I ramble...therefore I am

I don't know why but I feel the need to ramble again... I probably won't make much sense... I will probably contradict myself in every alternate sentence, but then thats the way it is! I ramble... therefore I am!

You know what the problem is? The problem is that life is not black and white… Life is rather like a spectrum composed of various hues and shades of grey… But that not how we look at questions that life throws at us… If you aren't with me, you must be against me!!! 

If you're secular, you're anti-Hindu… If you aren't left wing, you're capitalist, or even worse a pawn in the hands of corporates…..If you aren't pro-Anna, you're opposed to Lokpal… so on and so forth… This desire to create a neat division of our world into yeses and noes, into blacks and whites, into pros and antis is what is the root of so many problems.

And unfortunately that is what any democracy tries to do. It tries to arrive at a consensus or worse tries to bulldoze (influence is the better word no?) the minority opinion into submission. After all, governance would become impossible if there is no unity of thought or of action! And that is where the debate between democracy and anarchism lies... Why have an omnipotent, omniscient structure when God willed each man to his own! 

How would that world be? I would do what I really wanted to do and not do something just because someone would judge me by my actions. There would be chaos initially, but eventually the need for a super structure would disappear. No question of society or social mores or societal norms... Man will be how he was always supposed to be... fiercely independent and self reliant...

If only we could accept things and people the way they are and not try and make them what we would like them to be, the world would be a much better place to live in! 

After all, I am unique, just like everyone else :)

Rumblings from the tummy

Fat… Plump…. Stout… Overweight… Portly…Flabby… paunchy… Pot Bellied…Corpulent… Obese… 

I was simply meaning to type out all synonyms of the word 'fat'… and even as I was typing them, the realization that all of them apply to moi has dawned on me… Yes… I am fat… I am fatter than I ever was, but sadly not the fattest I shall ever be….And you know what I fear? I fear that I weigh more than a baby elephant!…

10 facts which made me realize that I am fat-

i. I can now balance an entire plate of food on my tummy and gobble it up. Seriously… It saves one the effort of having to reach out for food on the plate… Its right there… Right there on the tummy! (and thats where it will end up anyways!)

ii. My shirt struggles to contain my tummy.. I mean seriously, there are crease marks on the part of the shirt that covers the belly… that is where the fabric has stretched to accommodate the flab!

iii. In addition to the many variants of my name to which my brain is used to responding, it has, on its own, added Fatty… Yes I respond to fatty too.. Even my brain knows I am fat!

iv. Whenever I get off a car, its tyres bounce up a little, as though heaving a sigh of relief!

v. Any object thrown tummy wards tends to bounce off and if thrown properly tends to hit the thrower with force!

vi. The elastic area of the pajama/equivalent waist area of the trousers bends downwards to accommodate my tummy… My belts, too, are showing signs of fatigue against constant force exerted by the stomach!

vii. Plastic chairs make that strange creaking sound when I sit on them (much like the urrgggghhhh made by a dying man in pain)

viii. I need to refill the air in my cycle twice a week… It is pertinent to note that the entire extent of my commute per day does not exceed 2 Kms on any day!

ix. I find it difficult to breathe these days… The space reserved for my lungs is being encroached upon by a tummy which is expanding left , right and center to take whatever space it can take!

x. And I KNOW THAT I AM FAT when the Doctor asks me to step on the scales gently, lest the scales breathe their last in trying to ascertain my weight (which probably is anyway outside their range!)

And you know what… I guess I have gotten used to being Fat… Its like I could repeat the legendary lines uttered by Prof Henry Higgins in 'My Fair Lady'

"I've grown accustomed to her face! She almost makes the day begin! I….. Surely I could always be that way again... And yet... I've grown accustomed to her looks, accustomed to her voice, accustomed... to her... face."

 Only that I would need to replace the she and the her with the more prosaic 'it'! 

Confessions of a Sugar Freak!

There is something heavenly about Kaju ki Barfi… I mean no other mithai is as perfect in taste, as impeccable in texture and as delightful to look at as a solitary piece of Kaju ki Barfi… Its rhomboid shape, smooth angles jutting out at perfect ninety degrees, the sliver of silver coating that covers it on the top, its rough yet not so rough surface, the tens of finely ground cashews that give it its unique lip smacking taste and differentiate it from its downmarket stepsister, the ubiquitous and plain Barfi are just some of the specialities that make Kaju ki Barfi what it is- the uncrowned queen of Indian sweets!

I am sure that after reading the above lines, you'd take me for someone who has lost his mind… Well thats only partially true… I love Kaju ki barfi… I mean there is nothing else that can put a smile on my face quicker than one of those diamond shaped Kaju ki barfis… There is nothing that can elicit a burp from my stomach than one of those silver coated diamonds from heaven… Thats just the way it is…

I guess I really have lost my mind… There you go… I have said it… I have lost my mind!…All pre-Diwali I have been waiting for that 1 Kg bumper pack of Kaju ki Barfis… All for me… They would be "my precious"… I would eat them day and night…night and day… I would savor each and every Kaju ki barfi as it were the last Kaju ki barfi made on this planet… I would dream of them when I fall asleep… I would wish for a Kaju ki Barfi heaven… Trees laden with Kaju ki Barfi, rivers with Kaju ki Barfi bobbing up and down enticingly, Kaju ki barfi drops instead of raindrops... Thats is it... All I want is Me and the Kaju ki Barfi…

That 1 kg bumper pack of Kaju ki Barfi pack is here finally… I am literally drooling as I write this… With every word I type, I am thinking of the coarseness of the texture and the smooth way in which it dissolves in the mouth, leaving behind that lovely sweetness…. I must try to stay disciplined this time… 1 piece per day… I must watch my health… I must not try to appear as an uncouth Bhukkad!

But I can't… I want my Kaju ki Barfi… Heck, I want the whole box… MY PRECIOUS! :)

HAPPY DIWALI!

Incoherent ramblings!

I do miss the past... Like an old man reminiscing about the good times gone by... I brood over it.. laugh about it and talk about it... But do I want to go back into the past? Definitely not... One thing that I've understood is that past always has an exotic appeal to it... It is always the good old times... Things were always better than they would be and yet we keep running... chasing that elusive dream... Probably when you're 90, you'd realize that the dream was probably like the horizon, you keep getting the feeling that you're nearing it but the powers that be have different plans...

So why dream? Why run? Why pass life by in haste? Earlier it was studies.. 90% in Xth and your future is set... 90% in XIIth and thats all that matters... Then JEE...Then Engineering... Then Campus...Then CAT.. Then MBA...Then PPO... Then Final placements... All these things were supposed to make you the master of the world, weren't they? Now think about how many of the above you cleared... Has it made any difference? Would you have been happier if you could have said YES to all of the above? I am not sure... Ask the IIT-B grad who did his MBA from Harvard and has his dream job in hand how he feels? Does a couple of lakhs extra here and there matter to him? Or does he miss not being home at Diwali? Does he miss his old pals who he left behind?

I guess it isn't meant for a man to ever be happy or satisfied...You keep running from one milestone to the next... Conquering newer heights... Becoming more and more successful... and yet there will always be that one thing that you wanted and you could never have...

Anyways... Enough with the incoherent rambling... All I know is if it is destined to happen, it will happen and I will do all that is needed to make it happen!

You know you've been in Munger for far too long when

1. You speak Hindi with a flourish but somehow your sentences always end in a sing-along, e.g. Humne toh bola thaa naaaaaaaaaa"!!

2. Your blood pressure shoots up whenever any local/native starts talking to you in the trademark slow and sing along way, building a context to a story which leads nowhere... and you feel like either

     a. Gouging the eyes out of the person sitting in front of you

           or

     b. Tearing at your own hair

3. Your nose ceases to react to the odorous vapours emanating out of drains on main roads where every morning you are greeted by the sight of people either defecating or urinating!

4. You get used to  "Hurrr Hurrr" ing the cows and the goats assembled in the middle of the main thoroughfare to reach home!

5. You ask for Lemon Tea Chai when what you want is Lemon tea (thats what it is called here- Lemon tea chai!)

6. The main issues confronting you at the workplace are 

   a. How to absorb the cost of Dustbins without impacting the budget

   b. How to deal with people coming to the factory in Lungi/Dhoti

7. Your conversations with other people begin with the sentence "Do saal pehle yahan par...."

8. Your first reaction to any assignment given to you is "Ye kaise hoga" or worse still "Ye nahin ho sakta"!

9. You mourn others' transfer and celebrate the arrival of a new inmate to this loony bin!

10. And last but not the least, YOU DO KNOW THAT YOU'VE BEEN IN MONGHYR FOR FAR TOO LONG WHEN you can answer the question, "Sir, Hamara 'ethi' mein 'ethi' ho gaya tha. Hum 'ethi' karein?"

Bongolification!

Mamta Di has done this nation a great service by renaming West Bengal as PoschimBongo, at least I hope that is how she plans to spell it, because spelling it any other way would be a gross injustice to the English language and to those who are used to pronouncing things the way they are written. I mean why write 's' when you actually mean 'sh'. Why write 'a' when you actually mean 'o' and why write 'rh' when what you mean is 'd'. I will now proceed to elucidate with examples. But before that, let me describe the incident which has goaded me to write about Bongla (or is it Bonglo or Bangla) once again!

I had gone for some interviews (take interviews not appear for them that is) in Kolkata with a Bong and a Tam colleague of mine a few days ago. Having stayed in the Eastern part of the country for almost 2 years now, my ears have gotten tuned to the various words uttered by these easterners and I can say fairly confidently, that I have overcome the language barrier. But on that day, my confidence was proved to be sorely misplaced.

There was this Bong candidate who when asked how do you prevent rusting of Iron, replied that (let me put this as phonetically as possible) "Ham Irawn ko wrong korte hain". Now, this candidate was not the smartest/brightest candidate to have appeared that day, so my first assumption was that he meant that 'He discarded the rusted Iron piece".  Utterly surprised, I looked at my fellow (Bong) panelist, who showed no signs of confusion and proceeded to ask the next question. I immediately took out my mobile, and sought to type an sms to seek clarification from him as to how could he move on to the next question after such an absurd answer, when it struck me- The candidate meant that (this one is in phonetic Hindi) "Hum Iron ko rang karte hain!". I was barely able to control my giggles throughout the interview!.

This was not the only case... For many candidates "Where" was "Oohair", or even 'Bhair', "Rubber" was "Dabad", "World" was "Bharld", "Varnish" was "Ooarnis" and so on...

And everyone is aware of the legendary "The lion roared in the middle of the road" in Bengali, where it (phonetically) becomes "The liawn doad in the middle of the doad".

And thats not it, pronouncing Bangla names by reading them as they are written in English is next to impossible. You'll never know which 's' is to be read as 'sh' and which 'a/aa' to be pronounced as 'o'!!

Let me also clarify , lest I become the victim of a Bong murderer , peeved at me for writing this, that I have nothing against the language. Bengali is genuinely one of the softest and most melodious  languages but the way it is transliterated into English is just hillarious!

A Bossless Existence!

For so many of us, the epitome of a happy and satisfying work life is the absence of the evil, conniving, conspiring and malingering Boss on the work front. Remove the Boss, many would agree, and job satisfaction levels soar. Empirical studies have proven that the absence of a Boss improves employee productivity by as much as 83%. Bosslessness has also been credited with normal blood pressure levels, a general zest for life and a healthy work-life balance. Well, while so many of us dream of a Bossless work life, I, my dear friends, have been living a Bossless life for almost 3 months now… And empirical studies be damned, it is not half as much fun as I thought it would be. 

Lets examine the reasons why it is best to have a Boss, however lame, imbecile and incompetent he may be.

i. The kinds of tasks/jobs done by people at their workplace may be classified into 2 broad categories. 6% of the jobs/tasks are value-adding and intellect-strengthening, 94% of the tasks are Non-Value adding and mind numbing. With a Boss around, Jobs/Tasks get delegated to an Assistant, whose job/task breakup is 64% NVA and 36% VA, while for the Boss, the numbers are 98% NVA, 2% VA. While this inevitably means that the Assistant has to stay behind after normal hours, the chances that he feels mentally-stimulated are far far higher.

ii. Beyond the Boss exists the post of "Big Brother". The "Big Brother" is omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent. It is the Big Brother's job to get the Boss to deliver. Consequently, the Boss is always at the receiving end of the Big Brother. It inevitably spoils the Boss' mood and some of the feedback received from the "Big Brother" is definitely passed down the line but for 100 units of "feedback" received from the "Big Brother" , 75 units concerns the Boss and thus only 25 units worth of feedback can be blamed on the people down the line. With no Boss around, the number of units of feedback doesn't change, only that all of it now concerns people down the line.

iii. If you look at the time spent by the Boss on the phone, you'll see a pattern. 60% of the time is spent in talking to the "Big Brother", 15% in tackling complaints from other HoDs and 25% in complaints received from people down the line. Now look at the way an Assistant spends his time on the phone. 68% of his time is spent in chatting with his peers in other departments, 12% in answering to his Boss' calls and 20% in miscellaneous work-related matters. Now, remove the Boss and see what happens. A whopping 92% of his time is spent in answering calls from the 'Big Brother' or the other HoDs, 5% in miscellaneous work related matters and a pitiful 3% in chatting with his peers. Isn't it amply clear that job-dissatisfaction is bound to arise!!

iv. Now, carefully examine the nature of mails sent by the Boss and his Assistant. Of 100 mails sent by the Boss, 48 are to Seniors in Head Office, 22 are to subordinates, 10 are explanations to the 'Big Brother' and other 10 are miscellaneous mails on varied subjects such as 'Vision-2050', 'How to develop an effective team', 'How to inculcate leadership' etc. etc.. Now examine the nature of mails sent by the Assistant. Of 100 mails sent by him, 84 are directed to his peers on varied topics such as ' why did Mr. X fart in today's meeting', ' Why person Y continues to be on loggerheads with person W', 'why person Z continues to suck up to his Boss' etc. etc.- Basically indulging in what psychologists call "Social Loafing'. 10 mails are responses to mails sent by his Boss, and 6 mails are miscellaneous, inconsequential mails. The absence of a Boss has a profound impact on the nature of mails sent by the Assistant. Of 100 mails, 50 are responses to questions raised by the 'Big Brother', 30 are explanations to Head Office and almost 20 are 'visionary' mails!!

v. With the Boss around, an Assistant can genuinely expect to leave the Office by 7. After all he only has his Boss to answer to. Without the Boss, an Assistant cannot  safely leave his Office even by 9 30! There is no saying when the 'Big Brother' would summon!

Well, for those of you out there, with a Boss, whether functioning or defunct, whether too brainy or brainless, whether too Bossy or hopeless, I hope this post gives you enough and more reasons to go and thank him for being there, even if that is all that he does!

Random Musings!

What if you had no life of your own? Every movement, every thought, every action of yours was determined by someone else. Some one else, who decided what the rules were, what was good, what was bad, what was acceptable and what was not. Any deviation and you knew you'd pay dearly. Imagine that there was no concept of privacy. Everything that you thought, did, dreamt was known to the world. The slightest shift from expected behavior and you'd be condemned for life. Every morning, you'd get up knowing that every mundane detail of your day had been charted out for you and that there was no question of non-adherence. You do everything as directed, mechanically, monotonously as if there was no other way of doing what needed to be done.

Imagine now that you could trust noone. Everyone is suspect. Some, because they firmly believe the philosophy that "to be alone is to be in company of dangerous thoughts" and some because you know they possess dangerous thoughts that could get you into trouble. Imagine that there is an omnipresent, omnipotent and omniscient authority that governs your life. Nothing is hidden from it. It could be generous when it wanted to, it could be harsh when it wanted to and it could be murderous if your actions left it with no choice. You lived as long as you were on the right side of this power. One step on the other side and you knew that you would become unnecessary.

There'd be nothing left to decide. Your life would have been scripted for you. You'd be like the actor on the stage who rehearses his part a million times to get it right. There would be no scope for innovation or doing things differently. You do as told and instructed. You live in the constant fear that one day you'd make one wrong move and then you'd be of no use to them. They'd simply terminate your existence.

What would it be like to live like this?

A nation let down... Again!

Its a familiar sight to us now. Charred bodies, blood, screams, mangled vehicles, sirens, police vans, wailing- Terror strikes are something that we have grown accustomed to. There is no point criticizing what happened in Mumbai yesterday, no point in blaming the government, the Intelligence agencies or the Police. We must accept the fact that terror will continue to hit us hard every now and then, with ever increasing frequency and that we are expected to put forth a brave face and live the next day as if the past never happened. No matter if 100s of our countrymen died, if 1000s of our compatriots died, if the heart of this nation is held hostage. We must not crib, we must not complain. We must live, being fully aware that tomorrow could be our turn, after all it is only a matter of time that that carefully hidden bomb finds you instead of that high profile minister.

To offer words of comfort to Mumbai would be like asking Mumbai to shun reality and retreat into a make believe world where the government functions and intelligence works. For a change, lets not deceive ourselves and Mumbaikars anymore. There will be countless such strikes and the blood of thousands more would be spilt. Its an eventuality that we have to learn to live with. And why you ask? Thanks to our own selves that is why! We happen to have voted this imbecile, uncouth, incapable and ill functioning government into power. This government cares more about whether the terror is 'Green' or 'Saffron' rather than what could have been done in advance. It cares more about the fact that Osama was not given a proper burial than about the alarming security situation in the country. It cares more about making money through scams and bribes than making Mumbai a safer place to live in! 

Shri Manmohan Singh & Shrimati Sonia Gandhi better not offer any words of condolence this time around. They better not set foot in Mumbai. We have had enough of this charade. Every terror strike is supposed to be the last, till the next one comes around and finds us as ill-prepared as ever. Indo-Pak amity be damned! When will we be men enough and stand up to the threats that face us and our future? How long will we continue to be the Ostrich that hides its head in the sand? Does this pusillanimity behove the stature of this nation on the world stage? Is it befitting a nation that claims to be the next World Superpower?

Mr. Manmohan Singh, while we know that it is futile for us to expect anything out of you and the lame duck administration you lead, but this might be the only chance for you to prove yourself worthy of the glorious position you hold. For once, Can you not let the nation down?

Ageing gracefully!

Well last month happened to be my 26th week (In case you're reading this and forgot to wish me, Don't fret!… I am still accepting Birthday wishes! ;) ) For those of you, who've not yet crossed over to the other side of 25, let me tell you that it is no mean feat… On the other side of 25 lies a world of old aging adults with potbellies, 'bore-one-to-death conversations and a bucket full of worries … It is not a pretty picture indeed!

Research shows that around 80% of 26 year olds are already married/engaged (No worries, I will hold the Bachelor fort for another couple of years at the very least!). Of this, at least 43% are parents. This is a completely different world compared to 25 year olds where a majority are still single! In case you happen to be one of the few singles in this age group, you'd realize that your parents and relatives begin conversations with you with the sentence "Its time you settled down" or "There is this good girl that we've come across" or "We are old people now… If you make us wait any longer we'll not be able to help out in your wedding". (In my case, one of my cousins has already warned me that if she catches hold of me in any family function, she'd get me engaged on the spot…)

26-year old is also a different world as far as conversations are concerned. While the conversations among 25-year olds centre on girls, or cars/bikes or gizmos, us 26 year olds talk about health, pension, family, loans, diseases, gas, constipation and what not! Our conversations begin with the sentence "Do you remember in 1995…." or "Those were the days…" or "When I was young…." etc etc. We relish in talking about the plethora of diseases that haunt our bodies and the millions of ayurvedic or grandma's medicines that can turn us back to 25. We tend to laugh at the younger lot, while secretly wishing it was they who'd aged and not us!

Anyways, my Budday week happened to be a memorable one. I happened to be in Kolkata on 17th, which was the day when it seemed that the 2012 phenomenon had arrived a little before time. The entire city was deluged and there was knee deep water all around. I needed to collect some bills since I had to return to Monghyr the next day and hence waded in knee and ankle deep water from Loudon street to Camac street and back with non-stop rains. When it was time to catch a cab to go to the railway station, drivers flatly refused saying that Howrah was inundated. For 30 minutes, as the invisible Sun set before my eyes, with water all around and the rain Gods refusing to chill (!) I stood in knee deep water outside Loudon street frantically trying to hire a cab. Some cabs wouldn't stop, others would splash water on me and still others would move on with a sickening grin plastered on their faces. I was mentally prepared for another adventure in Kolkata when one cab driver stopped and agreed to take me to Howrah for a princely sum of 250 bucks. A journey I thought would take 2-2.5 hours was completed in 20 mins flat and I was left destitute at the station, whiling away time! Next day, once I was back in office, I could merely glance at my cake (it looked tempting) before it ended up on my face (as a tit for tat for having done the same to others).

Last Sunday was a memorable one too with an impromptu trip to Qamarganj (its actually Kamarganj, but the Q makes it sound much more Arabesque and exotic!). The ride across Ganga with water rocking the flimsy boat made the trip completely worth it. The other side of Ganga was more like a virgin beach. Qamarganj must definitely be on the tourist list for this place. In the evening, I purchased my latest vehicle-a Hero Hawk (its a bicycle!) to commute to office (My small contribution to the environment). And before I knew it, Budday week was over and I was firmly entrenched in the group of 26 year old oldies! :D

This wiseass couldn't have been more correct-
There is absolutely nothing to be said in favour of growing old. There ought to be legislation against it.
~ Patrick Moore ~

A nation scammed!

I think the existence and continuation of the current government is an affront to the collective intelligence of the civil society. Does it really believe itself when it seeks to explain that the countless allegations of scams and scandals levied against it are false? I mean, there is a limit to being self delusional. It is one thing to believe that the world is wrong and only you are right and a completely different thing to lie brazenly through the teeth.

Baba Ramdev may be a political saint. He may even be an RSS man. How does that belittle the cause that he is championing? For all I care, the Lashkar e Toiba can choose to protest about the corruption in this scandal-infested administration and I will have nothing but admiration for their cause. What became of the victory of the Civil Society which Anna Hazare had won a few days ago? Well, it was stamped and crushed beneath the boots of the Delhi Police and their handlers! We no longer deserve to call ourselves a democratic society. We are as bad as an Azerbaijan or an Ivory Coast.

UPA is crying itself hoarse, saying that Sushma Swaraj's little song and dance show at the Rajghat has robbed the monument of its dignity. What the UPA fails to realize is that their policies have resulted in them defecating on his Gandhiji''s memory and his ideals. How relevant is the question of singing and dancing on a patriotic number when millions of our countrymen are dying of starvation and disease. And why are they dying? Because we are a poor country with no money. And why do we have no money? Because the UPA gobbled up all that was available!

Mr. Manmohan Singh, a sincere request from someone who thought your presence would make a difference to an otherwise abhorrent and ideologically dead government- There is still time before you get branded as the lame duck Prime Minister for the rest of your life. There are at least 100 million Indians who are looking up to you, not because you are the leader of the defunct, decaying and putrefying UPA, but because you are the tallest leader in this nation. Please open your eyes, lest you become the Nero who played flute while Rome burnt!

A wee bit o'creativity

The Annual General Meeting in Peninsular Park, Munger will be held soon. A new set of people will be elected to run the various committees in existence in the Park.

Here are some pamphlets that I'd designed for canvassing for some candidates!

All this in good jest!!! Enjoy :)

The Winner takes it all...

Its been more than a week since they set out in the blazing sun... begging... literally begging for votes... They never walked together... They never approached the same person at the same time... They begged in front of those they liked, those they disliked and even those they couldn't stand... If indications were anything to go by, this election would be as closely fought as ever....

Some voters shooed them away outright... Others would pretend to listen to them before launching their own attack... Some would garland them... Others would garland anyone who approached them... Some would offer their vehement agreement with the cause but refuse to vote... Others would vote if special favours were meted out to them...

At the end of hectic campaigning, all that was left was the uncertain loyalty of a couple of voters, sunburnt skins and a hoarse voices... Some candidates distributed leaflets... Their leaflets would scream what they could not say with their hoarse voices... Others still stood by the mic... Noone could say what the election day would bring... but they persisted... With faith in God, their own good karma and fervent prayers that the right caste-creed combination would sway in their favour...

Polling began early in the day, but trends had begun pouring in much in advance... Someone would say person X was leading, the other would say that X had just slipped a notch...Trends flowed in as freely as does alcohol in college parties... The candidates were sitting quietly beside one another... Some talked to each other as if they were the best of friends... Others kept gazing at the booth... Some others still kept staring at the same page of the newspaper that they were holding in their hands... The sun was still oppressive yet the anxiety levels kept on increasing... Before anyone knew it, polling time was over.... A couple of candidates got up and met their 'loyal' supporters to gauge their own chance of winning... It seemed as if their loyal supporters had successfully convinced them that they had no chance in hell and these candidates disappeared into the crowds and before anyone could stop them, melted out of the main gate...

The others still stayed put... These were the brave ones... They were sure of their destiny... They knew that the voters would crown them... Dusk fell and soon it was dark...Now, only 2 candidates remained... Trends, as genuine as they could ever be, started flowing out of the counting station... Candidate X leads by 150 votes in Booth 1... Candidate Y leads by 20 votes in Booth 2... Booth 3 is a tie... Booth 4 will decide the winner....People start gathering outside... Before you know it, 150-200 people are gathered outside the Counting center... Some are carrying garlands... Others are carrying shoes... A bloodbath seems imminent....

At this moment, the Returning Officer emerges from the Counting Station... He has a paper in his hand... The paper that would seal the destiny of both the contenders... The crowd falls silent... Far away, you can hear the humming of machines.... The Officer clears his throat... "Candidate X beats Candaidate Y by Z votes"... Frenzy grips the crowd... Some start dancing... Others shout "Inquilab Zindabad!"..."Candidate X amar rahe"....Candidate Y tries to escape, but some supporters of Candidate X spot him... The entire crowd starts booing and hissing at the loser... Some try to assault him but the candidate is protected by some of his genuine supporters...Eventually, he is led out... Heartbroken and Disappointed..

Meanwhile, garlands of flowers adorn the winner... He clears his throat and once again reiterates his support for the voters' cause... The crowd chants his name as if it were a vedic hymn....The party continues till the break of dawn... The winner takes the center stage....The loser sentenced to the dustbin of history....

Dangerous Gases

A fart that escapes without the sound
Is the source of discomfort all around
While the one who unleashes the soundless fart
stays assured that he'll never be caught

While the fart that is accompanied by a sound
Leaves the originator liable to be found
Harmless, though, the 'Soundful' fart is
It can subject the originator to mirthful malice

The facial expressions that come alongside the fart
Prove that Farting is most definitely an art
While a smile may decorate the farter's lips
The vile smell may, in the recipient, induce violent fits!

There are places where farting can be deadly

In closed spaces, it can cripple people instantly

There have been cases of people fainting

Bodies giving up as the smell persists, lingering!

There have been plans to put a fart to better use
With canisters of fart, Ronald Reagan planned to bombard Soviet Rus
With numerous WMDs such as these at hand
For George Bush II, the Arab Saddam was already damned!

Wiser men too have said a lot
Of the unpleasant smell that makes even the soul rot
'So be not afraid of the invisible gas
For remember, that farts too shall pass!!!'

Aamar Sonar Bangla

While the whole world watches in rapt attention as the Arab spring unfolds and turns into a tsunami, sweeping aside dictators, pseudo-democrats and even Kings, a quiet revolution is blooming in India. After almost 3.5 decades of democratic Communist rule, the Left Front is all set to be unseated from power in West Bengal. With this, the curtains would be drawn on the longest serving democratic communist administration in the world!

Parallels with the Soviet State are easy to make. Jyoti Basu might have been the sculptor of one electoral victory after the other, but in the end, he turned out to be the Brezhnev for Bengal. An old aging administration, entrenched corruption, no accountability and rule by violence and fear. Faults that far outweigh land reform and Social engineering that eradicated centuries of discrimination and created a more equitable Bengal. Buddhadeb Bhattacharya tried his hands at being Bengal's Gorbachev. Young, reform-minded and open to criticism, Buddhadeb's first tenure brought the first whiff of fresh air in stagnating Bengal. Even the people gave him an opportunity to prove himself. He steered Bengal away from the claustrophobic Soviet model and tried to follow the Chinese example, but by then, it was too little too late. He came to office riding on the support of the masses and their aspirations, but was stifled time and again. Sometimes, his party let him down, At other times, the opposition, recuperating after decades of emasculation rose to challenge him. At the end, Mr. Bhattacharya turned out not unlike Mr. Gorbachev who hammered the last nail in the Coffin of Communist Rule in the Soviet Union.

It is unlikely that Didi will dramatically change Bengal. In my view, Didi has so far been driven solely by the dream to rid Bengal of the Communists. It is hard to imagine that she would be able to achieve anything spectacular in the absence of a vision for Bengal and in all probability, a fractured house with the Communists baying for her blood.

The dream of a Golden Bengal remains as elusive as ever!

A very 'Skitty' story indeed!

Since most of the residents get transferred after having spent nearly 5 years of their precious stay on this planet in Monghyr, the expectations of the 'departing' residents as concerns their own 'Club Nite' are usually quite high. This, combined with the general sentiment of pain and sadness among the unlucky rest who did not make it to the transfer list, implies that it is not always easy to put up a show that can meet everyone's expectations, especially since the bar is set so high!!....

Now the concept behind the Club Nite is very simple... Since you've been treated as a pauper for 4-5 years in Munger, at least let us make you feel like a King when you're leaving... So, there is a beautifully decked buggy awaiting the 'departing' Manager & his family... The residents have historically danced behind the buggy in its journey from the departing manager's house to the Park Club (although these days the dance does not happen... instead what happens is a mournful walk from the manager's place to the club, with people cribbing about the heat, the mosquitoes and the fact that this would be their 100th club nite!) A couple of group photographs in front of the Park Club and the Club Nite officially begins!

Or, at least that is what everyone thinks... Little do the unaware residents know that while they were gathering at the 'departing' Manager's place to haul him to the Club, a small coterie of brilliant and the best minds in the park congregates in the chotu room behind the dance floor and begins preparations for what would be another mind blowing Club Nite... They go through every single flaw and shortcoming of the departing Manager and weave it together in a seamless and beautiful Skit which would leave the departing Manager red-faced and the rest of the park in splits...

There have been some pretty awesome Skits in the last one year too, with one couple being compared to Ram-Sita with their very own Hanuman, to people's propensity to fart being disclosed and laughed at to what some people would like to keep a secret, i.e. the goings-on in their bed room!!! There have been hit Hindi songs (remember Karishma Kapoor's sexy, sexy, sexy no.) re-adapted to reflect the kind of jobs the 'departing' Manager did to film posters being morphed so as to enable the departing Manager to be next to his favourite actor!!!

To dull the impact of what would obviously be a very embarrassing night for the departing manager, 2-3 glasses of 'rumaali' (a potent mix of all alcoholic beverages available in the Park Club) are pushed down his throat. This way, the probability of the Manager remembering the events of the Club Nite the next day is significantly reduced...

So that's pretty much what happens in another of Munger's favorite pastimes... All in good fun!

It's a dog's world!

My dogg-o-phobia knows no bounds. Ever since I was a kid, the good old lords high above have presented me with instances which have reinforced my hatred (what I actually mean is fear) of dogs. This post recounts my top 3 'near death experiences' at the hands (or do I mean teeth) of the canine kinds.

Experience no. 1: The year is 1993, the month is October. I come back from school and head towards the creche (Working parents!). The creche waali aunty had a pomeranian named snoopy. Those were the days when my morbid fear of dogs had not surfaced, so I'd usually play with Snoopy. One fine day, I discover that Snoopy's heart is on its back, that is to say, that one can feel a dog's heartbeat through its back. Now, mind it, this is not a chhotu discovery for an eight year old. So for hours thereafter, I kept putting my hands on Snoopy's back to count its heart beat. I guess, I eventually ended up irritating Snoopy, 'Coz she bit me on my wrist!! All I knew back then was that if Dogs bite you, you need to get 14 injections in your tummy, else you die. I wasn't ready to get 14 injections (not that I was ready to die!) and hence never told my parents about the dog-biting instance. What I remember vividly though, is me counting my days to death!

Experience no. 2: The year is 1994. I'd stopped putting up at the creche post-school and would head directly homewards from the bust stop. In the open courtyard, in front of the apartment, a stray dog had given birth to puppies. Now, the only entrance to home happened to be through the open courtyard. And since, I'd trespassed on the dog's territory many times in the past few days, I never thought anything unusual would happen this time around. Well, except this time I was wrong! The moment that bitch (I mean it as an abuse, not as a reference to the dog's gender) saw me, she bared her fangs and started barking. Although hesitant, I ignored the ominous warnings and continued to tread on, only to be chased out of the compound by that Mother of the Devil! I ran and I ran and that bitch made me take two rounds of the apartment block before she headed off to take care of her young ones. And there I was, left in the middle of nowhere, waiting for the opportune moment to head back home!!! (I guess the dog left after an hour or so, which is when I finally could go home!)

Experience no. 3: The year is 2006. I am chilling out a friend's. This friend is in possession of a Doberman. A fierce and scary animal who'd remind one of the 'Grim' (of Harry Potter fame!), I'd insist on him being locked in/out depending on where I was (out/in). My friend, adhered to the regulation sincerely, till one fine day, my Dad calls up when I was at this friend's place (The dog obviously was loose outside). Not meaning to be rude, I took the call and walked outside..... only to be confronted by Lord Yama in his full glorious and ghastly form. The canine lunged at me without a warning.... I was left speechless and my heart stopped beating for about 10 seconds...It took me a couple of minutes to return to my senses...
It was the closest thing to death that I have ever experienced!... Never did I visit my friend's place again!

So that's pretty much why I am still scared of dogs... It still creeps me out to walk back to Peninsular park from the factory post dusk... The loud "Wooooooooo" of the Dogs reminds me of my Near Death experiences!!! What can I say.... I guess Emotional scars take forever to heal!!!

Munger Diaries V- An incident to remember

In the last post, I had talked extensively of the ritual of Holi in the Peninsular Park. In the same post I had also referred to an incident in which a resident had run away from his place to escape the marauding Holi ki Tolis and returned in the morning to find his place desecrated, almost literally. Well, this post talks about that incident in much more detail and why that is one incident I would never forget in my life!

Now there is this goody 2 shoes guy in the factory where I work. He is extremely decent, quite reserved, seemingly sincere and someone who is yet to be exposed the wicked minds that roam on the face this planet! The OOS-Holi night happened to be a party at one of the resident's place. So, the Holi-Toli's objective was very clear... They had to leave the party just before midnight so that the Holi rampage could be commenced with. Now, Mr. Goody two shoes was seemingly bursting with enthusiasm. He asked everyone in the party as to when the Holi festivities would commence... So you really can't blame anyone for thinking that this fellow was dying to play Holi...

Anyways, the Holi-Toli commenced with the rounds of the park with the specific objective of rendering people who were going to be OOS a wee-bit colourful. Everything seemed to be going according to the plan, when the Holi-Toli encountered a locked door when they reached Mr. goody two shoes' house. Now, obviously, people were surprised, 'coz just minutes ago he'd been asking everyone what time Holi would begin. Since, Mr. Goody-Two Shoes is new to the factory (new being a relative term), people assumed he was being shy and thus, following the prescribed Standard Operrating Procedure, broke into his house via a small window which was covered with a wooden cover. The Holi-Toli was shocked beyond belief to find that Mr. Goody Two Shoes was missing from his place, and thus, once again following the prescribed Standard Operating Procedure, smeared his walls with colour and finding nothing else substantial to wreck, dismantled his bed and moved it outside the house. Some over-enthusiastic members of the Holi-Toli smeared jam on the floor and the walls, and others devoured the fruit juice which Mr. Goody-two shoes had kept in the fridge.

The next morning, When our protagonist returned to his place, he was shocked beyond his wits. In his vew, this was an unacceptable act that deserved, possibly, a police complaint. In this case, he restricted his complaint to his superiors. The Holi-Toli, when they came to know that the poor fellow had felt hurt and pissed at the way things had turned out the night before, in all their goodness, released pamphlets in the park, requesting people to donate money so that Mr. Goody two shoes' place could be set right once again. But, our protagonist did not take kindly to this idea as well. It inflamed his anger and he swore never to set his foot in the park again. (Eventually he did, after much coaxing and cajoling, but that's the boring bit)

The biggest question in this entire episode is who all made up the Holi-Toli... Going by the looks of the Toli members, it seems plausible to state that Ghosts (remember Charles' Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol's' Ghosts of Christmas!) residing in the Park took it on themselves to celebrate Holi in the traditional way and ended up rubbing our protagonist the wrong way!

But abhi kya kar saktein hain? I am sure some of those ghosts would be meaning to say 'Bura naa mano Holi Hai!"

Holi 2011

Unlike other places, where people go crazy on just the Holi-day, residents of Peninsular Park go Holi-crazy for 3 days... So unlike other places, where you'd just have to scrub yourself clean once, here you've to scrub yourself to your original colour at least thrice. This post is an account of how I had one of the awesomest Holi(s) in 25 years!

The first Holi is called OOS Holi and is specifically for people who would be Out of Station (OOS) on Holi-day. The ritual involves forming gangs of Holi-crazy lunatics who take to the streets of the Park post midnight. Their modus operandi is quite simple. They bang on the doors of all who ar blissfully asleep at this unearthly hour until one of the occupants of the house grudgingly gets up, cursing loudly or wondering if the sky has fallen. Most veterans know that the best way to deal with the gang is to come out get soaked in coloured water and acquire a new skin colour. But some new comers do resist. They give reasons like they do not want to play Holi and hence cannot be forced to. That is where they are usually wrong. In Peninsular Park, You have to play Holi come what may. Those residents that fail to open their doors in time are punished severely. Their walls are disfigured with choicest of phrases ("Naughty Boy" for a 50-something old, "Zulmi Kaleem", for another etc. etc.), The Holi-crazy gang also tries to somehow gain an entry into the house. If it succeeds, there is no saying what would happen. There have been cases of beds being moved outside the house, to jam being smeared on walls to walls being re-painted to contents of the refrigerator being feted with Holi colours. The OOS-Holi comes to an end by 2-2:30 A.M and is usually followed by a flurry of  complaints to the Factory head the next day.

The day before Holi is the Holika-Dahan day. All in-station residents of the Park gather in the night for a round of bonfire and gulal smearing and yummy snacks. This time, the party was followed by rounds of Antakshari in which the team of the Gentlemen decisively beat the ladies, who'd run out of songs with the letter "ड़".

The next day is the D-Day. Marauding 'Tolis' of Holi-starved residents take to the street early morning, visiting all the houses and are treated to sumptuous snacks prepared by the residents. Herbal colours are a strict no-no. Any colour that can get washed off with water is poor-quality. Buckets of perma-color water are downed on unsuspecting victims. While the round of houses is still going on, a couple of hyper excited people  begin their gruesome vengeance on the clothes of the male residents. Before you know it, only rags of the erstwhile shirt remain on your body, with the majority of the shirt being tossed up on a tree. In this semi-naked state, the residents approach the pool to drown themselves in the revelry of Holi. Little do they know, that some resident standing on the corner of the pool is ready with the bottle of perma-color to pour a few drops on the head of the unsuspecting resident in the pool. So, while you thought you were colured in Blue, the colour oozing from your hair is Magenta! Complaining that the colour has gotten into your eyes is useless, if you still complain and try to run away, you'd be drenched in bottles of Beer, an activity fondly called "The beer bath!"

Another get together lunch at the club and some super sweets from the neighbours later, the Holi-day is over and you're left longing for the next big celebration!!!

Divided we fall!

It has been 60 years to independence and almost 5000 years to the time 'Indians' emerged as a civilization, yet some old habits refuse to die. Take for instance 'Cultural Nationalism', which is based on the notion that one culture is superior to another. Once the proponents of this notion get together, they invent all sorts of stories to substantiate their claims. Over a period of time, a 'victim mentality' develops which implies that the group of people subscribing to the culture are being victimized and biased against. Ghetto mentality kicks in. The entire world becomes the enemy. People take up arms and begin fighting for what they believe is a just cause. And before you know it, a Pakistan is born!

This is exactly what is happening in Belgaon today. A quaint and scenic Marathi dominated town in a Kannada state, Belgaon has been the bone of contention between Maharashtra and Karnataka since the re-organization of states along linguistic lines took place. Time and again, Maharashtra has staked its claim on Belgaon by the virtue of its Marathi majority population and time and again Karnataka has claimed Belgaon as its own, claiming cultural and historical contiguity.

In the recent Vishwa Kannada Sammelan held in Belgaon, one speaker railed against the Marathis. He described the language as an offshoot of Kannada, he described the state as a province of Karnataka, he ascribed the valor of Shivaji to the fact that a Kannada Queen had saved his life and in general he sought to describe the community as unworthy of greatness that it claims for itself.

Tomorrow, these comments would be splashed across Marathi newspapers. The likes of Shiv Sena and MNS would take to the streets. They would issue calls for Kannadigas to be thrown out. If M/s Thackreys are in good health, they would ask for volunteers to march on to Belgaon and save the Marathis from the tyranny of the Kannadas. A few hundred people would be killed, property worth a couple of lakhs would be destroyed and MNS/Shiv Sena would gain a couple of seats in the assembly. Mr. Yedyurappa on the other side of the border would ask for Kannada pride to be re-invigorated and the BJP would in all probability return to power in Karnataka.

So, what is the issue at hand? Is it merely political? I believe that unless people realize that they need to transcend the artificial borders of language, state and religion, these problems would keep cropping up. Marathi may be an offshoot of Kannada. Kannada would have been influenced by Sanskrit. But then isn't that true for most languages? Isn't it obvious that of the lakhs of words that make up the Marathi language, a few thousands would have their origins in Kannada, juts as a few thousand words in Kannada would have been
derived from Tamil? Isn't it a matter of pride for both the Kannadas and the Marathis that a Kannada queen saved the life of Shivaji who ended up being an 'Indian' hero by ridding the subcontinent of the Mughals?

The borders that divide the nation into states are mere administrative formalities. India continues to be a melting pot just as it has been throughout its history. We've welcomed everyone from the Greeks to the Persians to the Arabs to the Turks to the Europeans with a smile and arms wide open. Let us not bicker over non-issues and create rifts that would seal the fate of this great civilization.


Forget not what Iqbal had to say on the greatness of this civilization

'यूनान-ओ-मिस्र-ओ-रोमा सब मिट गए जहाँ से
अब तक मगर है बाक़ी नाम-ओ-निशान हमारा '

It is time to down a Kolhapuri mirch with Mysore Pak!

Jai Hind!

Letting Go!

The political upheavals from Tunisia to Yemen, from Oman to Morocco and Bahrain to Libya have proved only one thing. As tenacious as their hold may be, one day, a dictator has to call it quits. One way to leave is to be tossed into the trash bin of history and to be stomped and spat upon by one's own kith and kin. The other, more difficult but infinitely more righteous way is to realize when the game is up and call it quits. Do you think anyone would now care how great Hosni Mubarak was, or how prosperous President Ben Ali made Tunisia? All that history books would call them is by the word 'Dictator' which is as good as the worst abuse that can be heaped on a person in a democratic set up.

25 years ago, one man realized that his time was up. He realized that the system he was standing up for, the values that it represented were not what the masses wanted. He felt their needs as his own and became a crusader against the ills in the system which had propped him up as the leader. Mikhail Gorbachev infused what he though was the breath of life in a system which was old, rotten and decaying. His policy of glasnost had even the most die-hard reformers wondering at what game was Kremlin playing. But Gorbachev chose to be sincere. He chose to support the right. He foresaw the inevitability of change and most importantly he realized that if people wanted change the system could not stifle it! The implosion of the Soviet Union could have been bloody, it could have been messy, it could have caused wars, hardship and misery for millions, yet, at the end, it was a mere administrative change. On the night of 25th December 1991, the Soviet flag came down and the Russian one was hoisted in its place atop the Kremlin.

Col. Gaddafi can choose to take a leaf out of China's book. He can choose to do a Tiananman on the Libyans. He can choose to unleash the power of his state on the millions of protesters in Tripoli, Benghazi and hundreds of towns and cities in Libya. He might even succeed in silencing some protesters. But a dictator should realize that once a steady boat is rocked, chances are that it would be rocked again and again! Libya may continue to be Gaddafi's Libya for another 15 days, even 15 months, but eventually, he will have to pave the way for change. It would be Gaddafi's choice whether to be the architect of that change or to be one dead body trampled beneath the change that would sweep old Libya away!

To all dictators, wherever they be, forget not what Comrade Trotsky, who helped set up the World's largest dictatorship…

'You are pitiful, isolated individuals! You are bankrupts. Your role is played out. Go where you belong from now on—into the dustbin of history!'

People Power

People power is back. And it is rocking the steady boat of one of the most time tested regimes of our times. By the look of it, Mr. Hosni Mubarak's day of judgment has dawned and the masses are baying for his blood. Almost 30 years ago, similar scenes were witnessed in another part of the Islamic world. Agitating Iranians, young and old, forced the Shah to flee and put a full stop to 2500 uninterrupted years of Persian Monarchy, installing in its place, a rabidly religious regime that has contributed in its own way in making the world a difficult place to live.

So, will Egypt go the Iran way? It looks unlikely for now. But if you begin to draw comparisons between Iran in 1979 and Egypt in 2011, resemblance is uncanny. Replace El Baradei, the liberal, internationally acclaimed IAEA chairman who has become the unofficial (but not universal) representative of the Egyptian protestors with Mehdi Bazargan, the last liberal Prime Minister of Iran, before he was elbowed out by the Ayatollah. Replace the turbaned shiite clerics of Iran led by Ayatollah Khomeini with the Muslim Brotherhood, which has emerged as the only organized body capable of controlling and directing the protesters.

Iran was a thoroughly westernized modern dictatorship, not unlike Egypt today, with a dark underbelly. While hundreds of Iranians lived their lives as modern western individuals, millions continued to cling to the Islamic principles which defined them. Hundreds in Iran, close to the Shah benefitted from his reforms and programs while millions continued to grumble and abuse the Shah. In Egypt, too, a tiny clique close to the Mubaraks continues to use and abuse powers, while millions of unemployed and frustrated youth continue to pelt stones and chant 'Death to Mubarak' slogans.

The loss of Iran to the Mullahs was a big setback to the West. I don't think the West has, till date, been able to recover from that shock. The loss of Egypt to the Muslim Brotherhood will complete the defeat of Western ideals and principles in the Near East. The strategic nature of Egypt can be understood by the fact that Egypt is the only country in the Arab World to have official diplomatic relations with Israel and the only country with which Israel has a treaty of any sort. The Camp David Accords in 1978 were the first step to establishing long lasting peace in the region, the loss of Egypt to the Muslim Brotherhood will be the first nail in the coffin of Israel and the West.

Tunisia threw out Zine el Abedine. Yemen is on its way to banish Mr. Saleh. And even as I write, it seems that ordinary Egyptians have finally won. Mubarak, it seems has quit the presidency and handed over power to the army. The US, it seems has learnt from the past. It chose to support democracy over its own narrow interests. It remains to be seen, if this would reap handsome dividends.

People Power has won once again. Whether Egypt would go the Iran way is still a wait and watch game.

Reminiscing again!

Like an old man with greying hair (both true in my case), I return to reminiscing about the times gone by. This one is the Foodie's guide to 2 years spent in Pune!

Here we go-

1. Aundh. Pizza Hut. Paneer el Rancho & Masala lemonade.

2. Aundh. Idlicious. Awesome South Indian food at affordable rates. Speciality-Gun Powder

3. Hinjewadi. Oos ka Joos (Sugarcane Juice). Served fresh and extremely refreshing!

4. MG Road. Food Walk (or was it plaza!). Finger licking food prepared by Puneri Aunties who'd set up food stalls.

5. I2IT. Paneer Paranthas. The best Paneer Paranthas in town. Served hot in your hostel room!

6. MG Road. Dorabjee's. For the most eclectic collection of Churans/Golis/Phataphat/Candies

7. DP Road. Brugge-La chocolaterie. For the perfect collection of chocolates. Served in extremely fancy wrapping.

8. Hinjewadi. Sweety ke pas wala chatwala. For the rotten chat that I ate daily (and asked for more)

9. FC Road. Chaitanya. The best collection of piranhas in town (except Paneer Parantha (refer above)). Also recommended- Lassi

10. FC Road. Rupali/Vaishali/Rudali/Krupali/whatever. Good simple, yet expensive food.

A sense of nationality

When the first Jews started pouring into the Arab Palestinian state in the late 19th and the early 20th centuries, they would have felt a sense of self accomplishment. After all, they were returning to the land of their forefathers several centuries after they were so brutally expelled. They would have felt a sense of exhilaration as they were fulfilling messianic prophecies that mandated the return of the Jews to the land which God had given to them. And most of all, they would have felt a sense of relief to have escaped the clutches of death and anti-Semitism which had brought their lives in Europe to a physical and psychological ruin. 

If they expected to find peace and tranquility in Palestine, they were sorely disappointed. The old gentile fiend was replaced by the Arab. The tiny Jewish minority had to put up with hostility with their more numerous Arab neighbors who, though belatedly, realized the territorial ambitions of the Jews. Zionism as a political concept became clearer, it merged the religious prophecies with the modern secular national outlook and created a deadly political force which appealed to Jews both young and old, fleeing Europe following the Holocaust. By 1948, with the British colonial power on the way out, the Jews and the Arabs found themselves on opposite sides and both sides realized that it was a battle for survival. For the Jews, the loss against the foe would forever extinguish their dreams of having a homeland of their own. For the Arabs, there would be forced displacement and a certain and damning loss of prestige.

As history would have it, the better equipped and disciplined Jews got the better of the Arabs, not once, but at least thrice, thereby securing the state of Israel as proclaimed by David Ben Gurion in 1948. The state of Israel lives on till this day and dispels old stereotypes that were applied to the Jews. The 'Wandering Jew' became the 'settled Jew' with his own homeland. The 'Jewish guilt' was replaced by the 'Jewish pride', his 'pusillanimity' replaced by a frighteningly strong sense of 'bravado' , but the stereotype of the 'scheming Jew' remains. Many amongst us allege that the Jews have conspired with the US and the guilt ridden European nations to deny the just demands of the Arabs.

Many Israeli citizens born in Israel, unlike their parents and grand parents are horrified to see what has become of their state. The long for peace and harmony which has eluded them so far. They long for acknowledgment and respect from their neighbors, but are met with barrels of guns and grenades. They want peaceful co-existence but are surrounded by a hostile opinion that treats them as the last Western Colonial Outpost in Asia. 

The Arabs would have mixed opinions on the Jews, but all Arabs despise Israel. Liberal democracies from India to Indonesia express their shock at the way the Israeli forces treat their enemies, although this has become rarer with the growth of the Israeli clout in international affairs. The phrase 'Hindu-Jewish nexus' is a testimony to the fears of the predominantly muslim Arabs, who draw comparisons between the treatment of Palestinians in Israel and Kashmiris in India.

The question that was raised by intellectuals in late 19th century still remains- Who is a Jew? Though it has been severely complicated  by the question- Who is an Israeli?. 

Given that Israel is the embodiment of 'Jewdom' today, What should be the status of the millions of Palestinians who were driven off their lands by militant Zionists? What of those Arabs who are  Israeli citizens but feel no sympathy to that state. And what of the substantial Jewish minorities in Iran and other Middle Eastern states.

What would be their sense of nationality?