tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57616883436485991562024-02-19T17:37:45.883+05:30Lust for LifePranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-70343463971192438062020-12-22T17:04:00.006+05:302020-12-22T17:16:45.290+05:30Rani Sui Lake trek, Manali - 8th to 10th Dec 2020<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmdgjVnzpLucuVIzSPRcFh-cTzEvmgeBI5I2mC15wfZKkCPhhvtz54FTtqZmJxfIg-lJIUOS8UfMQQrQLulJnoD1kNK_TKgYWWkNVHyTTSfwy5P1vlOOrmDXAJLz8oPJykiGDw6pb4Y4/s2048/IMG_1262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span><p>Discover Himalaya arranged the most perfect trek for us. Kaushal and Rajesh bhaiyya, who managed the trek for us, ensured that we had an unforgettable experience. They were very professional while friendly and helpful at the same time. They weren’t afraid of pointing out to us the risks of endeavouring to do a certain thing, while at other times constantly pushing us to achieve more on the trek. </p><p>
Our first day we started off late morning from the village Bran, about 10 kilometres short of Manali on the Kullu-Manali highway. The trek started right from the highway, so it was upfront established that it’s not going to be an easy ride. We started with a trek through a dense forest with a rich canopy of pine trees. After about 2 hours, we reached a village where we rested our legs for a bit and had some food, before carrying forward. We would have started off at about 1,500 metres altitude on the highway and our base camp was at about 2,500 metres above sea level. As we walked, the ground opened up with trees being more sparse – and deodars giving way to chir trees, a variety of pine with larger needles and more majestic pine cones. The lighter green of their needles also lent a brighter atmosphere to our trek from here onwards, as compared to the darker hue of the deodars. The weather was mostly clear and the sun smiled bright. Towards the end, the climb was quite steep and tiring. When we approached our camp from the side, it was a beautiful sight perched at the edge of the mountain. Our guides didn’t forget to mention that the hut is buffeted with cold winds during the night, so it would get quite chilly up here. But as soon as we entered the hut, our fears disappeared – it was a cozy little mud hut with wooden roof, but quite sturdy at the same time, with a tandoor inside which would keep us warm in the night. We chatted into the night in our sleeping bags provided by the team, but couldn’t keep sleep away for long because of the fatigue. </p><p>We woke up refreshed the next morning. I have to mention here that all the preparations regarding food and other arrangements were excellently done – we especially loved the wonderful food that was served to us, and each meal was different. It is a huge effort and kudos to the Discover Himalaya team to manage to get these provisions at such a remote location just so that we could have the best experience. We were provided gaiters which we tied to our lower legs so that the snow which we expected to encounter this day would not wet our shoes from the inside. Finally, we started off at around 9:50 am. The initial climb was steep and then we entered the jungle terrain once more. But here we started encountering snow as well which was not fresh but from about 2 weeks ago. The depth of this snow kept increasing till we reached a point where the surrounding landscape opened up and there was fresh snow falling. It was a beautiful sight and I remember looking at everyone else’s faces and realising that their fatigue, just like mine, had disappeared in an instant. We all stood, mesmerized, looked around at the flakes slowly falling, creating an eerie yet fabulous landscape, and took it all in. It was at this moment that we felt really alive, shocked back to our senses from the drudgery of constant walking. From here on, the amount of snow on the ground kept increasing and our feet started getting steeped into over a feet of snow. Although the going started getting more difficult because of this reason, Kaushal and Rajesh bhaiyya were leading us and we were trying to walk in the foot-deep impressions their feet made in the snow. The incline also became a lot steeper and at one point we were wondering if we would really be able to keep going. However, the constant encouragement of our guides helped us overcome the mental barrier. Ultimately, we realised that it’s all in our minds. Our bodies are willing and able to push much beyond what we believe capable, as long as our minds believe it. We kept climbing and now the snow was reaching our upper thighs with every step, with fresh snow falling thick and fast. After a final steep push, we were able to reach the ridge. As advised by our guides, it was very windy up here with the snow flakes creating an envelop of wind around the ridge, coming in from one side close to the mountain, flowing over the ridge while staying close to the mountain on the other side, creating a U around the ridge. It was extremely chilly up here and the snow flakes in the extremely windy conditions felt like cold pins on our face. It was scary, it was frigid and it was beautiful and the best moment for me on the trek. </p><p>
Slowly we trudged forward, with each step feeling heavier because of the relative sparseness of oxygen at this altitude, but also because of the crazy wind. We walked a bit further but then the going got even tougher. We had gained another kilometre of altitude on this day and were at around 3,500 metres above sea level. Our guides told us that this is the best we can hope to do because from here it was another hour’s walk to the lake during the summer time when there’s no snow – in this weather it could well mean another 3 hours, and there’s very little altitude to be gained from here as the walk from here was entirely on the ridge, and there wouldn’t be any lake left to see anyhow. It was already 2:30pm so we decided to turn back (after a few pictures from the DSLR for which I had to take out my hand from the glove, which within a minute started turning red and blue from the extreme cold which was several degrees below freezing at this windy juncture, so I was shit scared and quickly put back my glove). However, as soon as we turned back, the wind suddenly became a sort of a blizzard and the visibility quickly dropped to about 3-4 metres, and even lower if we looked into the wind. This was a quite scary but thrilling at the same time – we just tried to follow the footsteps of the person in front of us and in a few minutes reached the point from where we began our descent from the ridge. We had to dig our heels with every step so as to avoid slipping down the steep slope, just as we had dug in our toes while climbing up in the snow. There came a point when it was so steep that we couldn’t keep our balance and kept slipping – so we figured we better slip down a good part of the slope which seemed easier. We were back to being kids for that moment and we slid down a good 30 metres of the slope which was inevitably a lot of fun. We took a break for some food and reached our hut at the last light, and just then the rain started falling. Luck had favoured us throughout our trek so far and we couldn’t believe how perfectly things worked out for us just then. We chatted late into the night in our hut with both Kaushal and Rajesh bhaiiya where they narrated tales of their thrilling encounters and of the various village customs in the mountains. </p><p>
The third day we started down at around 10:30 am and the descent, though especially hard on the tired knees by now, was alright. We reached down and had our packed lunch, after which we started for Manali. One day later it snowed about 8 inches around the place we were staying in Old Manali. We couldn’t help but wonder how much it would have snowed at our base camp and how we would have managed if the snowstorm had been a couple of days early. It turned out to be an unearthly experience, which none of us had expected or experienced before. We all had done some treks in the past, but this one turned out to be very special. To anyone who’s willing to let himself be guided into the wild mountains for an authentic experience, I would strongly urge to check out the experienced and dependable team of Discover Himalaya, with the wonderful Kaushal bhaiyya.
</p></p>Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0Pushkar Regency, Near Green Tax Barrier, Shallin, Himachal Pradesh 175143, India32.1984595 77.131258632.169405355203295 77.09692632460937 32.2275136447967 77.16559087539062tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-14379870908903886092020-10-10T13:21:00.001+05:302020-10-10T15:33:33.378+05:30A Thing of Beauty<div>What is beauty? It is the dark green of the deodars gleaming their shiny coats like proud armours in the morning light. It is their yellowing seeds drooping in the autumn, as if ready to drop anchor to the bounteous grounds. It is the stillness of the trees in the windless autumn, still as the peaceful heart of an old man in the autumn of his years. It is in the patterns which the pollen makes on the sloping rooftops, sliding and ever changing. It is in the constant racket that crickets make all throughout the autumnal mornings, unrelenting and unapologetic, repeating the same auditory pattern like clockwork, as if they don't mind the sun's waning afternoon light, as if they don't care about the sunflowers turning their gaze towards the sun, as if they don't pay heed to the monkeys suddenly getting into an altercation, loud and rude. Beauty is in the coolie who slowly climbs 10 steps after taking a quick rest, with the heavy load making him stoop. Beauty is in the yellowish-white butterfly which you suddenly perceive fluttering along purposely, as if knowing from afar which flower will satiate it from its full nectar. Beauty is in the sunlight which falls aslant on my desk, making visible the small yellow dots that is pollen, the reproductive aid that in its non-discriminatory behaviour, has landed at the wrong place. Beauty is in the new shoot of the money plant in my room which is as yet only a light green tip on the stem of the last leaf that has opened up. </div><div><br></div><div>All this I was inspired to write upon coming across the following words from Khalil Gibran on beauty: "It is that which draws your spirit. It is that which you see and makes you to give rather than receive. It is that thing you feel when hands are stretched forth from the depths to clasp it to your depths. It is that which the body reckons a trial and the spirit a bounty. It is the link between joy and sorrow. It is all that your perceive hidden and know unknown and hear silent. It is a force that begins in the holy of holies of your being and ends in that place beyond your visions...". </div>Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-26959083092208653182018-07-07T18:22:00.001+05:302018-07-07T18:22:40.030+05:30Book Review - The Sense of an Ending - Julian Barnes<p dir="ltr">Are memories real? I mean the way we remember events from our past in our memories, is that how the events actually took place? Science says no. Our memories are reconstructions, where the factual events which cannot be denied, like the fact that you jumped off and broke your leg, are held true but the buildup to the event or the psychological repurcussions in the aftermath can be reinterpreted, so to say - like who talked you primarily into making the jump, just how tipsy you actually were from all the alcohol, or whether you did it out of pride, or provocation, or peer pressure - what we do remember out of it may be a result of cognitive dissonance, a mere rationalised memory based on our own self image. If I read something I wrote 35 years previously in my life, will it shock me or will it be as per my expectation? Our memories of how we were when we were 20 years old by the time we are 60 years old will be tampered by our self image of how we now expected us to be back then. It'll be akin to a lucid memory from childhood where all the colours are filled in, the surrounding is well detailed and we remember expressions of people as well - the falsity of this memory will be something not easy to accept for most of us. This wonderful work is about realigned memories and how it could be earth shattering to come face to face with our real selves against the mental picture we hold of ourselves.</p>
Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-48580070244241740332018-01-28T23:22:00.003+05:302018-01-28T23:22:39.970+05:30If I Could Go Back in Time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I have been wondering – for me, there is a
tremendous degree of, so to say, life coming full circle, in terms of my
interests and life choices vis-a-vis what was taught to us in school as a part
of our syllabi. I remember studying Shakespeare’s plays in detail at school,
understanding each word’s meaning and import, making an entirely new discovery
every step of the way (a few I clearly remember, like reading about “ides of
March” which basically means 15<sup>th</sup> or mid of March in Julius Caesar).
But the amount of interest we showed in truly learning the work and exploring
similar works was very little, if any.</span><span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif; font-size: 14pt;">It was a world of discovery that I enjoyed, but
yet, my initiative in the direction of exploring new literature and reading
more books was next to nothing. In our school library, I remember liking the
smell of old hardbound books, in black and blue and green rough spine and
cover, and spending a lot of time facing the books in the cupboards, taking out
this one and that one, discovering new titles in the typical wondrous pleasure
of an explorer – yet making very little endeavour to read some of those (I’m
assuming) enriching books. I truly regret this and I wish I could turn back
time and actually pick some great works to read when we used to have all the time
in the world and access to a seemingly endless and accessible source, like our
school library. I remember having done the same thing at home – taking out
Dad’s old books from his bookshelves, studying their type and print, binding
and cover page, and rollicking in the fabulous fragrance typical of old books,
and then eventually keeping them back in their place when Mom called for
dinner. Looking back, the seeds of a bibliophile were always there in me, but
the initiative was missing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I still wonder at times why is it that the
teacher with the most monotonous intonation is always assigned to teaching
History. And thus there was always a strong correlation between the subject of
History being taught and the lolling jerks of a sleep induced head in class. I
remember our History teacher in 9</span><sup style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: Andalus, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> and 10</span><sup style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: Andalus, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> standard
used to come to class, open his book on the page where he left off in the
previous class, and start reading and intermittently, sprinkling the narrative
with his own explanation of why and how things happened. I can’t really seem to
remember how well he explained those things – because I was hardly ever paying
attention – but I’m sure there was some depth to it. In fact, if I had paid
attention back then, I believe I would have taken a liking to the wonderful
subject back then itself rather than almost 3-4 years later when I started my
graduation and started reading more books. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif; font-size: 14pt;">History was the class in which we
(my best friend Ashish and I) were meant to amuse ourselves with book cricket
(where you randomly open a page of a book and the last </span><span style="font-family: Andalus, serif; font-size: 14pt;">digit of the even numbered page was the score on
that ball, 0 being out, with 11 wickets each side); or a miniature version of
cricket where an eraser rubbed off into the shape of a ball would be rolled
from the top of the slanting table top towards another eraser or a Nataraj
pencil sharpener at the other end which would act as the stumps; or to updating
and maintaining of the records of our individual performance in the actual
cricket session of that day (played during the half hour break every day), and
updating records like total runs that season, wickets taken, and even batting
and bowling averages, and expressing all of this in terms of line and bar
graphs (yes, I was an out and out nerd from the very beginning). With there
being so much to do, why would we ever pay attention in this History class, of
all classes, where even the teacher did not mind us indulging in these
“activities” right under his nose. Probably he knew all along how few students
were actually paying attention, but was too far off on the scale of been there
done that to really give two shits about it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif; font-size: 14pt;">School days were, like for so many of you, one
of the best days of my life – a carefree time when one did not even understand
the definition of emotions like stress, negativity, envy, insecurities and peer
pressure – states which seep off a lot of our time, attention and energy in
today’s dog-eat-dog hyper-capitalistic world of extreme consumerism. If given
another opportunity, I would not miss a chance to go back in time. And this
time, I would play more sports, pick up music early, and for sure, explore more
of the beautiful world of literature.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif; font-size: 14pt;">p.s. - For further reading:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;"><a href="http://pranay-joiedevivre.blogspot.in/2017/01/school-days.html">http://pranay-joiedevivre.blogspot.in/2017/01/school-days.html</a></span></span></div>
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Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-22456323122989039132018-01-08T00:23:00.000+05:302018-01-08T00:28:09.314+05:30Resolutions 2018!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So I feel I had a well-balanced weekend, with satisfying
proportions of partying, drinking, relaxing, roaming aimlessly in a mall,
eating out, eating at home, eating a beautifully cooked meal at home by wifey, sleeping
enough, reading (umm..not so much this damn bugger!), engaging in physical
activities, and overall doing well on the resolutions. Yes resolutions – I’ll
start with that. So I understand that this is my first journal entry for the
year 2018, so this is supposed to be special. But I don’t believe in special
for a day; I believe more in the specialness of the daily grind, the benefits
of just turning up for it, so I’ll just try my best to make it a bland,
commonplace entry, that I may yawn while reading 10 years from now. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I made a few resolutions at the beginning of the year.
Again, I don’t like the fact that resolutions are made only at the beginning of
the year. I mean how does it matter when does one make the resolutions? But one
cannot deny that there is a new sense of purpose, a new excitement at the
beginning of the year which if channelled well, can lead to some progress in a
positive direction. So I just try to channel this energy that is produced at
the beginning of the year all around us. Also, it makes that much more sense to
start off with something after the holidaying that naturally comes towards the
end of the year. Like after partying on the Friday, you want to do something
constructive on the Sunday (assuming the Saturday was spent sleeping off the
hangover). The same way, after the grand partying/holidaying/vacationing at the
end of the year, it’s easy to feel a page turn, a certain chapter end, and to
begin something anew. It’s not difficult to feel motivated. So I decided on a
few things. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Keeping physically fit is quite on top of my resolutions
list. I did not want to make it too hard on myself that I end up so far away
from my resolutions that I stop tracking it entirely. Modesty is the way to go
about it. So Cardio for 20 minutes twice a week. Strength training for 20
minutes twice a week. I feel even if I fulfil this modest goal – less about
immersion but more about regularity – I felt I would be better off by the time
the year ends. And achieve this I honestly feel I can. And I will. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Exercising my back for 5 days a week. This became all the
more important because of the recent troubles I had with my back. In fact,
while holidaying in Hampi for the new year celebrations, I spent half a day in
bed with a balm and a hot water bottle on my lower back. I hate myself for it,
and this is something I would want to see myself overcome. No more back
problems. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Practicing the guitar, learning the keyboard, or just spend
time singing – just 20 minutes, for 6 days a week. Again, less depth, but more
regularity. I know if I keep doing this so regularly, I’ll improve for sure.
And improve I want to. I always want to keep improving in whatever I do in
music. Yesterday guitar, today keyboard, tomorrow – maybe drums, who knows. The
pure joy that playing music gives me is unmatched. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Reading of course. I ended the last year with 40 books against
my name. This feat I have been achieving for 2 straight years now, so this year
I want to better it. I target to read 48 books this year, that is, 4 books per
month. Not an easy ask while focusing on my job, which I expect to take up a
lot of my time and energy in the year 2018, and trying to keep up with the
other resolutions. But how will I better myself I don’t push myself? I know
this particular aim I may end up missing, but I’ll never disappoint myself,
because reading books is something I just love doing. So even if I fall short,
I know I’ll be proud of myself for trying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Writing a journal 100 days in the year 2018. I ended up
writing 60 days in the year 2017 averaging about 750 words per day (about 45,000
words in the year), so this should not be a big ask – about once every three
days, or less. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I also want to make my writing more structured, so writing a
short story a month is something I aim to do this year. It may all come out to
be quite shitty, but shitty is what you get when you are trying to get out all
that is on the surface. Once I get all the shit out of the way, the good stuff
will start pouring out – as Ed Sheeran said in one of his interviews. So
basically, I plan to shit 12 times this year, and shit well and good at that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Travelling to a 6 new places this year is something I aim to
do. The experience of travelling is something I would not trade for anything
else in the world. I also expect to travel enough this year for work purposes,
so this may not be that difficult to achieve after all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Finally, on a recommendation from my sister, I want to read
about writing for a small amount of time for 5 days a week. I may have my
favourite authors that I follow and whose works I love reading. But my sister,
the only author who I know personally, is the one who inspires me the most. Her
dedication to the craft is unmatched and the ease with which she manages her
time, while taking care of a toddler at the same time, is nothing short of
miraculous. I’ve also seen her grow as a writer and I know destiny has wondrous
things in store for her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And to all of you who have read this, I wish you get the
strength and perseverance to pursue your own habits, interests or hobbies –
whatever you may call them – and track them well this year. Cheers to 2018!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">P.S. – I’m using an app called Loop – Habit Tracker to track
all my resolutions. It has quite a simple interface and the creators have not
complicated it unnecessarily. Though you may try some other similar apps as
well, sticking to such an app to track the progress on your resolutions is
something I would strongly suggest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-73174559988701144542017-08-09T22:50:00.000+05:302017-08-09T22:51:26.234+05:30Abstract, Embarrassment, Shipping and Procrastination<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
real answer lies in doing it every day. Just show up. Don’t worry about
inspiration to strike, don’t worry about your best work eluding you. “Great
artists don’t wait for inspiration to strike, they just show up at work every
morning.” This quote, or something similar, was mentioned by the narrator on
the first episode of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt6333098/" target="_blank">Abstract</a>, a television series based upon a few real life
designers which delves into their everyday lives, their work, their
inspirations and their ennui. The first episode was based on the life and work
of <a href="https://www.instagram.com/abstractsunday/?hl=en" target="_blank">Christoph Niemann</a>, an illustrator and graphic designer, who is also the
author of several books on his idea of art. It was inspiring. Even I have,
these past few days, tried to practice sketching daily. Depicting ideas onto a
piece of paper has always been something that fascinated me, and though I’m
still quite horrible at it, I like the daily practice session. A sketch a day
has been my simple modus operandi and I try to keep the idea alive that “practice
makes perfect”. Though I very well understand and appreciate the fact that if
one is as bad at something as I am at sketching, “a lot of practice makes
slightly better” is an adage which is more apt. But I’m trying. I won’t publish
anything as yet, because admitting this publicly is embarrassing enough. I don’t
want to embarrass myself further out of the inspiration that has sustained me
so far. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But
then there is another aspect of this all. I read the book <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7155145-linchpin" target="_blank">Linchpin</a> by Seth
Godin recently, and he talks about a concept called “<a href="http://99u.com/articles/6249/seth-godin-the-truth-about-shipping" target="_blank">Shipping</a>”. Shipping means
ensuring what you are working towards gets submitted, published, uploaded, posted,
or howsoever you want to name the formal act of completing something in the
final completed form it was envisioned in when you started working upon it. Planning
to ship entails putting some deadline to a work you are doing, because we human
beings have a natural tendency called “Resistance”, which gives us
well-sounding excuses to not complete something we had started, to not publish
something because it’s not good enough, to wait a little more for the right
inspiration to strike, for the torrential rain to stop and the sun to be out again,
for your neighbour to have his newspaper picked and taken in before you leave
for your office and not see it lying on the porch in the front, and God knows
what else. You will always find excuses, as it is a natural inclination for us.
Thus, we have to force ourselves to ship. We have to create a discipline to
ship things on the pre-decided date, and work accordingly. If we don’t do that
from the beginning, we will always find some sensible-sounding reasons for not
doing it, because that’s what we human beings are naturally wired to do. That’s
what Tim Urban calls “the monster” who shows up when we are forced to work
towards completing a goal in his <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arj7oStGLkU&t=1s" target="_blank">TED talk on Procrastination</a>. Thus I am well
aware that I don’t want to fall into the trap of delaying something, or giving
myself enough time to cook up an excuse. This act of publicly admitting to
trying to learn something new is in itself an act of commitment to which I can
be held accountable by you all. It is, in a small way, an act of shipping. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-13625167788130962192017-06-09T19:11:00.000+05:302017-06-09T19:25:59.464+05:30Shit Happens!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 18pt;">Travel woes don’t seem to leave me alone. After all the mess with
the UK visa getting denied to me because of a “damaged passport” followed by a
passport re-application struggle at multiple stages, where I underwent all
adventures possible while dealing with Indian bureaucracy like a rude and
haughty passport officer who called my application a “ghanta” loudly enough for
the 50 people crowded around in the office without a care in the world, and
being asked to come back thrice for the Passport re-issue application, to a
background verification police officer who asked for a bribe in a subtle
manner, the worse thing being that I fail to notice the subtlety, followed by a
delay in receiving the re-applied UK visa till the very last afternoon of the
day I was to fly out. And at one point you think, what else can happen? I’m at
my lowest point and nothing can be worse than this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXTr426E2jsEvE4_fCi0g9BEb4K-o-LvkJUBtYEBMK5UVDlIqM16rysuhPLOD0aOxqDQhVuhD8PEPoI_g_4D517SdO9zKcUjE6YIES9DeqnDkRysJcXnBp_vKk2CyqC7DhcMOdYi42Ql4/s1600/MMT01.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="580" data-original-width="622" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXTr426E2jsEvE4_fCi0g9BEb4K-o-LvkJUBtYEBMK5UVDlIqM16rysuhPLOD0aOxqDQhVuhD8PEPoI_g_4D517SdO9zKcUjE6YIES9DeqnDkRysJcXnBp_vKk2CyqC7DhcMOdYi42Ql4/s400/MMT01.PNG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 18pt;">But then more shit happens. Your flight gets cancelled. Or at
least you get an email from Makemytrip saying that Qatar Airways has cancelled
your flight in light of the diplomatic row with its neighbours. There were
options provided in the email to either explore other options with the same
airlines (why would I do that in this case with Qatar Airways?) or get a full
refund, and the steps I need to follow to claim cancellation because of “flight
being non-operational” through their web site or app. So I follow the steps to
claim cancellation because of the stated reason and apply for the refund. The
next day – and here it gets really interesting – I come to the office thinking
I have to book a new flight, but I get a new email from Makemytrip asking me to
ignore the flight cancellation email from them the previous day and that it was
sent out due to a “technical glitch”! But it failed to mention anything about
the big coincidence staring us in the faces, that the cancellation message was
for a Qatar Airways flight, an airlines which is cancelling flights right, left
and centre these past few days because of the diplomatic crisis where some
other gulf countries have cut economic ties with them. I called up Makemytrip
on the “toll free number” provided on their website, and had to wait for over
10 minutes and yawn three times before a customer service operator came on the
line. I explained to them my situation and asked them to make me understand the
present scenario. After holding the line and hearing the stale “music” for some
time, she came back and told me that the flight is operational and good to go.
</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKaVW8mTvvKk8TQrV3_GaLgDnxRWD9iQ2_tUtuA0RWMfg-KnUXoLdE8Nsoxn4xVS40_kiO_Ovrm7J7B-5255YN-q1D9KMwQNEUSwPU_cHrFdpJfu30miQfQrxP6MVTDg60hY9P4A2hYQM/s1600/MMT02.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="464" data-original-width="616" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKaVW8mTvvKk8TQrV3_GaLgDnxRWD9iQ2_tUtuA0RWMfg-KnUXoLdE8Nsoxn4xVS40_kiO_Ovrm7J7B-5255YN-q1D9KMwQNEUSwPU_cHrFdpJfu30miQfQrxP6MVTDg60hY9P4A2hYQM/s400/MMT02.PNG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 18pt;">I asked her that since I had initiated cancellation
and a refund, the status is showing as “Cancellation in Progress” and that a
cancellation ID has been generated and all. She said that’s just some “problem
with the website” which I should ignore. Since this and the other coincidences
were too coincident to ignore, I asked her to cancel the flight for me, and let
me know what is the refund I’ll be getting since I had booked a “refundable”
flight. After making me wait on the line for what seemed like an eternity, she
came back on the line and said that the flight is non-refundable now. I asked
her to explain what that meant. She said that till the time of Departure, if
the cancellation was done, it was refundable, with some cancellation fees going
into it, but since I am “Departured” (thankfully she did not say “Departed”),
it fell under the category of non-refundable. I was flabbergasted and I asked
her how can I be considered “Departured” for the flight was 3 days away. She
said I am being considered “Departured” as I have already flown from Bengaluru
to Manchester, and since it was booked under the same return ticket, it meant
that if I cancel now, I would not get any refund, which did not make sense to
me. I kept up my side of incredulity-laden argument with her and used words
like “loyal customer”, “very poor customer service” and “pathetic support”. I
also dropped in words like “raise this issue” and “higher ups”. At that moment,
in the middle of all this, I also asked her name, which I had to ask her to
repeat at least 4 times before I could understand it (it was not a common name,
in my defence). She suddenly seemed to be holding the phone upside down, as I
could hardly hear her uncharacteristically whisper her name over the phone.
Although I was asking it because I had spent the past almost half an hour
arguing with her, and if the phone line happened to get disconnected right now,
I would have to start it all over with a new customer care executive and have
the same set of arguments, which is a pain (trust me, that has happened
before). But she probably took it in the light of a sort of escalation that I
may have in mind as she was being unsupportive, which she was, but I did not
have that in mind when I asked her name. But it seemed to do the job,
nevertheless. She took down my phone number, and said she will explore other
options and will get back to me. After about half an hour I received an email
from her stating that they will reimburse less than a third of the total cost
of the to and fro flight, which seemed fair enough to me and she said that
since I had already initiated the cancellation (which she was earlier calling
“a problem with the website”), I need not worry about anything else. She mentioned
the amount they’ll be reimbursing in writing, so I could trust that.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 18pt;">So finally I was able to get a new flight booked through Oman Air,
flying through Muscat, which I hear has suddenly become a hot hub for a lot of
flights connecting Indian subcontinent and south-east Asia with Europe. But one
last ball of shit was yet to drop on my head. I received a mobile usage message
the next day, and it seems the “toll free” call had cost me Rs 8,000 since I
was in an international territory! So much for the reimbursement saving which I
had fought so hard for. Anyhow, since I am “net positive”, I’ll have to live
with this. But shit happens and you can’t do much, can you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-11038542476381307922017-05-31T16:19:00.000+05:302017-06-01T14:50:44.262+05:30A Scene at the Garden<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">I sit at a worn-out wooden
bench, senile yet stately – the bench, not me - and absorb – I do, not the
bench – the scene unwrapping itself in front of me. My claim does not extend to
asserting that there is something exceptional in the scene that lay in front of
me. In fact, it shines in its ordinariness. In front of me sprawls the Princes
Street Gardens (since almost everything in Edinburgh, Scotland, has a regal
significance to it). I’ve just come out of the Scottish National Gallery,
alternatively called the Scottish Art Gallery (yes, a lot is in the name,
something I realised in the morning when my overdependence on technology – read
Google Maps – led me to Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, which was
quite offhandishly located in an isolated corner of Edinburgh, and contributed
quite a lot to my step count of today). </span><span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNL6MOJshtIUl3ixonmnE5w51HjFUjR9oPYxqfA7pi_t_ZCPAhT4qTR2a3vpM0yL7cB4eXWvDF3WMLbO7eV_QZQv6UuRG7kcjEp4rZcGhtNluQ1wHUce1uhyphenhyphenNeuGQTOGF8OhftTiuSD60/s1600/IMG_20170529_150226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1179" data-original-width="1600" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNL6MOJshtIUl3ixonmnE5w51HjFUjR9oPYxqfA7pi_t_ZCPAhT4qTR2a3vpM0yL7cB4eXWvDF3WMLbO7eV_QZQv6UuRG7kcjEp4rZcGhtNluQ1wHUce1uhyphenhyphenNeuGQTOGF8OhftTiuSD60/s320/IMG_20170529_150226.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girl rollicking around the park with her parents</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">In front of me, there is a
family of three. The Mom and Dad are doing an On Your Marks, Get Set, Go to
their daughter, seemingly 6, while they make a gateway of their hands for the
girl to run screaming through and get enraptured. And by the time I have
written this, I notice that now she rolls herself down the slope of the grassy
meadow that forms the Princes Street Gardens.</span><span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6gaIl2twVghuiPCzIym13THykvrAv2pV2A7o-oPKVLqoiss31cNSPadbEG-9p4W6ME6e7ABRGLEN-L4FuMigZZozrjW5SXC1LGZAgzDX4BfM9J1H2R_iYZcdJ-uBrjIgbf6JZbuiFdeA/s1600/IMG_20170529_145923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6gaIl2twVghuiPCzIym13THykvrAv2pV2A7o-oPKVLqoiss31cNSPadbEG-9p4W6ME6e7ABRGLEN-L4FuMigZZozrjW5SXC1LGZAgzDX4BfM9J1H2R_iYZcdJ-uBrjIgbf6JZbuiFdeA/s320/IMG_20170529_145923.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Children two my right try to scare away this Oyestercatch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Two children on the bench to my right, again not more than 5,
thought they were successfully able to scare away a white and grey
Oyestercatch, when another one lands right in front of them, and seems even
more hesitant in running away for her life than the previous one. A group of
four girls, aged 8 to 12, sit in circle in the lush green grass, and seem to be
playing a certain game which requires something to be scribbled by each one in
turn, followed by mandatory giggles in which each one’s participation
is expected. After a while they get up and climb the steep grassy slope
towards my end of the garden, and one manages to get stuck while the others
endeavour to pull her up. They pass me by, and the language seems quite
incomprehensible to me.</span><span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyXGNnMSHIDzp7UaYaDRdYXVa2On3JrZ5nWLUyf9NnAv6t5J8ya3BYXK_HYHZ_TgvI0n6P5gmC7GcyfSAplLgIDDxGs1e2NtIOnfEHqTriuO0iBNjTnP1G1kB1NW95UPH7_wnoIL6NsE/s1600/IMG_20170529_150147.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1137" data-original-width="1600" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyXGNnMSHIDzp7UaYaDRdYXVa2On3JrZ5nWLUyf9NnAv6t5J8ya3BYXK_HYHZ_TgvI0n6P5gmC7GcyfSAplLgIDDxGs1e2NtIOnfEHqTriuO0iBNjTnP1G1kB1NW95UPH7_wnoIL6NsE/s320/IMG_20170529_150147.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The group of girls, far away from worldly<br />troubles, in their own cocoon called childhood</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p><span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">A solitary girl of not more than 14 sits beneath a sprawling tree,
absorbed in the book she is cradling, smiling and frowning alternatively. The
sound of the buses passing over the manhole covers is quite loud, and can be
heard from across the Princes Street, the major arterial road adjoining this
area. The weather’s quite cold today, and it’s strange how much the environment
of this place has altered between yesterday and today. Yesterday, at the
terrace in front of the Scottish National Gallery many songs a busker performed
beautifully on his guitar, with a bass pedal attached to the Cajon and a
musical percussion jingle to the other foot, alternatively tapping his feet to
from a sort of a one-man band. Today it’s all silent, with less than a tenth of
the people in these gardens, favouring yesterday’s sun over today’s cold and
gloomy weather</span><span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi1z0MVTb4vQO_GT4xmv6z-2T4Nkk7YuX9K8ECVhRu-VVs2TkYqRn4pLW3r5qduCzLZDn9KA3VBvpT1gCAGZI3w2EML4NCyRHknBe81PoYvRQPIQlZ-a5I6TLDWNPtqjh0Gk2ArZOJFXA/s1600/IMG_20170529_150235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1364" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi1z0MVTb4vQO_GT4xmv6z-2T4Nkk7YuX9K8ECVhRu-VVs2TkYqRn4pLW3r5qduCzLZDn9KA3VBvpT1gCAGZI3w2EML4NCyRHknBe81PoYvRQPIQlZ-a5I6TLDWNPtqjh0Gk2ArZOJFXA/s320/IMG_20170529_150235.jpg" width="272" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girl who sits peacefully underneath the tree, <br />absorbed in her book</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">A guy with his bicycle arrives,
accompanied by his dog, and they descend the slope, the guy gingerly with his
bike, and the dog excitedly, while a stranger who was walking behind them with
a DSLR stops to capture their spectacle. In a while, the dog can be seen
cavorting with a stick in its mouth, in one of dogs’ usually identifiable
antics, where they grasp a stick in their jaws, shake their head from side to side,
seemingly to dislodge the stick but maybe to get a better grip at it, and then
roll over with the stick still lodged firmly between their jaws. The girl with
the book watches the dog and smiles widely. The owner of the dog seems to
emerge from a thicket and carries in his hand a large dry branch of a tree,
breaks it into smaller pieces – which are actually much larger than the dog’s
previous stick – and starts throwing it to the dog, who is exhilarated and runs
around having the time of his life, like dogs always do in such moments. At
this moment, the bitter frigid wind forces me to pack up and look for an indoor
sanctuary. Such ordinariness, yet so much variety of hopes and lives, in this
singular moment. </span><span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-84798832522499018312017-05-28T14:32:00.000+05:302017-06-01T14:55:42.279+05:30A walk through small town England<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIcRH-Qz7VNy-5KGKS2cBc8o_UBdmzmjdWIeT8xOsHj-lhDdQoPdgZjDxZAIG1jHFoWCLaHwA0XkDEDU5n81bDoKqgtmNFFpLREy1kvXn9INpBhEcW3sHYCmYAMw8FmzxxbWVYLgj6-c/s1600/IMG_0052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIcRH-Qz7VNy-5KGKS2cBc8o_UBdmzmjdWIeT8xOsHj-lhDdQoPdgZjDxZAIG1jHFoWCLaHwA0XkDEDU5n81bDoKqgtmNFFpLREy1kvXn9INpBhEcW3sHYCmYAMw8FmzxxbWVYLgj6-c/s320/IMG_0052.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A group of sheep, fenced within a garden, bleating profusely<br />while running around excitedly</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><i>This is an excerpt from a longer piece I wrote in my journal:</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">After the beer at the bar, I went out. I had hesitated going out
earlier because rain seemed imminent, but when this imminence seemed to be
dissolving into permanence, my confidence grew. The foreboding dark grey did
not seem as gloomy once I stepped out. I had spent some time on Google maps
figuring out the area and trying to locate some good places to eat
around, so I chose my direction and started walking. When I ended the walk,
an hour and a half later, the weather was still exactly the same, I felt
extremely alive, I had a take-away pack of Chicken Chowmein with me and it was
nearing 8 pm, but still bright and beautiful.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj78Sg_EbilByDnPIwqkNvG_YX4cZeBDAzMVtQBo2NFaaNsFiKai0rqJTDOWz8R03XSDZGFppAj9e2bo_KkjTV42r2xPEUol8KWd-JH6h4oxXla9-1qogVzrwquYJBIKiGurxBRz9B3H_0/s1600/IMG_0055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj78Sg_EbilByDnPIwqkNvG_YX4cZeBDAzMVtQBo2NFaaNsFiKai0rqJTDOWz8R03XSDZGFppAj9e2bo_KkjTV42r2xPEUol8KWd-JH6h4oxXla9-1qogVzrwquYJBIKiGurxBRz9B3H_0/s320/IMG_0055.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The small-town streets and houses of Batley, a small town <br />near Cleckheaton, about 20 mins away from Leeds</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">The streets were lovely, with a sort of small-townish charm about
the houses. I saw a girl walking her dog and also taking a brisk walk with that
excuse, and a dad playing ball with her 5 year old daughter in their front yard. I saw a small dark and discouragingly gloomy exit from the main road, and through thick foliage and across a narrow wooden bridge I arrived unexpectedly upon a small pond. There sat an
old man fishing at the pond, with endless patience
and perseverance, now throwing his bait far into the water and now keeping the fishing rod to his side and waiting expectantly. After watching this charming spectacle for a
while, I walked around the pond to take an exit to arrive upon a grassy
upslope, which had caught my eye as soon as I had arrived at the pond. Across the road was a church, antediluvian and morosely stolid, hidden
and silent, not expecting much from the world around it. As I walked on while
the church bells clanged 7 times, the vista opened up in front of me and I saw
hundreds of tombstones rearing their heads, some before the others, this one
rounded and stout, that one tall and elegant, some with pointy tops, others
more conservative and flatheaded. As I walked into the graveyard, reading the
engravings on the tombstones, I realised there were stories abound.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieHwUPiT5R2kCmg7bsGC79g4KM7K9tWWPjh4c_G6hOAlE8SA6Qkc5W71_buNxvjHOmDe3VsT9B6cC2bYLnF_i0cDcF0uPiPWZsRYro8FlzAW5RGOzqyxftHPtarsN1cVL4Ycnmb1UmwQA/s1600/IMG_0064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieHwUPiT5R2kCmg7bsGC79g4KM7K9tWWPjh4c_G6hOAlE8SA6Qkc5W71_buNxvjHOmDe3VsT9B6cC2bYLnF_i0cDcF0uPiPWZsRYro8FlzAW5RGOzqyxftHPtarsN1cVL4Ycnmb1UmwQA/s320/IMG_0064.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The small pond upon which I stumbled where I found an old man <br />fishing calmly</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">A person, who had died at the age of 82 in 1889, was buried there.
At the same place and explained on the same headstone was the fact that his
wife, who died at 61, was also buried alongside him. At the same place lay
their son who died at 18, and his wife who died at 74. Just this small sentence was, I felt, richly laden with stories. To start with, even at that age and
time, the father had lived a long life and died at the ripe age of 82, at a
time when a lot of the communicable diseases did not allow us to live as long and carefree as we live today, something evident in their son passing away
at 18 years of age. It’s interesting that only a son lay here. Did the couple
have only one child? Or maybe they had only one son and the daughters chose to be
buried wherever their husbands lay. Maybe they had another son who they
had fallen out with, who had never stayed in touch with them after reaching
adulthood. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwxYkCivadz0yz2Q-Q1HKpHnmDOAqYiBRvUz19jTR4KKdBWGkOOxtOqOGjGOi7VJ9JhfSBfSC706Wmb4dCQOl0AgpYoAW11P1rHTU2jiPBMOd3UxODPapTKPHGkhxjDXT8ZaLwmEWPaxc/s1600/IMG_0071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwxYkCivadz0yz2Q-Q1HKpHnmDOAqYiBRvUz19jTR4KKdBWGkOOxtOqOGjGOi7VJ9JhfSBfSC706Wmb4dCQOl0AgpYoAW11P1rHTU2jiPBMOd3UxODPapTKPHGkhxjDXT8ZaLwmEWPaxc/s320/IMG_0071.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The old church which was right across the cemetery, silent <br />and phlegmatic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: andalus, serif; font-size: 14pt;">The wife also seemed to have lived to a
respectable age of 61, but this also means that the husband probably spent the
last two decades of his life a lonely man. Or did he? He could have been a
decade younger than his wife, and that leaves him alone for a shorter span. Or
maybe, at some charity event, he had come across an old lover who he had known
before his marriage, who also was a widow. Maybe they had hit it off and had
spent their last few years in each other’s company, but it would have been
sacrilege for this female to not be buried where her own husband was, so maybe
after she passed away, she went back to lie with her own husband, the love of
the first 40 years outweighing those of the last 15. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUEBvycan2-XqBN_cpLmmme593okLrWRp7dLulg-_zz7YymUdJq6q-3H7idifEVlKlmgqwuSQpZP7WrkpxRF0hQ3_Lygq4i2t6rRZBL2Zz2Prbr_PGmIrsMknCP5gKuwtlOxuN67J6YA/s1600/IMG_0072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUEBvycan2-XqBN_cpLmmme593okLrWRp7dLulg-_zz7YymUdJq6q-3H7idifEVlKlmgqwuSQpZP7WrkpxRF0hQ3_Lygq4i2t6rRZBL2Zz2Prbr_PGmIrsMknCP5gKuwtlOxuN67J6YA/s320/IMG_0072.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The graveyard which opened up suddenly in front of me while<br />walking across a grassy meadow</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">And what about the son? His early demise can be attributed
to, let’s say, smallpox. But he was already married by the time he passed away
at 18 years of age. His wife, facing a whole life before her, found herself at
crossroads. The possibility that she remarried, yet chose to lay next to her
first husband in the afterlife - the husband who had died 56 years ago at a
tender age, even before she could get to know him well - seems unlikely. This leaves
the possibility that she chose to not marry after her husband expired, and
spent 56 prime years of her life alone and as a widow, choosing to be buried
next to the memories of her husband from over half a century ago; by the
time she was on her deathbed, she hardly remembered anything meaningful about him.
Or maybe she lived a life of profligacy after her husband passed away, having
lived with different partners in various parts of the world, but coming back to the family of her one and only husband and spending her last few years with
them, finally lying in the ground next to all of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Or maybe, just maybe, truth is much stranger than this, way beyond
our comprehension and estimate. Human lives are complex and despite so much
commonality of experiences and education and world events that people end up
living through, the end product that each one of us becomes is always unique,
colouring our experiences with our own singular personalities. I could only
extrapolate and imagine the lives of the people lying there, but the truth will
always stay buried.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
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Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0Metropolitan Borough of Kirklees, UK53.716140663454134 -1.645726904296907453.678574663454135 -1.7264079042969074 53.753706663454132 -1.5650459042969074tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-18756185112393992242017-01-06T12:18:00.000+05:302017-01-06T12:58:50.613+05:30School Days<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Today morning while walking up
to the location of my carpool pick-up, I experienced something which swept me
back to my school days in a strong current of nostalgia. At the first turning
on the Botanical Garden Road, there is a school titled Jain Heritage School. I’ve
been starting later than usual, at around 8:10 am, from my place these past
couple of days, and the moment I passed by this school happened to coincide, in
these past two days, with that time of the school which marked the start of the
day amid the chatter and babble called morning assembly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgodjmArdGJNUfBob9bQZ4n8TQvDxH7Ys61DySmqTZa4WvSi9Ab0CSZqlaTe1jC_uziMqxSe5lOga91hC6glGw0IL78qDdXdvlq48Xr-NHyxic0u9u41KFhwQcN03je2vaqKMKTczGCHoc/s1600/hmimg529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgodjmArdGJNUfBob9bQZ4n8TQvDxH7Ys61DySmqTZa4WvSi9Ab0CSZqlaTe1jC_uziMqxSe5lOga91hC6glGw0IL78qDdXdvlq48Xr-NHyxic0u9u41KFhwQcN03je2vaqKMKTczGCHoc/s1600/hmimg529.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Edward's School, Shimla</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve studied up till 10<sup>th</sup>
standard in St. Edward’s School, a convent school which was also among the best
in Shimla. It was a vast campus sprawling over an area large enough to manage
20 simultaneous classrooms (2 sections each from 1 to 10<sup>th</sup> standard)
and a few 10+1 and 10+2 classes that had started towards the end of my tenure.
The school complex was nestled within the tall deodars on all sides and 2 playgrounds
out in the front, one larger one the size of a football field, and the smaller
one that of a hockey field, and the smaller field at a marked elevation from
the bigger field of about 25 meters in a step-like structure. The mottled manner
in which the sunlight managed to reach the school premises only in part ensured
that there were areas and locations within the campus which were full of bright
sunshine, warm and pleasant, while others which were shaded and drafty
throughout the day, with an obvious drop in temperature at such places. There
were nooks and corners on the campus, all of which I could visit right now if I
close my eyes. 10 years spent at a place for 8 hours each day has created a
mental map of the entire campus in my mind, so strong that I can walk the
entire place and know it like the back of my hand. I realize that some of these
memories may have been gradually distorted, for when I visit the campus again
today, those very intimate places may appear quite different in reality. But
the place in my imagination is sacred and personal to me, much like the
characters we imagine after reading a classic novel. It is always a let-down
when we watch the movie based on that book and it almost always falls short of
the richness we imagined the characters to have.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6EZdzHKpDLpdf1LlC8EYyRft6hUBC8I6nIaXL-JI3nvFCKDjVitgWemKTK3eTWCTXpzOs47qVlBCiS1IlTq6N1jYwNCrmGrxOkvH0T-MJKjthEEQgRQ67mBk72EC7N3iJhIqBD0srkU/s1600/disipline-img.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6EZdzHKpDLpdf1LlC8EYyRft6hUBC8I6nIaXL-JI3nvFCKDjVitgWemKTK3eTWCTXpzOs47qVlBCiS1IlTq6N1jYwNCrmGrxOkvH0T-MJKjthEEQgRQ67mBk72EC7N3iJhIqBD0srkU/s1600/disipline-img.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning Assembly at St. Edward's School</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The instructions by the PT
teacher this morning through the microphone felt eerily similar to those I remember
from my school morning assembly. It made me even wonder if the same PT teacher
as we had may be working in this school in a corner of a faraway Hyderabad. I
dismissed the notion as soon as it occurred to me for its improbability and craziness. “Atten-shun!
Stenda-tees! Atten-shun! Stenda-tees!” was what the sounds started with. It was
followed by “7<sup>th</sup> class, check your line. 7<sup>th</sup> class!”.
This made me laugh loudly as even yesterday, 7<sup>th</sup> class was the one that
was being chided for standing in a not-so-straight line. I mused that probably
6<sup>th</sup> and 7<sup>th</sup> standard were the classes where the students
are the most unruly, speaking also from my experience in being the “Prefect” of
Class 6<sup>th</sup> in my school when I myself was in Class 10<sup>th</sup>.
Ashish, my best and childhood friend, was the one who, along with me, strove
hard to manage the undisciplined monster that was Class 6<sup>th</sup>! We
ended up making a lot of <i>chiddi</i> friends (the term that was popular for any
junior in school), and quickly realized that standing aside and allowing the <i>chiddis</i>
to vent out some of the bubbling energy, if not all, was the best way to keep
the pressure cooker simmering, and thus preventing total mayhem. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia9Hy9vk76QR7Q87Yae57ugeyP84YeXJG1s71p7viap0DdOnX5dXR7U63ovEIhCtJQUE6oVTx3FFg3Zpi612iejb-97R8b0_gzIdwqHaYDYLQ9rUqXRNKmHJ2bOJbcMCJjUi120FvwOw4/s1600/455949.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia9Hy9vk76QR7Q87Yae57ugeyP84YeXJG1s71p7viap0DdOnX5dXR7U63ovEIhCtJQUE6oVTx3FFg3Zpi612iejb-97R8b0_gzIdwqHaYDYLQ9rUqXRNKmHJ2bOJbcMCJjUi120FvwOw4/s400/455949.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of the school premises</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">While wondering about this, the
voice announced “Okay! Now take one arm distance again, all of you. Yes, and keep
the lines straight”. This announcement seemed straight out of our own school
assembly, redolent of all the naughty laughs that formed what was morning assembly
for us students. The Pledge, which was usually followed the Prayer, had a
statement “ -- and all Indians are my brothers and sisters”, which was usually suffixed
by “ – except one” in hushed and cackling tones, while trying to hide our
giggle behind the head of the guy standing in front of us to prevent detection.
With a lot of students in a queue trying to adjust their respective heads thus,
one can safely imagine why the “lines” were always anything but “straight”.
Once the assembly ended, the black shoes had to be shining and school belts were
to be present around our waist, and non-compliance in this regard was penalized
while on our way back to the classrooms. Black shoes used to be inevitably
covered with a thin layer of dust while on our ground which lacked a grass
cover (something that was heard to be made fun of during our school fete by
girls from other top convent schools in Shimla) and it could easily be cleaned
by rubbing each toe against the back of the dark grey trouser on the other leg.
It was a simple ceremony which used to make us feel like geniuses. But there
was no easy escape if the belt was forgotten, and one was sent off to take a
couple of rounds of the football field as a punishment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">While I was thinking of all
this, a loud honk ahead of me jolted me back from my pleasant reverie. School
times are undoubtedly the best times, unsullied by emotions like anger, envy
and desolation. There are no inhibitions, no self-doubts and no one to tell us
we cannot do something. It’s a time of infinite possibilities, and the heartbreaks,
the unqualified and unending chatter, the games and the simplicity of it all
usually qualifies those times as the most memorable ones in each of our lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-6141666672232670382016-06-19T23:24:00.001+05:302016-06-20T09:40:01.983+05:30Udta Punjab - Welcoming the unapologetic in Bollywood (Spoiler alert)<p dir="ltr">Today I watched Udta Punjab. I found it to be a bold treatise on the drug mayhem (I would not euphemise it by calling it “scene”) being played out in the plains of Punjab. It has spread its tentacles so deep into the society that almost everyone has a cousin or a nephew (if not a son or a sibling) who has a pathological addiction to drugs, causing widespread familial disruption and economic ruin. The movie thrilled but was not a thriller, it definitely talked about the “high” but did so without glorifying it, and it made me laugh out loud on countless occasions, but was definitely not a comedy. I would describe it as an accurate portrayal of the state of affairs, the convergence of the venal and the immoral that stalks the youth today and has already been imbibed by the society. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It portrays how even a silent spectator is indirectly responsible for the flagrant corruption of life. It unapologetically shows a lead actress stabbing a man on the face repeatedly till the life passed out of him, and you feel a strange tingling of elation. It depicts an addicted boy of not more than 13 overdosing himself, lying in his own vomit, and his elder brother believing that it must be his friends who forced him this one time, “humara Balli to acha ladka hai”. It is unapologetic about a lead actress getting raped repeatedly, and the other being stabbed to death by a junkie in a fit of desperation. It is unapologetic about a lead actor becoming a part of the system by accepting a regular bribe for turning a blind eye towards drugs being transported, unknowingly for the very drug which destroys his own brother’s life, and the other actor basking in his own pool of vanity, arrogance and puke. It is as unapologetic as real life can be, and therein lies the impact. Watch this movie even if you've read this review despite a spoiler alert, as the strength of this piece of art is not in its storyline but in its direction, dialogues and acting. Give the movie makers an honest day's earning and watch it in the theatres rather than the leaked print. If you've ever watched something for its in-your-face brutal honesty, this movie is for you.</p>
Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-56835229901172038262016-05-14T15:22:00.001+05:302016-06-19T23:25:20.567+05:30The A**hole<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I stepped back, looked towards both sides, trying to figure
out not which is the smallest queue – as most of the queues had 3-4 people in
it – but which is bound to make me reach the counter the fastest. Now there are
a lot of factors which are required to be considered for this – i) the amount
of stuff people in the queue ahead of you have accumulated in their shopping
baskets, as this is directly proportional to the amount of scanning time for
that individual, hence increasing the waiting time of that particular queue,
ii) the apparent quickness of the guy/girl at the counter – to be judged in not
more than 3 seconds, iii) the queues nearer to you are of higher priority as
you don’t want to criss-cross between so many queues of people to reach the row
at the other end, and moreover, you don’t know how well do that factors i) and
ii) above apply to the queues farther away, and iv) other miscellaneous subtle
factors like the anxiousness of the people waiting in queue, as it is directly
proportional to their desperateness to get the billing done quickly, which may
be important.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So as I stepped back, I made a quick judgement about the
smallest queue and joined it. That’s when I saw the gigantic guy. He was not
very tall, though definitely at 6 feet. He seemed shorter because of his
enormous circumference around the waist. He was bulging from every end you can
possible call a corner in the human body. If you could pump air into a huge
piece of ginger, it would look like him. Though I did not have enough time to
analyse all this before I saw what he was buying. There in his basket I saw
three jars of Organic India Green Tea! Hello! No way was he going to lose any
apparent weight by drinking Green Tea! For heaven’s sake! He needs to stop with
all the namkeen packets he had stacked up in his basket, waiting to be billed.
He needed to move around a little to lose weight, not have Green Tea! I mean
goodness! I almost laughed out loud!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then with a jolt, I got the answer to the question - What is
the easiest thing for us humans to be? It’s being an asshole. I was passing
judgement on that person without knowing an ounce of information about him. I
was showing a typical conceited attitude that constitutes a typical asshole.
And I caught myself in the act. All this happened within 15 seconds, but those
15 seconds shook me back to reality, brought me back to the ground. We do not
know what goes on in the lives of others, we don’t know what compromises they
have made, how much hard work they have put in, how much adversity they have
faced in life. We don’t know jack about anything for that matter, yet we strut
around, handing out judgements to people like candy to children on Christmas.
To top it all, we have the smugness to be defensive about it if someone else
points it out to us. Truth is hard, but so is an asshole. So everyone, I would
suggest whenever you find yourself making an opinion about someone, any opinion
whether big or small, turn the mirror towards yourself and just see the look on
your face while you are at it. It may not shame the piss out of you, but it’ll
at least wipe that smirk off your face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-8906340142179476842016-04-20T18:46:00.000+05:302016-04-20T18:46:03.126+05:30The Doorstep<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">Not so long ago,
we used to be little kids. Beyond caring and full of reckless abandon, we used
to drift along in life like a little twig in a mighty river. Not thinking twice
before blurting out anything on earth, our shenanigans were outmatched only by
our unrestrained passion. Then one fine day, we grew up. We started minding
what we said, when we said and where we said. We started appearing ‘proper’ in
front of guests and on our Facebook walls. What changed? A lot of things, of
course. But what is that one primary thing which made us change every aspect of
our public behaviour? We started judging each other. Habit of judgement based on
first impressions is formed on the basis of the biases and prejudices that are
formed over the years through learning (or a lack of learning). We need to
undergo a lot of experiences which shape our thinking, which the children inherently
lack. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">A more apt
statement would be that things change when we become aware that others are
judging us; that others are watching us intently with an oblique eye, tracing
our every move, waiting to pounce upon us with an Ahaaa in their minds, judging
and labelling us in an instant, for ever. This singular awareness inherently
changes everything we do. From here on, all our actions filter through the
thick lens of judgement, are tempered and controlled, lest people call us wild
libertines, unpolished and rustic. I would not think it an exaggeration to call
this the single biggest switch in human behaviour, the doorstep leading us from
childhood to adulthood. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-54416821005433321282016-03-28T17:50:00.000+05:302016-03-28T17:55:01.720+05:30Don't Judge a Person by the First Book He Names<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I always find myself in a conundrum
when someone asks me my hobbies, because that leads me to mention that I love
reading books, and then, since I have proclaimed my ‘love’ for this clichéd act
of ‘reading books’, an act which many proclaim pretentiously, I have to quickly
get down to defending my proclaimed love as pure and honest. This is a
situation in which I find myself in a lot of interviews as well, though it’s
easier in that case because everything I have to say is already prepared – I
know who will I name as my favourite authors, which will be my favourite books,
and I will know (because of a quick summary revision the previous night) the
motivations of the protagonist to the most subconscious of details.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUeqRIFX7-I3f8FDqOoREY2qiunvz0AA9DW-ZOWnBQ7gH1rl7YPdfBNhRW0WTyf6pt06PDhm0TRB7lYaIPlLAVOD_ZhrdG1_MgdJoeb4aEuHI_7LDS4XXGv6nk7Rqo8xxzx3Q2gge8NRY/s1600/Books+image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUeqRIFX7-I3f8FDqOoREY2qiunvz0AA9DW-ZOWnBQ7gH1rl7YPdfBNhRW0WTyf6pt06PDhm0TRB7lYaIPlLAVOD_ZhrdG1_MgdJoeb4aEuHI_7LDS4XXGv6nk7Rqo8xxzx3Q2gge8NRY/s640/Books+image.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">Coming back to the act of defending my
love as pure and honest – whenever the situation is unexpected, I fumble for
words. My mind goes blank and I’m not able to remember the book or books I’m
reading. It’s usually in the plural – I have a habit of reading more than one
book at a time. One will be a fiction, which will mostly be a paperback –
literary fiction like Orhan Pamuk, Haruki Murakami, Milan Kundera, etc. or one
of the classics; another will be a non-fiction usually being read on my phone
during loo breaks – either a historical work – most often about Indian
partition, or ancient Indian history, or some biography of a historical figure;
or a business management related work – Malcolm Gladwell, Steven Pinker, Dan
Ariely, and their ilk; a third category is the one I’ll be reading on my Kindle
– mostly authors that are otherwise either inaccessible because of their books
not being available in India or those one-time but must-reads which I don’t
believe in buying physical books for– these days it’s the A Song of Ice and
Fire series – hope you get the idea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">So whenever someone unexpectedly
enquires about the book I’m presently reading, my mind goes blank. I used to
wonder why it is so every time. Lately I believe I might have grasped the
reason. There is a subconscious struggle in my mind whenever I face this
question. As I mentioned earlier, invariably I would have been reading 3-4
books at any given time, and when I have to give a name, I face an instant
paradox. If I name the lesser known work that I am reading (if I’m reading
one), I fear the other person would not have heard of it at all, and the
conversation would end right there. Also, the other person may be a casual
reader and I would like to make him/her curious about what I read so that
he/she can also talk about what he/she is reading. Such a turn off is
definitely not the right way to go about it. I could also say the name of the
very famous work that I might be reading (e.g. these days I’m reading The Diary
of a Young Girl by Anne Frank – an extremely famous work which I should have
read years ago but always missed it somehow or the other). Now I always pause
before mentioning such a work. Would the other person judge me to be someone
whose reading prowess extends only to the most famous of works? No, I do not
want that. The breadth of what I read is considerable, and I would want to be
recognized as such. So I do not want to say the name of that famous book, even
though I might happen to be reading it at a given point of time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I also don’t want to name a non-fiction
book as it can generate strong impressions. For example, I am reading Nehru’s
The Discovery of India these days, but the name Nehru these days prompts a
political connotation which has nothing to do with this seminal work. I cannot
always explain that I am also interested in the works of political commentators
like Noam Chomsky, Arun Shourie, Shashi Tharoor and Amartya Sen, and my present
political view has been shaped by immersive reading of many others socio-political
writers like Sunil Khilnani, Edward Luce, Ramachandra Guha, Gurcharan Das,
Louis Fischer, Nelson Mandela, Che Guevara, among others. In such a scenario,
it feels cruel to let yourself judged by people based on the first book you
name. But such is the way of the world and I must learn to live by it. My
suggestion to the world – like you should not judge a book by its cover, you
should also not judge a person by the first book he names.</span></div>
</div>
Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-12709432263917881912015-11-09T18:07:00.000+05:302015-11-09T18:09:36.739+05:30Falling Head Over Shoes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><i><u>09-Nov-2008</u></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">A sharp rap on the door is what
roused me from the deep slumber. Was it morning already? I wondered as I felt
my way to the door of my room with half an eye open. It was Chinku and it
seemed night time. Was it so early in the morning? “Get ready dude! We’ll miss
our movie!” So it was evening. He was standing there with his towel and other
accessories, evidently going for a bath. I grunted, not finding my voice in the
grogginess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I took about 20 minutes to get
ready. By that time Anshu had also arrived with his car. As I descended the
stairs to the ground floor, I found Anshu and Suvdeep already in Parag’s room.
We proudly considered us among the few who did not give two hoots about the
performance of <i>Hard Kaur</i> that day of the PEC fest. We had planned to go for
Quantum of Solace, the Bond movie that was expected to be as good as Casino
Royale, its prequel. Chinku arrived all excited and jumping, chanting “Chalo
chalo” and we left in Anshu’s car from the hostel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">While passing through 11 sector
market, I asked Anshu to pull up as I had to get a recharge done. I heard
Chinku come up behind me. “Kaunse chips lu?” he asked. And then, “Oye look.
That girl looks good for you!”. He said it while winking and poking me. I knew
what he meant. There was a girl wearing a Linkin Park black coloured t-shirt, 10
steps away from us and facing away. I used to call myself a Linkin Park fan
during my initial years at PEC, and that label had not gone away, however much
I wished. So that was the only reason Chinku had brought it up. But as I looked
on, I could not help saying to myself, “hmm, the girl doesn’t look bad at
all!”. That’s when it happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">As I was checking her out, she
turned towards me while talking on the phone, lost in the conversation with her
eyes wandering unfocused all over, finally coming to a stop on me. In that
fraction of a second, the first thing I noticed was that she was pretty.
Extremely pretty in fact. There also rose from within me a recognition. I can
explain you the feeling if I slow down the time to a tenth. It’s a feeling
which bubbles up when we feel we are looking at someone familiar. It happens with
all of us now and then, and in my case I was very sure that I knew her. The
idea struck home when her eyes locked into mine and she suddenly broke into a
smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">That’s when the feeling took
hold of me. The heart taking a sudden plunge which you hope is not visible on
your face, but which actually is, with the eyes slightly larger, pupils
slightly dilated, lips slightly parted, nostrils slightly flared, and no
blinking at all for those few seconds. An abrupt inhaling as your lungs
suddenly feel devoid of oxygen, your eyes smiling but your lips really not. The
very famous feeling that writers have described time and again - Falling in
love. At first sight, probably not in my case, as I had been introduced to her
a couple of times in the past 8-10 months, and probably seen her profile on
Facebook, even talked to her on the phone a couple of times. But this had never
happened before. It’s difficult to explain a feeling when it has taken hold of
you, shakes you to your roots, tells you that from this moment on your life
will be very different, all this in probably half a second.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I knew her from a common
friend. As she recognized me, she waved and started towards me, preparing to
hang up the phone, as could be seen from her expressions. I smiled back in
return, flushed and cursing myself that a moment ago I was checking out this
girl, only to realize that we knew each other. So it was this slightly
embarrassed me with eyes slightly larger, pupils slightly dilated, lips
slightly parted, nostrils slightly flared and no blinking at all that I
approached her. We mainly jested about how overclothed I was with the muffler
and all, on how I was too cool for attending a <i>Hard Kaur</i> performance, and some
jokes on similar lines. The banter lasted for less than a minute before which
we bid farewell to each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I turned around and walked to
the car, with everyone waiting for me with expectant glances. Chinku especially
was amazed! He just points out a girl to me and I go up to her and strike a
conversation, and that too as if I knew her already? When did I become so
awesome all of a sudden!? I pretended not to care much, just said that I knew
her already. Others were involved in an ongoing discussion, so no one really
cared much. But for me, everything had already changed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">5 months and a lot of effort later,
I was successful in wooing her. Today, exactly seven years later, I am happily married
to her for over a year. Chaku! Thanks for the million smiles you have given me
and so much more. Thanks for being so awesome! I would not have been the person
I am today if not for you. Happy 7<sup>th</sup> anniversary of own little “9/11”!
Cheers!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLVysmQNmnK1lj6INodwgRrDDTGvOmEMrRbNYx_KczbClA-QPKHYlgynegi1-94oAFCEvBoZ15xuymuduKEe0_1llVsG_ckAtpe-nspx2SfhphRfQv9dxcI6UIwSE3XW8s55RKQ0ak4II/s1600/IMG_20151024_155654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLVysmQNmnK1lj6INodwgRrDDTGvOmEMrRbNYx_KczbClA-QPKHYlgynegi1-94oAFCEvBoZ15xuymuduKEe0_1llVsG_ckAtpe-nspx2SfhphRfQv9dxcI6UIwSE3XW8s55RKQ0ak4II/s400/IMG_20151024_155654.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-21923122762507349612015-01-03T17:36:00.000+05:302015-01-03T17:36:01.282+05:30Frozen<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The world as we see it, we imagine it as green. If we are
surrounded by peaceful waters, we see it as blue. The world may be coloured
brown by the mighty mountains or the dry grass. Or it may fade to black once
darkness descends. But it can only be a special place and time when you are
blessed by pure whiteness from the heavens above. This whiteness is what I grew
up amongst. Every winter, Shimla has that ability to hide itself underneath the
woolly blanket of snow, cozy at sight but frigid at touch. One unsuspecting
morning you wake up to find unusual brightness lighting up the world outside,
and on peeping out of the window, you realize that the world around you has
turned white.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0l4OH0Ewc7dDmEVqBidn1_CfTlKL5nABz3cr7Z1dRP5w6fpR6oKOZnXqyjZwRh1Wvsuo0UfspjNx58vLL_FKbOgnGLhL6vykXDziav6W77Qh2eRhv6eLtMl6uojsolawj4UmUwIx2wC4/s1600/IMG-20141214-WA0015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0l4OH0Ewc7dDmEVqBidn1_CfTlKL5nABz3cr7Z1dRP5w6fpR6oKOZnXqyjZwRh1Wvsuo0UfspjNx58vLL_FKbOgnGLhL6vykXDziav6W77Qh2eRhv6eLtMl6uojsolawj4UmUwIx2wC4/s1600/IMG-20141214-WA0015.jpg" height="640" width="384" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For those who have not had the blessing to experience a
snowfall, here’s how it goes. You read the forecast in the newspapers about the
expected snowfall, and you ascertain it by the dark and brooding clouds,
ominous in their immensity, monstrous in their surliness. They come silently,
without the usual pomp and show of their brothers of the plains. The day darkens
and the inhabitants of the earth scurry home to save themselves from the
seemingly impending doom. The doors and windows are tightly shut (even though
there’s hardly any wind), boiling water is poured into rubber bottles for
warmth, heaters are turned on, burning coals spread their fangs in the
angeethees and people rub their hands and pretend to be warmed. The night does
its magic and the morning is a new world. The only time I have experienced ‘deafening
silence’ is on these mornings. There is no sound of any vehicular movement, no
person can be heard walking about, even the birds go on mute and refuse to sing.
There is absolute silence. It’s heavenly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But as they day breaks and the sun comes up (it’s always
sunny after a heavy overnight snowfall), typical sounds step up their play –
sounds characteristic of this particular moment. Sounds of thawing snow, of water
thus produced dripping drop by drop from the sloping roofs onto the path below,
clearing away the snow where it falls, of dogs pawing their way through the soft
fresh snow, leaving behind their footprints as if on freshly laid cement, of
mynas stepping out gingerly from their corners in the trees, of heavy trudge of
the early risers, inadvertently clearing away the snow for the lazier ones to
go to work later, of playful shrieks of little children forcing their dads to
make a snowman in the backyard. It’s a wonder, is what it is. Growing up in
Shimla has given me a world of sweet memories but the experience of a snowfall
is one of its kind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-29902432236950397022014-12-15T11:12:00.000+05:302014-12-15T11:12:47.975+05:30uuaaann..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">My sister is
being opened up by a surgeon as I write this. And I am scared. I wish
everything goes well, and my rational self tells me it will. Just that my
irrational self is acting all stupid and taking control of me. It’s making me
nervous. In another half an hour or so, a new life will be brought in this
world. He/she will utter the primal cry of life, the suddenly risen crescendo
of the uaaann of a baby, followed by gasping breaths just to make
himself/herself ready for the next loud whine. It’s a miracle, the human life
is. From a fist-sized everyone’s plaything, the one entity capable of making
man oblivious to everything else in his life - all his worries, his job, his
hunger, his entity as a living being himself – this round little ball of life,
capable of feeling only the most primal emotions, develops into a grown up
individual, capable of making his/her own decisions, fending for
himself/herself in this cruel world. This is the miracle of life, my
bhanja/bhanji who is going to come into this world today. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">I have no idea
if it is going to be a boy or a girl, nor do I know what my desire is leaning
towards. If it’s a girl, it would be my honour to teach her a thing or two
about life, to show to her all the beautiful things in this world, gift her and
read out from books that have played a huge part of who I am today. If it’s a
boy, I would be sure to teach him how to play the guitar, fool around with him
and be his partner-in-crime. I would consider myself blessed either way. But I
would be the most happy to make way for the new generation to take their first
steps in the world. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">EDIT: <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">It’s a baby boy </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjENumd3pdAXkImgE-cp0IyZ0CWwMJF4vRpx70iwg9IVxa1Yo-8Nu2DM6y5PcbTWu5gHHFUIX5tgv6aHvCvvuqYeQ95DWTenxvuXOIh7X3yKuP4VKRgFqTSTDIICOWWwmqQWu8VGq_XN58/s1600/IMG-20141215-WA0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjENumd3pdAXkImgE-cp0IyZ0CWwMJF4vRpx70iwg9IVxa1Yo-8Nu2DM6y5PcbTWu5gHHFUIX5tgv6aHvCvvuqYeQ95DWTenxvuXOIh7X3yKuP4VKRgFqTSTDIICOWWwmqQWu8VGq_XN58/s1600/IMG-20141215-WA0004.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-3902140254906343132014-04-27T12:03:00.000+05:302014-04-27T12:03:50.237+05:30Rob you, Rape you, Kill you!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Why
do we find it so difficult to break stereotypes? It’s a question I have asked
myself many times. We, as a nation of believers, like to have our own opinion
of the world around us. Sadly, most of that opinion is shaped by a need for
conformity, a desire for acceptability, manifested contemporarily as an itch
for “likes” on a picture, a habit of appearing politically acceptable, of “networking”
and “creating contacts” in today’s hyper-connected world of super-globalisation.
If we think about it, it’s easy to see what we left behind. There are no moral
underpinnings to our behaviour, no value strings attached that can hold our
actions upright. In such a constraining and compromising environment, it is no
surprise that it becomes all the more difficult to come out of the stereotypes
we as a society have bathed in, since centuries together. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Staring
at a black African more stingingly than deserved, with that enquiring, revelatory
look which we give to a giant panda we see for the first time in a zoo, is a
common sight in our great country. Little
do we realise that if it’s fascination for us, it’s humiliation and degradation
for the other person. Walking the streets of Mumbai, or exploring the mohallas
of Delhi, or strolling through the alleys of Kolkata, he is badly discriminated
against, again and again, so much that he turns inwards. He is frightened to
talk to people, as anyone he tries to approach is already staring at him with
panic, or mildly disguised disgust. In a nation of brown skins all around, although
not much different from them, the guy with the black skin becomes a loner.
People say, <i>yeah, see I told you, those niggers are not to be trusted. They
keep to themselves, always devising a devious plan to rob you, rape you or kill
you. Beware!</i> And the stereotype continues. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
same can be said about the transgender community. There are fears propagated,
since millennia, in the Indian society and a strict direction to stay away from
them. We look at them in disgust, always wondering why they don’t have anything
better to do than pestering us when we're going to the office, or persecuting us when we are travelling on the train (<i>Gosh! There’s nowhere to escape! It’s
dreadful!</i>), or pushing their hand towards our face when the auto-rickshaw we are in
has stopped at a signal. We do not want to realise that they do not have a
single profession to look towards, as for all of those professions, organised
or unorganised, transgenders do not exist at all! They get no employee benefits
and are forced to look at “immoral” vocations like prostitution, beggary or
whatever we call the confronting-and-asking-money-on-the-train. This very act
of theirs further cements our stereotype. <i>See I told you. They are not human
beings. Stay away from them or they will rob you, rape you or kill you!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s another group of people among us who are not
visually any different from the “privileged normal” ones among us. But
precisely for that very reason, when revealed who they actually are, they are
reviled, threatened, pressurised and bullied in the most horrendous ways. They
cannot be easily avoided, as they are allowed the same jobs that the “privileged
normal” amongst us enjoy (since they look exactly like the “privileged normal” –
unlike the blacks and the <i>hijras</i>, in
common parlance). They are the ones who have lived in a psychological cage,
where they grow up with the trauma of the realisation that they are quite
different from everyone else, especially from how everyone expects them to be.
He realises he is attracted to his guy friends, a tendency which, around him, is
already cruelly joked about. She grows up confused and one day accepts herself for
her same-gender sexual preference. Still, he and she are expected to behave
normal, be normal, accept the institutions of marriage (<i>with a person from the
opposite sex ofcourse, you silly!</i>); while those among them who have behavioural
characteristics of the opposite sex, are made a pariah early on in their lives,
and being stigmatized, lambasted and attacked has been a norm for them. We destroy
a person’s will to live. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI7wN9Xu0ERZTAdsbZXMH3smp6JXAOxALIF24AX1c9d8lQtQ_TOed28MQBoYnfnKIspTip27Yk7k2wO9pfHvWp6G5C39i9t56pqAm9TG-WNhqLiX3bbTuis9PBaVW8HF-0iEoOcoZBRxM/s1600/gs_52affa5f-af38-487b-bc43-21260af4b6c2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI7wN9Xu0ERZTAdsbZXMH3smp6JXAOxALIF24AX1c9d8lQtQ_TOed28MQBoYnfnKIspTip27Yk7k2wO9pfHvWp6G5C39i9t56pqAm9TG-WNhqLiX3bbTuis9PBaVW8HF-0iEoOcoZBRxM/s1600/gs_52affa5f-af38-487b-bc43-21260af4b6c2.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">For the others, some dare to come out of the closet.
The others are forced live a life of conformity, looking for means to “vent”
their natural instincts (<i>see, we told you they are perverts!</i>) and die a death
every single day of their lives. While we don’t even know about their existence
till we grow old enough. Our teachers don’t talk about gays, while our parents
pretend they do not even know who these people are (<i>yeah it’s true, they are
actually aliens!</i>), and we grow up in ignorance when one day we hear a joke
about “them”. That is how we first hear about their existence among us. We live
our lives assuming no one around us might be suffering from that lifelong “sickness”,
and it is no wonder the “afflicted” among us never open up to us, and live a
life of mental agony like no other, being around everyone, yet always alone. <i>Oh
yeah, don’t you know, they all have AIDS! Stay away from them. Don’t you know
that if given a chance, they will rob you, rape you or kill you!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The link to the pic above:</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://www.bradensummers.com/menu/all-love-is-equal">http://www.bradensummers.com/menu/all-love-is-equal</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-85299657234488589842014-04-06T12:05:00.000+05:302014-04-06T12:05:37.238+05:30Cusp of a Change<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It
has been historically proven that whenever an economic system, backed by a
political system of the same ilk, fails to deliver, it leads to despondency,
dejection, even depression in the economy. After the nation suffers in this
state of nadir for a while, there arrives an agent of change, a hope for a
better tomorrow, the betterment conditioned on a major overhaul in the
economic-political system being practised at that particular time. This new age
of change, despite the opposition of a few who see the dark underbelly of the
new system, thrives and grows big to lead the entire nation towards a
completely different direction which could not have been predicted by any
historian 10 years earlier. It reaches its acme, causes, atleast in the short
run, irreversible disruptions in the economic structure of the country, before
the degeneration sets in once more as the dark underbelly which was earlier difficult
to spot, turns upwards for all to see. People lose faith in the existing
system, anti-incumbency sets in and the demand for an alternative
political-economic system leads to an emergence of a new leader exemplifying change,
guiding by hand the hope of the citizens of the nation towards a new dawn. The
cycle goes on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Today
India finds itself at the cusp of such a change. The existing system of
attempts at betterment of society bottom-up has been vitiated, giving birth to
corruption in all walks of life. People are looking for alternatives and this lacuna
in the Indian political system has given birth to two leaders who have come to
occupy this very mindshare of the Indian citizen. These two leaders may
represent two different political orientations, but both offer substantially
different ideologies from what the present dispensation debauched in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">As
indicated by the already pent-up expectations of the corporate class in India,
reflected in the unprecedented rally in the country’s share markets, they have
already chosen a new leader, a messiah who will lead India out of the muck it
finds itself in. There is not a doubt that if these expectations come to
fruition, which seems likely today with the biggest exercise in universal adult
suffrage in the world just a couple of days away, our political-economic
landscape is going to see changes in policymaking that are unprecedented. The
focus of the economic thrust is going to shift towards a more top-down
orientation with the corporate class expected to drive the growth engines of
our nations. The expectation is also there that economic growth will serve to
smoothen the bumps of class and caste deviations to provide a more level
playing field to people from all walks of life, irrespective of religion, race,
caste or community. There are sceptics too who, on the other hand, believe this
growth will be at the cost of tearing away the carefully woven fabric of this
nation, which till a couple of centuries ago, exemplified a way of life rather
than differentiating one from another on the basis of religion. There are other
concerns too whether if India is developed enough at the lower strata of
society to shift gears to a more outward-oriented market-governed economic
system to deliver the goods. We just have to wait and see. But one thing is
certain. The India of the next 10 years is going to be very different from the
India of the last decade. Which bad points from the previous decade are
discarded and which good ones are maintained, and vice versa, remains to be seen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-39237280633455761382013-12-24T11:51:00.000+05:302013-12-24T11:58:41.305+05:30Aam Aadmi Party: Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNVRZgsEiDaekK6CQnSz8P-a-9nHtv-q8TQpbhTMWW1l9nymn722G6lHPJXXylNBGVcdYBn3lUesUl9_w2w_bWW8QOQIxTdLOFhj1BaZbsykBzLcDHDCymcttVCFVzXQ8llqu1WQFzNbY/s1600/topimg_20543_arvind_kejriwal_iac_600x400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNVRZgsEiDaekK6CQnSz8P-a-9nHtv-q8TQpbhTMWW1l9nymn722G6lHPJXXylNBGVcdYBn3lUesUl9_w2w_bWW8QOQIxTdLOFhj1BaZbsykBzLcDHDCymcttVCFVzXQ8llqu1WQFzNbY/s640/topimg_20543_arvind_kejriwal_iac_600x400.jpg" width="640" /></a><span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Yesterday
Aam Aadmi Party declared that they would form a government in New Delhi with the help of
outside support from Congress. Since Arvind Kejriwal has stepped into the
political fray, he has been beset with criticisms left, right and center.
First, Anna Hazare broke away from him, calling him power hungry, misusing Anna’s name
and the legacy of his anti-corruption movement to propel himself to power. That
must have hurt since Kejriwal keeps reaffirming his loyalty to Anna time and
again, even after all the snubs. But Aam Aadmi Party surprised everyone – the voters,
those who voted for him as well as those who did not, and both the major
parties who had “brushed” aside him and his party’s “broom” as a nonentity, a
small fry, a lightweight. Then when in the initial idealistic exuberance, he
declared that he would support neither Congress nor BJP, he was accused as someone
running away from his responsibilities. No, he said, we are not running away.
We shall have a referendum by the general public and take their opinion whether
to go with an outside support for Congress or not. And as it turns out, a
majority of the people wanted him to take up the reigns of the national
capital. After so many years of predictable politics, people are willing to
experiment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Last
week, Mr Harsh Vardhan from BJP was on record saying AAP is running away from
responsibility, and now that AAP has decided to take outside support from Congress, Mr
Vardhan, thinking it better to change his stance completely so that he could
attack again, now called Kejriwal power hungry. This does nothing but makes
Mr Vardhan and his party look like a big fish which had food within its reach but
dithered about snapping its jaw shut in time and let the food slip away. And
now the big fish is really annoyed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Congress,
on its part, despite Sheila Dixit’s almost daily threats of “no unconditional
support”, and claims of how AAP “sold dreams and misled people”, is looking
like someone who has lost all influence in the national capital. In fact,
Congress in New Delhi is in a bit of a spot. They don’t have numbers
enough to create an influence or impediment over decision making, and they
cannot afford to pull out too for fear of looking opportunistic as AAP can
always blame the Congress for political brinkmanship and people will take
Congress to task for playing political games, something which they cannot
afford. So I don’t see Ms Dixit’s Congress clan posing much of a problem. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Like
someone said, people of India are watching Mr Kejriwal and have more expectations
from him than the Americans had from Obama. Surely, it won’t be easy for his
party members, mostly from non-political background, to quickly get used to the
system without getting overwhelmed by it, and tame and transform the beast into
something simpler, cleaner and more efficient. The biggest challenge for Mr
Kejriwal will be when he tries his hand at fielding clean candidates from all over
the country. It’s easy to have an iron grip over the lever to control who comes
into his organization at a New Delhi level, but at a national level, it will be
close to impossible. It will be interesting to watch how Mr Kejriwal copes with
such a scenario. But first, now that he has the power, let’s see how he
performs on his debut. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-83331703375158277272013-12-21T10:15:00.002+05:302013-12-21T10:19:01.394+05:30Crushing the Blackness of My Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-family: Andalus, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This is a fictional piece I have
written for the “Catch the Flavour” contest by Breezer. You can go to<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://www.breezerindia.com/">http://www.breezerindia.com</a> and </span></i><span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.indiblogger.in/topic.php?topic=94"><i>http://www.indiblogger.in/topic.php?topic=94</i></a>
<i>for more details.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">I was walking down the main
boulevard of the breezy<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>City
of the Breezer</i>. The sun had set and dawn was engulfing the day in the
blanket of darkness, thick and fast. The water from the rain during the day had
filled the potholes, and the street lights shimmered in their reflection, like
stars sprinkled in the street. The cold air pummeled my face in
strong gusts now and then, but the thick humidity dampened the inevitable
shiver. I was depressed. Today evening’s altercation between my aunt and uncle
had gone out of hand, and ended in a shouting match in which it was difficult to
decide a winner. I was a toddler when my aunt and uncle took me in after the
brutal car accident which took my parents away from me. Since then, my aunt and
uncle have been my biggest strength. But to see them hurling such brutal
profanities at each other was more scary than depressing. Thus I walked on,
alone and miserable, not wanting to go back to the painful reality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">It was at this time when I
saw<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Jamaican Passion</b><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>walk towards me. He was one of the six
types of people after whom the City of the Breezer was named. Looking at my sad
countenance, he approached me. He asked me what was the matter and why was I
walking around with such a long face. I narrated him my troubles in detail. His
face tightened, brows pulled together, arms crossed across his chest and he
heaved heavily. When I finished narrating, he burst out with an admonition,
squarely blaming me for the troubles at home. He lectured me that I lacked the
skill to defuse an explosive situation and I needed to brush-up my “people
skills”, and walked off. I knew I had mashed my own foot by involving Jamaican
Passion into this, and full of regrets, marched on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">Next I saw<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Lime<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></b>gliding jauntily towards me. It
was almost as if she did not see the day as overcast and depressing, but it
could as well have been a spring morning in her world. She approached me with a
grin spreading from ear to ear, and it did not lessen even upon hearing my
woeful tale. Instead of commiserating with me, she patted me cheerfully on my
back. Buck up boy, she told me. Life is too short to feel depressed. There’s no
point in feeling so sad, it will ruin everyone’s mood around you, she said,
which I knew was true enough. Look at what a wonderful day it is, she looked up
and announced. A smile takes all your worries away were her last words as we
parted ways. I could not, even on trying hard, feel the thrill of being alive,
the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>joie-de-vivre<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>that she felt. Feeling worse, if
anything, I trudged on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">On turning the corner, I saw<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Orange<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></b>walking towards me in his usually
nonchalant gait. On hearing my sad story, he snickered. Why do you care, he
asked. They are not your parents after all. I told him that for all their love
and care in bringing me up, they are. You should not care a fig, he suggested.
This life sucks up all the happiness if we start thinking too much about
things. Don’t let it affect you. Stop being bothered by it. Life isn't
fair enough for us to care about every other thing in our life. He
shrugged his shoulders as a sign of ‘this is how it is’, and left me. I did not
think I reflected his thoughts and his reflections about life did not help me
at all. Despondently, I walked on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">Cranberry</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">instantly knew that there is something wrong. She approached me
with an already troubled expression which only worsened in its mournfulness on
hearing my heart-breaking tale. Tears filled her eyes and she hugged me, and
cried for a full minute. It was as if the trouble was hers than mine. Life was
unfair, she said. How sad it is that a young boy like me had to face such a
harsh verdict from life. After God took away my parents, it was as if not
enough and He brewed fresh troubles in my life, she cried aloud. Dabbing the
corner of her eye from her handkerchief, she turned around and left me there. I
was touched by the act of empathy but it did nothing to help my cause. I was
feeling more gloomy and hopeless than before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">Island Pineapple<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></b><span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">approached me cautiously. When I narrated my
troubles, his mirthless laughter chilled me to my bones. Is that all, he asked.
Life will always kick you the hardest when you are down, and it is your time to
be kicked my boy, he said cynically. Start expecting the worst from life, and
you’ll do just fine. Life is hard and we had to deal with it, he suggested.
Turning around, he left me in the middle of the street more joyless, hopeless
and cynical than before. My world was crashing in front of my eyes and I could
not do a thing to avert the approaching disaster. It was like standing on the
beach and watching the mighty wave of the Tsunami charging ahead at full speed
to crush your bones. You know what’s coming but you can do little to avert the
inevitable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">As I was about to turn back
to my miserable life, I recognised the footsteps approaching me. It was<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Blackberry Crush</b><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>who came up to me. On seeing my
distressed expression, she understood my sadness. Gently nudging me to narrate
my sad story, she put a hand on my shoulder. When I had finished narrating my
melancholy account, she made me sit down on a nearby bench. You need to
understand that this kind of troubles always exist between a man and his wife,
and at times these differences bubble to the surface more often and in a more
toxic fashion than we can imagine, she explained. It is only after I delve
deeper into what is troubling my uncle and aunt can I help in addressing
anything that is troubling them. In fact, I was in an advantageous position to
be a mediator as I am close to both of them, and if I approach them
individually and ask them of their troubles, they might open their heart to me.
This way I can connect the dots and figure out the differences that are arising
between them, and find ways to address them effectively. Most of our troubles
spring forth when we do not communicate much and this problem can beset couples
even after they have spent a good 20 years with each other. It is a human
folly, and only human love, empathy and trust can overcome it. I knew what I had
to do. I hugged Blackberry Crush for being such a sweetheart, took in the
warmth of her sweet smile, and walked back with a purpose in life, a gait in my
step and hope in my heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<u1:p></u1:p>
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Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-35247080440360265162013-12-16T20:29:00.002+05:302013-12-16T20:45:44.995+05:30Inscribed on the Pages of History<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“Crisis
in the economy, polity and society formed the background of his rise to power. Born
in a small town with a humble background, he spent his youth in poverty. Early
in his career, he joined a right-wing organization which would shape him. Looking
back, he will be the one who ends up shaping the organization. He grows through
the ranks of this organization with his oratory skills. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Becoming
restless with the party at the centre, he at first tries to mobilise popular
support, but fails. But the decline in the economy of the country continues,
the economic environment falters, food prices soar, businesses shut down, currency depreciates,
jobs are under pressure and middle classes are threatened. In such a situation,
the propaganda of his party stirs hopes for a better future. 4 years ago, his
party could nowhere be seen as a winner, but in just these few years, the situation
entirely reverses. Public discontent, utterly horrid economic situation and
lack of strong and effective governance helps win support for him and his
party. Now his party is on the verge of majority in the parliament, and he is
certain to become the next leader of the nation – the last hope of a drowning
economy, the only ray of light for the distressed people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Dwelling
on his nature, he always was a powerful speaker. His passion and his words
moved people. He promised to build a strong nation, undo the injustices imposed
on the people by the current government at the centre and restore the dignity
of the people of the proud nation. He promised employment for those looking for
work, and a secure future for the youth. He promised to weed out all foreign
powers working from inside of the nation against it, especially those sponsored
by the neighbouring countries. </span><span style="font-family: Andalus, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">He excelled in whipping up a communal frenzy. He told the people that the people of the "other" religion living among them cannot take away their rights. He played to the popular sentiment and believed that the people of his religion cannot be taken for a ride by the "decadent elements" in the society. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">He
devised a new style of politics. He understood the significance of symbolism
and spectacle in mass mobilisation. His party held massive rallies and public
meetings to demonstrate the support for him and instill a sense of unity among
the people. His party’s propaganda skilfully projected him as a messiah, a
saviour, a ‘knight in shining armour’ who had arrived to deliver people from
their distress. It is an image that captured the imagination of a people whose
sense of dignity and pride had been shattered, who were living in a time of
acute economic and political crisis.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">This is how history describes Adolf
Hitler and Nazi Germany during the years 1928-1932.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-33584347364895916592013-12-12T11:14:00.000+05:302013-12-12T14:50:38.048+05:30SC Verdict on Section 377 - Why Is Everything Wrong With It?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Homosexuality is found in over 450 species;
homophobia is found in only one. Which one seems unnatural now?"</span></span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Andalus; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Today is a sad day for our
democracy. Supreme Court’s verdict re-criminalizing gay sex is a regressive step
that takes us back to the middle ages. We as citizens of this country should be
outraged at this act of backwardness as it takes away the basic fundamental
right of equality from our gay brethren. It tells them, in no unclear words:
“You who are “the others”, stop crying for your “so called rights”; what you do
in your private lives is not acceptable in our country; it is immoral and
“unnatural”; you people may already be facing immense pressure from the society
around you, from your parents and friends, but you do not deserve to be treated
equally too. You are criminals!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The SC verdict has taken
retrograde steps and punishes carnal intercourse “against the order of nature”.
Now I want to ask, how is being a gay against the order of nature when nature
itself makes them that way? There is a play of words which I expected SC to see
through. Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code is an archaic provision introduced by the British, and has been
repealed in Britain itself over 50 years ago. This year England legalized same
sex marriage and the first such marriage will take place in March 2014.
Same-sex marriage is recognised in the Britain, Uruguay, New Zealand,
Netherlands, Spain, Canada, South Africa, Sweden, Norway, Portugal, France,
Brazil Belgium, Iceland, Argentina and Denmark. Why are we reinforcing our
“backward” image when we should be looking forward? Do we not want to come out
as a champion of rights of minorities? Do we not take pride in being the land
where a huge variety of minorities are able to live proudly? Why are we shaming
ourselves this way?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">According to Amnesty
International, “the criminalization of people based on their sexual orientation
contravenes international and regional human rights treaties. Such systematic
discrimination reinforces the disadvantages experienced by lesbian, gay,
bisexual and transgender (LGBT) people and can be used as justification for
violence against them, whether on the street, at home, or in prison.” And this
is what is going to happen because of this decision. For fear of persecution by
the police forces, a large number of teenagers who would be growing up in the
strange world, coming to terms with their homosexuality, would cower with fear
to tell even their friends about it, let alone their parents. The parents who
already know about their children will absolutely prohibit them to come out of
the closet to anyone, and might even force them to marry “naturally”, wrecking
not just one, but two lives, not to mention the fact that they themselves will
never be able to live happily with the guilt of destroying the life of their
child. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The Supreme Court’s verdict
has, in essence, observed that there is no reason to believe that Section 377
is unconstitutional, upended the Delhi High Court’s 2009 verdict, and says that
it is up to the Parliament to legislate and amend the Section 377. What it did
not foresee is the medical repercussion of this pronouncement. It will deal a
death blow to AIDS victims who are gays (which are a high percentage) as they
can no longer have access to medical care. We are the world leader in AIDS, and
it seems we do not want to leave the dubious position. The biggest problem with
this verdict is that politicians won’t go out of their way to change this
obsolete article as there are still many people who live in the middle ages and
believe that it is unnatural to be attracted to the same sex. What they refuse
to acknowledge is that there are many such “unnatural” people living amongst us
right now, many could be people we are well acquainted with, or may be our
friends or brothers who have been trying to come out of their repression,
wanting to have a supporting friend listen to their troubles; they are beset
with gay jokes all around them with no one to understand their plight, no one
willing to discuss this issue out in the open; they cannot tell their friends
for fear of being made a social outcast, they cannot tell their parents for fear
that they might disown them (yes, many such cases exist out there), and now we
have topped it with making them criminals in the eyes of the law. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Question is how do we move from
here? One way in which we can contribute to this cause is to remove the taboo
from gay. How many of us have had discussions with our friends about the
hardships faced by members of the LGBT community and the rights that they
deserve as equal citizens of this country? Or is it there a certain taboo, a
hesitation on our part to breach the topic? Precisely this is what epitomises
the problem with this nation. We do not discuss it openly enough. Talk about
straight sex itself is not encouraged in our society, when we are the ones who
produced <i>Kamasutra</i>. We are told to be
all hush-hush about sexual matters and problems when we don’t mind openly
praying to phallic symbols among our gods like Shiva’s <i>lingam</i>. We don’t want to impart sex education to our children when
people in our society are repressed enough to skyrocket sexual crimes. Why this
hypocrisy? When will we finally stop preaching our own version of morality and
accept ourselves for who we are. We are more modern than we want to believe,
more western, so to say, than we give ourselves credit for. It’s time to open
our eyes to this fact of life and stop living the lie. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The politicians won’t move on
this as long as it remains a minority issue. The only way we can make a
contribution to this cause is to make this a majority issue by supporting our
gay brethren. If we, the social community, do not make enough noise about it,
the issue will die down. Public fickleness has let many important causes die
down. We only wake up from our slumber of apathy when the earth from under our
feet starts shaking, like it did in Nirbhaya case. Well guess what – the earth
from under the feet of these poor souls is already shaking, and shaking badly,
when their only fault is having been born as “the other”! The ball is not in
the court of the Parliamentarians. It’s in our court, the civil society and the online community, and it's up to us to make a majority issue out of it!</span></div>
</div>
Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-8468706465824511402013-11-22T14:06:00.001+05:302013-11-22T17:23:15.469+05:30A Crumbling of Faith<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It is always distressing to
hear that a person, who you used to hold in very high regard, has gotten
himself embroiled in an immoral or an illegal act of perversion. If he is a
famous person, for the world, it’s a fall from grace, a carnal sin committed by
a person who stood high moral, ethical and professional ideals. For me, it’s
the annihilation of the embodiment of my principles, a crumbling of my faith in
goodness, a faith built over a long period of time. Tarun Tejpal’s sexual
misconduct with a female colleague has left me feeling cheated, to say the
least. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I became a huge fan of
Tehelka’s style of journalism as it appealed to me tremendously. Not that I had
not tasted the journalistic flavours of other media groups out there – The Week,
Outlook, India Today – I have read each one of them over a period of time. But
I found them insipid, unable to inspire anything in me. I looked for other
options and one fine day stumbled across Tehelka magazine. Their incisive
criticisms of the political oversights which affected the poor and the
downtrodden immediately arrested my attention. The kind of articles I found on
Tehelka – supporting the cause of <i>adivasis</i>
who were affected when a big corporate house acquired land for a nuclear power
or a hydel-power project without proper rehabilitation, the poor plight of the
farmers in famine affected areas, features upholding the rights of workers in
factories – coverage of this kind of topics I could not find elsewhere. No
other media group seemed to speak so much for the voiceless. This is what
hooked me on and made me buy almost every single edition for the next 50 weeks.
This religious routine had to be broken when I went for an MBA and became busy
with the curriculum, but Tehelka was always a part of me. This unflinching
belief came shattering down when I read about how Tarun Tejpal, the man whose
brainchild Tehelka was, molested a fellow journalist almost the age of his
daughter (not to mention, his daughter’s best friend too). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There is not much to speak on
the topic, as enough is being said online by the incisive criticisms of the
high-handed way in which the duo of Tarun Tejpal and Shoma Chaudhury, his
second in command, have handled the issue. Hordes of netizens have risen in
criticism of the situation not just because of the crime itself, but because of
the smug and self-righteous way in which Tarun Tejpal has reacted in what was
supposed to be his letter of apology, where he claims to “atone” this “awful
misreading of the situation”, this “bad judgement” which has led to “an
unfortunate incident”. Shoma took out some salt from her pocket and rubbed it
mercilessly on the wound when she claimed to the press that it’s an “internal
matter”. Sheer hypocrisy is on display by the harbingers of truth who have
always been the first to ask for the strictest punishment for perpetrators of
sexual harassment and molestation. Moreover, what Tarun Tejpal did to this
young girl, despite her repeated entreaties to not do it, reminding him that
she is of his daughter’s age, borders on rape. The email which Tarun sent to
Shoma, which was then forwarded by Shoma to the staff of Tehelka, along with an
email of her own appended to it, had the sacrosanct language announcing it as
an “unfortunate” incident. Had these emails not been pasted on pastebin (<a href="http://pastebin.com/nNaWCu3e">http://pastebin.com/nNaWCu3e</a>) online by
some insider from Tehelka, the matter would have been suppressed. Apparently,
Tarun Tejpal was expecting things to go back to normal when we would return
from his 6-month paid sabbatical in some foreign country. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Things are turning hot as Goa
police have ordered a preliminary enquiry into the incident which does not
require an FIR. (Update: The police have booked an FIR for rape against Tejpal). They are going to question the authorities of the hotel where
the incident took place twice in the elevator. CCTV footage should be available
with the hotel, and the rumour has it that the footage might get broadcast by
some of the news channels. Also, under pressure from the outpouring of
opprobrium from all sections of the society, an investigative committee of
National Commission for Women has been formed to look into the matter, a little
late in the scheme of things. The smug Mr Tejpal may well be shitting in his
pants right now. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What good it does? It will
crack open the oppressive system of sexual harassment at the workplace,
especially in the media industry where apparently it is deeply entrenched. If
someone like Tarun Tejpal can go down, it will surely make the earth move under
the feet of other such predators who, for the rest of the world, roam around in
the guise of a lamb. This will lead to recognition to women rights and
empowerment of women in workplaces, something which is urgently required in our
still deeply male-centric society. It will give the courage to the victims of
such acts to speak out and not keep mum for the fear of losing their jobs. Sadly,
it will also undoubtedly lead to the end of the journey of Tehelka as a publication.
I can already see an absolute loss of faith in the organization even among avid
readers like me. Complete loss of credibility will lead to a bad name for
everyone who were involved in the organization and who actually did good work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tarun Tejpal’s name was among
the two persons, the other being Nelson Mandela, I highlighted under the
question “Someone you would chose to travel with in a cross-country trip” in the <a href="http://pranay-joiedevivre.blogspot.in/2011/02/annexure-that-got-me-through-sibm-pune.html">annexure</a>
that I filled while applying for admission to SIBM Pune. His literature inspired me, as did his purported ideals. Thus
for me personally, it means something much deeper. It stands for a complete
disappearance of faith in a person I believed in so much. It stands for a lie
which infests every nook and cranny of our society today, rotting the insides
and will lead to a complete implosion one of these days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It has happened before. Lance
Armstrong stood for not just someone who excelled in his profession, but
someone who won a fight with a debilitating strain of cancer, and came back to
win the Tour de France, the highest honour that there can be for a cyclist and
one of the greatest across all sports. His autobiographies inspired many
millions to believe in their dreams and pursue them unflinchingly. Sadly, as it
turned out, he followed his dreams literally “at any cost”, indulging in doping
over a period of many years, and cheating each one of those who believed in
him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Education is something I
believe is something which can lift our poor nation out of the cesspit that we
are in. A book inspired me to march on the path of educating the poor. “<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/49436.Three_Cups_of_Tea?ac=1">Three
Cups of Tea</a>” is a description of the experiences, hardships and successes
of Greg Mortensen, who after getting lost in a snowstorm while climbing K2,
found himself in a very poor village in an isolated region in northern
Pakistan, got inspired and built many schools in the next few years. As it
turned out, there were allegations of many inaccuracies in the book regarding
the number of schools he built, his inspiring experiences with the villagers
and his overall effort. This blanks out all that was said in the book and I
felt like an untethered boat without a sail lost in a sea storm. It was
heart-breaking to say the least. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I held Tarun Tejpal very
highly. But these allegations have shaken my faith in humanity, and in its
unbound ability for goodness. Is there any goodness left out there unblemished
by lust, unscarred by greed, unsullied by envy and untainted by corruption? Is
it so difficult to be good, without a hidden motive, without a hand below the
desk receiving some form of reciprocation? Is it no more possible to do good
with all your heart, without expecting anything back? Is there no hope for a
better world? I know there is. But for now, I’m just gathering my splintered
pieces, and will start rebuilding my faith in goodness, piece by piece, brick
by brick. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5761688343648599156.post-27660424670712328132013-10-31T10:47:00.001+05:302013-10-31T11:44:14.590+05:30India's Mars Mission: Profligacy or Development?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGqG_W_kHCNaxjy7BhpNkVxhF8FqyTFwemqYdspOwRVKRcPIat-0w68HHxMkVAycjFtVMnr-CAvqmfudNzvP383rcWH6m-UNMH_ry5jI14d8wUa_SPBn-y9U3HnrG5QGcNAQMzvbRzWV0/s1600/mars533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGqG_W_kHCNaxjy7BhpNkVxhF8FqyTFwemqYdspOwRVKRcPIat-0w68HHxMkVAycjFtVMnr-CAvqmfudNzvP383rcWH6m-UNMH_ry5jI14d8wUa_SPBn-y9U3HnrG5QGcNAQMzvbRzWV0/s400/mars533.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">As over half of Indian children cry as hunger scrapes the insides of
their bellies, India prepares itself for exploring life on Mars through ISRO’s
PSLV C25 that launches on 5<sup>th</sup> November 2013. As we mourn our
country’s dubious distinction of being the world’s Diabetes capital, Malaria
capital, Tuberculosis capital and also, according to a recent report, Slavery
capital of the world, today on 31<sup>st</sup> October, there will be a
dry run which will simulate the entire launch sequence to explore uncharted territories
by human beings. Rs 450 crore is what is being spent on this mission which
critics claim to be profligacy for a country which cannot feed its hungry,
shelter its poor or provide for its unemployed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">The question arises, how do we draw a line between scientific
development of a country and a senseless megalomania which does a disservice to
a nation’s vast population? John Drèze, the eminent economist, believes that it
does not make sense for a country to spend so much on a mission which would not
bring any immediate relief to its own people when half of the children in the
country are undernourished and families have no access to sanitation. It makes
sense even from a macroeconomic perspective keeping in mind the high fiscal
deficit targets our economy has been reeling under. It is like hosting the
Commonwealth Games in your country when there is no infrastructure to support
such a massive event and your officials are not morally ready as yet to handle
such large amounts of transactions and still keep their pockets light. Oh wait,
we already committed that blunder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">On the upside, these satellites provide us the intelligence that leads
to warnings of adverse weather conditions and phenomena like tsunami and
cyclones. Where lakhs of people used to die a few decades back in cyclones,
this year we saw how a strong cyclone like Phailin was disallowed the
opportunity to wreck human lives by a prior warning and massive preemptive
programs in the form of re-locations leading to a loss of life of just 44. So
these satellites do serve a useful purpose. The GPS that we use on our
smartphones, the intelligence inputs related to possible terrorist movement and
camps, knowing the state of people in rescue operations like Uttarakhand
floods, our clear television signals are some of the purposes that these
satellites serve. So the question is settled – it is a useful investment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">But for a poor country (I refuse to call it an emerging superpower) like
India, where do we draw the line? Does trickle-down economics really work or do
we need to revamp our systems and start at the bottom-most rung? Or is it
really an attitudinal problem with our officials and ministers, rather with all
of us, who, in this rat race to own more and more, are becoming immune to the
hardships faced by more than half of our countrymen? The answer to these and
some more questions are what be at the top of our minds as we vote for the next
government at the centre. Once these issues occupy the central position in our
minds, only then will the politicians sit up and take notice. The ball is not
in their policy makers’ court, as we all assume. It’s in ours. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pranay Guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658757355514342725noreply@blogger.com1