Gullible generation and the evil of Social Democracy!

In a village while rest of the villagers are lazing off, one farmer plows the land, sows seeds, grows crops and harvests it. Once it is harvested, rest of the village ask for their share because wealth is to be shared by all. Farmer declines and points out rest of the village wasting their time while they could've grown their own crops. They try to make the farmer feel guilty for not showing compassion. When he still doesn't budge, they pounce on the harvest and loot the farmer. Why?! Because, the land he grew on it is a natural resource and belongs to every person on earth.

Now, isn't that a fair world filled with compassion?! Well, that's what "socialist democracy" is in a nutshell.

With looting happening across US and Canada, just kept wondering where did our generation went outrageously dimwitted. Some of the journalists are justifying the loot and arson. It is very depressing when we reduce to a bunch of uncivilized brutes who have lost any sense of morality and conscience. More importantly basic intelligence.

If I sound ridiculous in the farmer's example, ask yourself if you're being ridiculous when you find yourself agreeing and getting carried away by someone complaining about 1% of population owning so and so percentage of wealth in a country. As a matter of fact, you are!

Look at this example, in 2013, Top 5 companies contributed 16% to Bharata's GDP. Isn't it obvious these companies are owned by individuals directly (Reliance) or indirectly (TATA Sons) and hence the wealth that comes with it?! If they decide to sell it off and distribute their net worth, those companies will worth rubble. Why does so many of our generation don't understand this simple concept is beyond my comprehension!

Some reference readings:

https://www.business-standard.com/article/economy-policy/top-5-firms-output-16-of-gdp-104032901045_1.html

https://mises.org/wire/why-social-democracy-failing-europe

Little things (1)

[Wrote it years ago. Calling a blog 'Freedom of Thoughts' and not posting actual thoughts was a mistake. Here I'm correcting that mistake... Thanks to Google for keeping this intact]

Its amazing how small things make a huge difference to consumers. The point in question here is facebook videos.

People have option to post both external link to a video and or upload it in their video log. But, if you post only the link, the number of people who watch the video will be very minimal. Vice versa is not true. If video is embedded but no link is provided, it doesn't make any difference. Interestingly, all it takes is just one click to play the video either through opening a link or to play the embedded video.

Zorro and India

I was watching the dance scene of ‘The mask of Zorro’ and happened to remember one show aired on a TV channel a few years ago. I remember it because of the utter stupidity of the show.

It was during release of the movie ‘Spider Man 2’. This TV channel (I wouldn’t like to name it but just keep it in mind that it is one of those channels which we found “cool” during our teenage but later found out it is full of crap including its reality shows) made a show with 4 kids trying to portray their favourite superhero as the best. Now, when I say ‘Superheroes’, there are 3 names that will come to your mind, almost involuntarily, Batman, Spiderman and Superman. Some Indians may replace any of these names with ‘Krrish’ (I for one moron don’t how to spell his name).

Heaven knows why that TV channel selected four kids for that show and let me remind you it was before the Krrish era (I for one moron still don’t know how to spell his name J). They had to somehow bring one more superhero into that show. If I ask you now, I am sure you would scratch your head wondering who the fourth one will be despite the hint I gave in the beginning. It was ‘Zorro’.

I don’t refute if Zorro is a superhero. The thing that didn’t go well with me was the way ‘Zorro’ was enforced on the audience. As I said 90% of the audience to which the TV channel was catering was not aware of who on earth was Zorro. The funniest part is that the kid who was “supposed” to support Zorro also didn’t know who the hell Zorro was. It made for very funny scene when the other three kids were talking about the greatness of the respective superheroes they were supporting and this guy supporting Zorro didn’t utter a single word and just looked like an idiot on a national TV.

I am not talking here for that kid. The thing is, I still feel western culture(When I said ‘western culture’, I meant European and North American culture, don’t mistake it with South American or African, which is still west considering India’s geographical location, culture J) is enforced on most of the people in this country? I think some of these TV channels are doing so.

On an honest note, I didn’t know anything about Zorro apart from few things that there were few flops movies with Zorro as the protagonistJ. He had some Spanish or Portuguese connection and his name in Spanish meant ‘Fox’. To this day I fairly know anything more about him.

Indian Couple Refuse to Give Their Child a Religious Identity

Read the original news here http://friendlyatheist.com/2009/12/27/indian-couple-refuses-to-give-child-a-religious-identity/. I saw it first on the front page of 28th December's "Times of India" (Mumbai circulation), but couldn't get the link to paste it here

Not often you woke up for some pleasant news like this. Thankfully, at least once in a while you bump on something like this. I appreciate the stand these couple have taken and I sincerely wish others follow this.

I just happened to remember the days when I left the religion column blank whenever I was asked to fill up any form.

I wish similar thing happens with nationality as well. Imagine the day when we don't need any nationality to identify ourselves, instead we all say we belong to earth. I wish it happens one day :)

One world, One humanity!

A tree called vengeance - Digging to its roots - Part VII

(NOTE -- Please read in the order the story is posted... from Part I)

I am the best in school. Studies to sports to extracurricular, I am always ahead. The undisputed star of my school, Brandon Foster. Everyone is a friend. No rivals, no enemies, no competition. Perfect my life it seems, but not normal. I want someone to compete with. But sadly I don’t find anyone

I am writing a play for my school function. At least in that play the protogonist of my story will have a normal life. There will be a villain. What will be his name? I will call him just A Guy. I will play both the characters. My mom says why not take others to play one of the characters. I don’t like it. I am the one who can rival my self. Play was a hit. I start writing more and more plays around these two characters. Everytime I play both the characters. It’s fun. Now I know how I want my rival to be. All my teachers praised my work. “Brandon. If there is anyone who can rival him it can only be Brandon”. They’re right.

But lately one guy has arrived in my school. He looks very much like me. I hate him for that. I hat him everything. He matches me in everything I do. I win one, he wins the other. Our rivalry is becoming well known. Nowadays he creeps into my home. He scatters my things just to irritate me and flees away before I call my mom. But he doesn’t know I am afraid to call my mom. One day he spilled the milk. I said it was him. But my mom doesn’t believe me. She thinks I am lying. She scolded me and warned never should I talk to her about him. I think she looked a little scared. I would never tell her about him after this. And she never looked worried after that.

I moved to graduation school. Damn! He joined the same school as I am. I still don’t know his name. I still call him A Guy when I talk about him.

But one day I found out his name. He was playing cricket. Somebody said, “He plays like Dave Madison, that Oz player”. Let’s call him Dave Madison. Yes, that is the name of A Guy. Dave Madison. Strange thing is, since he got the name Dave Madison, he started to look more like Dave Madison rather than me.

*********************************THE-END**********************************

A tree called vengeance - Digging to its roots - Part VI

(NOTE -- Please read in the order the story is posted... from Part I)


Brandon Foster. I write that name on the beach sand. I pee on it. That does no good to calm down my nerves. I write it again and spit on it. No good. These are all silly little things people do to control their anger and frustration. It won’t work for me. I need to avenge. Brandon slept with my girlfriend, and only thing that will bring me back to normal is when I cause bigger hurt to him. Only way to I can do is by sleeping with his wife and letting him know who his wife is having an affair with. But he is not married. I will wait till he is married. Or I will get him married and take my revenge. In whatever way, I shall have my vengeance. Doesn't matter the number years that I might have to wait. Longer the wait sweeter the taste of my vengeance will be. The most sweetest thing, the most sweetest way.

I hit a pub. I am drunk. The girl sitting on the couch is checking me out. She is hot. Perhaps, the hottest there could be. While looking at me, she rolls her glass over her glossy lips. I smile at her. She smiles back. I know my next move. I order two drinks and go to her with drinks stretched out in my hands. She looks already drunk. That’s good. She doesn’t mind drinking more. I stretch out my hand and offer her a drink, “A drink for the gorgeous lady from Dave Madison”. She smiles and takes the drink. We continue talking.

We went on flirting with each other and I made sure we drank a lot more. I don’t have plans to take her to bed. I will wait for the right time. Not today. It is too early.

I give her the number. Not mine. I will give her Brandon’s number. I tell her my name is Brandon, Brandon Foster. She asks why did I lie little while ago? I tell her Dave is the name I use for one night stands, and for a girl like her I am Brandon Foster, the real guy. I tell her I don't want to end it for one day. I think she liked what I said. What happens when she meets Brandon? She’s too drunk to remember the man or his name she flirted with last night. I have made sure of that.

Brandon is a looker. Just because I hate him, doesn’t make him any ugly. I am sure she would like him. I want her to meet him. I want both of them to fall in love. Then, I will write my story of vengeance. I will make Brandon learn how it feels when your worst enemy sleeps with your girlfriend. I will stay behind the screens and these two will be puppets, and I will be their puppet master. I will just have a ‘guest’ appearance. I will direct these two. I will watch over them if they go off my script and bring them back on track, but never shall I let them know who is the director. If they know, it would flop.

Only thing I hope for now is this slut doesn't forget to call up the number I gave her. She is one helluva drinker to meet her in the pub again and start it all over.

A tree called vengeance - Digging to its roots - Part V

(NOTE -- Please read in the order the story is posted... from Part I)

I met Stella in a strange way. It was a blind date but not a blind date at all. At least that’s what she told me when I met her.

A lady calls me and says in a husky voice, “So, what’s up handsome?” I am taken aback by the way the girl is talking to a stranger. I ask her, “Who's this?” She says, “Very well”, she seems a little surprised, she continues, “Don’t you remember?” 'NO'. I almost said it. But I wante to meet this intrepid girl. So I blame it on alchohol and fix up a date with her.

When I see her the first time, perhpas the one that I will remember, I am sure I hadn’t seen her before. There is no way you could forget that pretty face once you see it and worse, after flirting with her just the previous evening. She tells me I met her in a pub. I say may be. Whatever it is, one good thing I had done was leave my number with her. Worst would have been me taking her number. I don’t remember a single damn moment of what I did in pub. Funny thing I don't even remember going to pub last night.

But none of it does matter. Strangest might be the way we met, but our wedding was one of those conventional ones. We married after four years of being together. We’re happily married couple now.

However, never could I find a convincing answer to the question, how did she got my number? Is it really true that I was too drunk to realize the girl I met? I asked Stella many times, was she really sure that it was me whom she met. She always said ‘Yes’. I can’t ask the same question anymore and embarrass her. I will have to find out on my own.

One probability I thought was it might be somebody’s prank on me or her which turned out to be our fairytale? But why would somebody give my number to her? If it were a prank, the prankster would have identified himself/herself by now. But it hasn’t happened so far. Then there could be only one other way. That is Stella might have called up a wrong number which luckily turned out to be mine. But I don’t believe in luck and chances.

Will I ever find convincing answers to my questions? I don’t know.

A tree called vengeance - Digging to its roots - Part IV

(NOTE -- Please read in the order the story is posted... from Part I)

Sometimes people are not what they appear. Appearences deceive. No, that is wrong of me to say that. We deceive ourselves. Because we see what we want to see. And when you see something you don’t want to see and there’s no other way to see it, only then shall you believe how you’ve been decieving yourself all this while. Like I realized the day before Stella died. I mean, the day before Stella was murdered.

Every friend of mine warned about Stella and her relations with her guy friends. I be honest, I underplayed all those warnings as just rumours. Just to convince myself I confronted Stella with all I heard about her. She agreed about her past and didn’t forget to mention that she has burried it and now want to move on and experience love not just sex. Too matured talk for her age, I feel. When you sleep around with lot of people at lot of different places enjoying the ultimate pleasures of life you tend to show lot more maturity than your lesser active peers I think. I myself hasn’t been a guy known for his fidelity with girlfriends, mine and others' included. At the end of the day, we know we both are sluts. The fact is we’re willing to forget and forgive each other's past. And that would be enough to make any marriage work. That’s how almost all the marriages on this earth work.

It has been three months since our wedding. I don’t know for what reason, I feel today is my happiest day of my life. I finished my work very early. I want to take Stella out and have a blast. I want to give a surprise to her. I buy her a gift. A diamond necklace. She's gonna love it.

I go home with this little gift hid inside my coat pocket. I don’t press the calling bell. Calling bells take away the surprises sometimes. I don’t want her to know about my presence. I want to catch her by surprise and want to see her expression when I will put this necklace around her neck.

I step inside home. A deathly silence has taken over. I don’t like this silence. It’s like some horror movie where as the deadly silence pervades you can be hundred percent sure that something is gonna pop up and scare the shit out of you. Boo!

I looked for her in the kitchen and in the balcony. She wasn’t there. She must be in her room. But it didn’t give good vibes as I walked towards her room. I heard moanings of a girl. If I hated the silence first, I hate this noise even more. Room's door is kept ajar. I step back for second, wondering could it be Stella? No. What silly! It might be some porn movie she’s watching. A wry smile passes through my face. But is Stella's voice. As her husband I know her sounds of pleasure, every bit of it.

I slightly push the door. What I saw completely shakes me off from my ground. It is indeed Stella who is moaning. She is lying there in bed completely naked, with another man. I look at the guy with her in the bed. I felt like the world is coming to an end. It is Dave. Dave Madison.

I am shell shocked. I don’t know what to do. I leave the place without a word.

He's sleeping with my wife. How could she let him do that? Why Stella? Why? Why are you doing this?

How could she do it to me? She said past is past, but what is it doing in the present? She’s going to pay for it. I am going to make her pay one hell for it. If it had been anyone else, a divorce paper thrown on her face would have calmed my nerves, but she’s doing it with Dave Madison. My worst enemy in this life. Price she has to pay for what she did or is doing, perhaps, will keep on doing, is not going to be a small one, and I am going to make sure of that. I will make sure she will not do it to me again.

A tree called vengeance - Digging to its roots - Part III

(NOTE -- Please read in the order the story is posted... from Part I)


Getting caught red handed when cheating on the husband is a good enough reason to commit suicide. And Stella was caught in that situation, by her hapless husband, Brandon Foster which is me.

I didn’t say anything after that incident. I came back home at around midnight. I sat there on the chair in the living room. Stella is still in the bedroom. I am thinking whether to do it or not. I close my eyes, swallow my saliva and send out a long sigh and stand up with determinantion in my eyes that yes, I am going to do it.

I walk inside the bedroom. Lock the door. I look at her. She’s scared. She wouldn’t have been scared as much had I not walked in with 10 ft long rope. I pull the drawer and put on the gloves. She starts to scream as she came to know my intentions for her. Hm. When I built this house I wanted my bedroom to be completely sound proof because I didn’t want anyone outside to hear my wife’s screaming when she and I are having a great time. Now it is coming to my rescue in a completely different way. Her cries are not heard outside.

I make a ring out of the rope. It is ready to take it’s prey. Stella now knowing that her cries wouldn’t help her, tries to run towards the door. I pull her by the arms and push her to the ground. Before she gets up, I am on her. I turn her body face down. I tore her night gown and use it to tie her hands behind the back. I shouldn’t not forget to change her dress and burn her torn off gown soon after I am done.

I throw the other end of the rope to the hook in the ceiling. Hang is ready in the middle of the room. I pull and check if it’s strong enough. It looks it is.

I look at her. She looks like a fish taken out of water with all her struggling. I just wonder why humans fight so much when it is completely clear that you’re going to die. You can’t avoid the inevitable, sometimes.

She’s beautiful. After all she’s the woman I fell in love at the first sight. Beauty is such a bitch. It makes you go distance to make it yours and then you go even further to destroy it.

I take out one of dresses from the wardrobe and change her gown with this one. I take all the pieces of gown and put it in the bag. That bag will have all the evidences that would tell point me as the killer. Only thing is, it will be burnt before the world knows about Stella’s death.

At 3.05 am, exactly after 12 hours after the incident which brought us to this point, I made her stand on the chair and put the hang around her neck and pull the chair underneath her legs. She rattles her legs and makes her final efforts to stay alive. Gradually she seemed to loose energy. She looks horrible. But she looked even more horrible when I saw her with him. For the last time she kicks her leg in the air. Then she’s silent. She doesn’t move. I burn all the things that need to be including my gloves.

Before I leave the room I take a look at her. Bitch. How could she do it to me? How could she cheat on me despite all the love I bestowed on her? She deserved to die the death of bitch.

I come out of the room. I pick up the phone and call Francis.

A tree called vengeance - Digging to its roots - Part II

(NOTE -- Please read in the order the story is posted... from Part I)

I collapse to the ground. I am shivering. I am scared. I don’t know what to do. Stella is lying dead in the bedroom.

I call up my friend, Francis.

I tell him Stella is dead.

He is shocked.

He asks how it happened.

I tell him she hanged herself.

He asks why. I say, I don’t know.

He says, “Of course you wouldn’t. Stupid me. You wouldn’t have let her do it if you had known. I am sorry”

I don’t say anything. A pause.

I ask him to come over. He agrees.


Francis sees me lying on the ground staring at the ceiling blankly. He understands the situation. He puts hand on my shoulder. He doesn’t know what to say. Neither do I say anything. Tears flow down my face.

We decide to inform the police first. A case is registered. Stella’s body was sent for autopsy. Result confirmed Stella died because of strangling. Police couldn’t decipher the reason why Stella would do it. But I know why would she do it.

I lied to Francis and to the police, and to everyone. I know the reason.

A tree called vengeance - Digging to its roots - Part I

(NOTE -- Please read in the order the story is posted... from Part I)


I take a last look at her. Her face looks so calm. The face I fell in love with at the first sight. I fill her image in my eyes and close as if to hold it there forever. Then they close the casket. When I opened my eyes I see him. Dave. Dave Madison. Why is he here? He looks sad.

He behaves as if it’s his wife who is dead. I hate his sight. I hated him from the beginning. I hate to look weak in front of him. You wouldn’t like to look weak and beaten in front of your enemy, would you?

I know him from school. I don’t know why but we depised each other from the first day of our school. There was a strange rivalry between us for which the reason was not known to anyone, even to us.

He bought a motorcycle, I bought a car.

I got selected for the football team and most of the times sat on bench, he got into Cricket team and became captian.

He got a girl friend and I did her.

Yes. That’s when all hell broke loose. Our rivalry turned to enemity. The hatred which was under wrap came out in open. Competition got even worse. We always tried to outdo each other.


And, the end of our competition was this. Death of my wife, Stella Foster.

Chaos Theory

I decide to give a skip to my day’s schedule which now has become kind of boring and tedious despite containing things that aren’t much difficult or repetitive, in fact, everyday there is something new but only that it’s already known to me as everyone’s schecdule is decided by one gigantic computer which was installed to bring in the order into the chaos so prevalent in the pre-computerized world, so that there are no conflicts betweeen people, no traffic jams on the road because the monstrous computer knows everyone's whereabouts, and it is maintaining this order with highest efficiency, and I confess here that I enjoyed it very much in the beginning because everything was in order, it was different, but lately I have grown weary of all that, and I strongly feel this new system has taken out the excitement from people's lives, because excitement is not knowing what the excitement is but guessing what the excitement is going to be, this system doesn't give that opportunity anymore, and for that reason I decide to instill a little chaos in this order and enjoy myself, I, the first person after the computerization, am not going to follow the pre laid path but take different one which is not decided by some huge computer but my own brain, and I know it is going to bring huge chaos into the whole system because if I don’t follow the computer’s order, it doesn’t know where am I and what am I going to do and hence, is not able to direct others and it will lead to a chain reaction where everything goes haywire, oh, it is evil, you say, and I say I can’t agree more on that, I have stopped caring for all that and here I am, taking my own path and I go with my own plans as you witness a big chaos, the whole world is crumbling down for there is no order, and I am the one to blame and I am blamed, and the computer, for the first time in ages, has been shut down, none of the people know what they have to do, or should I say, they aren’t told what they have to do and so they should do what they want and it’s freedom, then there is chaos, perhaps freedom is chaos, or chaos is freedom, I am not sure, but they seem to not want that freedom, partly because they see chaos not the freedom so, I get arrested for what I did and I am gonna be hanged now, and I am sweating all over, and they’re asking for an apology which could mean just few years in jail but I am not up for the deal, it is not worth it, moreover I am sure there are few in that crowd who think what I did was right, they will respect me for that, they feel happy because someone was able to see what was wrong and few will realize what was wrong, none of it will happen if I apologize, and if I don't apologize others will repeat what I did, and it will go on in a geometric progression and one day we’ll reclaim our world which is very human and exciting, filled with chaos that’s created by us, the chaos that we define our reality by, chaos that defines that we're human, chaos that we call freedom, liberty, joy, that is our revelation, but my only regret is I won’t be there to see it and enjoy it or feel it, and I wish I could but it has come to a stage where either I will die and make it happen but not enjoy it or stay alive and never make it happen, and I make my choice, I am going to sacrifice myself for what I beleive, I am going to die and make it happen.

I open my eyes. I touch my face, it is all sweating and sticky. I am not dead, I am still alive and breathing, still in the world that’s filled with chaos. There’s no computer to tell me what am I going to do today, I am still on my own in the very world for which I said, there’s need to bring an order into this chaos, like some huge super computer to put everything in order and maintain it, when my friends and I were discussing the world last night after we'd emptied two full bottles of Bacardi (blast).

Stealing movie scenes - Notting Hill

Anna Scott, a beautiful and highly succesful actress, is sitting at the dinner table in the middle of a bunch of loosers who, by now, are very comfortable being loosers and have no qualms about admitting it instead are secretly happy that none among the lot is successful. Now the competition is to win the brownie by convincing other loosers that oneself is the biggest looser of the lot. Perhaps, a sort of console to defeated soul. So, the competition starts and every one starts giving it their shot.

But when they thought the competition is over, the actress interferes, “Wait, what about me?” That’s right. Who would expect a highly successful and popular actress to fight for a “Worst Loser’s Trophy”? Max rightly expresses his surprise by saying “Sorry, you think *you* deserve the brownie?” But Anna insists on giving it a shot.

There she goes with her saddest of lines. “I've been on a diet every day since I was nineteen, which basically means I've been hungry for a decade. I've had a series of not nice boyfriends, one of whom hit me. Ah, and every time I get my heart broken, the newspapers splash it about as though it's entertainment. And it's taken two rather painful operations to get me looking like this”, she continues, “And, one day not long from now, my looks will go, they will discover I can't act and I will become some sad middle-aged woman who looks a bit like someone who was famous for a while”. There is a long pause as Anna finishes her bid for brownie. Loosers almost thought they lost it, before Max breaks the silence, “Nah, nice try gorgeous, but you don’t fool anynoe”. William says, taking brownie in his plate, “Pathetic effort to hog the brownie”.

However, by then we, the audience, along with the characters on the show, know that there’s a looser in everyone of us, who has failed in some way in our pursuit of success.


Movie: Notting Hill

Objects in the mirro... Hmm, never mind!

Unknowingly my wrist was twisting the accelerator and thereby opening up the throttle, pushing more fuel into that monstrous 200cc engine which in split of a second was converting that vapor into thin air, farting it out and pushing me along with my motorcycle to higher speeds on the beautiful and empty, perhaps empty that’s why beautiful, highway between Mumbai and Ahmedabad which looked like a path made by snake with its zig zag curves, while the speedometer on my bike was incrementing the reading by digit by digit 90 to 100 and then to 110 it went on 127, 128, 129 and reached 130, top speed claimed by the makers of my motorcycle, but my bike seemed not to give heed to those statistical claims and went on to reach 132 kph, a feat I would cherish for proving the makers wrong about their own prodigal baby, but then anybody can be wrong, just like the moron who switched the left indicator on and took a right turn, making to ponder for a moment that I didn’t know who was ahead of me and whom I left behind but then it didn't seem to matter, because the ones ahead were fast turning from obstacles into objects in my rear view mirror while the ones in the mirror were all just mere objects whose size was getting reduced smaller and smaller by every passing second making me feel for once that “Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear” written at the bottom of the rear view mirror might not necessarily be true, at least when I am riding my motorcycle on a highway singing, "When I am riding, what's ahead doesn't matter, What I've left behind matters even less".

An unwelcome change!!... Why?!!!

It is sometimes funny but annoying most of the times to see how news on television has changed in recent years. People may blame it on Fox channel for writing foreword to this debacle, but I am really not interested in finding the guilty.

When I was kid, my uncle used to insist that I listen to news every day. I never found it entertaining but he kept on pestering me with questions on current affairs and consequently, I had to read news papers, watch and listen news on television and radio. What started as an activity carried out completely due to external perssure slowly started to become addictive and enjoyable. I started to enjoy reading and listening to news and knowing current affairs.

I remember eagerly waiting for news on Doordarshan. My whole family used to sit together and watch news thrice a day. At 7 pm in Kannada, at 8 pm in Hindi and at 8:30 pm in English. All on the one and the only Doordarshan.

During those days, news reading meant reading a written document in a dignified manner. This perception of news changed for me when we got connection from cable operator and hence, got access to BBC, CNN etc. Initially, when I heard about 24 hour news channels, I was kind of amused and sarcastic about it. I wondered, how can you keep listening to the same stuff for the whole day, which for me was just 15-30 min material. Why would a TV channel do such a thing? Moreover, who on earth would like to watch the same news repeatedly for the whole day? I got all my answers when I finally got to watch BBC on my TV. I accepted the change in the way news was delivered to our homes. I embraced it with at most love and appreciation.

Now, let’s come to the present day. This morning I woke up and started browsing through the channels. There are uncountable numbers of news channels on the air. One news channel was busy forecasting daily horoscopes of different sun signs. News presenters in some other channel were scratching their head over the goodies date 09/09/09 at 09:09:09 is going to bring to this world while another channel was completely going paranoid if the world is going to come to an end, for the same reason. Thankfully, we have passed that hour and the world is as steady as ever. I pray for peace of mind for that news channel folks. While some news channels still stuck to, now what can comfortably called traditional, morning news, few channels were busy analysing last episode of a TV reality show.

I am sure we’re laughing and teasing news channel for bringing up stuff like that. I am no different. But what made me wonder is the question, “Have I been fair when I criticize these news channels?”

I explained in the beginning how my perception of news got changed when I started watching BBC, CNN etc. Now, why is it not possible for me to accept the change that is happening now? Am I among one of those who think everything that comes from West is holy and the home-grown is simply pathetic and hopeless? I am not sure.

Another thing that worries me is the question, “Have I become too old fashioned to accept change?” In this fast paced times where 30years means retirement age, today's trend becomes dated for tomorrow, I can’t rule out this possibility. However, I prefer to say a firm “No” to this question because I feel the need for change in many aspects of our society as a whole and more improtant than that I am in no mood to make fun of myself.

Or maybe there is a completely new line of argument altogether for this discussion. News channels have changed. These channels are no more, and perhaps shouldn’t, deliver the kind of no non-sense news of earlier Doordarshan. News channels of recent days are a sort of complete packages. I might be not interested in horoscopes and stuff but someone else might be. Date 09/09/09 might not mean anything other than interesting figures to me but someone living next door might want to know a little more about divine interventions or devil’s play on this interesting date. Someone who is following a reality show might have missed the last episode and want to know quick summary of it.

These channels, don’t know for good or bad, have assumed a greater role than just information delivery channels. They’re catering to the needs of variety of audience. We can’t blame them for that. News channels didn’t start for us. They started with variety of audiences at the back of their mind. We just have to find out what we want to watch. Otherwise, it doesn’t make sense to keep watching what we call complete non-sense and crib about it.

However, I still strongly feel that news channels bringing news like “Aliens are stealing our cows in Bihar” doesn’t deserve any excuse whatsoever.

Reflections of a hypocrite

“Ten years down the line you will be more disappointed with things you didn’t do than the things you did”

Perhaps this has become a life mantra for me these days. When a mediocre guy like me needs something to lift up his spirits he takes rescue in such quotes, I suppose. But, on an honest note, it is not a good feeling when you need such things so often on daily basis.

I started my web blog with an intention of writing stories, poems, critics and lot many stuff I thought I could write. But, unfortunately nothing really materiliazed to an extent I had hoped for. It’s not that I didn’t try. Every time I tried, I failed to come up with a piece I would proudly say I wrote it.

I must have tried around hundred topics in the last month that I wanted to write something about. Never did I succeed to come up with something that’s readable. I read many blogs, books, articles looking for inspiration, knowledge, direction. At the end of the day, when I start writing something of my own, it is the same old story again.

I know I am not the worst writer on this planet. But, that’s not what I want to compare myself with. I want to write that is really appreciable by an average English reader. More importantly by me. On the contrary, everytime I write something, it all looks very inane and immature. May be I should post all of them and humiliate myself. But, the hypocrite inside me doesn’t want it to happen that way. He wants to project an image that might not reflect my own self. He wants to paint a rosy picture of a writer in me. Result. No blogs, no writing and hence, no progress.

I know, it sounds very looserish. If you haven’t gone through what I have been going through, you won’t be able to understand what I mean.

Then, you may say why banging your head over something when you know you’re not good at it. Unfortunately, things are easier said than done. If I give up writing I would feel much more frustrated than what I feel now. I love to write. Perhaps, that love needs to be backed up with some sort of flair of language which I confess I seriously lack. All these things summed up today to create one more entirely unreadable post. (How I wish I was wrong here!)

Kiddos in the cafe

“Motorcycle for the oldies... ha ha ha”, Bamda continued with his sarcastic tone as I listened, “You know what, guys, if someone is riding a bullet, “still”, you can be rest assured that he is from Jurassic Park era”. Bamda followed up his comments with a loud laugh.

They were a group of 5. Since the tables were not free when the group moved in, they had to share my table. Well, it’s difficult to say that. I was sitting alone in the table which actually meant for four people. As this group moved in, one guy sat to my right and the other two across to me. Remaining two sat on either sides of the table. I, without a choice, became a part of the group. At least till we leave the cafe.

From their discussion I could make out they were motorcycle enthusiasts like me. They were on the way to Bhangarh, a place in Rajasthan. I was on the way back home from my travel. A strange coincidence had brought us together in that small cafe.

The group continued with their discussion and of course, were willingly included me in their discussion without even waiting for my approval.

Ranha, who was sitting on the left side of the table, added to the discussion, “I feel very sorry for the guys who buy bullet. I mean, you ride all over the town making this loud noise only to end up in a mechanic shop in the evening. I think its better be a mechanic before buying a bullet.” As expected another round of laughter from the group. I just smiled.

Pizaringa, the guy across the table said, “It’s a villager’s motorcycle, dude”, he continued, “Like those landlords who wanted show off. I mean, come on guys, be ‘civilized’”.

Minora said, “Dude, don’t insult villagers anymore. Even they have moved on to trendy motorcycles”.

Bashing of bullet motorcycles by the group continued. But, after every comment they were expecting me to join in their laughter and add my sarcastic comment on the bike. But all I had for their comments was just a simple smile.

However, thankfully, the discussion turned into our travel stories. I said, Thank God. They told me about their trip to Goa, Nagpur, Shirdi etc. Novomak, guy who was sitting on the right table of said, “We have done 500 km in a day, that’s a record of our group”.

Since, I am also a travel enthusiast, I too shared my stories. I shared my story of travel from which I am returning home. The story of riding my motorcycle through the toughest terrain of the Himalayas. My ride from the west of Arunachal Pradesh to the east taking a route that, to the most of the world, didn’t exist. My stories of crossing water streams in my motorcycle, riding in a deserted land filled with rocks with a load of around 70 kg on the back seat and many more. My total travel was about 1500 miles. I didn’t complete it in one day or two days but 40 days instead. I showed the photographs and videos of my travel. When they saw those photos of the roads through which I travelled, they exclaimed, “You really rode through these roads”. I calmly said, “Yes”. By the look of their faces, I could say, these people would not even contemplate going on such a ride. But then, I knew, there were not me. I smiled but didn’t show it on my face.

Those guys looked at me with appreciation. Then there were few moments of silence.

Unfortunately, after wandering over of couple of other topics, they started over again with their bashing of bullet motorcycle. Then Bamda looked at me and said, “You know what I feel, bullet manufacturer should close down. They’re creating such ugly motorcycles even today. At least our streets would look a bit better without these ugly ducklings”. I got up and wore my jacket. Then I said, “You’re talking to a wrong person. I own a bullet. All those travel stories I told you, I completed them with my bullet”, then I had to say to them, “Good luck, Kids!”

GRE joke!!!

Two trucks loaded with thousands of copies of Roget's Thesaurus collided as they left a New York publishing house last Thursday, according to the Associated Press.

Witnesses were aghast, amazed, astonished, astounded, bemused, benumbed, bewildered, confounded, confused, dazed, dazzled, disconcerted, disoriented, dumbstruck, electrified, flabbergasted, horrified, immobilized, incredulous, nonplussed, overwhelmed, paralyzed, perplexed, scared, shocked, startled, stunned, stupified, surprised, taken aback, traumatized, upset. . . . . — joke circulated on the Internet during December 2003

It's Contagious

It’s funny how few things catch people’s attention and stick like sealant refusing to go off but start spreading like wildfire instead, swallowing everyone coming in its way and growing over them every moment with no signs of slowing down even when one is not impressed with it at first, because that person doesn’t see it’s worth, however, it has such a great power, that person too becomes a victim of it unknowingly and oh, I am sorry, I should have mentioned in the beginning itself, I am talking about one sentence stories and lengthy sentences in novels which I first saw in Salman Rushdie’s book, brought to my notice by Ashwin, and the work of Gabriel Garcia, introduced to me by Ashwin agian, who turned out to be a master of lengthy sentences few running for 3 pages or even more, testing the reader’s patience, power to comprehend and their intelligence to make sense out of a sentence which conveys almost a story in it which I think is kind of crazy but it sticks like a sealant because it’s kind of cool to write long sentences and maybe that’s the reason why Ashwin started to attempt writing one sentence stories after reading Garcia and Rushdie, which inspired me to try my hands on it and my attempt has claimed its latest victim in the form of one of my friends, Guru Prasad who recently wrote a blog, a whole story in fact, in one sentence and it’s making me feel that at least one among the followers of Guru’s blog will attempt to write one sentence story or blog and in this way, I think, it will continue on and on and proliferate the number of people who love reading lengthy sentences and bloggers and writers who love to write them, sometimes one whole story or a message in one single sentence.

On The Way

I race through the twists and turns of Kashedi ghat while the Sun keeps going down faster and faster but I reach the top of the hill before he leaves for the day and thought I should break for few minutes to catch up with a cup of tea and a cigarette, two best friends when you are riding for hours, only to realize there was something more waiting for me in the store, a beauty that she was, eye catching, breath taking, a simple and beautiful village girl fresh and unspoiled, like a breath of fresh air, I smelled the aroma of real beauty, aroma of a natural beauty against all the artificial perfumes and cosmetics you smell around the usual ones you find in cities, and was captivated by her charming smile and of course her glance that made my heart go pounding faster each second, for myself I thought, I could spend all my life here if for her, to be with her every moment for she was such a beauty I shouldn’t be guilty if I had grabbed her in my arms and kissed her but it takes more than just a crazy feeling to do that especially when the girl’s father notices something unusual when a guy sticks the unlit cigarette between his lips and is lost somewhere only to realize that the chap was lost in his daughter's eyes and the girl too is exchanging a few glances now and then with an intriguing smile on her face and as he notices he widens his eyes with angry and signals his daughter to leave the store which makes me feel a bit uncomfortable with the goings and I try finish the cigarette and tea in my hands quickly and get ready to leave but try to catch a last glance of her before I leave and my eyes start searching for her all around and then, there she is standing behind the window, giving me a look that made my heart melt with pain, for we both knew by then that we like each other but I am just a traveller and that was how close I could get and not more, I tell her with my guilty filled eyes as I put on my jacket and start the engine to continue my racing through the twists and turns of Kashedi ghat.