....in this world and the next

This is a crazy world. While Mayans created a lot many splendors for their posterity to admire and extol, what drew the world’s attention was that capacious calendar which the Mayans simply used for fixing public holidays. The peculiarity about the Mayan calendar which sent a shiver along the equator and hemispheres above and below it is that it augurs the end of world by 2012. The day I was enlightened about this, I slapped my forehead and wondered how prudently I could’ve invested my engineering college fee for something less pedantic and more enjoyable. Nevertheless hackneyed this phrase might be, I strongly believe that it is better late than never and consequently I’m thinking of asking for a refund. Since the day this prophecy came into limelight, every morning my father grabs the newspaper with a sense of foreboding and, on reading some vexing news like a gory murder, a heist or about a terrorist who could not put off the craving to blow up a train, inhales loudly and invariably says, “Kalyug has arrived. End is veritably near”. From the tidbits of knowledge I possess on Hindu mythology, I believe Kalyug started when Mahabharata transpired. Never mind. It’s a reaction aptly mirrored by the thousands around the globe. My mother, on the other hand, is an unreasonably optimistic woman who wants to outlive the banyan tree standing right across the street. I would like to believe my mother but the constant clobbering of ‘end of the world is near’ news reinforces my father’s belief.

American film fraternity thrives on the paranoia of fellow human beings. As the entire world is in the clutches of a common fear, Hollywood comes up with two movies unmistakably titled-2012 and The Day after Tomorrow. Such movies provide an opportunity for those men whose one foot is in the grave to get a general idea of the cataclysmic events which will decimate the earth of its behemoth population. They commiserate with their children and grandchildren and wish God had given them an eviction period of a decade or so. These movies edify us on the symptoms that will manifest before the earth disappears into the vastness of the universe. Like a hot lava bubbling up somewhere while you are sipping coffee in the comfort of your house or an ocean waves lashing on the shoreline of a tiny pacific island.   Also, it enlightens us on how to build the modern version of Noah’s Ark. Richard Branson’s sub-orbital spacecraft Virgin Galactic would serve this purpose. Needless to say, in that case only the opulent and the powerful would survive .It is advisable to have several straitjackets on board to keep the world leaders and business rivals from murdering each other).After hovering in the orbit for few days, when the spacecraft would land back on this earth, then bereft of humans, the people emerging out of the vehicle would be autocrats, bureaucrats, businessman, and political warhorses. With no territorial boundaries to quarrel for, no business empires to boast about, no religions and societal dogmas to uphold, may be then they’ll give peace a chance to prevail.

 While reading this article, a dear friend of mine, who is devout critic of a leading Bollywood actor, opined, “As far as Bollywood is concerned, the new trend of making those movies with clumsy superhero itself signifies the beginning of the end of the world”. Point hit home.

With so much frenzy surrounding this issue, we simply refuse to recognize the fact that compiling a calendar is an abjectly mundane job. It must’ve been one of those jobs with a high employee churn rate-something comparable to the present fast food industry. When the banality of this job became well known, no Mayan chose to fill the position. That is how the position of a ‘calendar-compiler’ became defunct, and which, by no means indicates that earth is going to end by 2012. If you think my theory doesn’t hold any water, start saving up money to board Virgin Galactic. As for me, I’ll accost my college administration for a refund.

LIFE AND TIMES OF A COMMON MAN

I was born amidst the commotion of political assasinations. A gutsy woman, Indira Gandhi, who is often deemed as the greatest leader India ever had, was assasinated in 1984 by a fanatic sardar, who (ironically happened to be her bodyguard), riddled her body with bullets. But I always wonder if the Gandhis maintain a reserve team practicing in their backyard, when the stalwarts are busy on-site. Soon after Indira Gandhi's death, her son Rajiv Gandhi, who was pilot by profession, was catapulted on to the Indian political scene. Needless to say he too was a competent leader.Unfortunately, he too was assasinated by the crazy 'file photo' woman (Thenmozhi "Gayatri" Rajaratnam: name should be pronounced under parental guidance only) in 1989. Who's next in line to accede to the position? There enters Rajiv's widow, Sonia Gandhi. An Italian woman, who knew nothing about India and could bearly speak Hindi (or even if she could, it wasnt enough to haggle with Indian bhajiwalas. Now, that doesnt qualify you as a Hindi speaker), started to learn the tricks of the trade. She picked up from where her husband had left off. Her son Rahul Gandhi (who,now at 40,is still considered as yuva neta ) rose to power under the aegis of his mother. A question invariably wriggles in every Indian mind,"Could he be the next PM?". Not until the not-so-yuva neta (often referred to as the immortals)make way for him. Sonia Gandhi went on to feature twice on the Forbes list of most powerful women on earth. But, lets save that for later.

By the time i stepped into adoloscence, "politician" had already turned into an expletive. My grandpa often narrated nostalgic tales of 1940s when every person, irrespective of age, sex, caste and creed took to the streets in an attempt to free their mother land from the fetters of silence. They did succeed. But once they were given what they'd been fighting for, they knew nothing about administrating it. A few wise old men formed a commitee, borrowed ideas from governments around the world, and produced a book called the Constitution of India. The makers of Constitution had well-meaning intentions, but what they could not envisage is, the fact that constitutions can be copied but temperaments are not. As of today, the Indian Constitution has undergone 91 amendments.

India has always been a popular tourist destination with her neighbour. Every year it attracts myriads of militants from across the Radcliffe line. The government is cliqued up about the movements of these nefarious militants but are unable to find them. Well,my dear government, its all about being at the right place at the right time. Meanwhile, the uninvited guests get an urge to blow up a train or explode a car. Its a craving that they cannot put off. The actions are condenmed by the top politicians since, considering their age, there isnt much else they can do. India is the youngest nation in the world, led by a bunch of old and senile cabinet members.

Youngsters are wary of getting into the quagmire of politics. A political career in India is something which they wouldnt choose even if they're held at gun point. People of my age rather opt for foreign education. Who would want to toil day and night, burn the midnight oil, buy a ton of reference books and text books and still lack the cervitude of getting into the creme-de-la-creme institutes? Reason: reservations. "Why cant there be meritocrary?", mumbles every teenage mind.They mumble, since there's nothing much they can do.I quote Voltaire, "Its difficult to be right, when the government is wrong". One of the repercussions of the status quo is that the brainy lot (ofcourse the smarter lot) tend to migrate to another country, thus reducing the brainpool of the world to a cesspool.

Here's my kind request to the men of my country:For transitory pleasure, please dont make the woman conceive a child...again..and again..and again. Population increases at a galloping rate and so do the food prices, so do the vehicles on the streets, so do the requirement for extra land. Forests are desecrated, tigers fled the woods and then a telecom ad campaign announces that only 1411 tigers remain. Hmm..so what I can do is memorise that figure and reprimand my 10 year old for killing a tiger when he/she was prancing around in the park. No. The rudderless common man needs to know clearly how he should be of any assistance in saving the the big cats.

What is the solution to this population outburst, filthy metropolis (forget about villages), rampant corruption, abject poverty, rising crime rate and most importantly, people's diminishing faith in their own leaders? To this, all the pot bellied politicians shout in unison,"Frankly my dear, I dont give a damn!".

First Day of Work

Impeccable white shirt, ironed grey trousers, shiny black belt, neatly combed hair, polished black shoes,clean shaven face-I'm all set for the first day of work. T-shirts with messages, low waist faded jeans, unkempt hair will soon become a distant memory. As I stand on the threshold of City Group's site office, waiting to meet the HR manager, my mind journey backs to my college days. The funky Fastrack watch on my wrist seems like a keepsake from my those carefree days. I remember the time when its hands made me run behind schedule. And today, here i'm, ready to enter the corporate world. A great advantage of getting recruited through campus placement is that you dont have to go through the "starting mein toh struggle karna padta hai" phase. Even before you get the degree certificate , you'd have already pocketed a month salary. With a campus placement, i've stridden across the puddle, the muck, (i mean the the very popular starting-mein-toh-struggle-karna-padta-hai stage )leaped on to the drier ground which is comfortable to walk on.

Waiting for my turn to meet the HR manager, I do not have much to do except glance around the room, talk to my colleagues (who're as edgy as i am), and pester the receptionist with the question "How much more time would it take?". This queston elicit the curiosity within each one of us. I'm the first one to go in to meet the manager. She looks at me, smiles at me, i greet her, she greets me back, i pull out the chair and rest my derriere on that very comfortable seat (no wonder why people spend so much time in the office). She asks me about my family background, my priorities in life, the kind of job I would be intrested in,where do I see myself in the next 5 years and the offer letter lands on my palm. I'm done. I'm in. Is it the time to discard the low waist jeans? Hell, no!I love those jeans...