Mumbai Blasts and Armchair Patriotism on Facebook

The post was published on Viewspaper. Find the link here.

--

It's the same old tale. Explosions in country's favourite city and ensuing knee-jerk 'reactions' on social media. Fits of armchair-keyboard patriotism. What suddenly gets fashionable is talking about Kasab/Afzal and blaming the goverment - the easiest one can do without the tiniest of research/understanding. The media is in a frenzy misinterpreting every single official press release: rabble-rousing at the time we need it the least. I'm still unable to come to terms with how are news/entertainment channels broadcasting half-hour programs unfairly blasting an uncharacteristically balanced statement by Mr. Rahul Gandhi. What follows is my understanding/response to whatever happened and is happening.

One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter. A cliche beaten to death. Still relevant. Religious scriptures are misinterpreted and people are brainwashed. They think they have a cause. And they're passionate about it. So much so that the desired ends justify every possible means. It's incredibly easy to rationalize when you have a decent education and food in the belly. The root cause, as I understand, is the sheer volatility and inflammable sentiments of what we term 'terrorists'. To me, they're just a bunch of extremely passionate believers standing by their belief. Isn't that exactly we are taught and we appreciate?

You're no different. They're told that their 'brothers' (criterion: same religion) are being massacred. They react. You see that your brothers (criterion: same country) are being massacred. You react. On Facebook.

It's just that they're ready to take a couple of steps more than us rational-in-our-AC-rooms intellectuals. But the root is the same. The volatility. The impatience. The urge to revenge. The tendency to club together individuals who happen to share nothing more than the same faith.

Killing Kasab/Afzal doesn't solve shit. If at all, it'll make matters worse. I'm not justifying the inordinate legal delay. The protracted (lack of) prosecution is indeed shameful for the entire nation. But let's move on and not crib about the same old thing. Can someone please explain what will killing them achieve? What message do we want to send across? And more importantly, TO WHOM? The to-be bombers? Let's get a hang of the ground reality. Our stereotypical Mr. Terrorist doesn't consume the media we do. For all we know, Mr. Kasab/Afzal might just be projected as ideals who made the ultimate sacrifice and who need to be idolized. What next, Mr. Facebook-status-updater?

War with Pakistan is not a solution. War is not a solution. To anything. Does anyone understand the consequences? Does anyone even know how is a war started? On what grounds? Like Uncle Sam does? Go - bomb - fuck civilians - destroy economy - destabilise region? I don't know either. All I know is that it is more difficult, destabilising and detrimental than beating up an eve-teaser.

Fuck you, media. Do I need to explain?

Stop envying Rahul Gandhi. The sooner you accept the fact that he was born with a silver spoon in one of his holes and you weren't, the better it gets for you. Stop blaming him and his motherfuckin' family for everything that goes wrong in this nation, however rotten they are.

Acquired wit, Inherent Stupidity. I have special sympathies for people with status updates: 'Kasab's birthday, have a blast'. Trust me dude, you're not funny. Escpecially when 500 people have posted exactly the same! At least make the minimum effort of validating. Kasab's birthday was Sept 13 for the record. Plus, ramblings like India should have expected something like this is dumber than anything Digvijay Singh has ever farted. How I wish you had the ability to think!

For fuck's sake, understand the meaning of a 'secular state'. What amazes me is the tendency to update 'status' in a fraction of a second spewing venom about a word one doesn't even understand. Foremost, we are a secular republic only in theory. Officially we don't have a religion and that's everything we can boast about. Religion is involved on a daily basis on both macro and micro level. But I don't want to even get started in that direction. What beats me is allusion to secularism-fathered impotence. Now, what's being potent? Let's have the balls to uneuphemise our life. It directly refers to seeing every Muslim in bad light just because the perpetrators have often belonged to that religion. Can any premise be any more flawed? Can we be any more prejudiced?

The Grand Old Sleeper of India

The good old times were so bloody different. Or probably, it was the ignorance-induced-indifference of my age. Whatever be the reason, the sleeper coaches never used to bother me. They were taken for granted on a family trip. Travelling in air conditioned compartments used to be considered extravagance of the highest vulgarity.

22 hours in the sleeper coach of Purushottam Express brought back everything. It was a kaleidoscope of all the possible colors, dialects and cultures. The toilets stank. Males ogled blatantly at the plateaus of female anatomy. Discussions ranged from instantaneously solving political quagmires to making roadmap of the Indian cricket team to the WC. Hawkers sold spurious packaged drinking water with impunity. Some destitute-turned-junkie swept the entire coach with his shirt – that he would still wear after the exercise – for quick change and some glue to sniff. Ticket examiners made moolah at the expense of the employer. And everyone seemed to flash their ‘chai-neej’ phones squirting the latest Bollywood chartbusters that superimposed with one another making me beg the Lord to enlighten them about earplugs!

Today, I’m one friggin snob. Today I cringe in disgust. Today I travel AC.

Today, I travel with the crowd that throws huge words like ‘civic sense’ and ‘etiquette’ in a split second. The crowd that changes colors like a chameleon. The crowd that does “upar neeche” with the TTE without the slightest of hesitations. The crowd that uses the choicest expletives once it gets out of the coach. The crowd that thinks the world is it’s dustbin. The crowd that contributes more than it’s fair share to the smelly heap of garbage next door. The crowd that knows just one game: that of blame.

Will the buck ever stop? Will Musaddi Lal ever come out of the lazy reluctance bred by the ‘Chalta Hai’ attitude? Will we ever start using dustbins, however scarce they might be? Will we stop promoting beggary by offering them food instead of hard cash? Will the stranglehold on spurious water bottles ever tighten? Will the TTE’s wings ever be clipped? WILL PEOPLE EVER START USING EARPLUGS?

P.S. I’m totally convinced that the education system in UP sucks. This is Ishika (niece)’s take on English:

…C-A-T cat, D-O-G dog, E-O-G elephant…

My God in Ayodhya

Sep30 2010. Today's the verdict. Well, not the final one. But, it's got to be a milestone. The saffrons are there. The greensas well. Will they embrace white and thus complete the Tricolour regardless of the verdict or will they paint the land red? Time will tell, like it has always done in BR Chopra's Mahabharat.

In the meanwhile, what does that man have to say who, in all this hullabaloo around him, has ironically been pushed to the sidelines? He's called by various names. He's Rama, whose place of birth is as contentious as Lindsay Lohan's life. He's Rahim, whose dream of a blemish-free religion has been mercilessly stoned to death.

Probably this is what my God wants to scream out.

dafna do mujhe

chaurahe pe

kabr khod do meri

ya jalaa do

kuch sookhi lakdiyon ke saath

maar to tumne

kal hi diya tha

cheekha tha bahot

pehle

koshishein ki thi

samjhane ki

manaane ki

bataane ki

tum nahi samjhe

koi nahi samjha

ungliyan uthi

uthti rahi

bas

ab numaish mat karo

meri

mere nange jism ki

rooh toh rahi nahi

bahot pehle hi

chhod gayi

sikudi

simti

le jaao mujhe

daal aao kahin

apni is duniya se door

bahot door

waise bhi tumhari is duniya mein rakha kya hai??

So ja bachche, laado so ja

Meri Rajjo, meri laado

Baarah baras ki ho gayi aaj

Gubbare laaye hain iske chachu

Chhupte chhupate

Karfoo laga hai na ghaati mein

Nikalna manaa hai

Apne ghar se apne hi bageeche mein

Nikalna manaa hai

Teen gubbare laaye hain

Teeno laal

Bada pasand hai rajjo ko

Bachpan se koi aur rang

Dekha hi nahi na bechari ne

Raaton ko jab shor machta hai

Sannate ka

Neend nahi aati laado ko

Kehti hai ammi, kahani sunao

Sona hai

Thapkiyan deti hun usey

Is dozakh ke dard ke saath

Is dozakh ke jhooth ke saath

"Nahi rahe jo baag bageeche

Kal se dekhna fir se khilenge

Tootey jo saawan ke jhooley

Kal se dekhna fir se hilenge

Aag ka gola nahi girega

Tu ghar se bahar niklegi

So ja bachche, laado so ja

Kal se thandi hawa bahegi"

--

Ek awaz si aayi toh hai

Dil mera dehla to hai

Rajjo, uth ja, Rajjo

Bahot so liya

Uth ja na

Rajjo

JAAG!

The world around us is a mess. And we are in our cocoons.

Two options. Stay in the comfort zone; blame everything on the system. Or, BE the system.

Jaag! is one such initiative. But rather than going radical, its about a gradual process called "awakening".

Today's youth has exuberance. Today's youth has energy. Today's youth is sick of the present. Today's youth desires a change. And at least before familial engagements tie us down, today's youth has high morals. Let's tap all of these.

Let's try to make people stop and think, at the least. Write on things that bother you, that piss you off.

Why JAAG? Why not keep on writing random posts on similar topics?

The purpose, remember, is to make people stop, at least for a while, and take a break from the regular rush of life to realize that things are screwed up. JAAG! will serve as a channel to make those thoughts flow. Ideas will be reinforced everytime a person will come across the word "Jaag!". And who knows, he gathers up will power to say, "Enough." Let's get together and bring about the resonance.

How to get associated?

One, contact me and tell me you're associated with "JAAG!" by commenting on this post on jaagtheawakening.blogspot.com. Any other non-participating comments can be made here.

Two, upload the "JAAG!" image shown above in every blog post related to the cause.

Three, give a brief introduction to "JAAG!" in every post related to the cause.

Four, give a link to JAAG!(jaagtheawakening.blogspot.com) in every post related to this cause as it will serve as a reservoir of all the JAAG! posts on all the blogs till date.

Five, contact me and tell me whenever you have posted any JAAG! post. I'll update it in the reservoir.

Six, spread the word.

What next?

Just sit back and let the ripple effect do its job.

My God

Disclaimer: Possibly coarse content. Strictly personal views. Offence intended. Tinge of MBA jargon.

Who has actually seen God, has had a tete-a-tete with Him over shots of Tequila/milkshake? Has He ever come down upon Earth and set the damn protocols in stone? I’m an agnostic at times but this is not that. This is the God-believer talking. I believe in Him, His omniscience.

My concept of God is CEO, World. He handles the Finances, the Operations and the HR. And there are no broad issues with the three departments barring a few recessions, earthquakes and suicides. But where the bugger has fallen flat is the Marketing. Unclear of his positioning, he has inadvertently gone into various line extensions [read: religions] and brand extensions [read: castes, sects and all that shit] managed by radically autonomous brand managers.

I think he is a pretty cool bloke. He isn’t too much excited by Ramzans, vrats or yajnas. If you do any of these because your heart tells you to do so, carry on. But if you do it because your faith dictates you to, well dude, you’re an impotent pushover with no friggin’ intellect of your own! Start questioning!

And the sacrifices of blood! Holy blabber! Doesn’t ‘kindness leading to God’ ring a bell??

I believe He likes genuinely nice people. Not the perfect ones. No body’s perfect. He just likes people with a genuine concern towards humanity and an empathetic heart that can feel the pain of others.

He doesn’t give a skeletal ass to microphone chants and colossal bronze bells that make the life of others hell. The processions that bring the traffic to a standstill are plain jokes to Him.

Also, the places that have made Him a business, He makes sure He steers away from those. The Tirupatis, the Meccas, the Vaticans: there is more to Him than these. You do not have to go somewhere to seek Him. In this age of Bluetooth/Wireless, why stick to InfraRed? When we say he’s omnipresent, it means that even if you talk to Him from the confines of the walls your ping reaches his chat window instantly!

He never made any priest, imam or pandit the brokers between Him and you. They just reached there first and lay their claim. You don’t need these middlemen. The longer the supply chain, the greater the Bullwhip Effect. Deal with Him directly. Talk to him: make jokes, share sins. He likes it. He’s one big voyeur. But He’s a patient listener. And the Guiding Light as well!

And the riots in His name: Oh, what an absolute insult to Him! Some bastards, sitting at the top in peace, make their living by making you kill your friend from a different faith. Grow up. Open up your widely shut eyes. There is nothing – absolutely nothing – to die for, kill or rape. It’s the temporary insanity that overtakes your conscience and the ability to think properly.

Make religion a strictly personal domain and respect the rights of others to subscribe to a different brand of faith. JAAG!

“You may say I’m a dreamer. But I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us. And the world will still be one.” – John Lennon

P.S. Un-dear Feminists, kindly notice the use of ‘He’ for God. I honestly believe He’s male.
--

There are a few things that bother me. Rather, they piss me off. And what’s the most discouraging, if not disgusting, is the scale that these ‘evils’ have adopted. The text above was the first in the series of a campaign of sorts that I’m starting – JAAG! Help me if you want to by spreading the word. I am no hardcore optimist. I don’t hope this text is going to make any substantial difference in the way people think. But I’m a dreamer. And there’s a difference between the two.

Kill Me

If you're the one with the trident

Kill me 'coz i wear a cap

I don't believe in your gods of stone

I have no saffron flag

Your folks were killed in front of your eyes

Their screams were all you heard

Forget the times when I touched their feet

Kill me 'coz I grow a beard

If you're the one in the Pathan suit

Kill me 'coz I have none

I dont chant prayers on a microphone

I don't fast for a month

A pervert raped your pregnant wife

And shot her in the head

Forget the Rakhi she tied on my hand

Kill me for my sacred thread

Kill me, brother, for I have sinned

Kill me 'coz my sin is great

Kill me because it was my choice

To be born in a different faith

Kill me 'coz you are only a man

And its human to be driven mad

To pay heed to the sensible mob

To follow...to be misled...

In memory of Late John Lennon

"You may say I'm a dreamer. But I'm not the only one."

Psychedelic Patterns

They are all there. They are all cheering, hands in air. Roars and Applauses. He is the light at the other end of this tunnel. They are taking His name. The one in the red turban and an unkempt beard is a bit over the board. He's joining both his hands in an inexplicable manner so as to devout himself. The lady with the slightly unhooked blouse is screaming like never before. Their hands are dirty and their hair is rough and messy. The legs are weak and the feet are bare. Its scorching hot. They do not feel an ounce of heat. These are the winds of change.

"What the blip happened to the the picture quality?"

They are all there. Some new as well. Some did not make it.

He's blurry eyed. He can't see them clearly. The noise has risen like anything. They need their rights. They need their dreams fulfilled. They want back a part of themselves that they gave to Him. They do not seem to get it back. Why does this always happen?

They are all there. They are a JPEG image from this high. They are colours. The red crowd there - in the middle of the left row: He has to take care of them. They keep Him happy. He loves being happy. Everyone loves being happy. The chamiya loves the pearls, too. They have wild sex, every night. Its wild for Him at least. The blue in the right row do not even know the red are there. They have their own deals. They have their own ideals. They need to be listened as well. Do you have a friggin's clue what how many pixels they are and what their pixel size is? Be wise. Be calm. Be careful.

They are all there. They have assembled again. Long time back. Many centuries back in time. They are silhouttes. But not silent. They have voices, equally strong, equally shrill, equally loud and equally clear. The heroes are in white neat robes, fresh from their burial, not a long time back, together, all at once. They are taking Him to the gallows.

"Plug the earphones out, you bugger."

Its silent as death. Am I deaf as well? Its dark. Am I blind as well?

"Achcha, match shuru hone wali hogi na"

--

The above post was written and saved after six glasses of bhang. There were patterns in my mind. Of crowds, of cheers and of a hero. This is how I interpreted them. This is an unedited copy (punctuation and italicisation aside).

रावण

बिलखती आई वो मेरे पास

चीथड़ो में मुरझी हुई

टूटी चप्पलें पहनी थी उसने

रूखे बालों में तेल नहीं

"भैया, पापा फिर पी के आये हैं."

हस्सो कहते हैं सब उसको

प्यारी सी परी सी है

दो सौ वाट के बल्ब सी आँखें

जिनमें अब नमी सी है

"भैया, तू कुछ करता क्यूँ नहीं?"

तीन छोड़ के घर है उसका

दौड़ती वह आई है

खिलखिला के हंसती थी जो

आज उदासी छाई है

"भैया, पापा ने मम्मी को फिर मारा."

कहानियां सुनती है मुझसे

निरी सारी खुदाई की

राम की और रावण की

अच्छाई और बुराई की

"भैया, रावण को मारो ना."

Saala kab tak chalega?

Pre-Script: This blogpost is as commonplace as you get. You are advised to ignore unless seriously unemployed.

Thanks for reading further. The fact that you are in no hurry and have chosen to read at your own wish and peril, you must be complimented for your taste-induced-trust and ridiculed for an absolute lack of commitments.

The post.

India turns 61 as a sovereign republic. The Constitution turns 61 and so do the perrenial loopholes. The newspapers today will try to highlight the same in ink and colours along with our "glorious past" and "opportunities galore" for the Indian tiger. Piss!

For the same reason, I would abstain from critiquing the senior citizen. Nor would I draft "Vision 2020"s. The post lies midway. Its just a "To-Do" list of sorts. Its just a reminder of what we already know to the last alphabet but somehow slip up. The drop in the limitless ocean never feels guilty. But the weighted average of goddamned consequences just screws the country shitless.

The post will be a success if even one of the tormented readers stops for a while, not to think, but fuckin' act!! Lets take responsibility of the relatively individually insignificant but collectively diastrous footprints of ours that we leave behind through every wrapper/ciggi-butt strewn, every voting franchise missed and every damn action out of the "Chalta hai" attitude. Nahi chalta yaar. Saala kab tak chalega?

# A chewed chewing gum is supposed to be wrapped back in the wrapper and dustbins are supposed to be used.

# You are doing enough damage through pollution and passive smoking while puffing your favourite smoke away. Butts are supposed to be put out and carried back in the pack to the dustbin.

# Vote for christ's sake. Do not be an elitist crib otherwise. You are as redundant in the scheme of things as a "Melty Man" victim. Use the power you have, you impotency-loving self-obsessed freak!

# Plant a sapling in your backyard. Stop breathing otherwise.

# Stop wasting food. You were just born lucky to not starve to death. Count your totally undeserved blessings and pay back.

# In your whole darn life, bring the light of literacy in the life of at least one much less privileged as you are.

# Now when you have survived through this shit, let this imbecility take the logical climax and comment on this god forsaken blogpost!!

So, before you waste hours on today's edition of TOI, get down and do something this Republic Day! Jai Hind!

Ashamed of being a man!

"Don't tell me hundred ways how you cannot respond to the problem. Can you ply your mind for that one way that you can respond to the problem?"

- Sunitha Krishnan

I've always believed in the superiority of females over us when it comes to being the stronger species. But if this is what being a man is all about, I'm ashamed of it. Sunitha Krishnan(blog) co-founded Prajwala to rescue 'sex slaves' and find them safe haven. If nothing else, we could contribute our bit by sharing this video with as many people we know.

Make sure at least one of the link works.

TED | Youtube | Veoh | Milk & Cookies

Magma | Mefeedia | VTap

"Can you break your culture of silence? Can you speak to at least two persons about this story? Tell them this story. Convince them to tell this story to another two persons. I'm not asking y'all to become Mahatma Gandhis or Martin Luthers or Medha Patkars, or something like that. I'm asking you, in your limited world: can you open your minds? Can you open your hearts? Can you just encompass these people too? Because they're also a part of us. They're also a part of this world."

Find the Transcript here

Disclaimer: I might be guilty of yellow journalism as the title is not that relevant to the post but the purpose was to share this video with as many people as I could. The ends, baby, not the means.

P.S. If you can't access any of the links, let me know. I'll do something about it. But please, spare a few minutes to support this cause.

Dyin' For A Living

- Written, Composed and Performed by Varun Gupta

Out exclusively on Broken Records

Download Song (Apologies for the obvious things :P)

Lyrics:

I see people all around me

I see lots of them.

Everybody’s goin’ crazy

Everywhere is a new mayhem.

All the time they’re runnin’

It’s not their fault;

They’re dyin’ for a living

Nothing’s under control.

All I want to say, All I want to do,

Is to make them realize, none of this is true.

I would say to them, “Look around you,

Think of the best things, may be count a few...

You can wake up

With the woman you love;

Kiss her good morning

While she’s still not up.

You can see the birds

Heading back to home;

And Think of your children

Waitin till you come.

You can watch the rain

Thinkin’ what it was like;

When you were a kid of eight

And you realize

It was a lot better

You were in no hurry;

There wasn’t a deadline

There was no worry...

Change

This was what I scribbled on a piece of paper in Gurdit's notepad while listening to Michael Ferreira. Just wanted to share...

Change

- Written and composed by Varun Gupta

Out exclusively on Broken Records.

Does it really...

...make a difference...

...how the times are strange?

Do you ever feel...

...honestly...

...it's for you to change?

It's a place where everybody's

Busy dealing or stealing,

Where if you aren't somebody

Then dude, you are nobody!

Do you ever stop...

...stop and think...

...where we're going to?

Is there anything...

...anyone...

...of us can do???

-X-

Soemthing not really related to the context...but can be used to convey the message...of a desperately needed change:

Lost Generation

Oh! If only I can!

Chapter 1: JLT, Wet Night, Inglourious Basterds

There's a few feet wide path that separates the Father Enright Men's Residence from the JLT - Just Like That. It refers to the lush green lawn and the area surrounding it. Its the heart of XL - the sacrosanct place that holds a special place in every XLer's heart.

JLT

Its a Wet Night tonight at JLT. It refers to an inseparable part of XL culture. We booze and dance all night long. But this wet night is different. It was preceded by a Bodhi Tree performance (JLT again!). It rocked in patches. There was the God on drums. The national anthem on electric guitars literally gave me goosebumps. But I wasn't in the mood for the most part. I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't myself. I wasn't me.

I have decided to give this Wet Night a miss. A Bishu-Da egg roll, a Mongini's Keyk, a smoke and Inglourious Basterds. It was screened yesterday (JLT, again!) but I had to leave it midway. So I finish off with it today. Kilasik!!! I bow to thee, Lord Quintin Tarantinou!

Chapter 2: Crap!

I go out to brush my teeth. Its 4 am. Coming back, I realize I've been locked outside thanks to the electronic lock. The looooong quest for the Bahadur bhaiya begins. He holds the key to the sacred land of Room No. 406; and he's always at the last place you look. In this case, I walk for around a kilometre to find him a ten feet from the hostel! But the walk's a much needed one. I reflect a lot.

Chapter 3: Reflections!

Ensemble, our fest had gotten over today and the chief guest for the closing ceremony was the former billiards world champ Michael Ferreira. Speaking on the theme of "Integrity and Initiative", the instances that he narrated from his life shook me from within.

There was nothing new. Zilch. But somehow he managed to make me realize that even someone like me who prided himself for not resigning to the sorry state of affairs had actually done the same. Its too easy to scribble here on the blogosphere, condemning the modern day demons like Koda. But what have I done to deserve the right to comment under the aegis of free expression?

An MBA followed by an exhausting job. That's what my life is going to be. An "executive" - hitting the treadmill in the morning to control the blood pressure and cholesterol levels from skyrocketing; rushy breakfasts; projects after projects; brands after brands; promotions; parties; politics; sleeping pills - with a debilitated personal life. I'll swear at the bureaucracy whenever the projects hit roadblocks and then un-hopefully leverage the same to my advantage at other times.

Chapter 4: Oh! If only I can!

But I'll make a difference. At an infinitesimal, individual level. I will stay true to my core values and be the same person I am today. I wont let my morals to go rot for materialistic one-upmanship. I'll stop when the signal is red regardless of the absence of khaki. I'll refuse to bend the system by finding legal but unethical loopholes. I won't bribe - even under the direst circumstances. I will search for dustbins. I will vote.

Oh! If only I can!

Michael Ferreira says that if you can change just one person by your upright behaviour, your work is done. Fingers crossed.

Monkeys wrapped in suits!

"There is something about yourself that you don't know. Something that you will deny even exists, until it's too late to do anything about it. It's the only reason you get up in the morning. The only reason you suffer the shitty puss, the blood, the sweat and the tears. This is because you want people to know how good, attractive, generous, funny, wild and clever you really are. Fear or revere me, but please, think I'm special. We share an addiction. We're approval junkies. We're all in it for the slap on the back and the gold watch. The hip-hip-hoo-fuckin' rah. Look at the clever boy with the badge, polishing his trophy. Shine on you crazy diamond, because we're just monkeys wrapped in suits, begging for the approval of others." - Jake Green

Hats Off, Dadi !

Scene 1 : My bed

Winter break. A customary day at home.

“Razai chhod, Bunty,” Mumma says affectionately, with her hand in my hair.
“Kya mummy, Gyarah bhi nahi baje yaar…”
“Uth ja, bank mein paise jamaa karne hain…”
“Ummm…paanch minute…”

Knowing the hypothesis of “paanch minute” like the back of her hand, she won’t give in this time. The quilt is wrenched off in a sudden jerk and I do a Jim-Carrey act from Bruce Almighty – banging my legs, hands and everything possible on the bed.

“Zulm kar rahi ho maa. Ghar chhod ke chala jaunga. Fir banati rehna jalebi.”

“Jalebi” refers to a famous ad-film around 10 years back. A kid of eight or so runs away from home and is lured back by jalebis prepared in a certain brand of refined edible oil.

“Haan paise daal aa. Fir chale jaiyo.”
“Sabse gandi meri maa…Sabse gandi meri maa, ” I dance on my own tune in front of the television, blocking her sight.

Scene 2 : Punjab National Bank, Kandra branch

“Beta tumhare paise gir gaye hain.” It’s a lady’s voice from behind and the language is Bengali. My power of comprehension of the language is decent. But the exact words are not reproduced here owing to my handicap in speaking the language.

I had accidentally dropped a 100-rupee bill while counting. Wearing a smile and thanking the lady silently, I pick the note up and start filling up the deposit form. She returns a smile, too. It’s a grin rather, for I notice the absence of one of her incisors among the other tobacco stained teeth.

“Chheeta Devi,” screams the cashier.
The same lady gets up and goes to the counter.
“(translated from Bengali) Pachaas rupaye kaise nikalegi? Tumhare khate mein paintalees hain,” the cashier said in an icy tone.

This is the first instance when I see someone making a withdrawal of an amount as low as fifty bucks form a bank, and that too unsuccessfully. I notice the old lady returning to her seat where her bag is. The tanned, wrinkled face with a couple of freckles still wears a strange smile of embarrassment. The hollow eyes, almost closed because of the wrinkles on the sides, are wet – or at least, they seem so to me. She dons a white sari with navy blue borders – a typical dress code for widows in this part of India. The piercings in the earlobes have almost vanished leaving behind tiny marks and the lobes don’t hang down either – meaning that she has been widowed for ages.

I make the deposit.

She dumps the bank pass-book back in her bag with her seriously wrinkled hands and turns towards the exit. I watch, still unsure of everything.

Scene 3 : Outside the bank building

I have been talking to the lady for the past few minutes in Bengali and I’m amazed at the frankness with which she tells me the titbits of her life. I call her “Dadi”. I come to know that she’s fifty bucks short of the sum needed to make a purchase of prescribed meds. She shows me the prescription with the chemist’s handwritten cash memo. The total bill is fifty seven – twenty five and she has less than ten rupees with her right now!

I come to know about her family. Her husband passed away the same year as Nehru(in her words). I believe it was 1964. She has two sons and four daughters – all of them married. Her sons have refused to “keep” her with them and she stays, as a result, with one of her daughters. Her son-in-law worked in a sponge-iron industry shut down a couple of months back. There has been no source of income since then. Life has been extremely hard and healthcare has been an unaffordable burden. Her cough has now been unbearable, forcing her to visit a drugstore(and not a doctor). Her continual coughing bears testimony to her abject condition.

I’m appalled. The sponge-iron industry where her son-in-law worked is one among half-a-dozen industries of the area shut down owing to exponentially declining demand. The friggin' greed of the Lords of the Wall Street has made this family – thousands of miles away – incapable of making ends meet. A striking example of globalization, indeed!

I take out my wallet and offer her a hundred rupee note. That is the maximum I can offer. Times have been tight for the last four months.

She refuses to accept any aid but I insist. After many rounds of insistence, she accedes to my requests. Not a penny more than fifty is her condition. I try to make her understand, but in vain. She thanks me profusely. I console her that everything would be all right and ask her to hang in there. I know the consolations are as hollow as her cheeks but that’s the only thing I can say.

Staggered by the sheer sense of honesty (“Beta tumhare paise gir gaye hain.”) and self-esteem (not a penny more than fifty) in such dire straits, I bid her farewell.

Hats off, Dadi!!