Monday, 22 February 2010

Twisted Logic. (Ignore post)

Thomas Robert Malthus had said that often natural calamity strikes a blow upon mankind to level population with the food of the world. Thus if there is one apple pie that can at most be shared amongst five fellows, and there are 10 beings, the remaining five may be struck by some natural calamity to bring down the number of people to five. If we broaden the spectrum, homicides of fellow human citizen fall into the same category of calamity, human induced. So with every premature death, the population balance is being sought to level.

If there is food for twenty. And there are forty people; Darwinian Theory of survival of the fittest comes to the rescue. The fittest gets the food. The fittest implies the one with an advantageous position or the one who is cunning. And thus we get the haves and the have nots, when population is not equal to the amount of resources in the world. Justice apparently denied as the lord calls for equality for his people, the have nots become vengeful. And thus we have cases of homicide. Often the victims are not victims of any personal vendetta. They are the victims of the privileges that some people get and some people are denied. To put it in a nutshell, they fall under the category of victims of inequality in the society. Like the terrorists’ or extremists’ victims. Erasing inequality from the world is a tough job. Because if you create economic and political equality, (which is very difficult because we folks are greedy and egoistic and hence want to get as much as we can, that may be more than what we need) you still remain with the inequality of the minds and personal preferences. And the only solution to that perhaps is to create clones of only one mind. But that would imply killing off humanity itself, which isn’t beneficial for the development of resources. Thus through homicides, mass or otherwise, one can not level people with resources available, which is perhaps the ultimate aim of the sub conscious. And thus, even without taking into consideration high ideals, killing people is meaningless and unproductive in the long run.

Enough said. It's amazing what a person can do to kill her boredom. And I am still bored. If not even more. :|

Monday, 15 February 2010

on life and death

We all like to survive basically. Even though we start wailing right from the moment we are born. But it’s not really as drab as that. Kindergartens are fine except for the first few days. You learn to tie your shoes, go to the loo that’s not in your home, learn to share tiffin and learn to detest the bread and banana combination that most Indian parents think is the best.

Then we learn to grow up. We learn to enjoy cribbing about our frustration. Gives us some self- importance. We learn to enjoy the nuances of learning a new life that has got an exciting mix of adulthood and innocence. we leave school as newly branded adults, willing to conquer our whims and fancies. We cherish our outings with friends, the mundane mumbo-jumbo talks usually garnished with silly jokes that the world will definitely not find humorous. We hold onto our dreams strongly, having a strong conviction that we’ll make them come true someday. And then one fine morning we just might die. To live life on one’s own terms we need time. But that might not happen. Life is as simple as that.

The terrorist attacks all over have bothered me. I am not that clear minded or idealistic to properly and charismatically explain that I want them to be stopped for the sake of humanity or world peace. I want them to stop for a selfish reason. They affect and scare me. And I don’t like this feeling.

Sunday, 14 February 2010

Essay on Valentine's Day

Today is St. Valentine’s happy birthday. Happy Birthday saint. It was a month ago. But for us it is today. I don’t know why. Today little little boys and girls go around with other little little boys and girls. They hold hands, wear pink and giggle. They also buy a lot from their pocket money. They usually like pink teddy bears. Today they do naughty naughty things. And the moral police have fun too, even if they don’t do naughty naughty things. The world today looks beautiful, like a big pink cake. Today the shops have hearts. The balloon ones that go with a bang when pricked. Just a week before this auspicious day many queue up to get their love of their lives. They prepare a list ad whoever comes off fast, they get it. It is very simple. Like shopping. And the shopped product comes in a pretty baggage too. All red and pink. And they hold their hearts. The balloon ones that go with a bang when pricked. The greeting cards’ market comes up with many many cards for this special occasion. They have heart chocolates that are so delicious. Everyone does not buy them. They get them as gifts from their lovers who spend a lot of money. We all have big hearts today. The balloon ones that go bang when pricked.

Wednesday, 10 February 2010

Them Nobel Fellas

(I had written this ages ago. Found it lying idle and posted it thus. :| )

The beloved pet dogs of every house begins to play hide and seek, with more of the hide part underneath the bed, as the rich nooks and corners of the country light (and sound) up in expensive fireworks. The news, for which we were waiting ever since independence, behaving like a scorned lover ever since Gandhi was given a miss and only simmering a bit when Mother Teresa received the prize, has finally come. The Norwegian Nobel Committee has finally decided to give the Nobel Peace Prize collectively to some Indian celebrities. I browsed through the list through my tear bedimmed eyes. With patriotism brimming, I saluted the recipients. They were:

Rabri Devi: Awarded the Nobel Peace Prize along with the rest for maximum development in Bihar, for the first work in total development is deconstruction of what existed, to be built anew, and she has done the part of deconstruction mighty well. Award given also for having the stamina to be the power-wife in a male dominated society. Early 2009 data suggests that she is the proud owner of 60 holy cows and 36 calves (by now they may have proliferated their brood) and thus is a symbol of hope to all the farmers of India- join politics and there’s no more the need for gulping all the pesticides. Her indefatigable spirit is marked by her continuation of whatever she does and did even though the mean citizens and judiciary all conspired against her and filed corruption charges. But she rose from the ashes during each low and proved her might by continuing to be exactly as she was. She not only gives hope to the farmers but is a great source of impetus for people who do not find mere embezzlement of money a corrupt deed. All hail.

Rakhi Sawant: Given the Noble Peace Prize for being able to retain the traditional Indian culture amidst this kali age of social mayhem, thus giving hope to people who fear that doomsday of tradition has arrived. She has got engaged in the traditional form of Swayamvar and got pretty pretty men to woo her. This also is a victory of feminism or female chauvinism or whatever it is called. She is also the ‘Bharatiya Nari’ who is so committed to her social work that for the sake of public exposure, she is on television 24*7. Oh dear, the pain she takes to tame us ruthless destroyers of social norms. She’s the mother goddess who shall save the straying Indians and place them back on the traditional bandwagon. Bless her holy pure heart. A peace prize has been announced for her, which shall be telecast along with her every time she’s on screen. That will give an extra fillip to the unruly Indian public so that they behave more traditionally from the next time.

Mayavati: Women empowerment personified, she has brought back the ancient culture of creating portraits and statues for self aggrandisement. Her workmanship spirit is marked by the presence of a small bag being held by her in every statue. She gives more importance to ideological empowerment than mere economic progress and has thus spent around Rs 2000 crore to built statues of the mighty lady herself, and a few others to uplift the spirit of the downtrodden. Like Rabri Devi she has given hope to many that behind every dark cloud there is a silver lining, which may incidentally be Indian politics. The statues and gardens 400 years later shall become what Taj Mahal has become to us. Many cynics criticise her but one must not forget that she has given hope, apart from the fact that she has created a few more parks for the lovers, a few more statues for the crows to whitewash away to glory and a few more monuments that our descendants shall look up to in amazement, wondering what was going on.

Varun Gandhi: he managed to go the ground breaking way. Such vehement claims of protecting one’s people hardly come by. He was the self-proclaimed messiah of the Pilibhit people. Proving to be an all time macho man, he claimed to slice off all hands that would rise against his people, true Rajnikanth style. He is the great hero, the angry young man who can only be mellowed by Ma. Peace prize goes to him for proclaiming to protect his people from all handy evil, as well as for giving hope, with all his aggression, that ‘yes he can’ achieve what he has proclaimed.

Rajnikanth: It’s a man! It’s a superhero! No, it’s Rajnikanth! To the man who can beat a thousand villains blue with just a single wink, he isn’t merely the macho man. He’s almost superhuman. Rajnikanth does not have a fanfare. He is a religion and his fans are the worshippers. His golden hair in the movie Shivaji might have been one of the most absurd fashion faux pas in filmy history, but then, whatever he touches becomes a cult, even if it’s a blonde wig. Rajnikanth religion transcends class division. Both the haves and the have nots worship him with equal fervour. To them, he is the Absolute, his dialogues their gospel. He had definitely deserved a Nobel for his effortless triumph at class assimilation, and he got it.

Palaniappan Chidambaram: Nobel Prize given strictly for good reflex action and presence of mind. As the Great Boot of Jarnail Singh was being passionately hurled towards him with Indian precision, he smiled. He dodged his head in a calm manner like when a person grooves to good music, while the boot passed like a lost comet. And he smiled. As Jarnail Singh’s fierce eyes were attempting to pierce him, he smiled. As the reporter was being taken out of the room, he asked people to hand him gently, and he smiled. Also, Obama smiles and he got the Award. So P. Chidambaram has been given the award too. Probably also given for having one of the least corrupt images in desi politics.

Uma Bharti: Her conviction towards doing what she aims at is commendable. Like Obama has immortalised the words ‘yes we can’, similarly her ‘ek dhakka aur do’ (give it one more push) won the hearts of hundreds of workers who gleefully pulled down the Babri Masjid, and with it went down religious syncretism, security and a big chunk of beautifully carved history. But then who cares about that. The mighty woman is known for her fiery antics in parliament to give more ‘dhakka’ for the support of her causes. Ah! Where would one find such energy, spirit and such immense lack of lethargy amidst the pantheon of the holy Indian politicians? She gets the Nobel Peace Prize for hope- for the hope that she can retire in peace, satisfied with an award, without making further hullabaloo with her Babri Masjid stunt and the likes. A percentage of the prize may be shared with other bigger leaders Who Must Not Be Named, who were stupid enough to demolish something that was integral to India.

Amar Singh: Prize for being the First friend to the First Family of Bollywood. His dedication towards his friends makes him take painstaking efforts to tolerate all the award functions of the Filmy parivaar. He is the bridge between the real and the reel world and is the ideal exemplar of the ideal friend. Amitabh Bachchan is one lucky man. And now he has unleashed a greater zeal for filmy stuff, showing his acting skills in movies and being bereft of his party folks for good.

Himesh Reshammiya: The proverbial last but not the least; He gets the Nobel for discovering other activities of the nose that we folks of the world were blissfully unaware of. The only works of the nose other than smelling, to us ignorant lay people, were nose digging (which by the way is a subtle art very few could master, or appreciate in public), nose blowing (with lots of sound, and then using the same kerchief for more than a day till every cursed neighbour is compelled to have the same disease), snoring and being nosey for the sake of following the principle of know thy neighbour. But this man could make The Nose sing. Alright, so some people can blow their nose rather tunefully but he actually can make full songs out of it. How did he do it? It’s complicated. Since discovering the nose does not fall under any proper category, he has been placated with a Peace Prize.

And so I come to the end of the list, Kudos to the Audacity of Hope.

Tuesday, 2 February 2010

Life, Travel and the Race.

Darwin’s (or Herbert Spencer’s) term ‘survival of the fittest' alludes to a philosophy that transcends generations. This isn’t any essay on Darwinian Theory but something more boring. One has to sweat it out in every sphere of life. Like for example, I was joyfully concentrating on this pretty chick on a bus, listen to a groovy song to fit my rather promiscuous mood, when this pretty pretty boy caught her attention. And lo behold she was hooked onto him. Gender bias I say. Even the girls are hooked onto the boys. In Orkut lingo, ‘no donuts’ for women empowerment.

And so the Fittest wins by rummaging through the survival strategies. As I hop on to the bus after college to spare me the extra pennies that are downright pinched through my pocket if I take an auto rickshaw, I have to do this impromptu nagin dance jig to slither into the maize of sweaty fellow passengers. I stand on the door of the bus, on the threshold of life and death, praying to the God whom I pray to when I am in an extremely strategic position, muttering bribes so that the not-so-benign Almighty spare me the horror of being made into a newspaper headline “Thin girl squeezed to death. Mamata Banerjee blames the CPM, crying conspiracy” or something like that. As I enter the bus finally, Rajnikanth attitude style, I am made to do obscure yogic postures that even Vatsayana and Co. couldn’t dream of, let alone write. Thanks to my extreme lack of volume I eventually squeeze out a seat between two people. Gosh, the things one has to do to do a simple thing as sitting.

And then in the same bus, one might chance upon two fellow women, keenly interested in their (and others’) hyper-motherhood, and their conversations that have a strong and sinister undertone of baby competition. So if Momma in Red Sari says her litter could walk at the age of 1 year, the Momma in Blue attempts to shut her up by citing examples of her little kid’s running, Usain Bolt style. I distinctly remember one such victim of Hyper-Parenting-Syndrome who insisted that her class three kid could spell P for pneumonia when other kids could only blurt A for apple. And so the kids of these are made to run in the race and sweat it like a man, even though the blighted creatures don’t even know how to adjust their own nappies. And since then they fight it out. Man to man and woman to woman. (Man to woman: they don’t usually fight…ahem). They fight it out on the field of education, love life and marriage, divorces and old age, and let’s face it. Even death.

The need for me to hop out of the bus takes a lot of meditation and planning. I see the front door and the back door. Wherever the coast is clear, I try to manoeuvre myself to that side. I have this feeling of struggling against the whole world as I find myself trying to wriggle out of the people hanging from the bus handles. I do my famous obscure yogic postures. Do the slithering nagin dance. And finally I hop out of it. And peace. This reminds me. in the crematoriums, there is usually a big line for the resting-in-peace fellows. The one who could ‘come first’ in the ‘dying examination’ goes in first. Theologically speaking, probably he gets a faster Nirvana. And so the rat race continues. In life as in death.