Desicritics Category: Culture: Satire

Aamchi Sarkar Raj

thedeskjockey — Sun, 4 Jan 2009 04:53:17 EST

There is something uniquely mystifying about visionaries. They think on a level we take years, decades, perhaps even generations to understand. But when we do, we are awestruck with the grandness of their plan. Which is why you should all think twice before dissing one of the grandest visionaries of our time – Raj Thackerey.

Seriously, who thinks of a party name which includes the word “Navnirman” whose prime motto is to drive out anybody who can do “nirman” but cannot speak Marathi? Who can think of doing something more symbolic than digging up cricket pitches just because they hate Pakistan and hence Pakistani cricketers? Who dares to dream beyond the unscrupulous secularism of our country that forces us to live with those geeky Madrasis, loud Sardarjis and unintelligible Bengalis? It requires a special kind of visionary and orator to feed such grand plans down the throats of people who call themselves soldiers or “sainiks” but yet resemble the neighborhood gang who breaks windows and vandalizes walls just because they believe in their brand of coolness.

Other such visionaries that come to mind are Osama Bin Laden, Pol Pot, Benito Mussolini and of course Hitler, who the venerable Balasaheb, Raj’s uncle and one time mentor, admires to such an extent that he made statements to the effect "I am (the Hitler) of the whole of Maharashtra and want to be of whole of India." and my personal favorite, "If the Muslims of India behave as the Jews in Germany did, they will deserve the same treatment". Priceless wisdom!

To understand Raj, you would have to understand his grand visions right from his younger days when he wanted to take his skills as a cartoonist and film maker to Walt Disney Studios. However, his love for the Marathi Manoos kept him within the confines of Maharashtra. The world’s loss of Walt Disney Marathi themed cartoons was the average Marathi Joe’s (lets call him “Joe-kar”) gain. The sacrifices the man and his family have made! Think of a conversation his little son Amit might have with him

Amit: Dad, I want to have a birthday party for all my friends!
Raj: Sure buddy, now who do you want to call?
Amit: The Khans?
Raj: Nope, we hate them. None of them speak Marathi.
Amit: The Bachchans?
Raj: Are you kidding? After we threw bottles at their house and called Jaya an old witch?
Amit: Sigh. How about the Tendulkars?
Raj: Dude, unfortunately we don’t like Gujjus either! You know, Anjali is one. I mean really, those fat businessmen eat undiyo-jalebi-fafda and fart all day in an AC train compartment with no outlet for all that smell.
Amit: Never mind dad! Let’s just do a family thing.
Raj: Now that’s my boy. See you are picking up on our family motto already…”All in the family”.

Shame on all the political commentators, media persons and so called experts who claim that the man is a divisive force in a united India. Really? Come on here to the US in any university and you’ll see the Tamilian share a 2 bedroom apartment with 10 other Tamilians but won’t live with the 2 Delhi-waalas across the street. The Mumbaikar prefers to live with his fellow denizens ‘coz he can’t quite understand the frugality fuss of the Andhra dudes. And the Gujarati Patel won’t even live with the Shahs ‘coz his daddy told him they are not nice people. So if people naturally confirm to the people within the people theory, why decry a man who calls it like it is and encourages other people to do the same? You can imagine my angst at all this when I’ve used the word "people" 4 times in the last sentence.

So what if he encourages taking out anything and everything related to Pakistan? For e.g., nobody seems to like Atif Aslam’s quivering voice [video link 1][video link 2]. And how many books from famous Pakistani authors can you name anyway?

So what if he wants migrants from UP and Bihar to leave the state? Isn’t the average gunda in the movies always portrayed from these states?

It’s about time we got a guy named Raj who has some balls and breaks the unfortunate image we have associated with that name. It’s about time we got someone who cared enough to bring the plight of his people out in the open. And it’s about time that people get past the violent demonstrations, the jingoistic speeches and the lack of any contribution from him. For the true genius of a vision lies in the patience of the people to wait a reeeeeeeally long time for it.

While the tone of this post may be satirical, my heart remains firmly on his side. And being a non-marathi, I pledge my support to his cause by staying far far away from his beloved state.

Fiction: An Office Incident

Vinod Joseph — Tue, 25 Nov 2008 12:59:56 EST

Armaan walked up to Kritika as she waited for the lift and tapped her lightly on her bum with the flat of his palm. Kritika ignored him, though a small hiss did escape her, raised her right shoulder a little in a defensive manner and summoned the lift yet again. Armaan did not bother to hide his lascivious intentions or his smirk when he repeated his action, his body language conveying a sense of anticipation rather than any fear of retaliation. Kritika lifted both her shoulders by an inch and stared straight into the closed lift doors.

Unfortunately for Armaan, the Human Resources Director, a smart and snappy lady who had just moved back to India from Philadelphia, was just a few years behind him and saw everything. Shocked beyond words, it took her a few moments to express her indignation, by which time Armaan had repeated the outrageous act. Since it was obvious that Kritika was going to be a passive victim, the HR Director took it on herself to protect Kritika.

‘How dare you?’ she shouted, as both Kritika and Armaan spun around in stunned silence. They stood there in silence, which infuriated the HR Director since there was no reason for Kritika to remain silent now that someone had spoken up for her. ‘How dare you?’ the HR Director repeated yet again as the lift arrived and opened soundlessly. This time Kritika’s face actually paled as though she had done something wrong while Armaan’s face had the look of a naughty boy caught with his fingers in the jam jar. This made the HR Director angrier still. In fact, she was a lot more bugged with Kritika’s passivity than with Armaan’s behaviour. She knew that women put up a lot of shit without complaint in India, but it was nevertheless shocking to see it played out in front of her eyes.

‘Can I have your name please?’ the HR Director demanded of Armaan and immediately felt like a fool. Both Kritika and Armaan dangled around their necks their corporate identity cards which not only gave away their names, but also their employee numbers. The HR Director noted down Armaan’s name and employee number and then decided to take down Kritika’s details as well. If Kritika should decide to disappear in order to avoid the enquiry that would follow, as she might well do, being the timid creature that she was, she would find that the HR Director had other plans.

The HR Director made Armaan sit in a room all by himself (to stew) whilst she had a word with Kritika.

‘Do you know how important it is to report incidents like this? Why on earth do you take this shit lying down?’ the HR Director asked. Kritika was silent.

‘I just don’t believe it,’ she declared, more to herself than to Kritika.

‘Has this happened before?’ she demanded of Kritika.

‘No,’ Kritika said, speaking for the first time.

‘You are senior to him. Nine years senior!’ Kritika was a team leader despite her youthful looks while Armaan was a puppy, not more than a year old in the company.

‘Even if you don’t make a formal complaint, I intend to take action against that bbbass…...that guy,’ the HR Director grimly added. Kritika did not look particularly happy at that and so the HR Director added softly, ‘don’t worry. He’ll never enter this office again. Today is his last day here.’ It was so tragic; a team leader was scared of reporting a one year old programmer who had the audacity to sexually harass her at her workplace.

Armaan’s project leader had not sounded too pleased when the HR Director demanded that Armaan be fired, but the HR Director had reminded him that they were a subsidiary of HeptaCorp Inc. which prided itself on the highest standards in matters such as these.

‘Can’t we please drop the matter?’ Kritika asked the HR Director all of a sudden. By that time, the branch manager had joined them.

‘Why are you so scared?’ the HR Director asked Kritika, her voice dropping to a whisper.

‘If my husband hears of this, I won’t be allowed to work again,’ she said, close to tears. To the HR Director’s surprise, the branch manager seemed to be in empathy with Kritika. He looked at the HR Director with sad eyes, as though it was the most obvious thing to happen. As the HR Director racked her brains for a diplomatic response, instead of the ‘for Christ’s sake, which century are you living in?’ the branch manager to his credit said, ‘don’t worry, we’ll make sure not many people get to know of this. We’ll fire Armaan, but I’ll make sure he keeps his trap shut.’

The HR Director was tempted to ask how the branch manager planned to make sure Armaan kept his trap shut, but she decided not to. That was none of her business.

That evening Armaan sat on the sofa in his bachelor’s pad, nursing a glass of whiskey. His mobile rang.

‘Where are you?’ he asked the person at the other end.

‘Almost there. I’ll be there in five minutes.’

Armaan finished his whiskey in two gulps and kept the glass on the mantel piece.

The door bell rang and he opened the door. Kritika ran into his arms.

‘How was it?’ she asked him breathlessly without bothering to disentangle.

‘If only that bitch wasn’t around, this wouldn’t have happened.’

‘I warned you so many times to not to try that in office.’

‘Not my fault. You were irresistible. Your butt, that is.’ Kritika bit Armaan on his neck by way of a response.

They were silent for a minute. Then Kritika said, ‘you’ve been drinking.’

‘Just a small one.’

‘Tell me what happened. Have you been fired?’

‘Yes. Immediate termination! Not even a month’s notice. But I will get a reference, provided I keep my mouth shut.’

‘Thank God for that!’ It must be the branch manager who arranged for that, Kritika thought.

‘Why don’t you ditch your husband and come and live with me?’

‘Especially now that you are jobless,’ Kritika teased Armaan.

‘Of course. I’ll get a job soon, just a matter of time.’

‘Fine, get a job and I’ll come over with both my kids. You will enjoy looking after them, won’t you?’

‘Why don’t you bring over your husband as well? We’ll make him look after the kids while we have fun.’

‘You bastard, you,’ Kritika said as she kissed Armaan and they both laughed out aloud.

Heidi Klum - Halloween Kali

Deepti Lamba — Fri, 7 Nov 2008 02:05:43 EST

Hindus once again have reasons to get offended by the antics of a blundering Westerner. Heidi Klum dressed up as Kali this Halloween. She didn't look pretty nor did she look magnificently hideous. What she did look was blue and bat shit crazy.

Dramatization of Gods is a common practice in India. When Ramayana is re-enacted the actors dressed as Rama and Lakshmana are often given godly adulation by not only the simple minded folks but also by some of the educated.

Some years ago there was a great uproar when Tina Turner was going to act as Kali in a Merchant Ivory movie. Due to the protests the movie was never made and we never got to see sensuous Tina as Kali.

At the time Tina Turner said that she had utmost respect for India and for Hinduism and she wanted to visit the country.

But all that fell to deaf ears. The lady known for her mini skirts and fake wigs would have defamed the fabled goddess. The Hindu mind could not get beyond the 'whats love got to do with it' persona to the real woman who probably would have done justice to enacting one of the most powerful goddess of Indian mythology.

That was then and this is now. Heidi Klum mocking the goddess.

I am tickled pink and waiting for the saffron clouds to gather around her horizon.

Heidi, let me be one of the soon to be many to ask for an apology for your insenstive impersonation of our beloved goddess.

Fiction: A Delightful Old Lady

Vinod Joseph — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 10:30:19 EDT

Mark saw the old woman wave at them and ignored her. She must be waving at someone else he told himself as he struggled with little Anna in his arms and the big rucksack on his back. When the old woman waved for the second time, John spotted her and said, 'Look Mummy, she's waving at us.'

Karen turned around to look in the direction John was pointing and was rewarded with a few more waves. There was no doubt about it. The old woman standing behind the wicket gate was indeed waving at them or rather beckoning them to her.

'Mark, she's waving at us,' Karen needlessly told Mark who was by then looking in the old lady's direction.

Mark hesitated and said, 'she looks harmless. Shall we go take a look?'

'Why not?' Karen said rather crossly because she knew that John would be upset if they didn't. She was quite tired after trekking through the tea covered hills that loomed all around them. If she had a choice, she would have rather they continued their trek back to their hotel at Peermade, which was at least 30 minutes away.

As Mark led the way, Karen said doubtfully, 'may be she wants to ask us for money!' There had been no scarcity of beggars ever since they had landed in India two weeks ago.

'Doesn't look like it,' Mark muttered, more to himself than to Karen, as he continued to lead the way to the small cottage, which had peeling cream paint and a red roof.

'Hi!' Mark told the old woman much before he was within her hearing range. But he nodded as well and so she smiled in reply and opened the wicket gate a little bit.

She had a squeaky high pitched voice. 'I saw you people walking with the big bags and the baby and I thought you must be very, very, tired. Why don't you come in and have some tea?'

Mark was perplexed. Where he came from, people didn't invite you for tea just like that. He gaped at the old woman who was wearing a faded red pullover that came up to her knees and a skirt with some funky pleats. Karen must have been really tired because from behind she said, 'That's so nice of you. I'd like some tea. Thank you so much.'

The old woman opened the gate fully wide and walked back to the cottage, halting after every few steps so that she could turn around to see if they were following her. Mark realised that what she wore underneath her red-pullover was a saree and not a skirt.

The cottage's veranda had an assortment of potted plants, some of which definitely needed trimming. The veranda led to a small drawing room furnished with a set of three plush settees covered in red. The walls were lined with cupboards crammed with books and toys. 'Do please sit down,' the woman said. Without losing the permanent wide grin plastered on her face, the woman rang a bell. Mark and Karen sat on the edges of the largest settee wondering what was coming next. John sat in between them. Karen had Anna on her lap. The bell was rung once more. A young woman in a dirty saree materialised with a smile and a pair of enquiring eyes. A five year old child had been clinging to her saree till a moment ago, but now the child was waiting for her mother just beyond eye shot of the guests.

'Kavitha, some tea for these fine people,' the old woman told the maid and was rewarded with a perplexed look. The order was repeated in Malayalam.

'Actually I would like a Four X,' Mark declared, only to get a sharp dig in his side from Karen.

'I beg your pardon. I don't understand,' the old woman told them. 'What would you like?'

'Oh never mind him,' Karen waved gaily at the old woman.

'I was just joking. Four X is the amber fluid we drink in Queensland,' Mark clarified.

'Never mind him,' Karen repeated yet again.

'Bring us three cups of tea,' the maid was ordered. She left the room for the kitchen, picking up her waiting daughter on the way.

'It's so good to see someone from England,' the old woman told them. 'My husband was the first Indian hired by the Beckley's Estate.'

'Actually we are Aussies, not Pommies,' Mark said. The old woman gave him a blank look.

'I have never been to England, but my husband went there once, just after the war.'

'My name is _______.' The old woman said a name which neither Mark, nor Karen caught.

'I'm sorry....I didn't get your name,' Karen said politely, her voice trailing off towards the end and waited for the old woman to repeat her name. She did not. Instead she waited for them to introduce themselves.

'I'm Mark. This is my partner Karen, my son John and my daughter Anna.'

'I'm so glad you decided to stop by for tea.'

They were all silent for a while. 'Things have changed so much, not necessarily for the better, you know..'

A sudden thought occurred to the old woman. 'Let me make sure Kavitha does not add milk and sugar to the tea,' she told them and disappeared through a door which led to the kitchen.

'Ma, can I have a lolly?' John asked as soon as the old woman left.

Instead of answering, Karen pointed at a cupboard filled with toys. 'John, oh look at that elephant! Isn't it beaut?'

'Ma, I want a lolly!' John insisted.

Mark got up and walked around, stretching himself.

'Ma, a lolly!'

'Mark, can you please take out that elephant for John?'

'I don't think we should. It looks dirty enough. The whole place is full of dust.' He walked over to a cupboard filled with books, peered inside and said, 'these books. They are so dusty and falling apart. I don't think anyone has read them in ages.'

'I want a lolly!' John said even louder. Mark quickly opened the toys cupboard and took out the elephant. For good measure, he took out a duck as well. The elephant was given to John and the duck to Anna.

John sat down on the carpeted floor and started to bounce the elephant up and down. Anna dropped the duck to the floor from where she sat on Karen's lap. Karen picked up the duck and gave it back to Anna who held on to it.

The old woman appeared with Kavitha behind her carrying a tea tray. Kavitha's daughter had tagged alongside her mother, but once again stopped just behind the curtains. 'I'm so glad I checked on Kavitha. I've told her so many times that English people like to be served tea without milk and sugar mixed in it, but she had forgotten!'

Kavitha put the tray on the table in front of Mark and Karen and went back to the kitchen.

The old woman poured out the tea.

'Milk?'

'Yes please.' 'Yes please.'

'Sugar?'

'Yes please.' 'Yes please.'

'What would your children like? Shall I get them some biscuits?'

Before Mark or Karen could reply, the old woman said, 'Kavitha can go to the shop and buy some biscuits, but it will take some time.'

'Oh! No drama. Please don't bother.'

'I was planning to buy some biscuits, but ...'

'How is you tea?'

'Ace,' Mark said.

'Pardon me?'

'It's very good.

'Do you have a lot of English visitors?'

'No, not really. Not many people come this way!'

'Don't you like the elephant?' the old woman asked John who had abandoned the elephant and was planning to renew his demand for a sweet.

John did not reply, but looked around wildly, his eyes darting from the toys cupboard to his mother.

'Would you like another toy little boy?'

The old woman walked over to the cupboard and picked out a soldier and handed it over to John.

'John, say thank you,' Karen reminded John who mumbled his thanks.

'He is such a sweet little boy. How long are you in India for?'

'Three weeks. We've done two already. Up north. Delhi, Jaipur, Agra and now we have a week in Kerala.'

'What do you do in England? Do you work for a bank or a company?'

'I manage a station. In Australia. We're Aussies you know.'

'A station? Is that a station for trains? A railway station?'

'No, for sheep. A large sheep farm.'

'You must be joking. You are not a shepherd. You must be a station manager at King's Cross or Charing Cross or Paddington.'

'It doesn't matter, does it? How long have you lived in this cottage?'

'For the last sixty years. After my husband retired, Beckley's gave him this cottage. When my husband was alive, we used to have a lot of visitors. We...

'We ought to be going,' Mark said as he put down his cup.

'John, let's put the toys back.' Mark tried to take the elephant and the soldier from John who held on to both of them.'

'Oh, let the little boy keep the toys.' The old woman turned to Anna and said, 'you can keep the duck.'

'But we can't do that,' Karen objected. 'I'm sure they are exy!'

'Please take them. There's nobody to play with them. I rarely get any visitors these days.'

'You could always give them to someone else.'

'There is no one else.'

The old woman rang the bell once again and Kavitha came in, picked up the tea tray and left, collecting her daughter from behind the curtains on the way back.

Mark and Karen continued to look hesitant.

'Would you like a plastic bag for the toys?'

'A bag would be good.'

The old woman shouted something at Kavitha's retreating back. Within a minute, Kavitha came back with a polythene bag and gave it to Mark.

'Can't do without plastic, though we call ourselves greenies.'

'I beg your pardon?' The old woman had the most politely puzzled look on her face.

'Never mind. Never mind. We got to be going. Thanks so much for the lovely tea.'

As they walked out, Karen said, 'she was such a delightful old lady, wasn't she?'

'Yup, but she was starting to yabber and she thought we were Pommies!'

'I didn't understand half of what she said.'

'Nether did I. And I doubt if she understood more than one-fourth of what we said.'

Karen giggled. 'Still, she was such a sweet, delightful old thing.'

'I guess John and Anna are the only children she has seen in a very long time!'

As they walked away, Kavitha and her daughter watched them for a while through a window. Then Kavitha went the sink and started to wash the tea cups and saucers. After she washed the cups and saucers, she kept them on the floor and told her daughter, 'here, you take this towel and wipe these cups and saucers dry.'

Medical Ignorance and Patient's Bliss

Suresh Naig — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 14:55:03 EDT

The young boy of 14 years was lying on the hospital bed, concealing his amusement. He was amused seeing the anxious face of his father, whose second nature was anxiety. His father exhibited the same anxiety as he would every time, before signing the school report card. Between now and the report card, it was his helplessness which caused the anxiety. While signing the school report card of his son, he was helpless to understand his consistency in scoring just above average grades. In the hospital he was at a loss to piece anything from the conversation of the doctors.

With all the sudden attention, the boy was feeling elated, but he never had reason to know that it was the virus inside his body, which had created all this. He was afflicted by Dengue fever, a viral fever causing no pain, no swelling, no vomiting for the afflicted person, but only anxiety for the parents and the doctors alike.

On the third day in the hospital, fever was erratic rising on and off without warning, rashes appearing all over the body, yet without any pain. His parents wanted to do something, but having no clues on what to be done; they constantly beckoned the duty nurses, who compounded their problems. Instead of one paediatrician who visited the boy regularly, a gang of doctors descended on the bed, where the young boy was lying, appearing pink and smiling. He appeared pink due to skin rashes all over the body, yet complained of no itches, which was a hitch for the doctors.

The doctors were confused; the boy never exhibited allergic reaction for he never had itches, neither his blood pressure was lowered to conclude anaphylactic shock, yet the rashes were a cause for concern. They were discussing the case in English, yet it was difficult for the father to catch up with, as their conversation had liberal dabbling of jargons. The physician was telling the paediatrician it is "idiopathic", which the father clung to, and conveyed the same to me, when I visited the hospital during visiting hours, a courtesy demanded by the society. The father narrated the whole episode of doctors' visit, and concluded his son's condition as "idiopathic", to my amusement.

I refrained from saying anything to my friend, as the hospital and doctors were my best of clients, contributing huge sales for my company's products. On the 5th day the boy was discharged from the hospital, without any apparent damage. He was his usual, bubbly and peppy. The credit for his discharge without any damage was due to his condition "idiopathic". The boy was rendered only palliative treatment and not therapeutic.

"Idiopathic" literally means not comprehensible, because it never fitted into any known parameters, since it was a new affliction, less documented. Had it not been for the physician's pronouncement as "idiopathic", they would have started treating the patient, which would have triggered chain reactions.

Had they known that it was a haemolytic fever, reducing the platelets significantly, prompting them to infuse platelets from another donor, which would have increased platelets subsequently, threatening internal clots mostly in veins, leading to a condition of premature DVT- deep vein thrombosis, triggering the hospital to prescribe an anti-coagulant, which would have caused epistaxis- nasal bleeding and capillary bleeding resulting in urticaria- skin rashes, demanding platelets infusion from a donor. The perpetual cycle was broken by the ignorance, euphemised as "Idiopathy". Ignorance could be bliss, at times in medicine too.

Colas and Religions

Suresh Naig — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 13:03:35 EDT

What’s the similarity between Colas and religions? I posed this question to one of my friends and regretted later, for he had given a long lecture, instead of a short answer. Though he started only with a short answer, soon he got into the mood to expand the answer. While I felt it was long, never have I felt it was impertinent and hence I am sharing it here.

His one line answer for my question was, ‘both are useless, and that’s why they need powerful marketing strategies to thrive.’

Colas are not staple food for the mankind to survive and at best it can be qualified as an accompaniment. So also the religions, which create emotional bonding between people, yet it cannot qualify for strong emotions such as love and compassion.

Colas, though positioned as accompaniments with main course of food, soon people were made to feel that Colas are the main course and the food as accompaniments. Colas are so versatile they can go well with “masala dosas” and also with Kentucky fried chickens.

Many of the religions and its customs though started as a part of cultural need as demanded by geographical and climatic conditions, soon acquired the propensity of inevitability among the people. Many customs are either redundant or unnecessary.

Colas have created brands for the convenience of their customers, while religions have branded their customers. Colas come attired in different shape of bottles and colours, while the customers of religions come in different attires. Some with huge turbans, some with beards, some with marks on their forehead and some with incision marks.

Religions have originated from East and conquered the West, whereas Colas after conquering the West corrupted the East. Colas have become indispensable with break-fast, with lunch, with dinner, with alcoholic drinks and with supper.

Religions have become indispensable in every sphere of life from birth to death. It may be birth, christening, initiation into education, marriage or death. The invisible hands of religion are felt everywhere, and in the absence of one, people were made to shudder.

With Colas, one can switch brands with ease, but with religions it is deterred. A brand ditcher is ditched by everyone. First by the alienated religion and later by the alien religion.

Marketing wars of Colas and religions are mostly similar – decent and ethical. At times it can turn nasty and bloody. A brand of Cola would buy all the empty bottles of another brand and destroy it, creating a temporary vacuum in the market, which is filled by the competitor’s Cola.

Religious marketing would at times stoop to the level of denigrating the other religion, for its benefit, triggering a bloody bath. However, the marketing of both Religions and Colas are not without benefits, since it creates employment opportunities for so many persons and the money generated out of it is awesome.

He concluded with his usual punch. ‘The other day a market researcher came knocking at my doors, when I told him that I don’t drink any Cola, he diligently recorded it. Whereas when an enumerator came to my house for my voters ID card, threatened me that I would never get my voters ID card, if I said that I didn’t belong to any religion.”

Jet Airways Lay Off and Raj Thackeray's Tears

sufferingsocrates — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 17:37:01 EDT

Raj .. kkkkkkkya ho raha hai? Raj is what Shah Rukh Khan has been named in many of his movies, and Raj is who I have a question for. This being the real life Thackeray version though. Our real life Raj has found a new political agenda of fighting for the rights of the 1900 workers of Jet who were laid off all of a sudden, post an alliance between Jet and Kingfisher a day back. Now what could have triggered Raj to vehemently oppose this move by Jet Airways?

Thinking about Raj Thackeray, reminds one of the man who stands for the right of every Marathi who has been (apparently) deprived of his/her rights in their own land. Considering this political agenda of Raj's, I am wondering what could have been his motive in standing for the demands of Jet employees?

Hmm .. looks like Raj has indeed gone through the profiles of each of the Jet employees who have been laid off, and actually cleared them all as Marathis! That should indeed be the reason, eh Raj? As to whether each of them speaks Marathi or not, has certainly been confirmed after Raj personally interviewed and spoke with all the 1900 Jet employees (in Marathi mind you!). Though, one must not ignore the tears of the pretty air hostesses which were of course rolling down their cheeks in Marathi! Right Raj?

Let's look at a different take on this issue. So, will Raj be at loggerheads with the Left parties? With a truthful confession that I am still new to political games, will Left support this move by Jet of laying off employees? Can corollaries exist in Politics? For example, since Left parties fight for the rights of Government organizations and business units, shouldn't the corollary mean that any move which lays off employees by a private firm be lauded and encouraged by the Left? That being the case, Left would be in support of people getting laid off from private organizations. So maybe, this equation can be concluded as a fight between Left and Raj.

Update: Jet Airways Reverses Layoffs

Dress Code Hypocrisy At Indian Workplaces

Deepti Lamba — Mon, 6 Oct 2008 11:45:53 EDT

A couple of weeks ago the front page of Bangalore Mirror carried the news that a leading IT company had enforced the wearing of Ties on Monday and Tuesday. I snickered over sensationalizing the mundane. Whats the big deal about enforcing formal wear at work?

What would have made news if the company had enforced women to wear formal Western wear as well seven days a week.

If men are not allowed to wear Indian formals to work why should the women be allowed to wear salwaar kameezes and horrendous worn out sandals to work?

All said and done, snappily dressed people always speak well for the company instead of shoddy employees who look as if they dragged themselves to work straight from their beds.

Enforcing rules that women be well dressed and wear closed shoes should not be that difficult but the problem is most male bosses/Companies are apprehensive to enforce such a law. No one is telling the women to dress like Playboy bunnies to work but the only places where I have seen most women take pride in their clothes (even those in ethnic wear) are in Indian schools or in the hotel industry.

Why is this? Because they are told that the way they dress reflect the institutions they work for. Isn't that what men are told at private work places as well? Why should the rules be any different for women who work for these mega corporations?

Why are men forced to put up with these double standards? Why don't women managers who consider themselves to be fair feminists take this matter up with their HR Department?

Pre-Concieved Notions

Suresh Naig — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 06:44:00 EDT

While reading the comments of different people, for different articles, I was tempted to feel that most of the comments are a product of pre-conceived notions. Not that the articles are any exception. Most of us are always with our blinkers on and seldom have we removed it.

I feel the process of writing articles and comments follow the same cycle. Every one of us has set scales of morals, discipline, order and beliefs. If any incident happens around the globe, which in our opinion disturbs our set rules, we reach for the key board, impatient to press the enter button in a hurry.

The urge is triggered by any apparent threat to Churches or Christians anywhere in India for Madhu Chandra. This sets off a chain reaction inviting so many into the ring, defending, deflecting and punching if there is a gap. It’s amusing to note that leaving the trigger, which might be a minor or major incident, the content of the articles and comments remain unchanged.

If the catch phrase is Church or Christianity for Madhu Chandra, it is “feminist” or “female” for Sumanth. For Ruvy it is Jews or Synogogue. If it is “Hindu”, “ancient culture” or “Bharat”, it certainly tickles Desh to rush to the key board.

There are certain persons who are compulsive commentators on all and sundry, such as “commonsense”, who are like our encounter specialists, always “trigger happy”. Yet it takes special skills to write some articles, without eliciting any comments whatsoever, and I am adept at it. Not that some of my articles were neutral or inoffensive, people might have felt it were dried in Sahara for long, zapping its life.

The all time best pre conceived notion, I have encountered was in the year 1990. I was a lower level manager, in a pharmaceutical concern working in Kerala. My superior, one Mr.Akileswaran, with an orthodox up bringing from Madras, visited Kerala for the first time for a week. Our first day work started at Mallapuram in northern Kerala, a predominantly Muslim dominated area. After calling on few doctors and hospitals we entered the only decent restaurant for lunch.

Inside the spacious restaurant few sign boards were fixed almost everywhere on the walls, pertaining to liquor. Mr.Akileswaran seeing that board commented to me, ‘What? Everywhere they have put “Alcohol Permitted”, as if no one would drink without it.’ Since it was his first visit to Kerala, he carried the notion from the briefings of his orthodox family, on Kerala and read it as “Alcohol Permitted”. However, the writings on the wall were different; it was “Alcohol Prohibited”. It was sufficient for me to laugh my guts out and it had cost my job, at a later date.

Post Script:

Two girls were talking in a college campus in the year 1985.

Anjana: Why Rajini is in a hurry to get married, during final exams?
Kamala: May be it is PRECONCEIVED.

Cartoon: Lucky Escape

IdeaSmith — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 12:07:37 EDT

We all have days when we look back at our desicions and wonder "WHY??".

And when you have too many such days, you just shrug and thank your stars.

Amen to miraculous escapes by mistake.

(Click to see full comic in a new page)