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.