The Doorstep

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.

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. 

Don't Judge a Person by the First Book He Names

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.

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.

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.

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.

Falling Head Over Shoes

09-Nov-2008

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.

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 Hard Kaur 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.

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.

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.

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.

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 Hard Kaur performance, and some jokes on similar lines. The banter lasted for less than a minute before which we bid farewell to each other.

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.

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^th anniversary of own little “9/11”! Cheers!

Frozen

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.

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.

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.

  

uuaaann..

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.

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.

EDIT:

It’s a baby boy J

Rob you, Rape you, Kill you!

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.

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, 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! And the stereotype continues.

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 (Gosh! There’s nowhere to escape! It’s dreadful!), 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. See I told you. They are not human beings. Stay away from them or they will rob you, rape you or kill you!

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 hijras, 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 (with a person from the opposite sex ofcourse, you silly!); 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. 

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 (see, we told you they are perverts!) 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 (yeah it’s true, they are actually aliens!), 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. 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!

The link to the pic above:

http://www.bradensummers.com/menu/all-love-is-equal

Cusp of a Change

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.

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.

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.

Aam Aadmi Party: Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't

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.

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.

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.  

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.

Crushing the Blackness of My Day

This is a fictional piece I have written for the “Catch the Flavour” contest by Breezer. You can go to http://www.breezerindia.com and http://www.indiblogger.in/topic.php?topic=94 for more details.

I was walking down the main boulevard of the breezy City of the Breezer. 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.

It was at this time when I saw Jamaican Passion 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.

Next I saw Lime 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 joie-de-vivre that she felt. Feeling worse, if anything, I trudged on.

On turning the corner, I saw Orange 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.

Cranberry 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.

Island Pineapple 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.

As I was about to turn back to my miserable life, I recognised the footsteps approaching me. It was Blackberry Crush 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.

Inscribed on the Pages of History

“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.

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.

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. 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. 

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.”

This is how history describes Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany during the years 1928-1932.