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!'