could have thought that possible 20 years ago. Times had changed though. His people were emotional even today, in 2025, when emotions too could be outsourced to machines. Who had the time after all? Today it is all about branding the self and everything else one could think of. Branding is business. Business has no place for emotions. Yet, his people were emotional. They would always be so – they always had been. Billions of them, their numbers combined with their atavistic emotions were his strength – their weakness. People who had two hearts and no brains deserved to be ruled and ruled they were and would be, albeit without knowing it.

The hysterical news reporter on T.V. broke into his consciousness. People had died – again. It would be tragic were it not so mundane. This time the riots had been incited by racist chants against one of the ‘home team’ players. If the effect was mundane, the cause was even more so – mundane and intricate. He could barely stifle a yawn – and yet he did; for it was a sad event –and it was good to stay in role at all times. Press inquiries would have to be addressed, banal speeches would have to be given, and politicians would have to be ‘pacified’. The Prime Minister, that brainless, lazy, disgusting no-good would be calling soon. The holiday would have to be cut short – but he was recharged, ready to keep the hyenas at bay again.

Lalit Modi, the master of puppets, called his pilot. They would leave in 30 minutes.

The by-gone days of four wheeled transport

I am as repelled by public transport as the T-rex probably was by green, leafy things. It’s a disease actually, this incurable addiction to cabs. As an impecunious aspiring journalist, this burning need to “cab-it” has come at the cost of many other luxuries - like food, clothing and on one famous occasion the ability to pay for the cab. This is the reason why the recent hike in fares had me tying a noose and looking for a ceiling fan. Fortunately for mankind – my house does not have any (ceiling fans that is).

I had heard scurrilous rumors about a rise in fares sometime before the holiday season. Having refused to learn from previous rumors which turned out to be true (the rise in cigarette prices for example), I continued to flag down those beautiful blues and uplifting yellows of transportation heaven without a second thought.

Then one day, it happened. The meter read $2.80 and the peak hour charge was $1. Engrossed as I was, as is my wont, in happy thoughts of working for Cricinfo, this change did not register. A few minutes later though, Pandora let loose all sorts of containers. It was just a chance glance at the meter that took away all that is good and holy in this world. The peak hour charge read $3.00 and was climbing even as the little yellow birds twittered around my head.

I engaged the cabbie in dialogue, asking him if there was a problem with the meter wiring. Being the taciturn sorts, he merely looked quizzically at me and shook his head – unaware that my very being was tottering. I tried again, asking him the reason why the little red numbers were rising faster than a Geiger counter would beep in Chernobyl. Reasons like the increase in diesel prices, the erosion of Amazon forests, congestion on roads, the fact that the Bush poodle needed a pedicure, the flourishing Indian democracy and expenses for Sonia Gandhi’s hindi classes poured forth. I realized that the reasons mattered not one whit, for the winds of change had buffeted me towards the nearest LRT station.

I live at the edge of civilization. Before leaving for my house, people sacrifice all manner of creatures, cast wistful glances at their abodes, place pictures of their families in front pockets and pray to any God that comes to mind. Atheists cry.For it is an arduous journey this, involving as it does using multiple modes of transport, pit stops for refreshments and marking X’s on trees. They arrive at my place with beards, bruises and shoulder length hail; their possessions usually lost or stolen by brigands whose presence is inevitable on such arduous routes.

My plight should now be easily imaginable. Every time I leave the house, the cabs mock me and the LRT stations open up like a chasm. To me, having to take public transport over cabs is like being forced to use khaadi condoms instead of latex. Yet, economic sense demands I do so (take public transport). So, I have decided not to leave home. The only ventures outside are to forage for food, and take advantage of some of those sun endowed vitamins that people are always harping about. This shall be my own silent protest – much like a loincloth wearing bald man did some 70 years ago. And look what he was able to achieve! I shall win – one day, I will sit in that front seat, put on the seat belt, look the LRT station in the eye and not flinch!

Nobel winning Indians

An article which kind of validates what I was talking about in my first post.

Chidanand Rajghatta writes in TOI.

When will we learn?

Criticism or Racism

Discussing my previous post, a friend mentioned that our tendency to be defensive and sensitivity to criticism is not always our fault. She recalled some painful experiences where Indians were stereotyped as being lazy, lacking commitment or plain stingy.

What I was talking about is criticism - which usually has a justifiable basis and is applied to one person or a small group. What my friend mentioned was racism - which generally emanates from making generalizations about an entire populace based on a small subset of people who are being observed only in one capacity.

Life today is (or maybe it always has been) highly compartmentalized such that we generally interact with a set of people only within a pre-determined environment. Colleagues are for office and occasional weekend nights out. House-mates enter the picture when there are bills to be settled or a house to be cleaned. Activities which help people repel the insanity that professional life brings - things like gymming, joining a dance or sports club, reading a book, etc. are either done alone or with people who are normally not prominent in other parts of our life. There might be some overlap for sure, but generally we form opinions about individuals with enforced blinkers on.

Ideally speaking, judgments should be made only after observing people under a variety of conditions - relaxed, pressured, worried, happy etc. Of course, given the humdrum of everyday life, this is not possible and hence our proclivity for arriving at half baked conclusions, which in turn becomes the root cause of racism.

So all Arabs are terrorists, all Indians are funny (this is what a colleague told me once) or arrogant (read this in a blog), all Chinese are as hard working as a hot dog vendor in a fat guy convention, all Americans have single digit IQs and all Englishmen have upper lips stiffer than a piece of cardboard. Of course such blatant stereotyping can be funny at times but more often than not it is a malaise that causes unbelievable amounts of damage.

Blatant racism obviously cannot be condoned and should be stood up to but perceived racism like the one I mentioned in the previous post reeks of insecurity and brings with it an element of self-pity. Criticism is generally in two forms - directed at an individual only or directed at an individual who is representative of an entire people. Sreesanth is a public figure which is why any criticism he receives is taken as a personal affront by all Indians. Now, if criticism of an individual is extrapolated and applied to a bigger group it is racism. However, if criticism of a public figure is seen as criticism of an entire public then it is racism perceived.

It is the latter which I wish we would move away from. Thoughts?

Why dost thou fear India?

Indians at the best of times are not the most understated people. Colourful celebrations, exaggerated dances, a cacophony of noise are Indian trademarks, especially in the current age where we toast any success which has even a semblance of Indianess in it.

You just have to look at the furore in India surrounding Sunita Williams' mission to space and then the visit to her native village in Gujarat to understand that. Born to an Indian father and a Slovenian mother, she is the latest darling of the population, feted by the media and the masses alike. I have no gripe against Ms Williams, may she inspire a generation of Indian kids to perform even more remarkable deeds. What I do hold a grudge against is the way we cling onto anything that can be connected to us and spin it as 'New India', 'India Shining' or a plethora of other phrases that the media never tires of churning out. Any success story anywhere in the world is scoured for an Indian element and then fed to the hungry masses as another example of India's rising stature in the world. Now, I am all for patriotism. If India sends a man to the moon or wins 10 gold medals in the next Olympics, I will be the first person to put on my party hat and compete with the next guy in trying to drink our body weight in beer ( I am very light - so the advantage will be with me). But this incredible and ridiculous whirlpool of excitement generated over someone born and brought up in another country, someone who made excellent use of the infrastructure provided by that country to etch her name in the history books, proves nothing. Well ok, it proves that genetically Indians are as smart and as capable of achievement as any other colour of the spectrum (I know, I know, white is a mix of colours and black is not really a colour but you get my drift), but really, do we still need to satisfy ourselves that this is indeed true?! If so, it is a sad commentary on the regard in which we hold ourselves.

India is supposed to be a young vibrant nation (the median age is 24), full of confidence. Why then the paradoxical sensitivity to criticism of India or anything Indian? I will draw upon an example from the allegory of India, cricket. In one of the recent test matches between India and England, the former English captain Mike Atherton suggested that the beamer thrown by Sreesanth might have been deliberate. He was subjected to such vitriolic feedback that he mentioned criticising the Indian team or any player has actually become life threatening! Now I think Atherton was being a pompous, hypocritical, whining idiot, but it would have been far classier to ignore these comments than go ballistic with cries of racism, accusations of dirt-in-pocket et al. This is only one of many occasions when the whole populace has gone up in arms at the slightest hint of disproval shown by a foreigner at the state of India or anything Indian. We have transitioned from an almost reverent deference to all things and individuals foreign to scathing red hot replies to any white person who has the audacity to question us. Talk about balance. Only when we grow impervious to criticism by developing thicker skins can we call ourselves mature, developed or other terms which are bandied about with gay abandon.

India, at this juncture, is noveau riche. By this I do not mean we have solved the mountain of problems facing us. But India is growing economically which, given the capitalist nature of society we live in, means that we have found a voice several decibels higher than it used to be . And as with any individual who has climbed to the next level of the social ladder, India and Indians are unsure of how to react to these changing times. Too loud and boisterous, and we run the danger of being labelled cocky, arrogant - unable to mix it with the 'big boys'. Too taciturn and controlled, we run the risk of being marginalised...again. The key therefore lies in picking our battles, choosing the right ones to fight, ignoring the other rubbish which comes our way. Unfortunately, economic growth is not an automatic precursor to emotional growth which again takes time and experience to develop. Does that mean we continue acting the same way and wait for things to take their natural course? This is rhetorical of course, because when experience is in short supply, self assurance has to lead the way. I don't mean the swagger of a bully behind whose aggressive visage reside more issues than can be resolved by $200 an hour psychiatrist, but the glowing confidence of a young man armed with education, knowledge and the infallible trust in his own ability to change the world. It may sound over-the-top and exaggerated but just to make a point, Indians can sell ice to the Eskimos, sand to the Bedouins and maps to an 18 year old American. In the face of such remarkable and almost frightening capabilities, why the fear?