The Collector Of Broken Things

I remember my days as a child - a time of brightly coloured walls - through fading memories in sepia.

I'm a collector. It's not a hobby as much as a neurotic disorder. Throughout life, I've been a victim of overflowing cupboards and jam-packed drawers, simply because I cannot throw stuff away. I think it's because I cannot completely dissociate an object from the memory it is linked to. If I throw something away, it feels like I'm throwing away an event of my past; like I'm allowing it to be forgotten. And that is very depressing indeed.

Today I was rummaging through my almirah grimly, preparing to, in the worst case, empty it out, having submitted to the latest ultimatum that mom issued. A bittersweet search ensued, as I tried salvaging memories which were so desperately trying to run away from me forever.

I performed my usual trick of shifting stuff from one drawer to the next, from one unreachable crevice of the shelf to another spot where it would stay hidden for a few more months. The reasoning behind my absurd actions is something which eludes me - as the need to look at these objects and reminisce about the past never arises, unless I'm told to throw them away.

But every time I look at lucky pencils from historical examinations, torn-up tickets and broken relics of first-dates, certificates which will never be useful to me anymore, drawings and sketches from kindergarten, nearly-unidentifiable faded photographs, and birthday presents from the last decade, I am filled with a sadness - a sadness which tells me that these times will never come again; that these useless objects are the only things which preserve these spectacular memories.

And when I look at the wall, just behind the fridge, I notice the spot where I once used to stand-up upright as my brother measured my height with his Nataraj HB pencil. This was done ceremoniously week-after-week until I finally stopped growing, or perhaps until that one-week when we forgot. And then, I remember that corner of the wall where he squirted pomegranate juice, because the fruit amused him.

Even the thought of leaving this home alarms me, for it is not just a home, but a cauldron of memories.

Because without these objects, I will only be left with brightly coloured memories of fading walls in sepia.

The Fate Driver

My black-and-yellow Indica was parked in its usual spot under the green canopy of the trees lining the black tar road. The time was Dusk, a time when the colours of the world are rendered black, white and steely grey. It was that time of the day when your eyes, weary after another long day in the sun, delight in whatever little colour there is on offer. And that is why I remember her so vividly.

It wasn't her dress which caught my eye, for it was as black as the night which was about to fall. No: although it was very beautiful and made her look perfectly graceful, almost poignantly beautiful, it wasn't the detail which captured me. I remember her because of her skin - the most beautiful bronze in a black-and-white world. Alongside her walked a young man, modestly built, who I have driven around town a few times in my car. I'd seen them together several times in the past, as they walked up and down the same lanes with such brightness in their eyes that you'd think they discovered new places every single time. Sometimes there would be carefree laughter, possibly spurred on by nothing but the beauty of the evening itself, and at other times, there would be a quiet understanding. But this evening, they seemed different.

As he held the door open for her, she slid into the car wordlessly without the usual smile she would afford him as her body brushed against his outstretched arm. As he took his place beside her inside the car, I noticed that an immense chasm separated them, a space so wide that my car seemed to have split lengthwise into two distinct pieces! It is one of the abilities I have developed in my years as a cabbie: to judge people and the spaces between them by just looking at them in the rear-view mirror. Nothing tells a story as clearly as a rear-view mirror.

They didn't say anything as there was a deafening lull inside the car, in stark contrast to the chaos that pervaded the streets outside. I didn't ask them where they wanted me to go; I understood that they only wanted me to drive. But as soon as I put the car into motion, I felt the man's hand touch my shoulder softly. He told me where they wanted to go and I nodded quietly. I then saw him turn towards the girl, as if to say something, but then he didn't speak. He sank back into his seat and stared out at the garish windows and billboards which sped past.

The pain in his eyes was clear, and when I looked at the lady seated in the other corner of my car, I saw her small, pretty lips curve in an expression I can only term as feigned-indifference. She wanted to care less about everything around her, but quite apparently, she couldn't. I switched to the highest gear and stepped on the gas pedal until the speedometer showed one-hundred. An oncoming car, whose driver seemed visibly drunk, swerved out of my way although there would never have been a collision even if he had maintained his initial course. I know this much about driving! But the near-accident and the speed at which cars were bursting past the windows suddenly brought my passengers to life. People seldom want to start living until they are reminded about the end of their lives. I accelerated further.

I admit unashamedly today that I adjusted my mirror in order to let me follow the happenings in the back-seat, for I didn't not watch them for the voyeuristic pleasure that one often derives from the lives of others. I watched them with genuine concern; I almost felt like a protector that night! I felt like I mustn't let the two wonderful passengers endure even a single evening of melancholy.

In my mirror, I could see them steal uncomfortable glances askance at each other, but only when they were sure that the other person wasn't looking. The gentleman, who sat behind me, was clinging onto the window with his hand, as if he was unsure about what he'd do if he let it go. The girl still sat, cold and rigid, as beautiful women so often do when they are upset. I looked ahead and realized that the destination was approaching fast. I would soon be powerless to affect their lives, which were suddenly two separate worlds separated by an ocean. So, I decided to close the gap.

I banked so hard to the left that the car skidded a few feet in the process, to the horror of a few passers-by. The man who was seated behind me, already close to the door, remained in his place even as the lady was thrown towards him by inertia. There was momentary horror in their eyes for they believed that the car was careening out of control, and the girl stretched her delicate arms to brace her fall. And then came the moment for which I had attempted the reckless stunt, endangering the lives of people around me: without even turning, he caught her instinctively, almost as if it was the most natural thing he had ever done. As their fingers  intertwined, I turned my rear-view up, in order to see the road again. 'Whatever happens now is their own business,' I thought. 'My work here is done.'

As I dropped them off at her house, I was glad to see both of them leave the confines of my car. This time she smiled as he held the door open for her. I lit a cigarette and watched the two of them fade away slowly in the distance. I gloated in the new nickname I had coined for myself - The Destiny Driver.

No, that just didn't sound right! According to me, there is nothing called Destiny - nothing in the world can control where you will be. Your final position is a result of the choices you make, nothing else. However, the choices and opportunities which you are provided with are so often not in your control - like the cab-driver that night in the lives of the two young passengers. He was Fate. Even after he banked the car, they had a choice in front of them. Only decisions transform these opportunities into things which are more meaningful.

'No,' I said to myself. 'I am The Fate Driver.'

The Difference Between Life and Tetris

There is none.

We all theorize. Every time you stare into the ocean, or at the moon, or at the caramel sands in the blazing desert, you begin pondering about life, its meaning and therefore about its futility. The greatness of the view makes you feel like a rather insignificant speck in the grand scheme of things, and thus initiates such a thought-process which, quite obviously, has no meaningful end. But we dutifully go through this painful realization every time we sit alone in front of nature's magnificent might. And every time, we have a new theory about life.

My theory begins with Tetris. It all began three days ago when I was playing the wonderful game, resplendent in black and white. That was when it first struck me how similar it was to life itself! Blocks of different shapes and sizes were raining upon me with the spontaneity of the immense drops in a thunderstorm. They fell with such randomness that they were entirely indistinguishable from the stochastic events - opportunities and worries - that Life throws at us. You can't obviate or avoid them; you can only arrange them, try to absorb them.

As the 'Z's, the 'L's and the 'I's fell upon me, I could but divert them towards the different corners of the little screen I looked at, with the hope of achieving something spectacular - an order in a chaotic universe, which would be so beautiful that I couldn't ever take my eyes off it.

The 'Z's snuggled cozily with the 'L's, even as the spectacular 'Is's occupied those elusive voids which have always been left incomplete. And then I saw the beautiful pattern being completed. There were no voids. No spaces. No white places which required reason. The completed pattern imprinted itself in my mind in a way, I knew, I could never be freed of the haunting memory. The thought of the pattern gives me goosebumps even now - when I'm almost entirely sure that I will never again be able to replicate such splendor. Magnificent in its magic, Life is. Much like Tetris.

And then, I witnessed the greatest climax ever possible when the pattern satiated itself and collapsed. It disappeared! And it left no trace. The experience was complete, and now it was absent. It was but a memory, and therefore it was perfect. Experiences, after all, are only as perfect as the memories they are capable of creating. And it was apparent to me that day. There are no goals in life. There are never any! There are only roads which we imagine are ways to a destination. But ever so often, these roads are so romantic themselves, that you must forget the destination! Just like Tetris.

Rules of Tetris: When you make a perfect line, it disappears and all the blocks shift accordingly, leaving only a void on your screen. If you let the blocks reach the top of the Tetris board, you lose. You cannot win a Tetris game, though you can attempt to get the high score.

The point of Life isn't to reach the top, is it? The objective is to make patterns more beautiful than you can imagine, until they complete themselves and remain only as memories - memories that you want to relive. But sometimes, they come back! And we all wish that, one day, we will have the opportunity to recreate those spectacular designs.

It's the same thing with Tetris. You can't win Tetris; you only get to make a high-score. A score so high no one else can match!

Ugly, Black People

"Today's lesson is on self-respect," said Captain Mehta, as he walked into the class with a smile. "Apne aap ko kisi se kam nahin sochna (don't think that you are inferior to anybody)", he told the class and I believed that this lecture would be far more interesting than the previous one we had on 'Communication Skills'.

"No matter who you are and immaterial of what job you do, you must always believe in yourself. Whenever you feel down and low, just say these words to yourself - 'I am also great.' " Makes sense, I thought. He was speaking about the same things which are talked about in spiritual texts, self-help books and personality development courses.

Then, directing his gaze at the frail lad sitting in the first row, he asked him to stand up. He subsequently asked the guy next to him, Rohan, to stand up as well. Rohan stood at about six feet and with dark, curly hair, he had a wheatish complexion. Captain Mehta then asked the frail Marathi lad on the left, "Kunal, tu yeh bata (tell me)... who among you both has a greater personality?" (as if it a quantity you can measure using the sabzi-wala's beam-balance)

Kunal looked at Cpt. Mehta with his bright, dark eyes and he laughed. "Mera hi better hai, sir!" (I have a better personality)

Clearly, Kunal had understood the lesson in Self-respect and I was about to clap as I thought the experiment  was complete. But Cpt. Mehta spoke once more: "Kya hai yeh, Kunal! How can you say you have a better personality... Look at yourself - you're small and black. And look at him - he's well built, muscular, has great complexion and he looks so confident."

Kunal nodded. There was nothing much else he could do. Then Captain Mehta said, "But tumhe aisa sochna hi nahin hai (you mustn't think like this)... So what if you are dark? You must think that you are equal to others... And THAT, Gentlemen, is Self-Respect." He said that last line with great pride.

So that's the lesson we're teaching people these days, eh? It's OKAY if you're dark. It's not your mistake if you're black. Or, as another gentleman phrased it a few days ago, "Bhagwaan ne banaya hum sab ko (God made us all) And sometimes, he wants to put us in our place... Not always can he give us all that we want." And then I thought about what I read on Quora a few days ago, "We're definitely not a racist country. Look at all the values we are brought up with." Values, indeed.

While I thought that this lesson on 'self-respect' was the worst one I had ever been taught, what made my blood boil was the subsequent lecture we had. "Hi, my name is S.K. Sra," said the man who hobbled into class. I forget what the content of his lecture was about because I couldn't get over this one 'example' he talked about:

"When I was in Barnala, Punjab, in my youth, I used to be a teacher in a school... and I got to interact with many little children. But there is this one incident I remember about this little girl," he said. "She was the daughter of a Commanding Officer and he was my friend. She was from Tamil Nadu, and like a lot of people from the south, she was very dark... And to make matters worse, she was surrounded by beautiful girls from Punjab. I observed her for a while and she looked very sad... I knew at once what was the problem..."

I knew where he was heading but I controlled myself. He continued - "I told her that it doesn't matter if she was black... All she had to do was be smart. Be intelligent. And she could have friends... So what if you are dark? You can overcome your difficulties by being smart. Everyone loves smart people and besides, we don't discriminate on the basis of skin colour!"

"You fucking idiot, if this is not discrimination, then what is it? People don't want your pity for being dark - they are as pretty as you are; prettier actually, as their stomachs aren't falling out of their pants like yours." I don't know if people understand this - but if PITY is the emotion you feel for people darker than you, then you are a racist.

Sometimes, I wish I'd been born as dark as coal, just so that I could have heard someone try to be condescending to my face... And then I'd have carved his guts out using a kitchen knife. I'm sure the courts would see the violence as provoked. And it'd be totally worth the Prison time.

All these incidents has one looking at other aspects of this ugly society: cosmetic products which promise to make you white, our abysmal attitude towards African tourists, the fact that most of our 'backward castes' are dark-skinned... The list goes on.

Ultimately, one looks at the ruling class and is left bewildered: there aren't many dark-skinned politicians in a country where a massive portion of the people are dark, and I'm not talking just of South India. Many people from states like Uttar Pradesh, Bihar and West Bengal are as dark as people from the South. So, why no dark leaders? (except for Mayawati and a couple of others) Are we really a forward-thinking people? Or do we still think it's below our dignity to be ruled by a man or woman who is darker than us?

On that note, I wonder how many votes Mayawati got from the fairer upper classes of Uttar Pradesh when she won...

Apart from politics, what provides a snapshot of India's zeitgeist better than the media does! I turned to the Television Channels and Bollywood, with only one question in my mind - 'Are we really that racist?' I'll let you answer that question yourself but first I'd like you to name five Bollywood heroes who are darker than the average Indian. Wait, forget that: Name two Bollywood heroes who are as dark as the average Indian. There's no point talking about heroines here as the darkest lady is probably Bipasha Basu, and she covers herself with enough paint so that she can fool the audience.

As a country, we are proud of calling ourselves secular and we boast about our religious tolerance. We say that we are empowering women and alleviating gender inequality. We talk about taking steps to remove caste-ism in the society. But what about racism? We are racists even before we know what caste someone belongs to. Why don't we acknowledge that?

If we weren't: We'd have had a few black news-readers by now. We'd have had a black prime minister. And what the hell, we would have a black Bollywood heroine.

The IIT Phenomenon

The entire hullabaloo about the Joint Entrance Examination (JEE) has dimmed down at long last as the Indian Institutes of Technology have finally reached a consensus with the genius revolutionary that is Kapil Sibal [sarcasm sign]. While I'm quite glad that insane suggestions of doing away with the JEE altogether have been put to rest, I disagree with the way many of the 'intellectual elite' of the country argued their case.

I heard many rise up in fury, saying that the Joint Entrance Exam is the only possible way to gauge intelligence and problem solving skills, and that all other exams are doing little more than burdening the students with extra workload. They said, and I quote, 'I know people from remote villages of Bihar and Andhra Pradesh who did abysmally in their respective school board exams despite acing the JEE and making it into the IITs.' This, they said, is proof that our board exams misrepresent how intelligent people really are.

This is not really an argument; if it is, it's rather feeble - laughable, even. I can retort by saying that I know a whole lot of people who did perfectly well in both the tests and that all these cases cannot simply be dismissed as mere coincidences. Or it could be argued that a fair portion of intelligent junta do extremely well in a lot of other challenging tests but fail to crack the JEE simply because they aren't good enough on the day. Surely, there is an element of luck involved - in some cases, more than in others.

Many people who consider themselves part of the Indian intelligentsia have a ready response to this though: 'There is no luck involved,' they say. 'The board exams are looking for all the wrong qualities in a prospective engineer. There is a lot of rote involved and innovative problem solving is not something they test.' This statement if true, at least in part, but what takes away a lot of its credibility is what happens to students once they are inside the IITs. Aren't Cumulative Grade Point Averages largely dependent on how much a student learns by rote? I know a handful of absolutely brilliant students who'd derive formulae during exams and solve them only to hear from peers after the test that the professor had given them the formula in class the previous day. So, if learning formulae by rote is all that's required to make it out of an IIT with decent grades, shouldn't board exams be sufficient for getting into them in the first place?

But I suppose that with limited seats being available, it is in the interest of the institutes and in the interest of the country in general, if people who pass what is acknowledged to be a difficult test take up the aforementioned seats. What this does not say however is that people who don't make it through these tests are imbeciles who cannot discover water in an ocean. People have told me that the JEE is a greatest thing because it removes all inequalities. They say that in a nation with such economic and academic disparity, it is impossible to compare a person studying in poor schooling conditions in Jharkhand with a person who enjoys the best schooling facilities available in New Delhi, if not for the JEE. While the first part of the statement is entirely true, 'inequality' is an issue which the JEE tackles very poorly, if at all.

It is still impossible to compare students studying in IITian manufacturing centres in Kota and Andhra Pradesh with students without these facilities in certain other parts of the country. Besides, there can be no monitor for 'innate intelligence'; no matter what we do, we will remain victims of circumstance. What the JEE does tackle, however, is another issue altogether. The various boards across the country - the state boards, the CBSE, the ICSE etc - have such different standards that an even comparison cannot be made using tests conducted by these bodies. This is fairly true even if a percentile based system is used across all these boards. So a common test which everyone strives to ace is a justifiable solution.

So, while the JEE is seen as the ultimate prize for people outside the system, especially people still waiting for their chance to have a go at 'glory', IITians see it as something entirely different. It is a life-giver - a source of immense confidence and something which tells us that we are capable of doing anything. Sometimes, even in the most impossible situations, I tell myself - 'This can't be hard. This can't be harder than the JEE anyway.' What the JEE in effect does is bring together a group of fairly talented, immensely confident people. And frankly, this is what makes IITs so very special.

What is disturbing, however, is to see this confidence turn into vanity and vainglory. While it can be argued that it's one of the toughest engineering exams in the world, it isn't very smart to say that people from the IITs will be the best options for any available job profile. No, it isn't possible to argue that by putting in a few hours into 'Accountancy', an IITian could so easily become a Chartered Accountant, whereas a CA couldn't hope to get into an IIT no matter how much 'Integral Calculus' he/she studies.

I wonder if I'd be wrong in saying that a majority of the people still fresh out of one of the seven, enter the world thinking that they are worth more than someone from another institution. And I think it is deplorable that two people doing the exact same job should be paid on different scales just because one person is from an IIT. The fact that this happens only stands testimony to the point I'm trying to make.

There is still another attitude almost as disturbing as vanity, but worse for growth - Complacency. Today, so many IITians are so happy with what they have 'achieved' that they think there is nothing else worth getting in life. Sadly, these people see IIT as a goal and not as means to one. A group of institutions which has developed a reputation based on the hard-work, determination and skill should expect more from its people or risk dying as a brand. 

So, while it is an indisputable fact that certain IITians have brought about significant change to the country we live in, there is so much left to be desired from people who claim to be the nation's most talented people. Maybe it is time to forget vanity and that falsely based sense of greatness, and believe that we still have everything left to prove to the world. What the IITs have given you is something precious. Please let it not be wasted on you.

Bondage, Dominance, S & M

Every great conqueror irreversibly changes the course of human evolution and leaves his undying fingerprints on the destinies of every generation yet to inhabit the planet. Alexander the Great, Ghengis Khan, Timur, Chandragupta Maurya, Hernan Cortez: this list is endless. Not only did these men bring great empires to their knees and stamp their authority upon the lives of millions of people, they changed the way these people behave and the way they think.

Some of these people have been forgotten but their influence lives on in our lives even today - we just don't think about it. Alexander still has a city named after him, not in Greece or Macedonia, but in Islamic Egypt. Cortez is almost the sole reason why the fourth largest continent is today called 'Latin America'. Without Adolf Hitler, there would be no reason for Israel's existence and Antisemitism would hardly be looked down upon even today. Maurya is said to have been one of the first people to have dreamed of Akhand Bhaarat. So each of these people have unquestionably changed the world for better or for worse... but no one has shaped the world as we know it today more than the British Crown.

Conquering is one thing, but consolidating territories and integrating people is a different ball-game altogether and the British perfected this art. You simply have to look around you today to notice the magnitude of the impact they have made. Well, I am making this post in English - if not for them, this would never have happened!

One of the most significant events in modern history is undoubtedly the shift of power in the erstwhile New World - why most of us say 'United States of America' and not 'Estados Unidos Americanos' or 'États-Unis d'Amérique'. Over time, this has ultimately come to mean that English is the language of the world - not Spanish, Mandarin or French. And language supremacy is one of the most primary measures used in achieving full and complete control.

Once the language of the land is established, you can easily say to a non-speaker, "C'mon, don't tell me you don't know English! You need to learn. And you need to learn it fast." On the other hand, he cannot tell you to learn Afrikaans, because you'll simply laugh condescendingly and say, "Fat chance I'm learning that!" He won't understand what 'fat chance' means... and that means more power to you.

A couple of years ago, I was sitting with a few friends in a canteen in Roorkee, discussing something - in cannot recall what - in Hindi. A fresher I'd met sometime earlier came up to me and asked me something in Tamil. Now when someone asks you a question in your mother-tongue, you answer in the same language. However, halfway into my answer, I found that I was speaking Hindi - a language which came naturally to neither him nor me. For a long while, it bothered me and to say that I was ashamed of that incident would be understating matters.

But then, a few days ago, in Abu Dhabi, I was talking to a friend in Hindi once again, when a few more people (mostly non-Indians) joined us at the table. This time, I was halfway into a sentence when I changed everything to English. Finally, my behavior two years ago made perfect sense! You cannot sustain a conversation in a language a majority of the people do not speak. The language of the land has long been established and there is nothing you can do about it.

And language is just the beginning. When I look around Dubai, I instinctively know that it is an extension of America, or maybe Europe. There is nothing Arab here: American bars made for American tourists who can pay American monetary equivalents. And you don't have to go to America to know this. Well, it's a brilliant business model - there is no questioning that! And the Emiratis make loads of money at the end of the day, but they remain incapable of selling their own culture.

On the other hand, you go to America to live like an American. Where you are from doesn't matter - you will become part of the culture there... People will argue that it's the most culturally accepting country in the world - a world full of immigrants; but really, no matter where you are from, you will end up accepting the local way of life. That's the most beautiful part of cultural domination - you set the rules. In Dubai and in so many other places, the tourists set the rules and the place adapts!

Cultural domination extends to most other aspects of life as well - the food we eat, the TV shows we watch, the books we read, the music we listen to, the clothes we wear... this is another infinite list. But what's more brilliant? - each of these aspects actually reinforces the dominating culture. So, while it might be seen as a criminal error when I say I don't know the difference between a Steakhouse burger and a Quarter-pounder, it's only expected that people of the international community don't know the difference between paneer and tofu.

Well, there's nothing much we people can do but to accept these changes, try to learn everything there is to be learnt and constantly try to excel at everything we do... and then one day, we'll be good enough. And then we will set the rules.

Reality Check

India, the seventh largest country on the globe and the second most populous, currently lies just outside the top-ten list of countries ranked by GDP. India boasts of one of the earliest civilizations on the planet - Mohenjo-daro and Harappa dating back to around 3000 BCE, but I'm sure you know all these things... And I'm positive it's not something you will miss telling your foreigner pals while hanging out in a bar. I am also certain that you say it with so much pride, you are almost taking credit for establishing the Indus Valley Civilization! There's nothing wrong with that, of course... Every nation must be proud of its history.

But it doesn't end there, does it? You inevitably mention a few more fabulous aspects about the nation hoping to leave your differently skinned friends reeling in awe. Let me give you a few examples: (1) The Republic of India has the third largest military force in the world. (2) Along with Pakistan, Sri Lanka and a few other tidbits, India forms the only subcontinent in the world - replete with every fathomable geographical feature; mountains, plains, marshes, plateaus, deserts, rivers, lakes and seas - we've got the lot. (3) We have the third largest pool of qualified engineers in the world! (yes, I bet you didn't know that) (4) And we're one of those elite few with nuclear power - wait, Pakistan's got that too, no? Okay, we've gone to Space. Ha ha, take that!

I suppose we're also the world's largest producer of wheat and the second largest producer of rice... but since we eat all of it, it mustn't count. The only things which get out of the country, unconsumed by the billion people, are cotton, textiles, diamonds and jewelry; not much else. Anyway, all this doesn't matter. Because I'm going to tell you today how all these stories are well-worded 'feel-good' statements which mask the ugly truths which lie underneath.

Listed really high in the National GDP chart, India does really poorly on the per capita basis. Well, you knew that... And I knew that. But I didn't know it was this bad: $1389/capita-year according to the IMF puts us in the 140th place in a list of 182 countries. It only gets worse as the Rupee continues its plunge towards 60 to a Dollar.

Let's talk about the military forces now: most of us start feeling secure listening to the 'third largest military force' quip time and again. However, it must be known that as soon as you divide this number by the number of people inhabiting the country, we end up with the following ratio: 1.1 Active soldiers per thousand citizens, which is incidentally ranked 149th in the world. Alright, we don't have to be North Korea which has nearly 50 per thousand, but this extreme is equally crazy.

Long gone are the days when the subcontinent was protected from foreign invaders by a wall of high mountains in the north and the mighty seas in the south. No longer can the way the earth is sculpted be considered a serious security measure, but these geographical features offer us a plethora of other opportunities - all of which we have failed to grasp. Tourism and agriculture are two activities we have ceaselessly contrived to fail at - and we've done it in style!

Most credible tourism companies don't even give India a rank when it comes to international visitors! Despite being one of the oldest continuously inhabited places, having some of the most picturesque places and boasting of some of the most evolved cultures known to man, India manages a paltry five million international tourists every year. Contrast that with China which sees over fifty-three million visitors annually; no, we must stop comparing ourselves with the Chinese. All those India-China surveys are lies - and we're not catching up.

Agriculture and allied sectors like forestry, logging and fishing accounted for 15.7% of the GDP in 2009–10, employed 52.1% of the total workforce; all this with the most naturally fertile land in the world. When we talk about revolutions in the sector which employs more than half of the people in India, we shouldn't have to quote MS Swaminathan's Green Revolution (1963) as the last good thing that happened. Actually, Dr. Swaminathan, with all due respect was only responsible for implementing the methods of Dr. Norman Borlaug, an American agronomist, who was actually responsible for the revolution.

So what exactly are these one billion Indians achieving? Becoming engineers in hordes, I suppose. Third largest squad of engineers in the world... and what have we got to show for it? The foremost institutions in the country, the IITs, are completely unknown once you exit the borders. And why should they be known? It's not like they're doing any remarkable research or transforming India into an engineering superpower. Mostly, engineering institutions across the nation are producing unambitious people who just want to do management or worse, who join one of those companies which outsource work from the United States and allied countries. Well, the Outsourcing industry does contribute around 28% of our total GDP, but isn't it a very temporary solution? I don't think a country's development can be based entirely on how much work it can do for another. We need to start producing things. Ourselves.

And now that we've established that we've got a surplus of farmers and engineers, how're the other professions doing? According to a recent survey, there are around 50 physicians per 100,000 Indians and I shouldn't have to tell you how bad that is. According to the World Health Organisation, 900,000 Indians die each year from drinking contaminated water or breathing polluted air. And why wouldn't they die?

So, you see, it's not a case of excelling in one field and thus failing in another. We're sucking across the whole gamut, with the exception of Bollywood, which the world knows for its colours and dance routines and Cricket, which is followed closely by a few people in 12 different countries.

This is not a time for incremental change - it is time for a full scale revolution. And we, as a people, are more than capable of making it happen. We've achieved far more difficult things in the past and there is no reason this revolution will not come. Sixty years ago, there was no tangible connection between the different people who inhabited this country - no common language, no common origin, not even the same religion - yet, we have survived. Not just survived, we have grown... without any major civil war! That's a credible achievement to say the least. In 1950, the world was worried about leaving such a large country completely in the hands of a few people who had never known the meaning of freedom until then. Today, we can look back proudly and say we've made it. This is a real achievement and no one can take anything away from it.

The fact that we're doing so poorly on so many fronts must not deter us one bit! Every thing we are lagging at is a serious business opportunity. No longer must we rely on governments bringing legislation to improve the condition of the people, only to be completely undone by the subsequent government. True, legislation is the easiest and most successful way to bring about change. But we shouldn't sit on our backsides and hope that change will come! Scams will happen, corruption will continue and red-tape will make things very difficult for the common man. But there is still a way. Sleep six hours instead of eight. Forget about that extra one million rupees in profits and do something for the country. And don't wait for the goddamned government to bring the revolution. You must do it yourself.

As M.K.Gandhi said, "Be the change you want to see in the world."

Girl, why did you change so much?

The turn of the millennium saw me in standard five, as a gawky kid with over-sized spectacles matching an over-sized head. And as we all know, fifth grade is a turning point in any kid's life. I found it no different, as having returned to India after four long years, the system of making the boys and girls sit separately on opposite sides of the class was new and confounding. More disconcerting however, was the fact that talking to people of the opposite sex was no longer a punishment but a privilege. In fact, I vividly recall some fellows coming up with random excuses so that they could leave our table at lunch and spend a few minutes with the giggling girl by the window.

In science class, the teacher was talking about Entamoeba Histolytica when I found the guy seated next to me staring at the window - at least, that's what I thought at first. Doing a double take, I realized that he wasn't, in fact, looking at the big boys playing volleyball outside... He had somehow locked eyes with the girl in the front row, who was struggling to keep her head constantly turned at some eighty-seven degrees. "Snap out of it, man!" I said to him. To no avail.

Those were the days when hearts could be won with nothing more than a smile, or a soiled note which said "1-4-3" on it. Those were the days when you could poke a girl with a pencil or hit her with a box on one day, and have her fall in love with you the very next. 'Love' was a word which came so easily to our mouths. It was then a word which still carried meaning.

Fast forward - five years: The world was quite the same, except you couldn't hit girls any more without being branded a boor. 'Love affairs' didn't scandalize anyone anymore, but somehow whenever you wanted to talk to a girl really badly, you would be searching for all the right words. And then, they would never come out. Still, those were enjoyable times, made even more fantastic by the plans and strategies we used to come up with to win her heart!

Most plans failed, but some did succeed and V.G. Siddhartha ended up making a truck-load of cash. In fact, as the years ticked by, Cafes' earnings went up exponentially... as it was no longer socially acceptable to enjoy a Pepsi and a Vegetable Puff while standing outside 'Royal Bakery' with her. No. The grander the place you took her to, the happier she felt.

Enter college and there was still some semblance of normalcy in this world... In engineering school - and especially in IITs - girls come in really, really small numbers. But then again, humans are made in two sexes for a reason, I suppose. And so, even though society contrived to make it as difficult for us as possible, you always ended up finding that one perfect someone. Well, a whole lot of us acted upon the feeling, and a vast majority of us failed. And some people I know didn't even get started, as society by now had established so many rules, restrictions, ethics, morals and so many other things I don't even know the names of, that made even the approach an impossibility.

I found that people were no longer as 'easy' as they used to be before. They had changed - well not entirely, definitely not from within... But now, there was layer after layer of 'personality' shrouding what she really was. My god, it was difficult! But there was still music in the background and lights in the air when everything about you knew that she was the one for you.

And now, I have spent the last one year outside college, in strange cities, stranger bars and the strangest place of all, Facebook. This one year has destroyed the world as I knew it not so long ago. In March, last year, I remember deriding my neighbour when he said that 'love' is an act of the hormones and that there is no place called the Heart. Today, I'm ready to go back to him and apologize, for I wholeheartedly agree. Last year, I held so many notions which so many girls would have called 'romantic' and so many guys would have called 'gay'. I've shed all of them today.

The world is not the beautiful, life-affirming song we once knew, but a bitter dirge taking us a step closer to the end. We are afraid to say those three beautiful words because we know that commitment isn't something we can give to the person who means the most to us in the whole, wide world. Besides, it's not about love any more!

Watching the full yellow moon hide behind the Cumulus or taking a long stroll on the sands by the seashore mean nothing anymore. It's more about how much vodka you can load her with, or how you can smoke ganja together. It's about glitz and glamour these days - how high up in society's ladder are you? Let me tell you this - the girl, a few rungs lower, will most probably accept your proposal.

Tell me, if people really believed in romance and love, would they need you to buy them ten tequila shots before they go down with you? Or would it matter what power you wielded over people and how much money you had?

You know the world is coming to an end if you can't even get you heart properly broken.

Wish

There was blood that night, with pain and sweat
And each jagged rock would draw some more
As they eased their way into his every step,
Until they’d take all his blood away.

He continued the climb unhindered by pain-
Wounded flesh is dead to a sore mind.
He knew the end was not too far
And his prayers would be answered good.

The temple of the gods was now in sight
With its great iron gate dwarfing the sky
And walls of black stone capturing the moon.
His prayers would be answered tonight.

As he dragged his dying body within
He mouthed a prayer to appease the lord
And looking to the heavens, he said out loud,
“This is my wish. Just let it be!”

There was thunder and there was rain
The ink was torn by battling clouds
Waters froze and the wind howled.
The dying man took shelter and he smiled.

He began his return along the same path
Now glistening in the moon, red, with blood
Fresh wounds were made and now there was pain–
To the fulfilled mind, every pin a sword.

He returned home as a contented man.
Once his dream, was now for real
He knew he needed nothing else in life.
That was the day the Wish-giver smiled.

For he knew no wish is a wish forever.
A granted wish changes the world we know
In such a way we cannot yet perceive
Until we no longer want the change.

A few days later, an unfulfilled man died.

The Truth About Giza

If I had known it would be such an experience, I wouldn't have minded working twice as long in the western desert. Never before has something managed to stand up to hype of such tumultuous magnitude surrounding it; the great pyramids of Giza simply stood-up and delivered, the way they have been doing for the past two millenniums, when their time came.

The knowledge that each block of the great pyramids weighs over two tonnes should be reason enough to be overawed by the tremendous structure, but it goes beyond that: to build such a massive pyramid wouldn't be an easy task even on this day! And then, let's try building something like that without cement. So, when somebody tells you that it's just a set of rocks and that they'd do it themselves if they had enough slaves doing their bidding, it gets rather irksome.

One of the lesser known facts about Giza itself is that it's not 'Giza' in the first place! Well, in Egypt, it is... but that's only because they replace every 'ja' in Arabic with 'ga'. So, 'Al-Jizah' becomes the world famous Giza! Another thing people hardly notice is the anachronism that the mighty structure is. Unlike in India or in any place boasting of an ancient civilization, where the great examples of erstwhile architecture are surrounded by small settlements of people having some roots, at least, in that period, the pyramids of Giza stand alone. I suppose it is mainly due to the broken history that Egypt has: the major periods being (1) the Pharaonic state, (2) the coming of the muslims and (3) modern Egypt, the world wars etc. Almost all symbols of the Pharaonic empire have been thoroughly eliminated over the course of history.

Interestingly enough, there is probably a logical explanation to all this and it lies in the Old Testament. When Moses led his people out of Egypt, across the Red Sea and into Israel, he kick-started three different religions: Judaism, Christianity and Islam. The people who formed these religions were the slaves who were part of the great Exodus. And since it was the Pharaoh's wrath that they'd always feared and his self-indulgence and pompous arrogance that they had disapproved of, when subsequent dynasties of Christians and Muslims ruled the land, they slowly eroded away the Pharaoh's people. The Pharaoh, who held the whip on thousands of slaves, was a villain after all.

Modern day Egypt has roots in the beginning of the last millennium and one would be lying if he said that it is more ancient than that. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that the day Egypt becomes a really wealthy nation (a la Saudi Arabia or UAE), they would want to have nothing to do with the pyramids at all! It's just something which fills their coffers up pretty well.

Everyone is entitled to an opinion (not something Arabs believe in much), but I'd want you to think that every nation must be proud of every bit of its history, even the 'darker times'; for it is our history that makes us. I'm no fan of Indian Governments seeking out roads named after British viceroys and generals, and renaming them 'Rajiv Gandhi Road'. The British were in India for two hundred years, for better or for worse, but they were there alright. And you cannot change that. So, it goes without saying that a country which depends so greatly on these spectacular architectural feats should do better than asking its people to be indifferent to the Pyramids.

Important Conversations

" The point is, there may be three or four big choices that shape someone’s whole life - and you need to be the one that makes them. Not anyone else." - Mr. Wyatt, "After School Special", (Season 4) Supernatural.

There's nothing profound in the above quote; it doesn't say much we don't know already… But it's a line each one of us requires to hear from time to time. Without these rather meaningless reassurances, life would become unfathomably difficult. But I digress from the topic – the sentence which contains unquestionable truth.

These are the decisions which shape our lives, the difference between what is and what will be. They make all the difference between today and tomorrow. These decisions usually result in conversations, which are more often than not, highly unpleasant. Creamy, sugared dialogues aren’t usually the ones which take us to the land of our dreams.

Dissatisfaction is one of those special feelings humans are almost perpetually capable of… And it is this dissatisfaction with status-quo which throws us into that ‘I must change this’ phase. Although what needs to be done is generally slap-across-the-face obvious, we’re filled with trepidation before the final step. What happens if the whole thing implodes, destroying even the meagre happiness we currently enjoy? Is change really that essential; can we not live with it? Is the land on the other end of the bridge really what it promises to be?

In fact, we are so full of dread and angst that hardly can we muster the courage to take the final leap. We rehearse carefully, in our minds, how we will phrase our sentences and our questions – and we chisel these into perfection. Just when satisfaction is a step away, the complexity of the situation becomes completely apparent! What response will I elicit? How will I react to such a response? In the end, it’s all an intricate game of chess – and we’re all bad chess players.

When the moment comes, you are very aware of your epiglottis, now a massive flap blocking the larynx. Compared to the situation you are in, you’d hyperventilation really comfortable. Beads of perspiration run down your forehead and settle on your eyebrows as the first syllable begins to form on your tongue. And then you try to look at it from a third-person’s viewpoint at it all seems rather laughable. And then, you want to die.

It’s now that the conversation begins. You’re in a trance and you realize that the well-rehearsed conversation in your head has been thrown to the winds. Autopilot. You’re saying things so easily and you wonder why it seemed so difficult to surmount. Every setback you face in the dialogue, you wave away nonchalantly, and each point you win seems unimportant too. You wonder why you attached so much importance to the conversation in the first place! The words flow smoothly and the only person who is thinking before talking is not you. And then, you part ways in peace.

Ten minutes later, you try to remember what you said, the words you used, the points you made… You ponder about the impact your words had. You stomach is filled with cruel acid and you pray that it all ends well.

God

It's an average afternoon and you're terribly bored. When surfing frustrating channels on the television has finally bored the crap out of you, you decide to walk up to the kitchen-cabinet and grab a few quick bites. Tossing the remote onto the sofa, you stagger towards the food in semi-siesta-mode. That's when it happens.

The sharpest corner of your refrigerator door finds the softest spot on your little toe, managing to break the nail in half. Off-balance, hopping on your left foot and trying to stem the flow of blood, you try not to cry out in pain. Spotting your sofa at the distance, grinding your teeth and keeping blood off the carpet, you attempt to walk the unfathomable distance. With great effort, you finally make it there and plonk yourself on the sofa, only to realize that you've sat on top of the TV remote, which rips cleanly through the seat-cushion!

You are filled with deafening pain and a blinding rage, but what hurts the most that it's nobody's fault. If only there was someone to blame, to curse, to slap or bludgeon! You cannot swear. You cannot hurt anyone for inflicting hurt on you! That's when you curse Him.

That's why I cannot be atheist or agnostic.

I Shall Always Remember

1.      Roorkee monsoons – for taking me, every time, to the beginning of four wonderful years

2.      The Meta wing – for showing me that not all people change

3.      The BC Dream – for coming true

4.      Watch Out News Agency – without which I’d still be typing in ‘Times New Roman’

5.      LitSec^TM – for being the only group I haven’t been thrown out of

6.      Bone-chilling winters – for moongfali, coffee and rose-cheeked girls

7.      The slope – for letting speed thrill, in the days before the humps

8.      Numbers 62, 63 and 64 – and their occupants

9.      Kondy – for being my name

10.  Se7en – even if it’s on the second floor

11.  Comfortably Numb – for having been my favourite song for most of my college life

12.  Valentine’s Day – because it never came

13.  My old (Atlas) ‘Flame’ – for taking me to places where my legs could not

14.  Mussoorie – for being so close by

15.  Café Coffee Day – for a lot can happen over coffee

16.  Orchid Pharma & Chemicals Pvt Ltd  – my first internship

17.  The Grand Old Men – mentors, if not anything else

18.  The Farjical engineers – for loving Fun more than I do

19.  Chelsea FC – for finding me so many new friends. And enemies.

20.  Cognizance 2010 – for helping me draw half a lakh out of a man who threw a two-thousand rupee cheque at me when I was in school

21.  The Formatting Days – which made me the diplomat I am today.

22.  Pro-Evolution Soccer – because it’s so bloody awesome

23.  iPod Shuffle – for always knowing what to play next

24.  Six Registration Cards – because I cannot forget them

25.  My CGPA – for being the roller-coaster which never went off the rails

26.  The original Krows and Helmet-head – for being who they are

27.  The Schlumberger days – “Money for nothing”

28.  The Newspaper man – who has tossed papers into my room unfailingly for three years

29.  Karan-Arjun in BR – which remains an eternal source of déjà-vu

30.  The Ganga canteen-wala (whose name I still don’t know) – who disarmed me with his smile, every time

31.  ‘Late’ Team-WONA – for being people I will love forever

32.  Delhi and Chandi Debates – for all the cute girls

33.  Old Monk – for coming at 35 Rupees a shot (RP)

34.  The Gym – for helping me put matter over mind

35.  My dying laptop – for staying alive

36.  EDC IITR – for being there through my fourth year

37.  Department of Chemical Engineering, IITR – which god-alone-knows-how is the best department of the country

38.  Spirited Fellows and Solani Nights – “To more of the same!”

39.  Chest-monster and the Robot – Madmen

40.  Gambit and the Camera-man – for sticking around

41.  Team Goa and the Goat – “Next time, Tito’s!”

42.  You, Blog.

A Box Among Other Things

Being the trunk broker that I've become in my final days on campus, it is only fair that I part with mine too. It became all the more important since mum keeps reminding me over the telephone: "Get rid of all your junk!" But the question which kept me dilly-dallying forever was just one: To sell or to give?

It only takes you a moment to come up with an answer to that one, actually. It's a response which comes to you as naturally as, "Mom, stop calling it junk! I've really gotten attached to each of these things I've used during my four years here!" You realize that you can never put a price tag on something with such great sentimental value, and since it's rather impractical to lug an elephantine aluminium trunk over 2000 kilometres, the rational way to go about things is to give it away. As of tonight, my trunk is owned by a lad named Aditya Gokhale.

One would think I'm stupid to post stories about cycles and trunks, but inanimate objects are powerful memory tools. While I often find it hopelessly difficult to shut my eyes and recall a face, the way these everyday possessions of mine bring people back to life is rather eerie. However, to be very frank, I didn't care much about this large ungainly object which inhabited one half of S7, Cautley Bhawan long before its very last moments.

I was shifting stuff off the lid so that I could empty its contents when I spotted the ink. Much like the Camlin ad for permanent markers, my handwriting stared back at me from three years back. I remember that day, outside the Cautley cloak-room, when, as a kid who had just put up a status message "25% complete", I was instructed to ink my name on the top for identification purposes.

Obedient that I was, I began writing my name. I followed it up with my enrollment number '070607'. And then, I wrote the following words:

B.Tech (M

My hand froze at that point as I realized what I had done. I'm rather superstitious, and I still say a prayer at the beginning of every exam I write. And superstition freaked me out that day as I realized I never should have started writing 'Metallurgical and Materials Engineering' in the first place - not when a possible branch change was in the offing! After considering striking it out, I decided that I'd much rather let it stay there, and I thought, 'one day I might look back at this and smile... and it will remind me of this day.'

Well, that day was today.

Transporter

On 23rd July 2007, I first set foot on Roorkee soil. Being the responsible maddu that I was, I telephoned the only R-person's number I possessed. Obviously, being a long-drawn maddu connection (cousin of friend of school-senior), the person in question was himself quite Maddu. I was with mum when I met Venkatesh Nandakumar outside the Saraswati Mandir some four years ago. And Venky told me the stories and the legends of the land. He also introduced me to the Velociraptor, who I came to know quite well during his years here.

Anyway, the two of them later informed me about how a first year is expected to behave. What they said, in nutshell, could be retold as: Be a proper Maddu who doesn't speak Hindi, wears the quintessential black and white shirt and trousers, and never looks at anything but his feet. And DON'T buy a bicycle.

To be quite frank, I was so terrified by his words that I almost sold my bicycle back home. But as time wore on, I realized that the distances were too much to be negotiated by foot. And so, filled with trepidation, I bought the black Atlas Flame which would become one of my closest companions in IIT Roorkee.

________________________________________________________________________

Having dinner early that evening, I decided it was dark enough to mingle inconspicuously with the campus environs. Cool autumn breeze blowing powerfully across one's face is motivation enough to up the speed. Pedalling furiously up a speed-breaker-less slope, I was greeted by the dazzling Central Library which was as new around these parts as I was. Overawed that I was by the sights that I encountered, I made a few wrong turns and didn't make a few right ones. And I ended up getting thoroughly lost.

'Transport Engineering' was the board that I stood in front of, and I didn't know what the hell it meant. And harbouring that perennial fear of being found-out, I decided not to ask anyone the route back, which only meant that my nerves took a tremendous beating. Naturally, I did find my way around eventually but these are  the very first memories I have with my bicycle.

________________________________________________________________________

Over the years, it helped me reach meetings only twenty minutes late and classes only five. It helped me climb the slope a million times, just so that I could enjoy my ride down. It helped me outrace packs of angry stray dogs and do countless other things. It is only ironic that, never having left my side for three-and-a-half years, it chose to get stolen this semester, thus robbing me of a chance to say goodbye.

Rest in peace, Cycle.