Cricket class
The following imaginary class room incident is inspired from a similar story written by Pu La Deshpande about Indian political leaders.
All the kids are making lot of noise. Of course it would be wrong to say that everyone is making noise. Sachin, who is sitting on the first bench, is very quiet as usual. Only 2 minutes are left for Sir to arrive.
At sharp 9, John sir enters the class. Everyone takes their places. "Good morning, everybody" Sir says. "Good morning, Sir" everyone says, every one except Harbhajan, that is. He is still struggling with his English, so he says, "Sat sri akaal Sirji".
"Ok, today we are going to learn about team spirit" John sir says. "Who is Tim's preet?" Well, it is Harbhajan again! Sir many a time felt that Harbhajan should have completed his English classes before joining this course. In fact, sometime he felt like himself joining Punjabi classes, so that he could communicate with Bhaji!!
"Beta, it is not Tim's preet. It is team spirit." he says, trying to control his frustration. "Ok boys, so let's learn something about team spirit.
Hey, Parthiv! How many times have I told you not to put your thumb in your mouth. Now you are big boys. So act your age. And how will you keep wickets if you put your thumb in your mouth?"
Parthiv doesn't pay any attention.
"PARTHIV!!" sir shouts.
"Parthiv, don't suck on your thumb." Sachin says in his gentle voice.
Parthiv immidiately takes the thumb out and says, "I will always listen to you, Sachin dada. You are my role model." Sachin gives him a TVS Victor smile.
"Grrrrrr.... I am the only DADA in this team! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" Sourav dada shouts from the last bench?
"Boys, boys, don't fight. Today we are going to learn about team spirit. Harbhajan! Why are you slapping Rahul?"
"Sir, he called me 'Sardar'"
"But you are a Sardar, right?"
"Sir, but he said I can bowl well only at 12 o'clock, and that since 12 o'clock is lunch time, I will never bowl well", Bhaji says angrily.
"Rahul, I always thought you were a quiet guy like Sachin", Sir says.
"But Sir, he calls me 'tortoise' because I score slowly."
"But, they all call u 'The Wall' for your perfect defence, right? You should be proud of it."
"I was Sir, but now I am not, because they sing a song, 'Rahul Dravid - The Wall, Can't hit a single ball'."
"Sourav, you are the captain of the side, you should make sure that boys don't fight with each other."
"I tried, but they don't listen to me. Some of them still listen to Sachin only" Sourav says dejectedly.
"Guys, no more fights. So we are going to learn about team spirit. Team spirit is - playing for the team and not for oneself. Can anyone give me one example of team spirit?"
Everybody remains silent and as usual starts looking down and fidgeting.
"Ok, Nehra, give me a good example of team spirit."
"Sir.. I don't know any. But I know a good example of lack of team spirit."
"Ok, ok, tell me that"
"When Sourav comes near his hundred, he forgets the team's requirement and plays slowly. That is a good example of lack of team spirit."
The whole class laughs.
"Grrrr.... In the next match Ajit will play in your place and you will be the water boy", roars Sourav.
"This type of fighting is not good for our team. Anil, you are a senior member of the side. You should take care of the boys.
ANIL!!! Why are you looking at the board? Look at me!"
Some children say "dhaapnya, dhaapnya". Everyone laughs.
"Sir, I forgot my lenses today."
"So you should always keep your specs with you."
"But sir, then these people call me 'dhaapnya'. Now I wear lenses, so I am not dhaapnya, right?"
"Is it? Then why do you call me 'zaadya' even though I have lost my weight" said angry Dinesh Mongia.
Now Ajit bemoans, "You call me 'bumper lottery', why?"
Nehra quips, "It's not us; it's the batsmen who see you that way." The class snickers, Ajit's red ears turn redder still.
Dinesh defends himself "I said that because you called me 'Navjot Singh Sidhu' when I said something without thinking."
"Enough of this!" says frustrated John Wright. "Guys, one thing we have learnt today and that is - there is no team spirit in our side. By the way, no matter what happens, you should not call anyone 'Navjot Singh Sidhu'. That hurts. Now we have learned what team spirit is not. Let us now see what team spirit is."
"Sir I have a shooting for TVS Victor" Sachin says.
"And I have to go for Pepsi" says Sehwag.
"Hero Honda for me" adds Sourav.
"Jam jam Jammy" quips Rahul.
One by one every one leaves the classroom.
Only Sir John and Parthiv Patel are left. Parthiv is waiting for his mom to pick him up. He still has his thumb in his mouth. Sir has anyway given up on this side. "Parthiv, I am going to the teacher's room. Don't go anywhere. Your mom will come in a few minutes. And don't leave your water bottle behind like last time."
Dejected, Sir John goes to the teachers' room, calls the peon and tells him to bring a VRS form!
Friday, December 06, 2002
The gods are angry with me, again.
I usually call out to them, praise them, and propitiate them, asking for forgiveness for my misgivings and shortcomings. I usually do this after I take a bath, whatever time of day it might be. This is important, because I have broken free of the natural urge to sleep when the moon ascends and bathe and break fast when the sun rises. I haven't placated them in the last two days, though.
'Why?', one might ask. It's Voyager, I was so involved in watching as many episodes of it as I could, I forgot my prime duty to the divine. I pay the price now. I realise the futility of human existence now. I realise the insignificance of my rantings now. Gone, gone is the ego that I am this and that. Partly responsible for it is the virulent outbreak of the Third Person Syndrome that Satyen was cursed with by the Snow Goddess of Princeton, but even if it weren't for that, this day would have befallen me.
How the planets would move into position at this precise moment, only providence can tell. But all those who don't believe that the Gods connive and deal retribution for laxness, do so now! Today was Id-ul-Fitr, a public holiday. Knowing that all offices would be closed, my network went down at precisely 1800 hours yesterday, 30 minutes after the administrator's office had closed. I shrugged. Fine, I'll survive a day without the network, without the internet, without my mail, without my blog. I couldn't. So I rushed to Cyph's room and used his computer.
I should have sunk to my knees and realised that the sequence of events that the Gods had set into motion would cascade into something massive. But I didn't. I kept watching Voyager, doing the very same thing that had distracted me from my duties, being bewitched by Kate Mulgrew and her smile, munching on Mister Potato Crisps, wild garlic flavour. I returned to my room, and it is then that the gravity of the situation dawned upon me. I was homeless, penniless and without a fresh shirt on my back. My room mate had locked the room and gone to Orchard, my own set of keys has been missing for quite a while, and the Hall Office where from I could procure a third set was closed on account of the Id. I was trapped.
A quick call to my room mate revealed that he wasn't going to return till 0100 on saturday. Now it is 0410 on saturday, and he yet hasn't returned. He had better be attacked by the transvestites who frequent Orchard Road after dark or something, otherwise I am going to be really mad. I bunked in Cyph's room yesterday night and the whole day today. I need a bath, a change of clothes, and a mobile phone charge-up. I have suffered enough, I believe. I beseech thee, ye Gods, make my room mate return on the wings of the wind, with the shining key to the room in his hand, I wish to sleep in my own warm bed with my pillows.
Warning: Esoterica. If you haven't seen Raiders of the Lost Ark, do not proceed. For those who have, you know better than to get yourselves vapourised, don't you?
Anyway, in the programme, Discovery of India [yeah, the one where Roshan Seth hammed as Nehru], you must have heard the Hiranyagarbha Sukta in the theme, albeit everything but the first line is merely a Hindi translation. I reproduce the first line here, in English.
Hiranyagarbha, in the beginning, He was the one lord of all that was, and that which was born,
He upheld the earth and the heavens, what God should we adore with our offerings?
I never really understood the meaning of this verse, since the hymn is directed to 'What?', as if 'What?' is a God!
But then, this other verse made things clearer. It's the last verse in the Naasadiya Suukta:
He, from whom this creation has arisen, did he create it or did he not?
He, who presides over the deepest stretches of space, must surely know it, or perhaps he does not.
Dear Werner, where is the electron? I suddenly find myself at peace.
I usually call out to them, praise them, and propitiate them, asking for forgiveness for my misgivings and shortcomings. I usually do this after I take a bath, whatever time of day it might be. This is important, because I have broken free of the natural urge to sleep when the moon ascends and bathe and break fast when the sun rises. I haven't placated them in the last two days, though.
'Why?', one might ask. It's Voyager, I was so involved in watching as many episodes of it as I could, I forgot my prime duty to the divine. I pay the price now. I realise the futility of human existence now. I realise the insignificance of my rantings now. Gone, gone is the ego that I am this and that. Partly responsible for it is the virulent outbreak of the Third Person Syndrome that Satyen was cursed with by the Snow Goddess of Princeton, but even if it weren't for that, this day would have befallen me.
How the planets would move into position at this precise moment, only providence can tell. But all those who don't believe that the Gods connive and deal retribution for laxness, do so now! Today was Id-ul-Fitr, a public holiday. Knowing that all offices would be closed, my network went down at precisely 1800 hours yesterday, 30 minutes after the administrator's office had closed. I shrugged. Fine, I'll survive a day without the network, without the internet, without my mail, without my blog. I couldn't. So I rushed to Cyph's room and used his computer.
I should have sunk to my knees and realised that the sequence of events that the Gods had set into motion would cascade into something massive. But I didn't. I kept watching Voyager, doing the very same thing that had distracted me from my duties, being bewitched by Kate Mulgrew and her smile, munching on Mister Potato Crisps, wild garlic flavour. I returned to my room, and it is then that the gravity of the situation dawned upon me. I was homeless, penniless and without a fresh shirt on my back. My room mate had locked the room and gone to Orchard, my own set of keys has been missing for quite a while, and the Hall Office where from I could procure a third set was closed on account of the Id. I was trapped.
A quick call to my room mate revealed that he wasn't going to return till 0100 on saturday. Now it is 0410 on saturday, and he yet hasn't returned. He had better be attacked by the transvestites who frequent Orchard Road after dark or something, otherwise I am going to be really mad. I bunked in Cyph's room yesterday night and the whole day today. I need a bath, a change of clothes, and a mobile phone charge-up. I have suffered enough, I believe. I beseech thee, ye Gods, make my room mate return on the wings of the wind, with the shining key to the room in his hand, I wish to sleep in my own warm bed with my pillows.
Warning: Esoterica. If you haven't seen Raiders of the Lost Ark, do not proceed. For those who have, you know better than to get yourselves vapourised, don't you?
Anyway, in the programme, Discovery of India [yeah, the one where Roshan Seth hammed as Nehru], you must have heard the Hiranyagarbha Sukta in the theme, albeit everything but the first line is merely a Hindi translation. I reproduce the first line here, in English.
Hiranyagarbha, in the beginning, He was the one lord of all that was, and that which was born,
He upheld the earth and the heavens, what God should we adore with our offerings?
I never really understood the meaning of this verse, since the hymn is directed to 'What?', as if 'What?' is a God!
But then, this other verse made things clearer. It's the last verse in the Naasadiya Suukta:
He, from whom this creation has arisen, did he create it or did he not?
He, who presides over the deepest stretches of space, must surely know it, or perhaps he does not.
Dear Werner, where is the electron? I suddenly find myself at peace.
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
Running the risk of sounding juvenile, I have to do this since I am bound to do so by the rules of the game.
I SIMPLY ADORE SHUCHITA.
Personally, I myself would have found a subtler and refined way to express my adoration for the person in question and so would like to apologise for this crudeness that has been forced upon me. You can visit her blog here. She is a voracious reader and a prolific blogger, and I am sure you will enjoy your visit.
Had a good breakfast after many days today.
I have been sleeping too late to wake up in time for breakfast, and have been sleeping too early to have breakfast and then retire. The crows were cawing when Cyph called me, and so I decided to go and shut them up with some toast and sweet tea, Indian style. When I dropped at Cyph's room, Baj was there too. It seems that they had been listening to left-wing propaganda all night. Hmm, I rubbed my two day stubble, sleep deprivation plus commie eloquence is a potent combination. Baj was totally sold on to deconstructing America by empowering the common American man.
I believe more and more people are starting to dislike the American imperialist ideal. My opportunism keeps me moving from one pan to the other, though I seriously believe that America has no business over how elections in Iraq are held. Baj, still red, was expounding a communist missionary model to spread camaraderie amongst Americans like Christianity spread. I raised a valid point, Jesus was impaled to the cross, not a kind of death I want to have. Nor some toxic injection, nor some sparky chair. I still haven't decided how I want to die. I hope I will have enough time to plan for that later. Anyway, how much sense does it make to plan for something that is not in your control anyway?
Dropping the morbid subject, I discovered today that there exist something like half-boiled eggs, two of which Baj wolfed down like the weasels on Animal Planet. So did Cyph, but he did it in a much dignified manner. The mood was still red, with Cyph's ardent love for Hitler and the Nazi flashing in between. It was quite good morning enterntainment, a commie and a nazi arguing about what system was best for India while I munched on a toast, laced with butter patiently, like a guy in a ration queue in an Indian metropolis. I couldn't take the 'kill all those not in the interest of the nation' rant that Cyph tugs when he imagines himself comandeering an SS Waffen division in Riga, Latvia. Almost a hundred thousand people of the Mosaic persuasion perished there., I am told.
Athata Baudhika! I cried in my mind, and I jumped into the debate. I had had a very fruitful discussion with Gaurav on the same topic a while ago, which helped me reaffirm and readjust my stand on many an issue. Cyph is an ardent Nazi, believing that people of a country should be the same race, the same religion, the same culture and speak the same language. Cyph, maybe he forgot that Baj is a Tambram. It is not for nothing that it sounds like a missile, Baj was on him like a Dane with a massive snout, tearing him to shreds. We all trooped back, Cyph still shouting "Zeig Heil!" in his head.
My meeting with Ivan was quite fruitful for him, since I gave him a lot of information about Hinduism. I am a trifle ashamed to admit this, but after my jab at Singaporeans yesterday, I was totally clobbered today when Ivan asked me what dvaita and advaita was, and what was the difference between Hinduism and Buddhism. That is more than most Hindus know, even those whose first name is Advait. I'll eat my hat if he wants me to. It wasn't fruitful for me, apart from the banana milkshake I had in between. After grilling me for 4 hours, the chap finally let me go, having written more than 12 pages about Hindu history, it's decimation, it's role in the Indian Independence, the threat of Hindu fascism, and what the world could learn from the Hindu religion. He is going to mail me a copy of his report, so that I can read what the Christians and the Muslims he interviewed said.
Let's see it's 2047, and more than 12 hours since I have had any food. I am hungry, but I am too lazy to go to JP and eat at moshi moshi Mos Burger again. I think I am in love with Kathryn Jeanway, I can't explain it, but I think it's the hair. I know she is 40 years old [Voyager was shot in 1995], but woman in uniform and woman in command, I am selling out lock, stock and barrel here to go and join the army, or in this case, the Starfleet Academy.
This is Captain Onkar Joshi of the Federation Starship Durvasus.....nyah...not quite as impressive :(
I have been sleeping too late to wake up in time for breakfast, and have been sleeping too early to have breakfast and then retire. The crows were cawing when Cyph called me, and so I decided to go and shut them up with some toast and sweet tea, Indian style. When I dropped at Cyph's room, Baj was there too. It seems that they had been listening to left-wing propaganda all night. Hmm, I rubbed my two day stubble, sleep deprivation plus commie eloquence is a potent combination. Baj was totally sold on to deconstructing America by empowering the common American man.
I believe more and more people are starting to dislike the American imperialist ideal. My opportunism keeps me moving from one pan to the other, though I seriously believe that America has no business over how elections in Iraq are held. Baj, still red, was expounding a communist missionary model to spread camaraderie amongst Americans like Christianity spread. I raised a valid point, Jesus was impaled to the cross, not a kind of death I want to have. Nor some toxic injection, nor some sparky chair. I still haven't decided how I want to die. I hope I will have enough time to plan for that later. Anyway, how much sense does it make to plan for something that is not in your control anyway?
Dropping the morbid subject, I discovered today that there exist something like half-boiled eggs, two of which Baj wolfed down like the weasels on Animal Planet. So did Cyph, but he did it in a much dignified manner. The mood was still red, with Cyph's ardent love for Hitler and the Nazi flashing in between. It was quite good morning enterntainment, a commie and a nazi arguing about what system was best for India while I munched on a toast, laced with butter patiently, like a guy in a ration queue in an Indian metropolis. I couldn't take the 'kill all those not in the interest of the nation' rant that Cyph tugs when he imagines himself comandeering an SS Waffen division in Riga, Latvia. Almost a hundred thousand people of the Mosaic persuasion perished there., I am told.
Athata Baudhika! I cried in my mind, and I jumped into the debate. I had had a very fruitful discussion with Gaurav on the same topic a while ago, which helped me reaffirm and readjust my stand on many an issue. Cyph is an ardent Nazi, believing that people of a country should be the same race, the same religion, the same culture and speak the same language. Cyph, maybe he forgot that Baj is a Tambram. It is not for nothing that it sounds like a missile, Baj was on him like a Dane with a massive snout, tearing him to shreds. We all trooped back, Cyph still shouting "Zeig Heil!" in his head.
My meeting with Ivan was quite fruitful for him, since I gave him a lot of information about Hinduism. I am a trifle ashamed to admit this, but after my jab at Singaporeans yesterday, I was totally clobbered today when Ivan asked me what dvaita and advaita was, and what was the difference between Hinduism and Buddhism. That is more than most Hindus know, even those whose first name is Advait. I'll eat my hat if he wants me to. It wasn't fruitful for me, apart from the banana milkshake I had in between. After grilling me for 4 hours, the chap finally let me go, having written more than 12 pages about Hindu history, it's decimation, it's role in the Indian Independence, the threat of Hindu fascism, and what the world could learn from the Hindu religion. He is going to mail me a copy of his report, so that I can read what the Christians and the Muslims he interviewed said.
Let's see it's 2047, and more than 12 hours since I have had any food. I am hungry, but I am too lazy to go to JP and eat at moshi moshi Mos Burger again. I think I am in love with Kathryn Jeanway, I can't explain it, but I think it's the hair. I know she is 40 years old [Voyager was shot in 1995], but woman in uniform and woman in command, I am selling out lock, stock and barrel here to go and join the army, or in this case, the Starfleet Academy.
This is Captain Onkar Joshi of the Federation Starship Durvasus.....nyah...not quite as impressive :(
Tuesday, December 03, 2002
I know what my obituary is going to say if I die anytime soon:
"May he find in death the peace he never found in life."
My life is like a very bad channel, lots of static. I know Germans who know noise as the disturbance in a channel, but not as an audible menace. Lucky them. Not really, I am sure they have a German word for undesirable sounds. I really need some peace. Not peace of mind, that I can never get. I need general peace. I live 50 metres away from the Pan-Island Expressway, and it's tragic to say the least. In consolation, there is a very nice garden between the Expressway and my hostel and there are lovely songbirds chirping there in the morning.
Singaporeans, many of them are very superficial. Not that it is bad all the time, but when some guy who decides to buy a motorbike that causes more noise pollution than it does air pollution and run it down the Expressway to work everyday, it is something that you just cannot live with. Yet I do, rather, I have to.
I am meeting a local Singaporean for lunch tomorrow. It's a guy, named Ivan. He is not Slavic, many Chinese people here have names that just are not common in their country and culture. I wouldn't observe this as a trait of the Chinese, because there are Robin Dhamankars and Healthy Shahs and Roger Guptes in Mumbai itself. Nevertheless, I prefer an Ivan to a Zhou Hanfeng, it's easier to store in my database that is not phonetically compatible with Chinese names.
Today, Baj, Cyph and I went to Mos Burger again. Maybe it is Cyph and my Nihonophilia, or maybe it is because Baja needed something new to eat, but we really are digging this joint. The best part of it all is that they have a vegetarian burger, so I don't have to get puzzled looks from people like I do when I ask people to cook my spaghetti without the chicken and give me tomato puree instead of the usual beef sauce. I tell them I am a Hindu, but then they tell me Hindus can eat meat, which is true. I have tried telling people that I am a monk, but then they look at you even more weirdly, which is quite funny. So I just tell them, forget it man, don't ask questions, no meat, no seafood, just vegetables and fruits.
It seems that Cyph and I really enjoy making Singaporean jaws drop to the ground. Though there have been people like Gotam and Prabs who told some local girls that they had three wives back home, we stick to more plausible lies to extract fun out of taking these nice people for a spin. Like telling people that Indians getting IT training since primary school being the reason why Indian IT professionals are so good. One female in Temasek Polytechnic I know once explaimed in a Communications class that she was the heir apparent of a small princely state near Nepal. Her tutor, some Aussie who knew better, decided to play along, this female was suddenly bombarded with questions so as to how her kingdom was run, and whether she lived in a palace and what not. Poor thing, she had a hard time removing the dunce cap that she had put on her classmates' collective head.
It can be offensive sometime, though. Cyph gets it all the time. I mean, ok, he is a little too fair even for a chitpavan, but I mean, there is no universal law that Indians have to be tanned, is there? So when Cyph writes nationality Indian, some morons ask him if he is British. As if that wasn't impolite enough, some folks refuse to accept him as being Indian. I mean, Cyph tells me that some New Yorkers thought that he looked more Greek than Indian too, but I guess they put it across lot better. "Woa, you can't be Indian! lah" is something no Indian wants to hear. Rohan and I have experienced this. The director of Procurement and Logistics attended a dinner for interns and he says, "Are you Pakistani? We have an office in Karachi.." and I am like, "Oye! Bacche ki jaan lega kya?" Rohan told me that someone mistook him for a Bangladeshi and that was the most embarrassing moment of his life.
People attach a sense of pride and belonging to the places they have been born and brought up in. Some people change these loyalties as they forge relationships with new places. Some people are too nomadic to be from one single place. But the last two are the ones who suffer from massive identity crises, from what I have observed. A Bengali friend who never lived in Bengal and can hardly read or write Bengali is reading all the Bengali authors she can, in English, though. All my friends, Chinese, Indonesian, the various Indian communities seem to feel a need to reach out to their roots, not that they are far away. People try to be American in Mumbai, but once they are out of Mumbai, most of them wouldn't hear a word against Mumbai. The need to be a Mumbaikar, or Marathi or Indian arises acutely when one is out of Mumbai, Maharashtra or India, it seems. Maybe the need to live arises only when one is dead. But unlike a plane ticket back home, there is nothing here. I guess I will look for peace while I yet live. Maybe I will retire early and move to Tibet or Ladakh. Maybe I will buy land in Thal and set up a mango farm. Life is a cruel paradoxical sequence. To get peace one has to endure noise. To get relief one has to endure pain. Why?
"May he find in death the peace he never found in life."
My life is like a very bad channel, lots of static. I know Germans who know noise as the disturbance in a channel, but not as an audible menace. Lucky them. Not really, I am sure they have a German word for undesirable sounds. I really need some peace. Not peace of mind, that I can never get. I need general peace. I live 50 metres away from the Pan-Island Expressway, and it's tragic to say the least. In consolation, there is a very nice garden between the Expressway and my hostel and there are lovely songbirds chirping there in the morning.
Singaporeans, many of them are very superficial. Not that it is bad all the time, but when some guy who decides to buy a motorbike that causes more noise pollution than it does air pollution and run it down the Expressway to work everyday, it is something that you just cannot live with. Yet I do, rather, I have to.
I am meeting a local Singaporean for lunch tomorrow. It's a guy, named Ivan. He is not Slavic, many Chinese people here have names that just are not common in their country and culture. I wouldn't observe this as a trait of the Chinese, because there are Robin Dhamankars and Healthy Shahs and Roger Guptes in Mumbai itself. Nevertheless, I prefer an Ivan to a Zhou Hanfeng, it's easier to store in my database that is not phonetically compatible with Chinese names.
Today, Baj, Cyph and I went to Mos Burger again. Maybe it is Cyph and my Nihonophilia, or maybe it is because Baja needed something new to eat, but we really are digging this joint. The best part of it all is that they have a vegetarian burger, so I don't have to get puzzled looks from people like I do when I ask people to cook my spaghetti without the chicken and give me tomato puree instead of the usual beef sauce. I tell them I am a Hindu, but then they tell me Hindus can eat meat, which is true. I have tried telling people that I am a monk, but then they look at you even more weirdly, which is quite funny. So I just tell them, forget it man, don't ask questions, no meat, no seafood, just vegetables and fruits.
It seems that Cyph and I really enjoy making Singaporean jaws drop to the ground. Though there have been people like Gotam and Prabs who told some local girls that they had three wives back home, we stick to more plausible lies to extract fun out of taking these nice people for a spin. Like telling people that Indians getting IT training since primary school being the reason why Indian IT professionals are so good. One female in Temasek Polytechnic I know once explaimed in a Communications class that she was the heir apparent of a small princely state near Nepal. Her tutor, some Aussie who knew better, decided to play along, this female was suddenly bombarded with questions so as to how her kingdom was run, and whether she lived in a palace and what not. Poor thing, she had a hard time removing the dunce cap that she had put on her classmates' collective head.
It can be offensive sometime, though. Cyph gets it all the time. I mean, ok, he is a little too fair even for a chitpavan, but I mean, there is no universal law that Indians have to be tanned, is there? So when Cyph writes nationality Indian, some morons ask him if he is British. As if that wasn't impolite enough, some folks refuse to accept him as being Indian. I mean, Cyph tells me that some New Yorkers thought that he looked more Greek than Indian too, but I guess they put it across lot better. "Woa, you can't be Indian! lah" is something no Indian wants to hear. Rohan and I have experienced this. The director of Procurement and Logistics attended a dinner for interns and he says, "Are you Pakistani? We have an office in Karachi.." and I am like, "Oye! Bacche ki jaan lega kya?" Rohan told me that someone mistook him for a Bangladeshi and that was the most embarrassing moment of his life.
People attach a sense of pride and belonging to the places they have been born and brought up in. Some people change these loyalties as they forge relationships with new places. Some people are too nomadic to be from one single place. But the last two are the ones who suffer from massive identity crises, from what I have observed. A Bengali friend who never lived in Bengal and can hardly read or write Bengali is reading all the Bengali authors she can, in English, though. All my friends, Chinese, Indonesian, the various Indian communities seem to feel a need to reach out to their roots, not that they are far away. People try to be American in Mumbai, but once they are out of Mumbai, most of them wouldn't hear a word against Mumbai. The need to be a Mumbaikar, or Marathi or Indian arises acutely when one is out of Mumbai, Maharashtra or India, it seems. Maybe the need to live arises only when one is dead. But unlike a plane ticket back home, there is nothing here. I guess I will look for peace while I yet live. Maybe I will retire early and move to Tibet or Ladakh. Maybe I will buy land in Thal and set up a mango farm. Life is a cruel paradoxical sequence. To get peace one has to endure noise. To get relief one has to endure pain. Why?
This happened last year, sometime in December, when I had gone back home for the holidays.
I had gone to Thal for some Dattatreya celebrations because some famous kirtankar was going to come and sing bhajans [devotional songs] at night, so my nana[maternal grandfather] and his nephew wanted to go, especially since they were friends of this guy's father's. Anyway, after the kirtan [a music narration extolling someone's greatness] was over at around 2 am, the guy left, and the loudspeakers were playing general purpose bhakti songs about Dattatreya, usually sung by the Mangeshkar sisters and it was pretty good, till about 3 am when some idiot decided to play Gadar at full blast.
Now, I like 'Mai nikla, gaddi leke' and all, but for god's sake, it was Dattatreya's birthday, it was 3 am, they should atleast have some taqaza-e-waqt? But these people were the folks who had made the arrangements and all, so my kaku-aaji[grandaunt, she lived next door] was like, 'zaunde re, karun de maja tyana' [forget it, let them have fun]. It just went to show that even chitpavans are tolerant people. But my civic sense was tingled, so I went around knocking on doors in the neighbourhood. So Sadu Ranade and his son, old man Khanderkar and his grandson Pappu, and some other folks from the gurav-aali went and put an end to the nuisance. it was quite helpful, taking some folks from the gurav-aali that is, as it turned out that some of them were the fathers of the boys who were playing the music.
By the time it was all over, it was 4 am, and I had lost sleep, so I decided to go to the Sai-Ganesh temple on the way to the beach, and then onto the beach itself. The stars from the beachside in an indian village are beautiful, and the sunrise is breathtaking. The reason why I went because I love the way to the beach, the path, it is flanked by bakuli flowers on both sides. My Kaku-aaji warns us that bakuli flowers attract snakes, but I have never seen a snake there. Maybe it is just the rumour that there are ghosts by the seaside that scares the old woman. My grandfather's eldest brother apparently conversed with a ghost on of his morning walks to the seashore, but I think it's another old wives' tale. I left for Mumbai that very day, so I didn't actually meet Pappu and ask him if his old man had a good night's sleep, but I am sure he did.
Oh, take me away to the country, again...
I had gone to Thal for some Dattatreya celebrations because some famous kirtankar was going to come and sing bhajans [devotional songs] at night, so my nana[maternal grandfather] and his nephew wanted to go, especially since they were friends of this guy's father's. Anyway, after the kirtan [a music narration extolling someone's greatness] was over at around 2 am, the guy left, and the loudspeakers were playing general purpose bhakti songs about Dattatreya, usually sung by the Mangeshkar sisters and it was pretty good, till about 3 am when some idiot decided to play Gadar at full blast.
Now, I like 'Mai nikla, gaddi leke' and all, but for god's sake, it was Dattatreya's birthday, it was 3 am, they should atleast have some taqaza-e-waqt? But these people were the folks who had made the arrangements and all, so my kaku-aaji[grandaunt, she lived next door] was like, 'zaunde re, karun de maja tyana' [forget it, let them have fun]. It just went to show that even chitpavans are tolerant people. But my civic sense was tingled, so I went around knocking on doors in the neighbourhood. So Sadu Ranade and his son, old man Khanderkar and his grandson Pappu, and some other folks from the gurav-aali went and put an end to the nuisance. it was quite helpful, taking some folks from the gurav-aali that is, as it turned out that some of them were the fathers of the boys who were playing the music.
By the time it was all over, it was 4 am, and I had lost sleep, so I decided to go to the Sai-Ganesh temple on the way to the beach, and then onto the beach itself. The stars from the beachside in an indian village are beautiful, and the sunrise is breathtaking. The reason why I went because I love the way to the beach, the path, it is flanked by bakuli flowers on both sides. My Kaku-aaji warns us that bakuli flowers attract snakes, but I have never seen a snake there. Maybe it is just the rumour that there are ghosts by the seaside that scares the old woman. My grandfather's eldest brother apparently conversed with a ghost on of his morning walks to the seashore, but I think it's another old wives' tale. I left for Mumbai that very day, so I didn't actually meet Pappu and ask him if his old man had a good night's sleep, but I am sure he did.
Oh, take me away to the country, again...
Sunday, December 01, 2002
i am an idiot.
i have the best friend in the world, and yet i persist, unknowingly, to hurt her with my actions and words.
since i was not aware of these things, i used to wonder why it seemed that my friendship was faltering.
i even let the crazy thought enter my mind that she might be at fault.
of course, now i see the light and the folly of my ways.
i make this pledge public so that it may be known that i am not a person as evil as i have been potraying myself.
it is also public so that fear of public shame might keep me from straying from the path of friendship again.
since i am shameless, it defeats the purpose somehow, but nevertheless, some shred of shame left in me might as yet yank me back to my responsibilities as a friend.
i reiterate my solemn pledge to try and be worthy of the grace and benevolence that has been my lot ever since i had the companionship of this person, something that i have come to take for granted, unfortunately. i plead for wisdom and foresight to ensure I never again will let this happen.
onkar.
i have the best friend in the world, and yet i persist, unknowingly, to hurt her with my actions and words.
since i was not aware of these things, i used to wonder why it seemed that my friendship was faltering.
i even let the crazy thought enter my mind that she might be at fault.
of course, now i see the light and the folly of my ways.
i make this pledge public so that it may be known that i am not a person as evil as i have been potraying myself.
it is also public so that fear of public shame might keep me from straying from the path of friendship again.
since i am shameless, it defeats the purpose somehow, but nevertheless, some shred of shame left in me might as yet yank me back to my responsibilities as a friend.
i reiterate my solemn pledge to try and be worthy of the grace and benevolence that has been my lot ever since i had the companionship of this person, something that i have come to take for granted, unfortunately. i plead for wisdom and foresight to ensure I never again will let this happen.
onkar.
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