Murderous Silence

Like a child I was so eager to be free
My soul, an open mind welcomed the world
There was you a friend in a crowded town 
You took away loneliness from early dawn to late twilight
You came, you stayed and then you conquered
Until there was no me, no us, only you
Only you in my fantasies, only you in my dreams
I ignored the warning, I ignored the signs
When I choked I said it was the smoke
When I stumbled I thought it was the hangover
I recognized me no more, I saw the death of me in your every blink

Grammys Play the Quintessential Art Snobs

When Justin Bieber got a hat-trick at the American Music Awards last month he snubbed his critics by dedicating an award "to the haters."

But the Grammy's 2013 nominee list clearly reads "Haters 1: Beliebers 0”. The Teenage "Baby" singer's manager Scooter Braun not impressed with his boy missing out, was quick to react to the nominations with the tweet "I just plain disagree. The kid deserved it".

What lies beneath?

Its poll time again. And this time it’s in the country’s biggest state – Uttar Pradesh.

The world’s largest democracy is all dressed up to conduct elections in its most populated (and typically Indian) state. What’s at stake? The chief minister’s throne!

I did use the phrase “dressed up”, this is not for want of a better word, but an intentional one. If you haven’t heard, the state has been decorated in pink. The pink being the color of the wrapper (covers) used to cover Mayawati and her elephant statues.

Where has the romance of the Newsroom gone?

Fifteen days into being a journalist for the country’s no.1 newspaper (according to random sources), I wonder whatever happened to that dreamy cliché’ image of the writer’s world we believed in.

Men in knee-length kurta’s with the doped look.
Women in loose T-shirts who never bothered to comb their hair and looked naturally sexy.
The stuffy room with old books strew around everywhere and coffee mugs that need cleaning on the tables.
The ash tray, picked up as a souvenir from a poverty sticken country, overflowing with cigarette buds that smelled of more than nicotine.
The editor who speaks in Shakespeare English with an accent that is hard to place and yells for every comma misplaced in a copy.
The walls with pictures of great political movements, anti-war campaigns and hand written phrases of world famous rebels.
The activist who would go any length to put his point across and didn’t care if they paid him peanuts for it.
The hot dude with streaks of silver hair who had an opinion for every issue under the sun.

The curse of the farmer’s wife

The weekend before women’s day was spend in the company of female friends. A complete girls bash-- alcohol, gossip and talk on how all the good men have gone. These were all middle class late 20-something women who had made a living for themselves, no ring around their fingers, but could pay for the apartments they lived in and more. Thirty years back you had to be a rebel or a very fortunate one to be one of those women, but not today, today the country is filled with these independent women.

One of my friends had just got a pedicure done and was flaunting her feet, when she teased another by pointing at her feet and saying, “look at my pretty feet and your feet .Like a farmer’s wife’s feet.” My friend unknowingly was stating the sad truth of reality. That the illiterate lady in the village who toils all day in the field, grazes her cattle, takes her produce to the market, bargains for a fair price is still seen as the farmer’s wife and never the farmer. She does not get the benefits of a farmer, she is not entitled to the same subsidies. All because the Indian government refuses to recognize her. So what happens if her husband passes away, does she cease to exist?

History repeats itself with Hosni Mubarak

If you are someone who has followed Egyptian history to a decent level you will remember the names— Thutmose 1 and Herod. In case you don’t then you might remember two more popular names if you follow religious history—Moses and Jesus.

Moses and Jesus are believed to be the founders of two very popular religions in the world—Judaism and Christianity respectively. Thutmose 1 is assumed to be the pharaoh of Egypt when Moses was born and Herod the King of Judea when Jesus was born. There is a similarity in the stories of these historical rulers and the present day Egyptian ex-President Mubarak, which cannot be missed.

The Mischievous Dalai Lama

The 14^th Dalai Lama, the Nobel peace prize laureate was at St.Joseph’s college, Bangalore on January 30^th. It was then that I got to meet him. Me, seated on the floor, right in front on the reserved VIP seats, with my camera in hand. All thanks to the power of the press card.

He is a good example of someone who uses something that comes naturally to him to make everyone love him—his sense of humor. Yes, at times he is sarcastic, he does score his goals at the right time, he does poke you were it hurts most with his jokes. But when you look at the larger picture you do realize that he makes statements using his sense of humor. Statements that could hurt feelings if said in any other way, his jokes are on reality.

He eulogized the college and the Church for doing so much in the field of education all over the world. “Whether it is in the West or in the East, you Christians have built lots of academic institutions, especially for the poor and needy. That’s really good,” the Dalai Lama said. But after praising them he did convey a few things about the church that he dint think was in the interest of the public, like forced conversions in Mongolia.

“If you have a highly priced(expensive) ring, and if you kiss it; will you get any response from the ring? Never, never. But if you show your genuine love to a small cat or dog, then they will respond accordingly, wagging their tail and then licking,” this was what his holiness said to convey his views on the catholic tradition of kissing the bishops ring. Even the principal of the college, a priest couldn’t control his laughter watching the animated actions that Dalai Lama used to speak. He actually checked the fingers of both the priests sitting next to him on the podium to see if they had fingers and kissed their fingers, and imitated the wagging tail with his hands. When the priest explained that it was only bishops who had the rings the Dalai Lama fondly remembered that South African Archbishop Tutu, his close friend often refers to him as the “mischievous Dalai Lama”.

I cannot think of a better adjective to describe him from what he spoke. With his cute little eyes almost shutting whenever he gives us his mischievous smile. The animated actions he uses whenever he doesn’t know the English term for a word is amusing to say the least. If some people use their hands to talk, and some their eyes the present Dalai Lama uses actions to talk. This must work better for him, cause that is another way he can cross the language barrier in his cross cultured audience.

He did not attempt to remind his Tibetan friends about his long exile India with any sad stories filled with despair. Instead he told us a story, a story on why he calls himself “a son of India”. He said that his thoughts were a product of the Nalanda university(Bihar) ideas and his body was a product of Indian chapattis, daal, rice which he has been eating for the past 50years.

Reminding everyone present that that India had a history of thousands of years of religious harmony he said that it was time “we” focused on reducing inter-religious conflicts and conflicts within sections of the same religion like the Catholics & Protestants and the Shia and Sunni groups within the Muslim community.

I wish we had more such leaders in the world and I don’t necessarily imply the religious type. I mean of any kind—politicians, teachers, who spoke in such simple language with innocent jokes and not full of themselves. We would be so much more inspired and so much more involved then.

The rise and fall of a dynasty

Now that I have seen the rise and fall of an empire, I realize that no matter how brutally and viciously the empire ruled during their days, in their moment of weakness you can’t help but look back with fondness on their days of glory.

I used to be a hardcore cricket fan as a teenager. Religiously following every match in every format of it (that was the era before 20-20 was a legal format of the game) on star sports and ESPN. It dint matter which country was playing whom. I even watched the highlights, the presentation ceremony, the senseless talk shows with scantily dressed women in it. It was like a disease, I would loose sleep over it, praying for the Indian tail-ender’s bat to kiss the ball so that we could steal some runs and lower that impossible ‘required run rate’. But engineering college with its unpredictable schedule and one-TV-for-the-entire-hostel rule cured me of this disease. I tried picking up the habit again but it was difficult because by then there were too many unfamiliar faces for me. Its frustrating looking at the batting line up and not knowing if the next guy is a “Matthew Haydon” type or a “Rahul Dravid" type.

Coming back to the time when I was still passionate about watching the game, I remember the one team that was so unbeatable that it was almost evil. They were the formidable Aussies led by the very glamorous Steve Waugh and later by the Adam Gilchrist. It was easy to hate this team. The rival teams easily had nightmares of the kangaroo with the fosters T-shirt running away with the trophy even before the series began. That nightmare was repetitive. Every win against the Aussies, if there was ever any was celebrated all over the world irrespective of the rival team. Even a drawn test was seen as a failure to the Waugh’s tough boys.

Any hero who did his magic against this team was garlanded and worshiped like a god. It was during one such tournament down under that VVS Laxman and Harbhajan Singh appeared to me as serious cricketers’. It was then that a sports editor decided to christen Laxman with the Very Very Special (VVS) tag.

For over a decade journalists and TV show anchors could easily refer to them as the “world champions” and people would understand who we were referring to. I miss that aggressive bunch badly. As much as I thought they were rude snobs it was always a treat to see them do what they did best—Kick ass on the cricket field. To watch a white lipped Shane Warne’s arm movement as he took his last steps before releasing the ball and wonder if he was going to bowl a “flipper” or a “slider”. To anticipate which corner of the ground Mattew Hayden would smash the ball. Mark Waugh’s never rarely disappointed his bowlers in his fixed position in the slip, diving for even the most impossible catches. Glen Mcgrath’s “faster than witches” balls. Bret lee was a newbie then, very very handsome and martial issueless. Adam Gilchrist the “pitch hitter” stole the show from his opponents more times than one. Not to forget Justin Langer’s infamous word games with the opposite teams and the umpires.

Ashes, is the most notable legendary rivalry in international cricket that dates back to 1882. The ashes cup contains the Ashes of the bail used in the 1^st Ashes series. During the days I used to watch the Ashes, the English were raped match after match, series after series. They had my sympathies even before the match began. From 1989-2003 the Aussies won six consecutive Ashes extremely convincingly. It looked like there was no stopping this monster. Like they could go on and on forever, and no savior would ever come to break the monotony of their success. But nothing lasts forever, and slowly one by one the great legends in the Australian team had to retire. Soon it was fresh faces with Punter boy to lead them all. This ended their fairytale story.

Last month I closely followed the Ashes in the news papers. I wanted them to loose, yes. Even after 3 previous Ashes loses, and many humiliating defeats with teams all around the world I still can only remember them as that snobbish sniggering team that grabbed all the trophies greedily. This included three consecutive world cups. Yes, the Aussies did loose this Ashes too, not to mention convincingly. But when the score turned to a 3-1 my feelings to the Aussie changed a little, I suspect it to be pity, sympathy. Out of the last four Ashes series, England won three. I would like to blame Ricky Ponting for the crisis. I never liked him, not one of the players I admired. But that would be unfair. They had failed as a team and it wouldn’t help to blame the captain, we the Indians should know that better.

With the world cup only days away the Aussie team must have a plan to keep the world cup with them. But even while watching that team play I am sure I miss a few familiar faces. The world cup shall miss those formidable players. Something tells me the world cup will also miss the Aussies.