India sleeps!!

Sipping coffee on a nippy Delhi evening is one of the most amazing things, one can do in month of February. February brings a warm respite from 2 chilly months of winter. Sipping coffee in plush CP could be an altogether different experience in itself, but on that day it was something special. Smartly dressed young men and stunning maidens were wandering hand in hand along the boulevard. We as usual a group of four boys were sipping our hot brew outside Nirula’s (couldn’t afford it ), enjoying the Glen Medeiros’s ‘Nothing gonna change my love for you’ played for nth time (with n tending to infinity, couldn’t resist myself from using this limit). The couples were looking so dashing, lost in their own world caring about none. It would be a lie not to admit that I was not getting jealous of the Romeos and Juliets relishing Valentine’s. As usual we were watching the lovers and were webbing dreams of an angel, who would come and change our dull lives.

Alas, as always there is always someone to spoil the rosy pictures. Our engaging fantasies were broken with a hysteric cry from inside the café. A sudden mayhem could be seen with saffron clad Amrish Puris breaking table crockery, thrashing anyone coming in their way. Another fleet of motorcyclists bringing Prans, Prem Chopras and company yelling some indistinguishable slogans arrived to add on to the hysteria. Young couples lost somewhere in their utopian world were suddenly brought to harsh realities of secular and democratic India. A cavalcade of reporters was following the procession of saviors of Indian Culture. As a ray of hope in darkness police jeeps reached the studios (it really seemed like a studio with so many cameras around, only without a Hero), but it all turn out to be a mirage. Police rather than stopping the destruction were at best acting as a spectator. In fact they seem to enjoy the shooting with some of them even volunteering to enhance the existing villainous army. As I watch bemused at the whole spectacle, the plush Nirulas was looted and brought down to pieces with media covering the issue and police assisting the actors. They really were acting, all wearing Palika bazaar shades and instructing cameraman to focus on them before carrying the act of cowardice. Such was the harshness that they spared none from waiters to sweet fragile beauties. The Shloks mouthed by them would have certainly made Tulsidas and Kalidas proud. A whole bunch of esteemed audience (including me) watched the whole spectacle with diligence and sincerity. Marauders flew from scene leaving behind a shattered and plundered restaurant restoring Indian values moving towards another destination (probably Archie’s Gallery).

Indian growth story has impressed one and all, with young resurgent India taking world head on. Indian elephant is marching ahead at the pace of a tiger conquering unimaginable feats every day. As they say 1 Billion unstoppable people are marching with dreams in their heart and strength of achieving them in mind. But somehow, very strangely intolerant, narrow minded fanatics are breeding in every nook and corner of India. Over the last few years FREEDOM OF SPEECH has somehow got lost in this emerging India. An actor commenting a dam could have his movie (which involves livelihood of several others as well) banned, an actress commenting on pre marital sex could have an arrest warrant issue against her, a professor can be thrashed in front of his students in the name of immoral paintings by illiterates (who even don’t know difference between morality and immorality) and many others,. The point is not whether the commentators are right or wrong, but whether they have the right to express themselves in this democratic nation. I am not against the protests as well, but it’s the way of protesting which frightens. Protests are not against statements but against very existence of the dare (it shouldn’t have been dare in first place itself). India has always been argumentative in nature. Arguments are fundamental pillars of a democracy. An argumentative diverse population is a paramount requirement of strong nation. Threshold of tolerance have become abysmally low, with most futile remarks bringing whole nation down.
Extremism in forms of religion, region, race and castes has strangled us with no one working towards releasing us from its clutches. We have become a nation of cowards with no one paying heed to state of national affairs. From the eventful day of valentine’s till now I have never seen any strong reaction against the mobsters. Biggest disappointment has been us (as Pepsi puts it Youngistan). We may be achieving unconquered milestones every day, but we have forgotten way of living, of unrestrained thinking where every one is free to express himself, to do what he wants, of flying across the sky without any fear of hunted down! I wish we could be somewhere near to this utopian world. As Bob Marley beautifully says:
Get up Stand up
Stand for your rights
Get up Stand up
Don’t give up the fight
One more time!

Indian Dreams

I’m sorry if the title suggests another of articles glorifying so alleged great economic strides taken by India. Lately, it has become a fashion of sorts, with every fool with no future of his own mapping Indian future with great intricacy and irrational arguments. It isn’t about any of this pseudo intellectual stuff but of modest dreams of an ordinary, middle class Indian. If I am not mistaken there are only two dreams of an average Indian male. First of a beautiful (no less than aishwarya) girl (earlier it was for a prospective wife and now of course for something else!) and other of a good job. Earlier a good job meant a sarkari job with a plush cabin which has now been replaced by an IT job (minus the cabin). As I count last minutes of a boring and monotonous day at office, I dare say I have partially achieved Indian dream (minus the girl of course). Looking at intangible, incomprehensible (I’m running short of synonyms) infinitely long codes blaring of my monitor, reminds me of two basic questions echoing within me from eons:
1. Why did I become engineer?
2. Why did I choose an illustrated software job?
Concentrating on the root cause itself, life takes me to the last of my board exams of X standard. With three months of eagerly awaited holidays (not that I studied very hard for my boards!) and a plan of Appu Ghar for next day, I reached home to one of the biggest surprises of my life. My life has never been the same since that day. One of my school teachers was awaiting me with an entrance test form of a prestigious coaching institute, which supposedly was to realize my parent’s dreams and aspirations. The dream was of a seat at sacrosanct IIT (irony it may seem, entrance for an institute who is preparing you for an entrance exam in the first place itself. Welcome to shining India!!). The night day seemed to be one of the biggest of my life, as I started evaluating my alternatives. I liked movies (everyone does), I could have become a bollywood hero, but for my looks. I could have become a director, but didn’t had any direction of my own. I could have become a cricketer, but wasn’t talented enough. Crossing every option I was left with no other option but devil itself.
As tutor wrote an intangible (Gosh!! this intangibility has struck to me ever since) differential equations describing motion of a stone (Had stone knew complexity of its motion, I swear it wouldn’t have moved its whole life.), I knew my dark ages have begin whose renaissance is still awaited by me. This was followed by aeroplanic (please bear with this word), figures of organic compounds. Casanova H used to join any of O girlfriends depending upon the mood (solvent) and we brahamchari’s were told to follow his romantics and predict his next move. Those equations and aero planes make me feel like dyslexic (Taare Zaamen Per Hein have glamorized this word.) even today. Two years of dark ages followed with a curfew on movies, cricket and anything remotely useful and then came the day of pre Armageddon (big day was at a distance).
I sat in examination room with a bundle of sheets, which people were referring to as question paper, staring at the meticulous students cribbing on rough sheets. I knew absolutely nothing and marked the choices as per my wishes (intelligence, it should have been!!). I knew I would never get selected and my parent’s dreams would be shattered and mine would be re ignited.
After a month of respite result were declared and by God’s grace (rather disgrace) I passed the preliminary hurdle. As a penance to one month break my desk was flooded with even difficult study material with every conceivable metaphorical nomenclature. This was supposed to prepare me for final hurdle, but really broke the wrestler itself. Curfew became more stringent and emergency replacing democracy was declared. Day of Armageddon (8 hours of mental torture!!) was followed by a two month period of giving other less illustrious entrance exams. As the day of result approached my parent’s were becoming more and more restless and were amazed at my indifference and calmness towards the results.
This time results came on expected lines (my expectations, I mean) and I was treated by another shock from which I am still recuperating …………………………….