Thursday, July 06, 2006
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Monday, May 08, 2006
Back then...
The old uncle next to me at Savera wanted to know if 100 GB and 512 MB was good enough for a laptop for his son. I said, of course uncle. He wondered aloud if the 3 hour battery backup would be fine, and what dual core was, and if 1200 $ was a good price. I nodded and kept answering, but my mind was already on a different track, far from the conversation. Finally he gave up and went away.
And I started writing. This sudden conversation of a father about what laptop he should buy for his son, sent me into a time warp of half a decade. It was the year 1998. The internet was yet to arrive in our little town. Magazines like Chip, PCQuest and IT, delivered by email, fifteen days behind date, with cover stories of billion dollar deals and fancy pictures.
Internet browsing charges were rupees 120 an hour - over dialup. At 56 Kbps, we thought it could never go any faster. Windows 98 was the coolest thing to happen. But DOS was still the big daddy. We all had personal bootable floppies - command.com, IO.sys, msdos.sys. Floppies were the cool thing to carry in those days. Red hat Linux was at release 6. If you said search engines, people would think you were a mechanical engineer. Pentium was still at 2 and RAM was still at 32 MB. Hard drives of more than 5 GB were unheard of. Having your own PC was unheard of. If you had computers in school, and they gave you a 486 to work on, you were god's chosen child. Colored monitors were like Mercedes cars, or maybe a Ferrari. I remember having cycled across town because one guy I knew had bought a colored monitor for his PC. I wanted to see how my code would look in a colored editor.
I was a kid and every night I dreamt of owning a PC. I used to work at a local store part time. Instead of paying me, the guy let me work on his P3 in the off hours. We were doing Pascal in school and I was completely in love with it. I would code away to glory and write all sorts of weird programs - programs that calculated your tax, programs that played tic-tac-toe and chess, and programs that predicted your fortune. Turbo Pascal 7.0. Dos-based editor. Used to fit on a 512 kb floppy. I was crazy about that floppy.
With no internet, no search engines, no tutorial websites or freely downloadable books, learning was slow and extremely experimental. Computer books were always expensive and you were solely dependent on your teacher for almost everything you knew. Even the smallest little discovery made you feel like Einstein. Like the day I figured how to compile exes out of my Pascal source files. I couldn’t sleep all night. Early next morning I rushed to the lab, with the idea of a standalone executable buzzing in my head.
All those were heady days. As kids without internet and in a small town, we missed out a lot of what was happening in the world. But we were having a lot of fun with what we were doing. There was no pressure of coping up with technology, no feeling of how slow your PC was compared to your friends. We never heard songs on the PC, never played games, we didn’t know what jpegs, bmps or mp3s were. It was all black and white. It was all DOS. But it was all yours - right from the moment you booted it. And you knew every single thing that was happening to the old box.
And I started writing. This sudden conversation of a father about what laptop he should buy for his son, sent me into a time warp of half a decade. It was the year 1998. The internet was yet to arrive in our little town. Magazines like Chip, PCQuest and IT, delivered by email, fifteen days behind date, with cover stories of billion dollar deals and fancy pictures.
Internet browsing charges were rupees 120 an hour - over dialup. At 56 Kbps, we thought it could never go any faster. Windows 98 was the coolest thing to happen. But DOS was still the big daddy. We all had personal bootable floppies - command.com, IO.sys, msdos.sys. Floppies were the cool thing to carry in those days. Red hat Linux was at release 6. If you said search engines, people would think you were a mechanical engineer. Pentium was still at 2 and RAM was still at 32 MB. Hard drives of more than 5 GB were unheard of. Having your own PC was unheard of. If you had computers in school, and they gave you a 486 to work on, you were god's chosen child. Colored monitors were like Mercedes cars, or maybe a Ferrari. I remember having cycled across town because one guy I knew had bought a colored monitor for his PC. I wanted to see how my code would look in a colored editor.
I was a kid and every night I dreamt of owning a PC. I used to work at a local store part time. Instead of paying me, the guy let me work on his P3 in the off hours. We were doing Pascal in school and I was completely in love with it. I would code away to glory and write all sorts of weird programs - programs that calculated your tax, programs that played tic-tac-toe and chess, and programs that predicted your fortune. Turbo Pascal 7.0. Dos-based editor. Used to fit on a 512 kb floppy. I was crazy about that floppy.
With no internet, no search engines, no tutorial websites or freely downloadable books, learning was slow and extremely experimental. Computer books were always expensive and you were solely dependent on your teacher for almost everything you knew. Even the smallest little discovery made you feel like Einstein. Like the day I figured how to compile exes out of my Pascal source files. I couldn’t sleep all night. Early next morning I rushed to the lab, with the idea of a standalone executable buzzing in my head.
All those were heady days. As kids without internet and in a small town, we missed out a lot of what was happening in the world. But we were having a lot of fun with what we were doing. There was no pressure of coping up with technology, no feeling of how slow your PC was compared to your friends. We never heard songs on the PC, never played games, we didn’t know what jpegs, bmps or mp3s were. It was all black and white. It was all DOS. But it was all yours - right from the moment you booted it. And you knew every single thing that was happening to the old box.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
The last Man
Has it ever struck you that the world as we know it today will one day cease to exist ? I mean ofcourse you know it. It’s a mathematical certainity that the world will come to an end one day. Everyone knows about it.
True. But has the implication of this mathematical certainity hit you with its complete force? I was watching Ice Age 2 the other day when the realization occurred to me. It made me stop dead in my tracks.
The earth’s demise would mean the demise of everything that the human race has acquired and will acquire in these thousands of years. Our art, our knowledge, our cultures, even our gods. All of it would be lost, perhaps forever.
And my thoughts fast forward into the day that will be the last day of the earth. How will the end be? Will it be sudden – like a global nuclear holocaust? Or a slow, torturous end due to air poisoning, heat or drought? Or perhaps the onset of a global hyper-climatic change?
What would it feel like to be the last of the human race? The consciousness of it would be more painful than death itself. Would our last children mourn the loss of their immediate relations? Or would they mourn the demise of everything achieved by the human race in thousands of years? Would it be a fight against time to save all one can – of human knowledge, heritage, history, science – before escaping to some safe haven in the universe ?
Only time has answers to these questions. But this realization of the mortality of earth itself, make me feel terribly puny and inconsequential.
True. But has the implication of this mathematical certainity hit you with its complete force? I was watching Ice Age 2 the other day when the realization occurred to me. It made me stop dead in my tracks.
The earth’s demise would mean the demise of everything that the human race has acquired and will acquire in these thousands of years. Our art, our knowledge, our cultures, even our gods. All of it would be lost, perhaps forever.
And my thoughts fast forward into the day that will be the last day of the earth. How will the end be? Will it be sudden – like a global nuclear holocaust? Or a slow, torturous end due to air poisoning, heat or drought? Or perhaps the onset of a global hyper-climatic change?
What would it feel like to be the last of the human race? The consciousness of it would be more painful than death itself. Would our last children mourn the loss of their immediate relations? Or would they mourn the demise of everything achieved by the human race in thousands of years? Would it be a fight against time to save all one can – of human knowledge, heritage, history, science – before escaping to some safe haven in the universe ?
Only time has answers to these questions. But this realization of the mortality of earth itself, make me feel terribly puny and inconsequential.
Tracing Jesus - I
(A self-styled history of what happened to christianity overy the past twelve hundred years. My version of the story.)
Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Silence the voices within. Go deaf to the voices without. Relax. And then feel the force that is in you. The force that has infinite power to do good. The force that makes you feel positive, happy and in harmony with your surroundings. That is the god within you. The stronger you feel this force, the closer you are to divinity. The closer you are to god. And when you open your eyes, you smile and only goodness comes out of you. Good actions, good speech, good thought.
You are now Jesus. Jesus the god, Jesus the divine. You are also Muhammad. You are also Ram, Buddha. You are one with the divine being.
For Christians, Muslims and Hindus alike, this is heresy. If I were born five hundred years earlier in Europe, I could be burned at the stake for writing this. So would you, for reading. But this is the heart of Gnostic philosophy. If you understand this, you attain Gnosis. The final frontier of oneness with god. And perhaps it is this simplicity of attaining divinity that scares religious fanatics and church fathers the most.
Twelve hundred years ago, in the Middle East, bordering the Mediterranean Sea, , one man (or perhaps it is a group, with him as the most elevated person in the group) attains divinity through self purification. Cutting beyond the religious morass of his times, he rediscovers the ancient roadmap to being one with god. He rediscovers the belief system that we know today as Gnosis. He asks his followers to preach this truth. The forgotten ancient truth that god lies within and can be reached through godlike, pure thoughts and actions.
In six years he has about hundred followers and believers, has caught the imagination of an entire race, and threatens to undermine an ancient cult. His doctrine of love and forgiveness paves his way to torture and death on the cross. But he has laid the foundation, shown his followers the way. He has given the message that god lies within ones self, and not in the temple.
For fifty odd years his followers fight the existing religious cult to spread this message. They are persecuted, tortured, killed, yet they continue to spread the base of Christianity. The message of Christianity is a powerful one, and draws everyone to itself. Its persecutors find the going increasingly tough.
Then one day, one man with political vision and far sight, with a cosmopolitan upbringing and an open mind, decides to turn the tables on this select group of people who call themselves Christians. Instead of persecuting them, like he was doing earlier, he becomes its greatest ambassador. And he goes one step ahead of the existing Christians. He throws the gates of this belief system open to everyone all across the world. This man is Paul of Tarsus, the man who took the message of Jesus outside the land of Jerusalem, into the heart of ancient civilized world - Rome.
It was at this point when the idea of elevating Jesus from a divine human being, to being god himself, first surfaced. Paul needed an idea that would be lapped up by the non-jewish “gentiles”. An idea powerful enough to divert their attention from the pantheons and the emperor worships. This idea was Jesus’s resurrection. That Jesus had ascended to heaven after three days of crucifixion. Paul propagated the idea that Jesus was resurrected after death and ascended to heaven in body. Christianity, from being a cult of the chosen ones, changed overnight into a religion of mass appeal.
And Paul's version of the message of Jesus, or the Pauline Christianity, became the foundation for modern Christianity. From it emegered the ideas of Jesus carrying our sins on his shoulder, absolving us of all guilt. From it emerged the idea of confession as a ticket to purity, even after the direst of sins. This was a convenient and easy version of christianity. And it spread fast.
Pauline Christianity was just another doctrine, another version of Christianity. The average person was open to listen, question, reject or object to these doctrines. You could chose to be part of the Gnostic Christians, who believed that they could all be like Jesus by doing things the way Jesus did. Or you could be a part of the Pauline group and worship Jesus as the god, who would cleanse you of all your sins and thus hold you free of them.
In this way four hundred years passed. The followers of Christ increased in number across the Roman Empire. These early Christians were of various doctrines and belief systems and the only unifying thread perhaps was that they all had Jesus as the central figure.
Then an emperor, desperately in need of a theme to strengthen his hold on the people of his nation stumbles on the Pauline doctrine of Christianity. It has all the qualities he is looking for. It is a young belief system with no political or strong social force behind it. It is gaining popularity at an increasing rate, with a strong base of preachers, philosophers and believers.
All this new religion needs, from Emperor Constantine's point of view, is a state backed version, which serves his political purpose of unifying the nation into a hierarchical structure. Constantine realized that there was no greater binding force for man, than his religion and his god. When the idea of the emperor as the god began to lose popularity, Constantine decided to make god himself the emperor, and rule under his name. Hence came the day of the convening of Nicene council, and the rise of the Roman Catholic version of Christianity. The message of Jesus, and his early followers was to be lost for the next thousand years, under heavy firing from this "official" version of Christianity.
Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Silence the voices within. Go deaf to the voices without. Relax. And then feel the force that is in you. The force that has infinite power to do good. The force that makes you feel positive, happy and in harmony with your surroundings. That is the god within you. The stronger you feel this force, the closer you are to divinity. The closer you are to god. And when you open your eyes, you smile and only goodness comes out of you. Good actions, good speech, good thought.
You are now Jesus. Jesus the god, Jesus the divine. You are also Muhammad. You are also Ram, Buddha. You are one with the divine being.
For Christians, Muslims and Hindus alike, this is heresy. If I were born five hundred years earlier in Europe, I could be burned at the stake for writing this. So would you, for reading. But this is the heart of Gnostic philosophy. If you understand this, you attain Gnosis. The final frontier of oneness with god. And perhaps it is this simplicity of attaining divinity that scares religious fanatics and church fathers the most.
Twelve hundred years ago, in the Middle East, bordering the Mediterranean Sea, , one man (or perhaps it is a group, with him as the most elevated person in the group) attains divinity through self purification. Cutting beyond the religious morass of his times, he rediscovers the ancient roadmap to being one with god. He rediscovers the belief system that we know today as Gnosis. He asks his followers to preach this truth. The forgotten ancient truth that god lies within and can be reached through godlike, pure thoughts and actions.
In six years he has about hundred followers and believers, has caught the imagination of an entire race, and threatens to undermine an ancient cult. His doctrine of love and forgiveness paves his way to torture and death on the cross. But he has laid the foundation, shown his followers the way. He has given the message that god lies within ones self, and not in the temple.
For fifty odd years his followers fight the existing religious cult to spread this message. They are persecuted, tortured, killed, yet they continue to spread the base of Christianity. The message of Christianity is a powerful one, and draws everyone to itself. Its persecutors find the going increasingly tough.
Then one day, one man with political vision and far sight, with a cosmopolitan upbringing and an open mind, decides to turn the tables on this select group of people who call themselves Christians. Instead of persecuting them, like he was doing earlier, he becomes its greatest ambassador. And he goes one step ahead of the existing Christians. He throws the gates of this belief system open to everyone all across the world. This man is Paul of Tarsus, the man who took the message of Jesus outside the land of Jerusalem, into the heart of ancient civilized world - Rome.
It was at this point when the idea of elevating Jesus from a divine human being, to being god himself, first surfaced. Paul needed an idea that would be lapped up by the non-jewish “gentiles”. An idea powerful enough to divert their attention from the pantheons and the emperor worships. This idea was Jesus’s resurrection. That Jesus had ascended to heaven after three days of crucifixion. Paul propagated the idea that Jesus was resurrected after death and ascended to heaven in body. Christianity, from being a cult of the chosen ones, changed overnight into a religion of mass appeal.
And Paul's version of the message of Jesus, or the Pauline Christianity, became the foundation for modern Christianity. From it emegered the ideas of Jesus carrying our sins on his shoulder, absolving us of all guilt. From it emerged the idea of confession as a ticket to purity, even after the direst of sins. This was a convenient and easy version of christianity. And it spread fast.
Pauline Christianity was just another doctrine, another version of Christianity. The average person was open to listen, question, reject or object to these doctrines. You could chose to be part of the Gnostic Christians, who believed that they could all be like Jesus by doing things the way Jesus did. Or you could be a part of the Pauline group and worship Jesus as the god, who would cleanse you of all your sins and thus hold you free of them.
In this way four hundred years passed. The followers of Christ increased in number across the Roman Empire. These early Christians were of various doctrines and belief systems and the only unifying thread perhaps was that they all had Jesus as the central figure.
Then an emperor, desperately in need of a theme to strengthen his hold on the people of his nation stumbles on the Pauline doctrine of Christianity. It has all the qualities he is looking for. It is a young belief system with no political or strong social force behind it. It is gaining popularity at an increasing rate, with a strong base of preachers, philosophers and believers.
All this new religion needs, from Emperor Constantine's point of view, is a state backed version, which serves his political purpose of unifying the nation into a hierarchical structure. Constantine realized that there was no greater binding force for man, than his religion and his god. When the idea of the emperor as the god began to lose popularity, Constantine decided to make god himself the emperor, and rule under his name. Hence came the day of the convening of Nicene council, and the rise of the Roman Catholic version of Christianity. The message of Jesus, and his early followers was to be lost for the next thousand years, under heavy firing from this "official" version of Christianity.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Disneyland or Nuclearplant
We all got to decide whether we want to be Disneyland workers or Nuclear plant workers. In every sphere of life. Heres what it means...
Disneyland...
... has the "Disney Happy Face" work culture. Come what may, employees are supposed to wear happy faces. Doesn't matter if you have a tragedy at home or work, doesn't matter if you had a flat tire on your way to work, doesn't matter if your boss refused a raise...wear a happy face to work. If you don't...you are fired.
So Disneyland means, no matter how things are...wear a happy face.
Nuclear plant...
...has a "Whistle Blower" culture. No matter who you are, no matter what you do, when you see something wrong, big or small, blow the whistle. Because if you don't, and so does no one else, things can blow up real bad.
So Nuclear plant means, no matter how small a thing it is...blow the whistle.
...so now...either be a disneyland and let things go out of control, or blow the whistle early on and fix it when you can.
Disneyland...
... has the "Disney Happy Face" work culture. Come what may, employees are supposed to wear happy faces. Doesn't matter if you have a tragedy at home or work, doesn't matter if you had a flat tire on your way to work, doesn't matter if your boss refused a raise...wear a happy face to work. If you don't...you are fired.
So Disneyland means, no matter how things are...wear a happy face.
Nuclear plant...
...has a "Whistle Blower" culture. No matter who you are, no matter what you do, when you see something wrong, big or small, blow the whistle. Because if you don't, and so does no one else, things can blow up real bad.
So Nuclear plant means, no matter how small a thing it is...blow the whistle.
...so now...either be a disneyland and let things go out of control, or blow the whistle early on and fix it when you can.
Friday, March 24, 2006
we all love living in the past...its the only luxury we can afford...the present is too bitter...the future too uncertain...
Friday, March 17, 2006
The Savera Regulars
I am a Savera regular. Savera is such a central part of my regular existence that I cannot imagine life without it. Sitting here by This roadside resto, over a single cup of coffee, mulling over life, watching the Fergusson kids, the buzz of ever busy F.C. road, hours at a stretch. It’s strange, if not idiosyncratic, but it’s something that I find extremely fulfilling. Its one part of my life that has some amount of permanence. And amongst the maddening transience and fleeting lifestyle that we live in, I find that permanence priceless.
I am not the only one who partakes of this unique gift that Savera offers. There are this whole set of people who I meet daily. We share an unspoken, yet strong bond. We never speak, we don’t even know each others names, but with the glance and a nod, and an occasional smile, we acknowledge our brotherhood to the Savera clan. And I am sure that at some way or the other, they would all agree to this sense of belonging that Savera offers.
The Savera regulars are a motley lot. This aged gentleman who always dresses formally, this pony tailed fair chap who looks like the guy who played Jesus in Passion of the Christ, this set of smokers who sit at the corner tables, barely speak and continuously smoke, this gang of first year Fergusson kids - and this is the latest entry to the club - the girl who usually wears jeans torn near her bums, the teenage boys who are just discovering the freedom of college life and are evidently thrilled by it, the sales guy, who usually sits here in the afternoons and makes copious notes in his small book - I assume they are accounts - and don’t ask me why I think he is a sales guy. Yes, the Savera regulars are a motley lot.
There is a set of things that distinguish you from a visitor and make you a Savera regular. For starters, you must be found sitting here at any odd hour of the day, any given day of the week, for hours at a stretch, sipping coffee and doing just about anything ranging from staring into empty space to writing your history assignment. Second, you must like the coffee at Savera, and to like the coffee here you must understand that Savera coffee is not about the coffee itself, it is about the spirit of Savera. And third... but the third will follow on its own, once you start doing one and two.
Everybody probably has different reasons to be a regular here. Some need a place to smoke and lounge with friends, some need a place to have cheap food; some need an urgency to belong to somewhere. For me personally, Savera is a haven. This is where I am at my creative best. I am not a people's person and yet my muse must feed on people. I am a constancy freak, and yet my muse must have variety to stay alive. And in the lap of Savera I find the perfect mix of loneliness and crowd, of acknowledgement and anonymity, of constancy and change. And there my muse and I are both happy.
I am not the only one who partakes of this unique gift that Savera offers. There are this whole set of people who I meet daily. We share an unspoken, yet strong bond. We never speak, we don’t even know each others names, but with the glance and a nod, and an occasional smile, we acknowledge our brotherhood to the Savera clan. And I am sure that at some way or the other, they would all agree to this sense of belonging that Savera offers.
The Savera regulars are a motley lot. This aged gentleman who always dresses formally, this pony tailed fair chap who looks like the guy who played Jesus in Passion of the Christ, this set of smokers who sit at the corner tables, barely speak and continuously smoke, this gang of first year Fergusson kids - and this is the latest entry to the club - the girl who usually wears jeans torn near her bums, the teenage boys who are just discovering the freedom of college life and are evidently thrilled by it, the sales guy, who usually sits here in the afternoons and makes copious notes in his small book - I assume they are accounts - and don’t ask me why I think he is a sales guy. Yes, the Savera regulars are a motley lot.
There is a set of things that distinguish you from a visitor and make you a Savera regular. For starters, you must be found sitting here at any odd hour of the day, any given day of the week, for hours at a stretch, sipping coffee and doing just about anything ranging from staring into empty space to writing your history assignment. Second, you must like the coffee at Savera, and to like the coffee here you must understand that Savera coffee is not about the coffee itself, it is about the spirit of Savera. And third... but the third will follow on its own, once you start doing one and two.
Everybody probably has different reasons to be a regular here. Some need a place to smoke and lounge with friends, some need a place to have cheap food; some need an urgency to belong to somewhere. For me personally, Savera is a haven. This is where I am at my creative best. I am not a people's person and yet my muse must feed on people. I am a constancy freak, and yet my muse must have variety to stay alive. And in the lap of Savera I find the perfect mix of loneliness and crowd, of acknowledgement and anonymity, of constancy and change. And there my muse and I are both happy.
Changing Colors
It’s that time of the year again when the UoP is changing from dark green to light yellow, to dull brown. Summers are coming to Pune again – each time a degree hotter, each time a month earlier.
But weather is not the only thing that is changing color. Everything else is changing color around – India is changing her socioeconomic color – for good and for bad – in ways unprecedented.
While starvation deaths, droughts and failed crops plague large segments of our village population, in the cities there is a false sense of security, prosperity and general wellbeing. While our basics go from bad to worse, while our fundamentals rot, we are on the highway to fast paced growth. We are like a monster with a weak underbelly, which will burst open at the first big prick into its bottom.
We seem to be losing perspective and sense in this mad rush to westernize. Egged on by greedy capitalist forces our lifestyles are becoming increasingly money frenzied and our vision myopic.
While our villages are still dealing with female infanticide, dowry and equality of gender, women in our cities are redefining roles and boundaries. For a society which is largely unequipped to handle sexual liberation and gender equality, these uncharted waters spell trouble.
While the average Indian male struggles to find a balance between a bahu and a bar companion, his female counterpart looks for a man who is willing to give her the freedom of 21st century and yet provide for her security like in the 18th century. Our legacy of social values is directly at odds with our new found treasure of individual independence.
All generations that preceded us had role models and icons in the true sense of the word. The baton of the Indian idol from the ages of Ram, was passed on successfully. Every age had its superhero – who was the epitome of all things good – and all Indians of that age aspired to follow him or her.
With the advent of the internet, investigative journalism and sting operations, our age has been cursed with the loss of all such icons and idols. All superheroes have been stripped naked and all gods have been thrown off their high seats. The Indian of the 21st century knows that even the Indian idol is actually not a superhero, not a model of all things good, but a mere mortal, equally susceptible to failures and falsehoods like them. In the absence of nothing to follow, we are at a risk of losing our aspiration to be great.
Paradoxical and confusing this sounds – and that is the very essence of the life and times we are living in. India – and Indians – in AD 2100 are a fast changing, confused yet resolute lot. As we take the mantle of Indian ness from our elders and pas it to our young, we are hell-bent on altering the very fabric and meaning being an Indian in an unprecedented way.
But weather is not the only thing that is changing color. Everything else is changing color around – India is changing her socioeconomic color – for good and for bad – in ways unprecedented.
While starvation deaths, droughts and failed crops plague large segments of our village population, in the cities there is a false sense of security, prosperity and general wellbeing. While our basics go from bad to worse, while our fundamentals rot, we are on the highway to fast paced growth. We are like a monster with a weak underbelly, which will burst open at the first big prick into its bottom.
We seem to be losing perspective and sense in this mad rush to westernize. Egged on by greedy capitalist forces our lifestyles are becoming increasingly money frenzied and our vision myopic.
While our villages are still dealing with female infanticide, dowry and equality of gender, women in our cities are redefining roles and boundaries. For a society which is largely unequipped to handle sexual liberation and gender equality, these uncharted waters spell trouble.
While the average Indian male struggles to find a balance between a bahu and a bar companion, his female counterpart looks for a man who is willing to give her the freedom of 21st century and yet provide for her security like in the 18th century. Our legacy of social values is directly at odds with our new found treasure of individual independence.
All generations that preceded us had role models and icons in the true sense of the word. The baton of the Indian idol from the ages of Ram, was passed on successfully. Every age had its superhero – who was the epitome of all things good – and all Indians of that age aspired to follow him or her.
With the advent of the internet, investigative journalism and sting operations, our age has been cursed with the loss of all such icons and idols. All superheroes have been stripped naked and all gods have been thrown off their high seats. The Indian of the 21st century knows that even the Indian idol is actually not a superhero, not a model of all things good, but a mere mortal, equally susceptible to failures and falsehoods like them. In the absence of nothing to follow, we are at a risk of losing our aspiration to be great.
Paradoxical and confusing this sounds – and that is the very essence of the life and times we are living in. India – and Indians – in AD 2100 are a fast changing, confused yet resolute lot. As we take the mantle of Indian ness from our elders and pas it to our young, we are hell-bent on altering the very fabric and meaning being an Indian in an unprecedented way.
Monday, March 13, 2006
life is a tragedy
Nothing profound in that. Just wanted to make it a formal statement. Like earth is 3 parts water, 1 part land. Life is 3 parts sadness and 1 part melodrama.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Mobile observations
Its jst a coincidence that ths post too is about mobile phones. But the similarity of ths post and the one below it ends just at the subject - as u wl see.
Cell phones have been around us now for rufly close to a decade. Bt while there usage has multiplied exponentially, as a nation we collectively lack mobile etiquette and good sense.
The list of mobile offenses is pretty long for a device this small - there r public offenses such as loud, obnoxious ring tones, taking calls in theatres, clicking pictures without permission, etc. Then there are private offenses like breaking off into frantic smsing in the middle of a conversation, talking away to glory while at a dinner date (or no date)
But theres one offense that crowns them all - and that is taking calls while driving.
I see ppl doing ths all the time. At signals, heavy traffic, changing lanes. Most people dont even bother to stop driving, others stop in the middle of the road.
What baffles me the most is why people find it so difficult to avoid the call and return it later. What cud be possibly more important to risk lives?
As is the case with all other appendages of mordern living, Indians use cell phones without giving a two penny to its usage etiquette. Its like how we have the most jazzy cars but no clue of traffic manners.
Monday, February 27, 2006
kal, aj aur kal
Its abt 1 at nite. I cant sleep so I decide 2 rite anothr post.
No, i m not sitting wide awake and staring into my laptop. i m very much in bed, typing furiously wth my thumb into my new nokia 6681. I wl then post ths directly via GPRS 2 blogger.
I bought ths neat little nok last sunday. It cost me a bomb. Bt it lets me do so many thngs i hve alwaz wantd 2 do. Like blog anytime anywhere anythng.
Yes. We r a crazy generation. We do thngs tht evn 5 yrs bak wud b considerd outrageous.
Whn I was buying ths set I cudnt help thnkng bak 2 a day 4m my childhud when i had gone wth my mom and dad 2 a special winter fair for quilts. We must hve been havng a really hard time bak then, 4 i dstinctly remembr ma and pa buyng 2 lal imli dhariwal quilts after much deliberation, on emi. (dont remember ths part very clearly though). Thre was quite a crowd at the fair I remembr. For yrs aetrwards, those 2 quilts remained our prizd wintertime assets.
I knw it sounds very bizarre, ths post on nokia and quilt. Bt those of u who have made a connection, let me jst close ths wth one last statement.
Its nt about jst me and my family. Its abt an entire nation moving from kal into kal via aj. ;)
u get me?
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Bikes bikes everywhere, not an inch to move...
If they wanted to make another "Deep Impact", they could just come to Pune for the shooting. No hassles with creating artificial traffic jam or road block sets.And this was 10 AM on saturday - on Fergusson square. So you dont even have to wait for a weekday for the shooting. :)
Come here, have a cofee at savera, pan camera once or twice - and bingo, you have shot that would look like the whole city is in panic and is trying to escape an impending meteorite strike.
We probably hold the record for the highest density of vehicles per squarefeet of metalled road, in the country. A zillion bikes and still counting...Way to go Pune!
Mahashivaratri
Who said God doesnt exist? Who said God doesnt do anything?
In a state battling with severe power crisis and regular scheduled power cuts, God can ensure a day sans load shedding and complete license for electric thirsty zillion megawatt loud speakers.
Yes. Mahashivaratri meant that we had no 8 to 10:30 powercut. Infact thats how I realised it was mahashivaratri today - when the light didnt go, and a nearby temple loudspeaker blared bhajans.
Then ma called. It reminded me of my childhood. Mahashivaratri meant a holiday - usually in the middle of final exams. A trip to the local shiv mandir with ma was a welcome break from the prison of books. I used to readily accompany her.
I was still not the atheist that I am now. I would do whatever ma instructed me. Collect wildflowers for the pooja, carry the pooja thali, pour milk on the shivaling and do the seven rounds of the linga. It was all fun and the longer it lasted the better it was - because back at home were waiting the textbooks and notes for next days exam. :)
In a state battling with severe power crisis and regular scheduled power cuts, God can ensure a day sans load shedding and complete license for electric thirsty zillion megawatt loud speakers.
Yes. Mahashivaratri meant that we had no 8 to 10:30 powercut. Infact thats how I realised it was mahashivaratri today - when the light didnt go, and a nearby temple loudspeaker blared bhajans.
Then ma called. It reminded me of my childhood. Mahashivaratri meant a holiday - usually in the middle of final exams. A trip to the local shiv mandir with ma was a welcome break from the prison of books. I used to readily accompany her.
I was still not the atheist that I am now. I would do whatever ma instructed me. Collect wildflowers for the pooja, carry the pooja thali, pour milk on the shivaling and do the seven rounds of the linga. It was all fun and the longer it lasted the better it was - because back at home were waiting the textbooks and notes for next days exam. :)
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Savera days
So one day they decided to pull her down and bring up a big red and blue steel structure. That was the day they killed the spirit of pune – or at least one part of it.
But then that’s how all things are – mortal, transient. When such is the lot of earth itself, then what is savera? When such is the fate of earth her.
Lazy savera Sundays
Sat here all day. 11 to 2 and then 3 to 7. that’s like most of the day I guess. And watched people. About 20 pairs of different shaded denim clad legs. Denims rule this generation. Nothing new with that – but its amazing if you think of it. An entire generation clad in a single type of clothing. Like about 100 years back our forefathers clad in white dhotis.
A low cleavage t-shirt wearing girl is crossing the road from the Fergusson College side. I can see her cleavage from across the road, where she is standing near the divider.
Makes me think – things that mark this generation – less clothing on women, denim, cell phones and internet centered, money frenzied life styles.
I read somewhere some article on how the hemlines of women’s skirts move up or down with the economy. Don’t remember much about it right now, but I think there definitely is a relation between women’s clothing and the state of a society’s economic prosperity.
Generally speaking a strong economy means more women wearing less clothes and vice versa. Think about it. A strong economy means general prosperity, lower crime rates, lesser frustration or pent up desires, lesser chances of men behaving like animals etc etc.
But then that’s how all things are – mortal, transient. When such is the lot of earth itself, then what is savera? When such is the fate of earth her.
Lazy savera Sundays
Sat here all day. 11 to 2 and then 3 to 7. that’s like most of the day I guess. And watched people. About 20 pairs of different shaded denim clad legs. Denims rule this generation. Nothing new with that – but its amazing if you think of it. An entire generation clad in a single type of clothing. Like about 100 years back our forefathers clad in white dhotis.
A low cleavage t-shirt wearing girl is crossing the road from the Fergusson College side. I can see her cleavage from across the road, where she is standing near the divider.
Makes me think – things that mark this generation – less clothing on women, denim, cell phones and internet centered, money frenzied life styles.
I read somewhere some article on how the hemlines of women’s skirts move up or down with the economy. Don’t remember much about it right now, but I think there definitely is a relation between women’s clothing and the state of a society’s economic prosperity.
Generally speaking a strong economy means more women wearing less clothes and vice versa. Think about it. A strong economy means general prosperity, lower crime rates, lesser frustration or pent up desires, lesser chances of men behaving like animals etc etc.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Notes on India and her world - preface
What is a historian? Who is a historian? What propels men to be one? To observe, record and preserve - what is there motivation. Perhaps there is none. Except an inner desire to immortality the times that one has lived in. A desire to beat time in her game and last long after dying. For if a man rights about himself it does not matter much. But if a man rights about mankind - that is what becomes history.
And so, from these desires and some others, I start this document. Not with any grand intentions. My bits and pieces of text, notes, blog entries and smsed thoughts may never amount to much. Long ages hence, a bored granddaughter somewhere may read this. That alone would be my claim to immortality.
Kings and prime ministers I will leave worthier heads than mine to document. I shall document the simple people around me. And the simple events in my immediate surroundings - intercoursed with mega events in the world at large. With my intended audience a grand daughter many ages hence.
But before I begin - a few lines to what made me start - howsoever unrelated or trivial it may sound. Rang De Basanti - watched it twice. And ofcourse as an Indian I felt all the things that other good countrymen of my age and mental disposition felt. But I felt something more. Something that escapes expression in words. Something that I will try to hint at time and again as I keep recording. But I am not sure I will be successful.
so my reaction to Rang De Basanti are these pages - my notes on India and her world
And so, from these desires and some others, I start this document. Not with any grand intentions. My bits and pieces of text, notes, blog entries and smsed thoughts may never amount to much. Long ages hence, a bored granddaughter somewhere may read this. That alone would be my claim to immortality.
Kings and prime ministers I will leave worthier heads than mine to document. I shall document the simple people around me. And the simple events in my immediate surroundings - intercoursed with mega events in the world at large. With my intended audience a grand daughter many ages hence.
But before I begin - a few lines to what made me start - howsoever unrelated or trivial it may sound. Rang De Basanti - watched it twice. And ofcourse as an Indian I felt all the things that other good countrymen of my age and mental disposition felt. But I felt something more. Something that escapes expression in words. Something that I will try to hint at time and again as I keep recording. But I am not sure I will be successful.
so my reaction to Rang De Basanti are these pages - my notes on India and her world