Desicritics 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.

Satire: Animal Farm Too

Dhiraj Singh — Thu, 25 Dec 2008 00:53:19 EST

After much deliberation and rumination she spoke weighing each word with her thick-fat tongue.

“What is the point of this meeting… anyone?” This was just after John Marrow had been officially declared a vegetable. “I come in pieces,” Cowshellya Rani was trying hard to impress, finding recourse to flowery language. But flowery language too had its limitations. Between her never-stopping teeth language had also been reduced to a cud that she threw around, like her weight, every time she called a meeting.

“Peace is what you probably mean,’ said Grass Kumar, quivering at the sight of the Cowshellya Rani’s never-stopping teeth. “Is there a plural of peace?” asked Cowshellya Rani, parting her lips a tad sideways to smile. This time no one spoke for the plural of anything meant many. And being many was simply an invitation to be eaten. And no one wanted that. Even Grass Kumar was called just Grass and not Grasses even though he was many.

“You know it’s not like the old times now,” said Cowshellya Rani sighing, “I have changed”. As a sign of this change she gave the vegetable Marrow a lick on the cheek. A gasp was heard running through the hall. Unsaid words fell to the ground like melted ice-cream forming puddles of unsaid words and flowed in different directions causing much unsaid confusion.

“Can I be allowed to speak?” Baigun Khan came forward. “I think we’re getting too coloured by history. And we can’t let that happen. Can we?” A round of applause followed Baigun Khan’s suggestion and all present started hugging each other. But no one dared go near Cowshellya Rani, even though she smiled more than usual.

That hurt her much. When she couldn’t bear the pinch of not getting a hug any longer Cowshellya Rani mooed out so loud that everyone shook and shivered. “Will I never get a damn hug?” Hearing this everyone stopped hugging, waiting for Cowshellya Rani’s need for attention and intimacy pass.

They had suffered heavily under her reign. Even the memory of those horrible times was enough to send chills down their spines. They were, after all creatures of the soil. And Cowshellya Rani had in the twinkling of an eye polished off many a green pasture. Therefore Cowshellya Rani’s change of heart felt awkward and incredible and those present were not about to err on the side of caution by hugging her.

“You know, another reason why I called this meeting…” Cowshellya Rani spoke seeing that none among those present had shown any interest in hugging her. “…is to tell you that from now on I have vowed to turn humanitarian. Meaning I will only feast on the two-legged kind.” Everyone heaved a sigh of relief. And gradually they all started moving towards Cowshellya Rani so that they could hug her.

Iraq - Shoe-ing Away The Question

Suresh Naig — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 08:28:18 EST

Asking a question is very important for development. A society which is discouraged from asking questions, is a society deprived of development. A person is not expected to ask a question in an autocratic state and it may even cost the life of a person, if the question happened to be uncomfortable to the ruler. Even in a democratic country, many people have lost their lives, asking uncomfortable questions. They are known as “whistle blowers”, and in the recent past an engineer from Karnataka, Manjunath had paid with his life in Bihar, for asking uncomfortable questions to road contractors and Highways department Babus.

However we might have been deprived of many useful things for the society, if Issac Newton had not asked that question, ‘why an apple falls down?’ Had Alexander Fleming not asked that vital question, ‘why one mould is interfering with the growth of another mould’, we might have been deprived of anti-biotics – the powerful arsenal in medicine to fight infections.

Had Gandhi not asked that question, ‘why I am not allowed to travel in first class compartment, even after paying for it?’ we would not have experienced a non-violent philosophy “ahimsa”. The whole Bhagavat Geeta is a treatise in the form of questions and answers, and the central theme of Zen philosophy is only questions.

However, certain questions could be embarrassing in diplomatic parlance, even if it happened to be true. Our earlier Prime Minister Morarjee Desai was known for his diplomatic lapses, by his pointed and uncomfortable questions. He reportedly walked straight to one of the aides, who accompanied the Soviet Premier to India and asked, ‘are you from KGB?’ to the embarrassment of MEA personnel. However they were happy, that their Prime Minister, who was a proponent of “auto urine therapy”, did not offer his “favourite drink” to the Russian delegation.

Though we have been benefited by the answers for certain freak questions, we are better off, by not asking one question, which does not have an answer. This question is an expression of our wishful thinking and the question is “what if it’s true?”

Two persons had asked the above question in Bangalore and they were poorer by few lakhs of rupees. One had asked the question on receiving a mail in his mail box, declaring him as the winner of an international lottery. The other asked the question in response to a mail asking him to be a conduit, in retrieving huge funds stashed away in a foreign country. I am sure most of us would have received these mails and we ignored it, because we are not gullible.

At times even many top leaders showed traits of gullibility, by not only asking that question themselves, but also instigating others to ask the same question ‘what if it’s true?, for certain information which is worth shoeing away.

By not shoeing away the information pertaining to WMD (weapons of mass destruction), Bush had asked the question ‘what if it’s true?’ and he got shoe-d away in Iraq.

The Lord of The Rings is a Bollywood Movie

Fleiger — Thu, 4 Dec 2008 11:51:06 EST

Just a few days back, I was talking to a friend who was ranting about the hindi movies, and the completely over the top masala ingredients added in them to spice them up. After defending the Bollywood for a long time (hey, we Indians may make fun of those movies but we stand together when some outsider does it), I went back to my most recent re-reading of Lord of The Rings.

And I got an epiphany. Here are:

10 Reasons why LoTR is just another Bollywood Masala film:

10. If you are a good guy and a father, you get to die at the hands of The Villain or his Henchmen. Which of course will inspire your kid(s) and others to vanquish the villain for revenge.

9. Things are going very badly for the good guys, when BAM! Help arrives in the form of the Hero.

8. The hero has a bumbling but faithful sidekick (or a group of them), who provides the comic sidetrack, but will lay down his life for the hero.

7. There's a costumed villain, sitting in his snazzy layer, surrounded by costumed henchmen and weird looking followers.

6. The "supporting actress" loves the hero, who cannot return her affections because he is in love with the heroine. But don't worry, she will find her life partner in the "supporting actor" before the climax.

5. The hero and heroine belong to different social groups, and hence her father is not exactly happy about their union, but there is a loving aunt who will help the lovers.

4. The heroine, the one belonging to higher social group in this case, will "sacrifice" her advantages in order to marry the hero.

3. The hero has greedy, conniving, thieving relatives who have their eye on his estate.

2. You can stab him, fire arrows at him, slash at him with swords, poison him. The Hero just goes on and on and on...

1. At moment's notice, there's at least one person who has got to sing up. Sometimes that quickly grows into a group song.

Anybody got any idea which characters I am talking about here?

P.S. The comparison is based solely on the basis of the books, and those who know LoTR as only the movie trilogy may be a bit confused.

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.

First Annual Desi Meet in Washington, D.C.

temporal — Tue, 25 Nov 2008 08:52:33 EST

I sent out invites for the first annual Desi meet in DC next weekend back in September. The response from the Beltway area has been healthy, if not overwhelming.

I have already mailed out the Questionnaire to be filled out by prospective attendees. I am thankful to my friend Barry the Mutt for help with the questionnaire. Between us I preferred Kalloo but he likes Mutt. And I am so deferential.

Barry the Mutt, regrettably will be unable to attend due to a small family do in Illinois.

I do not have many phobias as you probably know. Arachnophobia, photophobia, cainotophobia, hypnophobia, xenophobia come and go but lately pogonophobia has dwarfed all other phobias. But overcoming them is a continuous goal. So, back to this annual meet. Should check the questionnaire - does it mention anything about beards?

Personally I shun huge gatherings. Get the feeling of being lost. As you probably have not read (from my poems) less is preferably more. Both in words and people. So even though this is billed as an Annual meet of Desis, I would not mind if only as many Desis show up as would fit around an intimate table.

(How can a table be intimate?)

The meet will be held in an area central to Va. Md. and DC. --- perhaps Georgetown? The exact location will be announced on a need-to-know basis to ward off the Homeland Insecurity.

C. R. Sridhar will be the keynote speaker. He will deliver a talk on Humour and its Affect on Environmental Pollution in South Asia. Sujai is also expected to read a paper on Environmental Pollution and Its Affect on Humour. Canadian Ice Wine will be on the liquid diet menu.

Smallsquirrel, shy as ever, will give a talk on Discernible Desi Mores in the parking lot.

If there is enough interest we can arrange for video-conferencing-telecasting too with Bangalore, London, Mumbai...

Time is of the essence. Beginning tomorrow morning I would be throwing leaflets along QEW, I-90, US 219, I-80E, US322, I-99, I-70E, I-270S, 70S and of course the 495.

Wave at us if you happen to see us.

If interested, download the questionnaire fill it and forward it to Aaman, Dee or me.

Fiction: A Few Reasons to Return Home

Vinod Joseph — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 00:47:28 EST

Sreejit's face has a look of intense concentration as his fat index finger glides over his Blackberry's scroller. No, Tim hasn't replied to his angry email yet. To be honest, Sreejit isn't expecting a reply from that bastard. Tim's last email had made it clear that the next round of discussions would take place only after three months.

The man sitting to Sreejit's left has a respectful look on his face. A Blackberry is not a very common sight in Kerala, not even in the first class waiting room at the Ernakulam Junction railway station. The man wants to tell Sreejit something, but Sreejit refuses to make eye contact. Instead, he opens old emails and reads them, his eyes focussing on the screen intensely as if he is reading something very important, as if they are unread emails.

An announcement is made over the loudspeaker. 'The Netravati express is 'shortly expected to arrive on platform number 3.' Sreejit rolls his eyes in exasperation and puts the Blackberry into the travel pouch around his waist. 'I don't believe this,' he says loud enough for his neighbour to hear.

Sreejit's neighbour does not let go of the opportunity. 'This train is always late. Today it is late by only forty minutes. Usually it is late by at least four hours.'

Sreejit exhales and tells his neighbour, 'before leaving for the station, I called up Railway Enquiries and asked them if this train was on time. And they said it was.'

'IST stands for Indian Stretchable Time. Forty minutes late ... that's not late at all!' the neighbour guffaws. 'Once this Netravati Express was twenty four hours late. It came exactly on time, the next day!'

'I guess I've got used to seeing things done in a different way. I've been away from all this for almost five years now.'

The opening is not wasted. 'Are you from the States?'

'No, from the UK. I mean, things are not perfect over there. Trains do run late once in a while. But, this ...' here Sreejit stops for emphasis. 'This is incredible. They don't even apologise for the train being late. And of course, there is no need to explain to us why the train is late.'

Sreejit's neighbour becomes an apologist for Indian Railways. 'Netravati is coming all the way from Bombay. A journey of over 24 hours. So it can be a little bit late.'

'I ought to have taken a taxi to Trivandrum. I was told the train will be more comfortable. Now I'm not too sure.'

'My name is Babu. What's your good name?'

Sreejit is trapped. As a rule, he does not talk to strangers when travelling on trains. A habit inculcated over five years cannot be ignored. But he does not have a choice. He is forced to admit that he answers to Sreejit.

The train enters the station majestically. There is a rush of activity. People rush to the doors and mill around. Some people start getting inside even before the passengers have got off the train. Sreejit and Babu are travelling first class and so they don't have to fight their way into the train. They settle in a section of the compartment which has only two other people, an old man sleeping in a corner and a woman in her thirties.

The first class seats are reasonably comfortable, but there's dirt on the windows. Sreejit takes care to ensure that he doesn't touch the window sill.

The train has been at the station for fourteen minutes now. Sreejit looks at his watch and gives Babu an enquiring look. Why not? Babu is more than happy to explain matters. 'This train has come all the way from Bombay. At this stage, it won't be very punctual.'

'Makes a lot of sense to me. It's a 28 hour journey to Trivandrum, isn't it? Why be punctual for the last leg from Ernakulam?' Sreejit does not hide his scorn.

'It's scheduled to stop for ten minutes. Since it is late...'

'Since it is running late, I would expect it to leave as early as possible. It's been here for almost fifteen minutes now.'

Babu changes the topic. 'Are trains very punctual in England?'

Sreejit sighs and gives Babu a happy smile. He takes his time in replying. 'You know, I have a rather long commute to my place of work. I live in Reigate, that's in Surrey and I catch a train to London Bridge from Reigate everyday. Once every ten days or so, a train will be late, by a couple of minutes. And once a month or so, a train will be held up for say, ten minutes.'

'Is that all? In India we are used to trains running late all the time....'

'When a train is late by a few minutes, we start cribbing. In the UK, people complain about minor things. Out here people are passive. People don't care if the trains run late.'

'There's not much point in cribbing in India. We have too many people and not enough ...'

'I don't think so. It's also a question of attitude. If a train is late, there will be an announcement every few minutes explaining the reason for the absence. They'll tell us the train is held up at such and such a place due to such and such a reason.'

'You must find it so difficult here after living in England.'

'I hate to say this, but after living in the UK, it's so difficult to adjust to the way things are done here.'

The train moves off and Sreejit heaves a sigh of relief. 'Finally,' he exhales. Babu sighs in relief as well, as if he is too embarrassed at having been let down by Indian Railways in front of a foreigner.

Sreejit decides to re-read the email he received from Tim a few days before he went on leave. It doesn't matter how many times he has read it before, Sreejit feels a fresh pang of rejection each time. Tim's email was very blunt and to the point. As discussed at the review meeting held the previous day, Sreejit's performance was not satisfactory. They didn't think he was capable of fulfilling the requirements of his role. They realised that Sreejit had a demanding role, but if Sreejit could not improve his performance and meet the five objective parameters set out below in the next three months, they would ask him to leave.

A vendor arrives with lunch boxes - there's chicken biriyani, sambhar rice, curd rice, fish curry rice etc. Sreejit buys a chicken biriyani while Babu settles for some curd rice. They start eating.

'I heard that food in England is very bad. Is that true?'

'Not at all. It is very hygienic and clean. You won't fall ill if you eat food from a vendor on a train.'

'Oh! Do you have people selling food items like this?'

'No, but each train, especially the long distance ones, will have a buffet trolley with an assortment of sandwiches and beverages.'

'Sandwiches! Is that all you get? It must be very difficult to live on such things?'

'I am used to that now. Actually, these days, I don't like spicy food. Come to think of it, why add spices to food? They don't have any nutritional value. In fact, they deflect the real taste of food. If you eat spicy food all your life, your taste buds will slowly die. You won't be able to appreciate subtle flavours. In fact, Indian food doesn't have subtle flavours.'

They go back to their foil packed food. Sreejit chuckles to himself. At the pub the day before he went on leave, he had nicknamed Tim Dr. No and everyone had laughed. Hopefully the name would stick. Tim had a habit of starting every sentence with a No. They all hated Tim and his joke had made him very popular. But Sreejit was the first of Tim's victims. Why had Tim picked on Sreejit?

Sreejit finishes his lunch first, because he doesn't eat half of it. He looks around for a bin to dump his foil pack, but doesn't find one. 'Just throw it out of the window,' Babu tells him. Sreejit is disgusted beyond words, but he reluctantly opens a window and throws out the wrapper. He then goes to the end of the compartment to wash his fingers in the tap. When he comes back, Babu is the process of disposing his lunch wrapper through the window.

'I just don't understand why there can't be a few bins in every compartment? Labour is cheap in this country. It won't cost too much to have the bins emptied at every other station!'

'We are used to all this,' Babu put in mildly.

'I guess I shouldn't be shocked, but I am. Each time I return to India, I get a jolt when I see the way things are done here.'

They are silent for a while. The train reaches Allepey, but no one enters the first class compartment.

Sreejit opens Tim's email once again. He goes through the five parameters they have set for him. They appear objective but they are not. His technical knowledge apparently is not good enough. How the heck can such an allegation be called objective? Before Tim arrived on the scene with a mandate to 'trim' the company, no one had complained about his technical knowledge. If at the end of three months, Tim 'objectively' decides that his technical knowledge is still not good enough, they can fire him and there is precious little he can do about it. He has consulted an employment lawyer. His company is entitled to fire him as long as it follows all the procedures, he has been told. He can take his company to the employment tribunal claiming unfair dismissal, but unless he can prove that his termination is on account of race or religion, he is unlikely to win. No, he can prove nothing of that sort. All his colleagues are polite to him outwardly. No one has assailed him on account of his religion or skin colour. He isn't a homosexual or anything is he? his lawyer had asked him wistfully. If he is and is being harassed about it by his boss, he might sustain a claim that he is being terminated on account of his sexual orientation. No, I am not gay, Sreejit had politely replied though he wanted to scream at the lawyer who charged him 300 pounds an hour.

It is actually the last of the five parameters which hurts the most. He can live with an allegation of inadequate technical knowledge since he knows that it is a lie. But he cannot live down the allegation that his client handling skills need to be improved. He has been asked to work on his verbal skills so that clients can understand him better. It was the last parameter which forced him to shoot off an angry reply to Tim just before he caught the flight to India. Yes, I do speak with an accent. However, I've never had trouble communicating with anyone. That idiot who complained about my accent last month is prejudiced. He is biased. He is a racist. You don't have to believe him. Surely you know me better than that. I have been in the UK for 5 years now and my accent had always been legible. It was not as if I spend all my time talking to clients. Not more than ten percent of my time is spent with clients. I have been with the company for three years now and there had been only one complaint so far.

He knows that Tim won't reply to his email. The Human Resources department has prepared Tim's email and any response will also be prepared by HR. They have done it many times before. The UK has some of the most employee friendly laws in the world, but if an employer wants to fire an employee, he can do so, provided he is patient and is willing to pay lip service to all the rules.

'So you don't see yourself ever returning to India, do you?' Babu asks him.

'Actually, I might. There are so many things about India I don't like, but India is still home. I will come back to Kerala one day and settle down here.'

'Really! That's very good. I thought you are....' Babu hesitates and then continues, '..you are one of those who hate India so much that they will never return.'

'Ha! Ha! Of course not! I have gained so much from my experience in the UK and when I return, I will have a lot to contribute.'

'I'm sure of that. When are you likely to return for good? Anytime soon?'

'I don't know. I may come back in a year's time, I may return after ten years. It all depends.'

Babu is too polite to ask what it depends on and merely gives Sreejit a smile as he goes back to his Blackberry.

Survival of the Creative Fittest

Suresh Naig — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 06:41:46 EST

It was just 4 years since I was married; the euphoria of love marriage had drained for my wife, which was replaced by other weighty and worldly things. Her warmth and compassion towards me had seen several ups and downs, putting even the Sensex to shame.

Whatever she had admired and loved in me during our courtship, she felt, had turned against her. She liked my openness and friendly nature, which had ensured a large friends’ circle for me. The same friends, whom she felt, I earned due to my humorous and witty nature, had become hindrances in her opinion, prying on our privacy.

She was very creative; even till date she continues to be one, she started focusing her creativity in turning my friends into foes. It was the age old tactics, which she adopted. Comparing my inadequacy with their positive side, so much so she had the knack in picking up only the positive side of each of my friends, and pitted it against my negative sides.

She had compared me with a friend of mine, who was very considerate in helping his wife in domestic chores, but he being a “Harry Potter” did not bother her. His name is Hari and who was fond of “pot”, the fact which she conveniently forgot, and never took it up for comparison. Or for that matter with another friend, who never missed an opportunity in gifting his wife, at times for as flimsy a reason as cooking palatable food, yet he being a “Birbal” didn’t bother her. My wife knew he had earned the nick name, for his unbridled love for ale, turning his tummy to the shape of a beer barrel, which was never taken up for comparison.

All her tactics failed to evoke the desired effect and it never impacted me, for two reasons. The day I decided to get married, I had resolved not to get provoked, a euphemism for thick skin. Another reason for her failure was, my creativity being a shade better than her. I told her, ‘if you want me to imbibe all good things from all my friends, soon you may feel that you are sleeping with a stranger than me. I am what I am, and others are what they are’. Still it failed to cut ice with her.

Eventually I told her to put all the things she didn’t like about me on a paper and I would do the same thing about her. She agreed readily, for she was confident that my paper would be blank, but I proved her wrong.

She could manage only two sheets of paper and 30 minutes, but I went with more than six sheets of paper, and well past an hour. I was enjoying her discomfort and anxiety to look into what I was writing, but I refused to show her. We had neatly put our papers into separate envelopes, pasted and as agreed, the waiting started. We had agreed earlier to open it only in bedroom in the night. I was not at all anxious to look into what she had written, as I knew it verbatim, having listened to it for long. I could also predict the reaction of my wife, on witnessing my scribbling.

And it was as I expected. Tears welling up in her eyes she started punching me, followed by a tight hug, whispering in my ear, ‘you dirty sweet scoundrel, I love you too, though you don’t deserve’.

All the six sheets of paper contained only one line, repeated like an imposition writing, as we did in our school. And it was,

“I love you, for what you are, and not you will”.

Swami and His Foes

Suresh Naig — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 13:32:52 EST

It was one winter evening at Coimbatore, in the year 1984. Even till date I couldn't recollect the reasons, which made me to visit Bharatiya Vidhya Bhavan, to listen to a lecture of a Swamiji.

It was a moderate crowd of less than 100 persons, most of them having attained superannuation, found the lecture an inexpensive entertainment. The Swamiji, whose name I forgot, was no different from any other Swamijis. Like many of the Swamijis he was also 60 plus, but beyond which his proper age was not discernible. He had also sported a long beard, like any other person of his clan, which had turned grey, had long unkempt hair and he worn a long piece of cotton jubbah, which had obviated the need for a dhoti, though he was wearing one.

At a much younger age, I had a problem of differentiating one cine actress from the other, since I felt all of them looked alike with heavily made-up face and all the cine heroines of yester years appeared to me as padded horses! of a different kind.

As I grew up, I developed the skills in identifying a female cine personalities, but my problem of identification shifted to Swamijis, who not only looked alike, but also behaved alike, with their monotonous uninspiring lectures. This swamiji was no different.

He opened his lecture praising the U.S. from where he had returned, after a long and fruitful visit. He said, 'I was discussing with few young Americans about Indian culture and our ancient practices aimed at healthy living. This discussion happened in the house of my host, an Indian settled in U.S.A. The American youth were casual in their approach, some with cigarettes dangling from their lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke, some with coke bottles in their hand, some casually lying on the sofa and yet showed seriousness in learning about our culture. I was astonished by their questions and eagerness to learn new things.'

When the swamiji continued his monotonous lecture, praising the new found land of his opportunities, a person who was sitting in the front row was infuriated. He burst out at the Swamiji, 'I have not come here to listen to your praises for America, I had expected that you would deliver a lecture on Geeta or Mahabharat.' Sitting four rows behind, I was curiously enjoying all these things.

When the Swamiji tried to reply to the infuriated man from the first row, with an innocuous smile, the agitated person in his early forties fumed and left the hall in a huff. It appeared to me that the person left the hall out of envy, on the Swamiji's foreign jaunt.

Unfazed, the Swamiji continued his lecture. His lecture was centred on the need to live in tandem with nature, with abundant examples from his day to day observations. He was narrating, 'the other day I saw some people eating cucumber bought from a road side vendor, peeled, cut and after applying salt and pepper powder on it. If God wanted us to eat cucumber with salt and pepper, he would have put the same in cucumber.' His lectures continued on the same line with many more examples, which all of us would have commonly encountered on a daily basis.

His concluding punch was, 'we have stopped eating to satiate our hunger since long, we have stopped drinking to quench our thirst since long. Since our acts no longer reflect the purpose, we are facing certain peculiar problems. If all our acts are purposeful, intended for the specific and natural purpose, we no longer would need to worry about our physical and mental health.' The Swamiji concluded his lecture and the forum was open for questions from the assembled audience.

My question was specific. 'Swamiji I agree with you on many of the points, which are parallel to the views expressed by Van Dyer in his book Sky is not the limit. However there is one act in India which is very purposeful, and we are witnessing the population explosion. Is it not right to indulge in it, relegating the purpose, for the benefit of the society?'

Before the Swamiji could respond, many in the audience, tried to show their disapproval for my question. Swamiji, after some thoughtful silence for maximum effect, opened his mouth fondling his grey beard. 'it is easier said than done, but regular practice of Yoga is the answer for your question.' And he left it at that.

After so many years I felt otherwise. In 1984, when I was young I felt, "It was easier done than said" and now at my 50+ age I realise it is easier said than done".

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.