Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Blink
Its 12. Midnight. I come home. Jaded. I serve my supper. Turn on the notebook. Actually to feed the mp3 player. Turn on a movie to accompany supper. Freedom Writers. Never heard of it. Hillary Swank is in it. Not surprised! Looks like a shot at the Oscars. Race fight is on in a University. Oh, not another movie. Supper done. Exit the movie. The mp3 player is fed too. Switched off with a slide (yeah, its a 'Touch'). Switch to the tabloids. An article on fitness. Milind Soman is a demi god. Another tabloid. Vikram Pandit handling the reigns of a 200 year ol' company. Sense of pride. Yet another tabloid. India is a hilarious country with no sense of humor. Interesting. Screen saver kicks in the notebook. Milky way. Giant Jupiter. Saturn rings. Moon with its imperfections. Mother Earth. Blue. Just a dot in the scheme of things. Zephyr. Darkness. Outside. Inside. Introspection. Pink Floyd. Roger Waters. Hey you. Cry for help. Miss her. Snap back to reality. 6AM not far away. Eyes fold. Dreams. Cryptic.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Catcher In The Rye - A Redux
J.D. Salinger's other fiction might be largely unread, but Catcher in the Rye starring Holden Caulfield has managed to fascinate one generation of adolescents after another for a half-century and counting.
Interesting that Iam writing about this book after a long time that I’ve actually read it. Well, it was triggered when conversing with a friend and some spare time at office.
This book has been one of the most frequently challenged by would-be book banners, and one of the most misunderstood books of the 20th century. The renowned book probably has posted higher sales figures than any other serious American novel; this is as true now, at a time when it clips along at a brisk 250,000 copies a year, as it was when it appeared in 1951.
What accounts for The Catcher in the Rye's phenomenal success? No doubt it has something to do with the way that young readers identify with Holden Caulfield, the novel's confused, desperate, funny and ultimately lovable protagonist. In his war against everything that is phony and sad, he provides an etiquette book for those who see themselves reflected in his doomed situation and a point of reference for those who have, for better or worse, moved beyond the pains of adolescence to those of adulthood.
To summarize the plotline, Holden Caulfield about to be kicked out of yet another boarding school for flunking most of his courses, decides not to wait until the end of term, and takes off for his hometown, Manhattan, a few days early. He figures he'll hole up in a cheap hotel, look up a few friends, and then arrive home on time. But Holden is deeply troubled, by the death of his beloved younger brother from leukemia, as well as the suicide of a classmate and alone in an uncaring city his already fragile psyche begins to unravel.
The book has been challenged and banned for many reasons over the years in the content advisories, though by today's standards it might not even merit a PG-13 if it were a movie (and, oddly for a book this popular, it has never been filmed). But those who challenge it, fail to see the forest for the little swearword trees. They have called Holden a cynical teenager, when in fact he is such a compassionate innocent individual, that he can hardly cope with the cynical world: so innocent and so alone that he tries to get a prostitute to just chat and keep him company! Desperately lonely, adrift in what seems to him an uncaring world, he has been through some terrible experiences and no one at all seems to have noticed that he is crumbling. This explains his emotional outbursts, cynicism and poignancy.
When you are through with the book, Salinger’s genius comes through. Considering the book was written in 1951, when "teen" and "adolescent" were barely concepts in the American mind, Salinger captured the adolescent voice and way of thinking more perfectly, and more poignantly, than just about anyone before or since. Holden Caulfield holds a place in the adolescent psyche as an exquisitely rendered character with whom nearly anyone can identify.
This is an excerpt from the book, where Holden’s imagines him to be doing something that really likes because it’s sans any “phoniness” that he has come across in his life, so often.
“Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around -- nobody big, I mean -- except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff -- I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going. I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.”
Catcher In The Rye, is truly, a Masterpiece.
Interesting that Iam writing about this book after a long time that I’ve actually read it. Well, it was triggered when conversing with a friend and some spare time at office.
This book has been one of the most frequently challenged by would-be book banners, and one of the most misunderstood books of the 20th century. The renowned book probably has posted higher sales figures than any other serious American novel; this is as true now, at a time when it clips along at a brisk 250,000 copies a year, as it was when it appeared in 1951.
What accounts for The Catcher in the Rye's phenomenal success? No doubt it has something to do with the way that young readers identify with Holden Caulfield, the novel's confused, desperate, funny and ultimately lovable protagonist. In his war against everything that is phony and sad, he provides an etiquette book for those who see themselves reflected in his doomed situation and a point of reference for those who have, for better or worse, moved beyond the pains of adolescence to those of adulthood.
To summarize the plotline, Holden Caulfield about to be kicked out of yet another boarding school for flunking most of his courses, decides not to wait until the end of term, and takes off for his hometown, Manhattan, a few days early. He figures he'll hole up in a cheap hotel, look up a few friends, and then arrive home on time. But Holden is deeply troubled, by the death of his beloved younger brother from leukemia, as well as the suicide of a classmate and alone in an uncaring city his already fragile psyche begins to unravel.
The book has been challenged and banned for many reasons over the years in the content advisories, though by today's standards it might not even merit a PG-13 if it were a movie (and, oddly for a book this popular, it has never been filmed). But those who challenge it, fail to see the forest for the little swearword trees. They have called Holden a cynical teenager, when in fact he is such a compassionate innocent individual, that he can hardly cope with the cynical world: so innocent and so alone that he tries to get a prostitute to just chat and keep him company! Desperately lonely, adrift in what seems to him an uncaring world, he has been through some terrible experiences and no one at all seems to have noticed that he is crumbling. This explains his emotional outbursts, cynicism and poignancy.
When you are through with the book, Salinger’s genius comes through. Considering the book was written in 1951, when "teen" and "adolescent" were barely concepts in the American mind, Salinger captured the adolescent voice and way of thinking more perfectly, and more poignantly, than just about anyone before or since. Holden Caulfield holds a place in the adolescent psyche as an exquisitely rendered character with whom nearly anyone can identify.
This is an excerpt from the book, where Holden’s imagines him to be doing something that really likes because it’s sans any “phoniness” that he has come across in his life, so often.
“Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around -- nobody big, I mean -- except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff -- I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going. I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.”
Catcher In The Rye, is truly, a Masterpiece.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Lessons from 'The Boss'
Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band held a concert recently at Madison Square Garden in New York City.
Analyze this. Boss, as Bruce Springsteen is popularly known, a 58 year old singer gives you an impressive management lesson on how the best in the business can stay intimately connected to their market. Watching him perform makes you draw a parallel to a venerable aging brand (think GE, IBM, and Chevy) with a huge, rabidly loyal customer base and how they can keep getting better.
In between dancing and singing and shouting and cheering, if you pay attention there are few corporate lessons in there.
Never let your customers rest. When Springsteen performs, most of his songs end like this: "1-2-3-4!" That's because he's starting the next song before the current one has even ended. The Boss continually races to the back of the stage to change guitars, so there's no lull in the cadence of the show. In the audience, nobody sits down or gets a breather until the man on stage decides it's time. By keeping the crowd on its toes, the band keeps demand at a fever pitch -- kind of the way Apple does, with its rapid flow of new gizmos pushing older products out of the way. But with way better buzz.
Innovate. Springsteen is brilliant at expanding his brand image without ever shifting his center of gravity. His songs rarely stray from rock-'n'-roll territory, but at the Garden, he enriched the familiar with fiddles and other folksy touches. One standout song was "Reason to Believe" -- an old ballad completely reimagined as a harder-edged blues riff. Springsteen's knack for turning old material into something completely new seems like a magic touch compared with all the lame efforts to create hip, modern variations of old TV shows or movies. Instead of copying success, he creates it all over again.
Give the people what they want. Experiments get a more welcome reception when mingled with something familiar. Throughout the show, Springsteen deftly blended unembellished hits such as "Badlands" and "Born to Run," performed pretty much the way everybody knows them, with darker, topical music; after appeasing his conscience, he quickly reverted to happier songs such as "The Promised Land" (irony intended, I presume) and "Dancing in the Dark." The result: His message of protest got across without turning anybody off.
Share credit. There's been a lot of hype about Springsteen reuniting with his famed E Street Band for the first full tour since 2003, but come on -- Springsteen, the man, is the draw, pure and simple. Still, this is one maestro who spreads the glory across the stage. Not once during the show does a spotlight shine on Springsteen alone. He continually calls out "Steve," "Clarence" and the other band members. And when they bow at the end, they bow together. It's a pretty neat marketing trick to create a cult of personality around somebody known for humility. Quick -- can anyone name a CEO able to pull that off?
Set expectations. Then reset them. And reset them. And . . . The Garden concert ended after about two hours -- prompting groans in the crowd, even though it was an electrifying show. "He's getting old," one fan fretted. There were jokes about Metamucil and Geritol -- not because the Boss ever seemed tired but because this wasn't the kind of marathon, three-hour-plus jam fest he used to play in his heyday. Springsteen has driven customer satisfaction so high that he can deliver a great product and still disappoint his customers. I don't know what you do about that, but it's the kind of problem most corporations would love to have.
Love what you do. Just a hunch, but I have a feeling that Springsteen thoroughly enjoys his job -- not something you can say about a lot of people asking you to spend $15 or $100 for their products. We all know that enthusiasm is contagious, and if you're pumped about what you do, those around you are more likely to twist and shout right along with you. Not to mention keep on spending.
On a lighter note, these would definitely help in skipping a few management classes !
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Loss..
.. is the detriment resulting from losing something or someone. Each of us experience loss in the way of our life in one form or the other in varying degrees. Some manage to go unscathed, some get over it and few unfortunate ones are scarred for the rest of life.
Each one of us experience it in a differnt way;one might lose something or one might lose someone. What it does to the psyche can be very subjective. A few might get bogged down and few others challenge it.
One of the strange things about loss is sometimes we fail to forsee it, even though its in our capacity. We don't feel the vaccum until its really gone. We just run in a little too late. Sometimes there is not a even a hint about it. It just occurs. It leaves you in tatters.
How do you cope with it?
There are many answers and yet not a perfect one. People adopt different ways to beat it. Some think at it objectively and move on. Some sulk for sometime and then move on. Some take their time, assimilate the pain and then move on. And some just can't beat the dirge out of their minds.
As tough as each of the ways is, it helps to remember that Life is still worthwhile.
Each one of us experience it in a differnt way;one might lose something or one might lose someone. What it does to the psyche can be very subjective. A few might get bogged down and few others challenge it.
One of the strange things about loss is sometimes we fail to forsee it, even though its in our capacity. We don't feel the vaccum until its really gone. We just run in a little too late. Sometimes there is not a even a hint about it. It just occurs. It leaves you in tatters.
How do you cope with it?
There are many answers and yet not a perfect one. People adopt different ways to beat it. Some think at it objectively and move on. Some sulk for sometime and then move on. Some take their time, assimilate the pain and then move on. And some just can't beat the dirge out of their minds.
As tough as each of the ways is, it helps to remember that Life is still worthwhile.
Monday, August 20, 2007
A Sunday Evening
There is something about a Sunday evening.
Sunday evenings used to be a lot of fun when we were in school. Now its about sitting and ruing the fact of how to beat the Monday blues. In fact, the "pain" starts from the Sunday afternoon itself. If you can put this aside, you will see how beautiful a Sunday evening is.
When I peek out of the window, one thing that distinctly strikes me is how relaxed people look. The usual rush is invisible. Note that I'm not considering the crowded malls or the "jammed" traffic. The kids are having their unadulterated fun, quite oblivious to the fact that its back to school tomorrow morning and totally ignorant of the pending homework. Old timers enjoying their blissful Sunday walk. Families in front of TV watching the Sunday special. Fathers putting away their work and having a good time with their five year olds. The trees swaying slightly, moving rhythmically to the light breeze, as I listen to John Mayer. The sun setting and the dusk descending. There is certain sense of beauty even in the ol' piece of paper, which is rolling on the road, with the wind, stopping by once in a while as if to "look" at you. It’s a treat if there is a sporting event especially a final of a Grand Slam. The youth going out for a cup of coffee at the local chai shop and catching on the week that was. As the light fades out, people are moving indoors to wind up their Sunday.
Watching all these, eases the transition from a Sunday evening to a Monday morning.
Sunday evenings used to be a lot of fun when we were in school. Now its about sitting and ruing the fact of how to beat the Monday blues. In fact, the "pain" starts from the Sunday afternoon itself. If you can put this aside, you will see how beautiful a Sunday evening is.
When I peek out of the window, one thing that distinctly strikes me is how relaxed people look. The usual rush is invisible. Note that I'm not considering the crowded malls or the "jammed" traffic. The kids are having their unadulterated fun, quite oblivious to the fact that its back to school tomorrow morning and totally ignorant of the pending homework. Old timers enjoying their blissful Sunday walk. Families in front of TV watching the Sunday special. Fathers putting away their work and having a good time with their five year olds. The trees swaying slightly, moving rhythmically to the light breeze, as I listen to John Mayer. The sun setting and the dusk descending. There is certain sense of beauty even in the ol' piece of paper, which is rolling on the road, with the wind, stopping by once in a while as if to "look" at you. It’s a treat if there is a sporting event especially a final of a Grand Slam. The youth going out for a cup of coffee at the local chai shop and catching on the week that was. As the light fades out, people are moving indoors to wind up their Sunday.
Watching all these, eases the transition from a Sunday evening to a Monday morning.
Monday, August 13, 2007
300 Miles to Graceland
I did something a few days ago, that shocked and brought a lot of “delight” to some of my friends and gave them a talking point (for once) to drag me around. I didn't do anything significant. I just went on a pilgrimage.
I don't remember the last time I took such a trip. It must have been a million years ago. But I do remember that I had thrown a lot of tantrums, the last time around.
Apparently, the plans were laid out over a month ago 'cause they knew that it would need some convincing to have me shanghaied into this. Then knew that I wasn't gonna take “improper planet alignment” or “planets residing in wrong houses” or some serpent not “liking” me, for a good enough reason.
As expected the above excuses didn't work. So they retorted to the good ol', tried and tested formula of emotional melodrama to get my head nodding the right way.
On the D-day there was nothin' much to look forward except the mode of travel, my cousin's new car. So armed with CDs of Pink Floyd, Doors and Van Halen, we hit the road at 150kmph. Slowed down to 60kmph in B'lore and the back to 150kmph till we were at God's “abode”. It was fun “horsing” the new car around at different speeds. We reached by sunset and shacked up in a lodge. It wasn't until tomorrow morning that the pain would begin.
I had drafted a simple plan for an early exit. Wake up early, beat the people 'traffic', “align” the planets, move the planets to their “homes”, charm the “vicious” serpent and get the hell out of there and salvage some weekend time.
As per the plan, woke up early and got ready. I chose to wear a 'T' and a faded torn jeans, much against my dad's desire to wrap me in dhoti. I wasn't gonna fall for that. I was already lookin' like a chump. There was some damage control needed.
Entered the temple after a longish walk. Somehow when I sat in the “battlefield”, the people were gawking at me. I thought it must be either the number of people accompanying me to the 'seat' or the torn jeans. I preferred not to look at the more pious. And then came out the 'commander', took out his mike, tuned the amplifiers and started rocking...err..chanting verses. This guy was a smart fella. He started commanding us on how to setup the things in the “warkit”. He made us do most of the work ourselves, like showering flowers, water et al. My parents kept looking at my face to spot any grimaces on my face, so that they can reprimand me later. My poker face came to the rescue here.
When I was sitting there and doing whatever I was doing, a lot of questions popped up. What am I doing? What is all this? Why are the people in so much piety? Do they really mean it? What happens when they do all this? Do they come back if their prayers weren't answered? Do they still keep their faith? Do they actually feel better by doing all this?
I've read somewhere that God resides inside everyone of us. Infact, I've read as a kid that is God is everywhere. Then why do people travel miles to see a piece of well carved stone. I have never been able to understand the ways of the people in this aspect. Or maybe I'm too incapable of understanding this abstractness or maybe my reasoning tendency gets in the way of understanding it. I'll never know.
People have scaled mountains and crossed oceans in the pursuit of god. I have kept my pursuit, if at all I believe there is one inside me, rather simple. I believe there is a way to god in every li'l thing we do. Then why waste time in going in search of something we'll never find. I would say think good, do good and feel good, you might just find him along the way.
By the end of the Q & A in my head, the puja was also pretty much over. Apparently, it didn't take much time and it wasn't painful either. It all wrapped up fine. My parents were happy with my 'performance' and I also felt a job well done.
Went back to the hotel, packed our bags and hit the throttle home thinking or rather hoping that this would be the last one or at least one of the last one of the pilgrimages, I would ever have to take.
I don't remember the last time I took such a trip. It must have been a million years ago. But I do remember that I had thrown a lot of tantrums, the last time around.
Apparently, the plans were laid out over a month ago 'cause they knew that it would need some convincing to have me shanghaied into this. Then knew that I wasn't gonna take “improper planet alignment” or “planets residing in wrong houses” or some serpent not “liking” me, for a good enough reason.
As expected the above excuses didn't work. So they retorted to the good ol', tried and tested formula of emotional melodrama to get my head nodding the right way.
On the D-day there was nothin' much to look forward except the mode of travel, my cousin's new car. So armed with CDs of Pink Floyd, Doors and Van Halen, we hit the road at 150kmph. Slowed down to 60kmph in B'lore and the back to 150kmph till we were at God's “abode”. It was fun “horsing” the new car around at different speeds. We reached by sunset and shacked up in a lodge. It wasn't until tomorrow morning that the pain would begin.
I had drafted a simple plan for an early exit. Wake up early, beat the people 'traffic', “align” the planets, move the planets to their “homes”, charm the “vicious” serpent and get the hell out of there and salvage some weekend time.
As per the plan, woke up early and got ready. I chose to wear a 'T' and a faded torn jeans, much against my dad's desire to wrap me in dhoti. I wasn't gonna fall for that. I was already lookin' like a chump. There was some damage control needed.
Entered the temple after a longish walk. Somehow when I sat in the “battlefield”, the people were gawking at me. I thought it must be either the number of people accompanying me to the 'seat' or the torn jeans. I preferred not to look at the more pious. And then came out the 'commander', took out his mike, tuned the amplifiers and started rocking...err..chanting verses. This guy was a smart fella. He started commanding us on how to setup the things in the “warkit”. He made us do most of the work ourselves, like showering flowers, water et al. My parents kept looking at my face to spot any grimaces on my face, so that they can reprimand me later. My poker face came to the rescue here.
When I was sitting there and doing whatever I was doing, a lot of questions popped up. What am I doing? What is all this? Why are the people in so much piety? Do they really mean it? What happens when they do all this? Do they come back if their prayers weren't answered? Do they still keep their faith? Do they actually feel better by doing all this?
I've read somewhere that God resides inside everyone of us. Infact, I've read as a kid that is God is everywhere. Then why do people travel miles to see a piece of well carved stone. I have never been able to understand the ways of the people in this aspect. Or maybe I'm too incapable of understanding this abstractness or maybe my reasoning tendency gets in the way of understanding it. I'll never know.
People have scaled mountains and crossed oceans in the pursuit of god. I have kept my pursuit, if at all I believe there is one inside me, rather simple. I believe there is a way to god in every li'l thing we do. Then why waste time in going in search of something we'll never find. I would say think good, do good and feel good, you might just find him along the way.
By the end of the Q & A in my head, the puja was also pretty much over. Apparently, it didn't take much time and it wasn't painful either. It all wrapped up fine. My parents were happy with my 'performance' and I also felt a job well done.
Went back to the hotel, packed our bags and hit the throttle home thinking or rather hoping that this would be the last one or at least one of the last one of the pilgrimages, I would ever have to take.
Monday, August 06, 2007
The Lost Formula
I started watching Formula 1 racing way back in 1994, although not very religiously. Those were the times when the championships were dominated by Renault and Williams, Senna had crashed and Schumacher was still a rookie.
I was introduced to it by one of my brother's friends. I would sometimes go to his house to watch it, since we didn't have Cable TV. The sport really impressed me. The sound of the cars, the speed, the acceleration, the atire and just about everything.
But that was then. A decade later I had begun to think about F1 as the Americans do.
Have you ever tried sleeping while watching a game of Football on the TV? It’s almost impossible, because every time you close your eyes and think of dreaming away to the dreamland, there's a roar from the crowd indicating that something has happened. It’s been close to just 12 secs since I thought of taking a trip to Dreamland. You are snapped back to reality to see what's going on!
Now let me tell you what actually happens when you are watching F1. Once the cars have zoomed away from the line, you have an almost constant background din, as soothing, if you turn down the sound down a bit, as the waves on the beach. And you never hear the crowd oohing or aahing, simply because there seldom is anything to ooh or aah about. (You might heard a boo when Barrichelo made way to Schumacher!). As a result of this you probably know who is going to win and you will be sound asleep by lap two. The FIA boasts of viewer ship of millions all over the world, but I wonder how many viewers were actually awake.
The big question is why so many people have tuned out of F1in recent years, and the simple answer is this: its mind-numbingly numb, You have no idea which driver is which, you can't see them doing anything other than turning a steering wheel, and when they get out, they weigh 5 kilos less and they talk like they're flatlining.
What I am trying to say is, I would want to re-discover the love for this sport and enjoy it as much as my colleague, who keeps his Sunday evening’s to watch F1 every fortnight, and I admire the car makers making machines with such cutting edge technology and design, but make it look like a race sport, not a parade of cars ooning around.
Else, if things remain this way, switching to NASCAR or Monster Truck Racing is imminent.
I was introduced to it by one of my brother's friends. I would sometimes go to his house to watch it, since we didn't have Cable TV. The sport really impressed me. The sound of the cars, the speed, the acceleration, the atire and just about everything.
But that was then. A decade later I had begun to think about F1 as the Americans do.
Have you ever tried sleeping while watching a game of Football on the TV? It’s almost impossible, because every time you close your eyes and think of dreaming away to the dreamland, there's a roar from the crowd indicating that something has happened. It’s been close to just 12 secs since I thought of taking a trip to Dreamland. You are snapped back to reality to see what's going on!
Now let me tell you what actually happens when you are watching F1. Once the cars have zoomed away from the line, you have an almost constant background din, as soothing, if you turn down the sound down a bit, as the waves on the beach. And you never hear the crowd oohing or aahing, simply because there seldom is anything to ooh or aah about. (You might heard a boo when Barrichelo made way to Schumacher!). As a result of this you probably know who is going to win and you will be sound asleep by lap two. The FIA boasts of viewer ship of millions all over the world, but I wonder how many viewers were actually awake.
The big question is why so many people have tuned out of F1in recent years, and the simple answer is this: its mind-numbingly numb, You have no idea which driver is which, you can't see them doing anything other than turning a steering wheel, and when they get out, they weigh 5 kilos less and they talk like they're flatlining.
What I am trying to say is, I would want to re-discover the love for this sport and enjoy it as much as my colleague, who keeps his Sunday evening’s to watch F1 every fortnight, and I admire the car makers making machines with such cutting edge technology and design, but make it look like a race sport, not a parade of cars ooning around.
Else, if things remain this way, switching to NASCAR or Monster Truck Racing is imminent.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Older
I believe there are two days in a year in everyone's life, that kinda puts them on the backfoot in retrospection. One is of course the day which ends the year and the other is the day you turn a year older (and wiser, I would say), yeah, you guessed it right, its your birthday.
Most of my friends would agree with what I would say that “its just another day”. Well, to most part, it is indeed true although my friends of the fairer sex might disagree !
Well, I, for one, on this day would think about the number (age) and do a reality check on where I stand and where do I see myself going by the time the number would become +1 or +2. I look at how much I have grown with respect to my attitude towards life. And somehow quite indifferently, I find a lot of changes, form year to year. It feels good.
Sometimes there is a tendency to compare ourselves with our peers. This might frighten you! It frightens me! But then, its imperative that you think about your life, in isolation.
Another thing I generally do is to look at the changes that have happened with respect to people around me in contrast with the years of the past. I tend to remember the past (glory days!) and look at how I had celebrated. And I see that 10 yrs ago, I would try to make it a very special day, and now its the people around me who make it a special day. They make you feel its your day. Looking back, it brings a lot of joy, remembering the wonderful people who were around and at the same time inflicts a lot of pain that they are not there anymore. But there is a certain sense of joy in the pain too.
Lost amidst such thoughts, the day folds.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
To Bear Or not to Bear
A few days ago, I was going through a journal which threw up an interesting article written by Azim Premji. It had something to do with ethics, human values n so on. I began reading. In the middle of the article he had quoted an interesting anecdote.
There is a milkman, Mr.S, his assistant, Mr. K and a buyer, Miss. S. (Names are changed intentionally to allude to the intended audience)
Miss.S goes to Mr.S to buy milk every morning. And apparently, for reasons unknown, Miss.S can’t help herself being rude when asking for the Milk. It’s like trying to be in-your-face rude types. But Mr.S would always give the Milk without making much ado about it, much to the surprise of the on looking, Mr.K and at times Miss.S.
This keeps happening over and over and Mr.S continues to be totally calm and composed about it. One day, Mr.K gets curious and asks Mr.S why he continues to be so polite to her, in spite of the trash she gives him. Mr.S replies by saying that being rude is her part. That is something which is imbibed in her. Why should her behavior or character dictate mine?
This made me sit up and think what would I do in such a situation? Would I react the same way as Mr.S? I told this same story to one of my cab mates and asked how she would react in such a situation. She said that she would follow the same policy as Mr.S. I asked was she sure? She answered saying that her primary concern would be to not to lose a customer. She gave all the “gyaan” on customer satisfaction and its imperativeness. She even suggested that I should be attending a couple of sessions on customer satisfaction and so on. Well, alas, I couldn’t have expected anything less from a person who is going to a B-school soon.
But I bet a million bucks that she would react differently in the actual scenario. I believe, we all draw our lines on “how much is too much” and we all have a big ego to keep. Considering these, it would be really difficult to do a Mr.S every time. Period.
What would you do in this Hamletian quandary?
There is a milkman, Mr.S, his assistant, Mr. K and a buyer, Miss. S. (Names are changed intentionally to allude to the intended audience)
Miss.S goes to Mr.S to buy milk every morning. And apparently, for reasons unknown, Miss.S can’t help herself being rude when asking for the Milk. It’s like trying to be in-your-face rude types. But Mr.S would always give the Milk without making much ado about it, much to the surprise of the on looking, Mr.K and at times Miss.S.
This keeps happening over and over and Mr.S continues to be totally calm and composed about it. One day, Mr.K gets curious and asks Mr.S why he continues to be so polite to her, in spite of the trash she gives him. Mr.S replies by saying that being rude is her part. That is something which is imbibed in her. Why should her behavior or character dictate mine?
This made me sit up and think what would I do in such a situation? Would I react the same way as Mr.S? I told this same story to one of my cab mates and asked how she would react in such a situation. She said that she would follow the same policy as Mr.S. I asked was she sure? She answered saying that her primary concern would be to not to lose a customer. She gave all the “gyaan” on customer satisfaction and its imperativeness. She even suggested that I should be attending a couple of sessions on customer satisfaction and so on. Well, alas, I couldn’t have expected anything less from a person who is going to a B-school soon.
But I bet a million bucks that she would react differently in the actual scenario. I believe, we all draw our lines on “how much is too much” and we all have a big ego to keep. Considering these, it would be really difficult to do a Mr.S every time. Period.
What would you do in this Hamletian quandary?
Sunday, June 10, 2007
9 By 9...
..is the dimension of my room.
But the memories I have of it, is a million times bigger than just 81 sq.ft.
Growing up, every boy needs to have his own room. I got mine pretty late but it wasn’t late enough, not that I had issues with sharing a room with my brother. That was fun alright, well of its own kind!
When we extended our house, there were be 2 rooms, one for each of us. One had the view of the road, and the other was slightly bigger. For obvious reasons there rose a lot of contention for the former. Eventually I got the “prized” room, although I don’t remember how. It was definitely not through a toss-of-a-coin, because they have never favored me much.
This room has seen a lot of things. My happiness, my sorrows, my ups, my downs, my thoughts, my dreams and some very important people of my Life. I share a special bond with this room. There is a sense of belongingness when I’m here. I connect to it. I’m just myself.
Whenever I come home, I just rush to my room. I just look around. Then my eyes rolls on to the rack when I have arranged my invaluables, VCDs, audio CDs and books. I can make out at a glance whether anyone has touched it. If they are in anyway rearranged, they are put back in place, diligently, which is a li’l “Monicaisque”. Sometimes, sitting back, I reminisce. The times when I got my first computer, the times when I used to tap my neighbor’s telephone line, the times when I was speaking on the phone with one of my “friend”, while dad was staring at me from the window, the times when I would just turn out the lights and look out the window at the empty streets, the times when I would watch an action movie with the 5 channel dolby surround on, the times when I would just lie on the bed and look at the stars, the times of my first ball dance, the times when I stuck Bipasha’s poster on the wall inviting the ire of my mom, the Times immemorial.
I don’t know what the future beholds, but where ever I’ll be, I’ll miss this part of my home, the most.
But the memories I have of it, is a million times bigger than just 81 sq.ft.
Growing up, every boy needs to have his own room. I got mine pretty late but it wasn’t late enough, not that I had issues with sharing a room with my brother. That was fun alright, well of its own kind!
When we extended our house, there were be 2 rooms, one for each of us. One had the view of the road, and the other was slightly bigger. For obvious reasons there rose a lot of contention for the former. Eventually I got the “prized” room, although I don’t remember how. It was definitely not through a toss-of-a-coin, because they have never favored me much.
This room has seen a lot of things. My happiness, my sorrows, my ups, my downs, my thoughts, my dreams and some very important people of my Life. I share a special bond with this room. There is a sense of belongingness when I’m here. I connect to it. I’m just myself.
Whenever I come home, I just rush to my room. I just look around. Then my eyes rolls on to the rack when I have arranged my invaluables, VCDs, audio CDs and books. I can make out at a glance whether anyone has touched it. If they are in anyway rearranged, they are put back in place, diligently, which is a li’l “Monicaisque”. Sometimes, sitting back, I reminisce. The times when I got my first computer, the times when I used to tap my neighbor’s telephone line, the times when I was speaking on the phone with one of my “friend”, while dad was staring at me from the window, the times when I would just turn out the lights and look out the window at the empty streets, the times when I would watch an action movie with the 5 channel dolby surround on, the times when I would just lie on the bed and look at the stars, the times of my first ball dance, the times when I stuck Bipasha’s poster on the wall inviting the ire of my mom, the Times immemorial.
I don’t know what the future beholds, but where ever I’ll be, I’ll miss this part of my home, the most.
Friday, April 27, 2007
The Art of Talking
I talk. You talk. But when Nick Naylor talk’s people listen. They are mesmerized, confused, embarrassed and totally bamboozled. For all the non Independent movie aficionados, Nick Naylor is the protagonist of the Sundance featured film Thank You For Smoking. It’s a hilarious social satire that takes a hard look at political correctness. The best part of the movie is that it mines comic gold from a topic that’s not laughing matter.
Nick Naylor says “Michael Jordan plays ball. Charles Manson kills people. I talk.” Talking is what he does as the chief lobbyist of the big 5 tobacco companies. Its best summed up by the strapline of the movie “Nick Naylor doesn’t hide the truth…he filters it”. He practices an art of public relations called Spin. Spin is a term signifying a heavily biased portrayal in one's own favor of an event or situation. Naylor tells his son about winning as “it’s not a negotiation, it’s an argument”. And when his son asks what happens when he’s wrong he replies saying that’s the beauty of an argument, when you argue correctly you are never wrong. You don’t have to argue that you are right, just prove the other wrong and you will be right automatically. Now that’s what makes a spin doctor.
The funniest part of the movie is when the MOD (Merchants of Death) squad gets together for lunch and mutual support. Nick is joined by a lady from the booze lobby and another guy from the gun lobby. Once they get into an argument of which industry takes toll of maximum number of people in a year. This argument is worth watching. Naylor comes out trumps by sarcastically dismissing that it’s a great tragedy that 270 people die of boozing compared to 1200 by smoking.
One of the best parts of the movie is when Naylor is sitting with his son and arguing about ice creams.
Joey: So, what happens when you're wrong?
Nick: Well, Joey, I'm never wrong.
Joey: But you can't always be right.
Nick: Well, if it's your job to be right, then you're never wrong.
Joey: But what if you are wrong?
Nick: Okay, let's say that you're defending chocolate and I'm defending vanilla. Now, if l were to say to you "Vanilla's the best flavor ice cream," you'd say...?.
Joey: "No, chocolate is."
Nick: Exactly. But you can't win that argument. So, I'll ask you. So you think chocolate is the end-all and be-all of ice cream, do you?.
Joey: It's the best ice cream; I wouldn't order any other.
Nick: Oh. So it's all chocolate for you, is it?.
Joey: Yes, chocolate is all I need.
Nick: Well, I need more than chocolate. And for that matter, I need more than vanilla. I believe that we need freedom and choice when it comes to our ice cream, and that, Joey Naylor, that is the definition of liberty.
Joey: But that's not what we're talking about.
Nick: Ah, but that's what I'm talking about.
Joey: But... you didn't prove that vanilla's the best.
Nick: I didn't have to. I proved that you're wrong and if you're wrong, I'm right.
Joey: But you still didn't convince me.
Nick: Because I'm not after you. I'm after them.
In the next shot, they are seen on a Ferris wheel, both eating Vanilla ice cream
All in all the movie is very well made, a must watch for all those who want to sit back and get wholesome entertainment and not to mention those who like wit talk.
And yeah, Thank You For Reading.
Nick Naylor says “Michael Jordan plays ball. Charles Manson kills people. I talk.” Talking is what he does as the chief lobbyist of the big 5 tobacco companies. Its best summed up by the strapline of the movie “Nick Naylor doesn’t hide the truth…he filters it”. He practices an art of public relations called Spin. Spin is a term signifying a heavily biased portrayal in one's own favor of an event or situation. Naylor tells his son about winning as “it’s not a negotiation, it’s an argument”. And when his son asks what happens when he’s wrong he replies saying that’s the beauty of an argument, when you argue correctly you are never wrong. You don’t have to argue that you are right, just prove the other wrong and you will be right automatically. Now that’s what makes a spin doctor.
The funniest part of the movie is when the MOD (Merchants of Death) squad gets together for lunch and mutual support. Nick is joined by a lady from the booze lobby and another guy from the gun lobby. Once they get into an argument of which industry takes toll of maximum number of people in a year. This argument is worth watching. Naylor comes out trumps by sarcastically dismissing that it’s a great tragedy that 270 people die of boozing compared to 1200 by smoking.
One of the best parts of the movie is when Naylor is sitting with his son and arguing about ice creams.
Joey: So, what happens when you're wrong?
Nick: Well, Joey, I'm never wrong.
Joey: But you can't always be right.
Nick: Well, if it's your job to be right, then you're never wrong.
Joey: But what if you are wrong?
Nick: Okay, let's say that you're defending chocolate and I'm defending vanilla. Now, if l were to say to you "Vanilla's the best flavor ice cream," you'd say...?.
Joey: "No, chocolate is."
Nick: Exactly. But you can't win that argument. So, I'll ask you. So you think chocolate is the end-all and be-all of ice cream, do you?.
Joey: It's the best ice cream; I wouldn't order any other.
Nick: Oh. So it's all chocolate for you, is it?.
Joey: Yes, chocolate is all I need.
Nick: Well, I need more than chocolate. And for that matter, I need more than vanilla. I believe that we need freedom and choice when it comes to our ice cream, and that, Joey Naylor, that is the definition of liberty.
Joey: But that's not what we're talking about.
Nick: Ah, but that's what I'm talking about.
Joey: But... you didn't prove that vanilla's the best.
Nick: I didn't have to. I proved that you're wrong and if you're wrong, I'm right.
Joey: But you still didn't convince me.
Nick: Because I'm not after you. I'm after them.
In the next shot, they are seen on a Ferris wheel, both eating Vanilla ice cream
All in all the movie is very well made, a must watch for all those who want to sit back and get wholesome entertainment and not to mention those who like wit talk.
And yeah, Thank You For Reading.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Woh Lamhe..
There comes a point in your Life, where things seem just perfect. This is of course is realized in retrospection. When you look back, you want it all back, frame-by-frame. But, alas, you can’t get even a moment of it. Those were the times you were the happiest. You enjoyed the nonchalance, irresponsibility and just about everything that came your way. But not quite now. Things have changed. People went places.
Time: Fall of 2004
Place: Pune
Actors: V, G, H, R
I was with my college friend. Then a friend of that college friend came along. I thought what a geek. He offered me some “prasad”. I thought “oh! Come on” (no offences here, it’s just me!).
Then I saw the “brothers”. One was sweating profusely. I thought “are the skies gonna come down falling ?” I saw the “other” brother. I thought “What on earth is this elderly man doing with us kids and isn’t he too old to be wearing that?”
I ended with my college friend’s friend in the hotel room. By this time the geek seemed to be much lesser geeky than I had imagined him to be. So I thought shacking up with this guy would not be too difficult. I till day can’t believe that I used to rant till 1AM in just a couple of days of acquaintance. Hmm...Good. Once went to see what the brothers were doing. One was too busy sorting his stuff out and the other was too involved in preparing something off “puri”, which in retrospection makes you think “yeah, what else?”
We moved into a flat. Although this time my roomie was V, much to the chagrin of G. He had to shack up with the 9-inch nail (no offences again, he was a very sweet man but you know the types). And the brothers put up their tent together. Three moths went in a jiffy, with all the studying, boozing on the balcony, playing TT, pulling each other’s legs, christening each other et al. A bond had formed.
Time: Summer of 2005
Place: Pune
Actor: B
Probably the most special person ever to come into my life till-date. We got acquainted really fast. And before we realized that, we were watching movies, going shopping and eating out together.
A bond had formed.
It was like living a dream. I was surrounded by such wonderful people. When I was at work, B would be there and when I came back home V, G, H, R would be there. In addition to this there was a sign, K, BD and $. All in all it was a rat pack.
With such a group, weekends were bound to be fun. Most of the times I would be with B and in times other than that we would be in one of the heavenly places around Pune. Else it would be luncheons hosted at our place or at the sisters’.
There were times I would fall sick. But with such people around, you actually wouldn’t mind it. V, G, H, R would ensure that I would see a doctor and take medicine and food at the right times. In the evening B would visit to check on me. Half my illness would vanish looking at B. It seemed like an eternal bliss. Life could not have been fairer.
But just when you tend to think that, things start disintegrating. Maybe we had more than our share. It was the turn of $ to move first. Then it was the turn of R, then B, then H, then sign. All though some of them did come back, it would never be the same. Things hit rock bottom personally and professionally. The place, for which you longed, seemed so unwanted. The fun, passion had all gone. It was curtains to the rat pack.
Looking back I feel like asking one day more of such a life. Maybe even more. But such things can never be duplicated. Quite sadly, all good things have to come to an end.
They say you live your life in a heartbeat. Maybe it’s true. It’s that one heartbeat in the midst of a million heartbeats that makes this life worthwhile.
I just don’t have words to express how much I miss all these beautiful people. I know that I’m not the nicest person around, so if I ever have hurt you guys knowingly or unknowingly, please forgive me. And I wish all of them very best on the roads that they have chartered for themselves. I think I would leave it here; my eyes are getting a li’l moist. So long!!
Time: Fall of 2004
Place: Pune
Actors: V, G, H, R
I was with my college friend. Then a friend of that college friend came along. I thought what a geek. He offered me some “prasad”. I thought “oh! Come on” (no offences here, it’s just me!).
Then I saw the “brothers”. One was sweating profusely. I thought “are the skies gonna come down falling ?” I saw the “other” brother. I thought “What on earth is this elderly man doing with us kids and isn’t he too old to be wearing that?”
I ended with my college friend’s friend in the hotel room. By this time the geek seemed to be much lesser geeky than I had imagined him to be. So I thought shacking up with this guy would not be too difficult. I till day can’t believe that I used to rant till 1AM in just a couple of days of acquaintance. Hmm...Good. Once went to see what the brothers were doing. One was too busy sorting his stuff out and the other was too involved in preparing something off “puri”, which in retrospection makes you think “yeah, what else?”
We moved into a flat. Although this time my roomie was V, much to the chagrin of G. He had to shack up with the 9-inch nail (no offences again, he was a very sweet man but you know the types). And the brothers put up their tent together. Three moths went in a jiffy, with all the studying, boozing on the balcony, playing TT, pulling each other’s legs, christening each other et al. A bond had formed.
Time: Summer of 2005
Place: Pune
Actor: B
Probably the most special person ever to come into my life till-date. We got acquainted really fast. And before we realized that, we were watching movies, going shopping and eating out together.
A bond had formed.
It was like living a dream. I was surrounded by such wonderful people. When I was at work, B would be there and when I came back home V, G, H, R would be there. In addition to this there was a sign, K, BD and $. All in all it was a rat pack.
With such a group, weekends were bound to be fun. Most of the times I would be with B and in times other than that we would be in one of the heavenly places around Pune. Else it would be luncheons hosted at our place or at the sisters’.
There were times I would fall sick. But with such people around, you actually wouldn’t mind it. V, G, H, R would ensure that I would see a doctor and take medicine and food at the right times. In the evening B would visit to check on me. Half my illness would vanish looking at B. It seemed like an eternal bliss. Life could not have been fairer.
But just when you tend to think that, things start disintegrating. Maybe we had more than our share. It was the turn of $ to move first. Then it was the turn of R, then B, then H, then sign. All though some of them did come back, it would never be the same. Things hit rock bottom personally and professionally. The place, for which you longed, seemed so unwanted. The fun, passion had all gone. It was curtains to the rat pack.
Looking back I feel like asking one day more of such a life. Maybe even more. But such things can never be duplicated. Quite sadly, all good things have to come to an end.
They say you live your life in a heartbeat. Maybe it’s true. It’s that one heartbeat in the midst of a million heartbeats that makes this life worthwhile.
I just don’t have words to express how much I miss all these beautiful people. I know that I’m not the nicest person around, so if I ever have hurt you guys knowingly or unknowingly, please forgive me. And I wish all of them very best on the roads that they have chartered for themselves. I think I would leave it here; my eyes are getting a li’l moist. So long!!
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Kannadigas to Canadians
There goes a popular joke when it comes to South Indians and their “love” towards their language. That when you hear 2 people conversing in Telugu you know that they are from AP. When you hear 2 people conversing in Tamil you know that they are Tamilians. When you hear 2 people conversing in Malayalam you know that they are Keralites. But when you hear 2 people conversing in English, yes, your guess is as good as mine, they are Kannadigas.
It puzzles me quite a lot. Why is it so?
I have stayed in Pune for 2 years, where Marathi is the local language. Seldom have I have come across 2 locals conversing in Hindi, leave alone English. Even in the office it would be Marathi most of the times. My PL would be speaking in English with me and when the PM joins in, they would hit off in Marathi, and switching would continue for the rest of the time.
In Bangalore, you will find, even speaking statistically, the majority is of non-kannadigas. You will find that most of them stick to their native language, barring kannadigas. Once one of my friend had traveled with me to Bangalore. We got down at the airport and went near the rickshaw stand. There was a Traffic police constable taking down the details of the individual before boarding the auto. I just went up to him and asked “Sir, Majesticge hogabeku”, to which he replied, mind you in these exact words “What is your name? Do you have any luggage”. I continued asking in kannada and he continued answering in English. I just looked at my friend and she was in total disbelief, more so because she is a north-Indian and they tend to have a notion that south-Indians are madraasis. And we all know how it works in Tamil Nadu when it comes to their vernacular. Well, everybody here (B’lore) speaks English and its not that I’m complaining.
When I was just thinking over, I stumbled upon a few things which could be good reasons for this. With the large influx of non-kannada speaking people, given the very accommodating nature of people here, started to speak in a language that they could understand. This persevered into their general speaking and has made a place hence. Another reason is the way things are at home. I had been to a friend’s house the other day and all they spoke was English. I met one of their neighbor’s kids and that 4 yr old was speaking such good English. And yes, his parents were speaking only in English with them. Some people, no matter whatever broken English they are speaking, do so, because they believe that it enhances their “status”. Some are so adamant that they refuse to speak in Kannada even though it’s absolutely required. Like a few days ago, I read that some kid was lost in the crowd at big mall and the authorities refused to make an announcement in Kannada!! Even though the parents were saying that the boy doesn’t understand English!! It’s utterly utterly preposterous. And the rest who do speak Kannada, it more or less sounds like Kanglish at its best. I have a very bad feeling that Kannada is soon going to be totally effed! (Please excuse my language).
The silver hair generation says that it’s the lack of pride and passion in people’s minds that is taking away the beauty of a language that is as good as any other. No matter whatever reasoning was done above over the fate of our language, I somewhere tend to accept what the oldies are saying is more rational.
When I was typing ‘Kannadigas’ in the above paragraphs, that word was getting underlined in green, meaning that there could be a spelling mistake. When I right-clicked on it, the first alternate word that was suggested was ‘Canadians’.
Do I need to say more?
It puzzles me quite a lot. Why is it so?
I have stayed in Pune for 2 years, where Marathi is the local language. Seldom have I have come across 2 locals conversing in Hindi, leave alone English. Even in the office it would be Marathi most of the times. My PL would be speaking in English with me and when the PM joins in, they would hit off in Marathi, and switching would continue for the rest of the time.
In Bangalore, you will find, even speaking statistically, the majority is of non-kannadigas. You will find that most of them stick to their native language, barring kannadigas. Once one of my friend had traveled with me to Bangalore. We got down at the airport and went near the rickshaw stand. There was a Traffic police constable taking down the details of the individual before boarding the auto. I just went up to him and asked “Sir, Majesticge hogabeku”, to which he replied, mind you in these exact words “What is your name? Do you have any luggage”. I continued asking in kannada and he continued answering in English. I just looked at my friend and she was in total disbelief, more so because she is a north-Indian and they tend to have a notion that south-Indians are madraasis. And we all know how it works in Tamil Nadu when it comes to their vernacular. Well, everybody here (B’lore) speaks English and its not that I’m complaining.
When I was just thinking over, I stumbled upon a few things which could be good reasons for this. With the large influx of non-kannada speaking people, given the very accommodating nature of people here, started to speak in a language that they could understand. This persevered into their general speaking and has made a place hence. Another reason is the way things are at home. I had been to a friend’s house the other day and all they spoke was English. I met one of their neighbor’s kids and that 4 yr old was speaking such good English. And yes, his parents were speaking only in English with them. Some people, no matter whatever broken English they are speaking, do so, because they believe that it enhances their “status”. Some are so adamant that they refuse to speak in Kannada even though it’s absolutely required. Like a few days ago, I read that some kid was lost in the crowd at big mall and the authorities refused to make an announcement in Kannada!! Even though the parents were saying that the boy doesn’t understand English!! It’s utterly utterly preposterous. And the rest who do speak Kannada, it more or less sounds like Kanglish at its best. I have a very bad feeling that Kannada is soon going to be totally effed! (Please excuse my language).
The silver hair generation says that it’s the lack of pride and passion in people’s minds that is taking away the beauty of a language that is as good as any other. No matter whatever reasoning was done above over the fate of our language, I somewhere tend to accept what the oldies are saying is more rational.
When I was typing ‘Kannadigas’ in the above paragraphs, that word was getting underlined in green, meaning that there could be a spelling mistake. When I right-clicked on it, the first alternate word that was suggested was ‘Canadians’.
Do I need to say more?
Monday, April 09, 2007
Are you a racist?
No, Iam not. Yes, Iam afraid Iam one.
Most of the dictionaries would describe a racist as “A person with a prejudiced belief that one race is superior to others”. After all that we heard from the Mel Gibsons, Jade Goodys, and Michael Richards’ made the world sit up and call them racists.
But, sometimes it makes me wonder, who isn’t?
In my opinion everyone is a racist at some level or the other. It resides in the minds of each and everyone, which is a direct result of the superiority we want to feel over the other person. A white looks down on a black, a black looks down on an Asian, an Asian looks inside and finds someone among them to look down on and so on. So it does make you feel that it might be an irrevocable part of every human.
Lookin’ at this from an Indian perspective, makes you ask, where do we stand? I sincerely feel we are no different from anyone in the world when it comes to racism. It’s just that we do it at different level. A North-Indian looks down on a South-Indian, a Kannadiga looks down on a Tamilian, a Tamilian thinks he is the most superior of all the South-Indians and the ‘looking-down’ chain continues.
We were all very agitated about the Jade “Not-So-Good” Goody’s racial slur on Shilpa Shetty. But come to think of it, it just seems hypocritical to me.
So where does the buck stop?
Most of the dictionaries would describe a racist as “A person with a prejudiced belief that one race is superior to others”. After all that we heard from the Mel Gibsons, Jade Goodys, and Michael Richards’ made the world sit up and call them racists.
But, sometimes it makes me wonder, who isn’t?
In my opinion everyone is a racist at some level or the other. It resides in the minds of each and everyone, which is a direct result of the superiority we want to feel over the other person. A white looks down on a black, a black looks down on an Asian, an Asian looks inside and finds someone among them to look down on and so on. So it does make you feel that it might be an irrevocable part of every human.
Lookin’ at this from an Indian perspective, makes you ask, where do we stand? I sincerely feel we are no different from anyone in the world when it comes to racism. It’s just that we do it at different level. A North-Indian looks down on a South-Indian, a Kannadiga looks down on a Tamilian, a Tamilian thinks he is the most superior of all the South-Indians and the ‘looking-down’ chain continues.
We were all very agitated about the Jade “Not-So-Good” Goody’s racial slur on Shilpa Shetty. But come to think of it, it just seems hypocritical to me.
So where does the buck stop?
Thursday, April 05, 2007
The IITs And The IIMs
We all know the IITs and the IIMs have the best to offer when it comes to Engineering and Management education in India. I want to set a backdrop before I express my share of opinion about them.
The IITs were created to train scientists and engineers, with the aim of developing a skilled workforce to support the economic and social development of India after independence in 1947. The first IIT was established in 1956 in Kharagpur after the Parliament of India passed the IIT Act, declaring it as an “Institute of National Importance”. These institutes offer education in “cutting edge technology” at a very subsidized rate.
The first IIM was established in 1961 at Ahmedabad to cater to the nation’s requirement of management professionals who would help to catapult India onto the world stage. Again the IIMs are completely financed by the central GOI.
The very institutes that were started for the economic and social good of India started to witness the phenomenon of “Brain Drain”. This was mostly attributed to our country not being able to provide “good job” opportunities. And the big winner in all this was the US. They were getting brilliant minds that were educated in India at the expense of our tax payer’s money. The whole purpose of starting these esteemed institutes was lost. It must have been really frustrating. One positive way to look at it would be look at the money they helped to bring in to our country as foreign investments.
But the situation has changed now after the liberalization policies post 1990s. People are willing to stay back and do something here. People are ready to give up high paying jobs to start their own ventures.
The only way of consoling ourselves at things that happened in the past, is by looking at the kind of work that these guys did which has helped in certain aspects of changing people’s lives and making a difference to humanity in general.
The IITs were created to train scientists and engineers, with the aim of developing a skilled workforce to support the economic and social development of India after independence in 1947. The first IIT was established in 1956 in Kharagpur after the Parliament of India passed the IIT Act, declaring it as an “Institute of National Importance”. These institutes offer education in “cutting edge technology” at a very subsidized rate.
The first IIM was established in 1961 at Ahmedabad to cater to the nation’s requirement of management professionals who would help to catapult India onto the world stage. Again the IIMs are completely financed by the central GOI.
The very institutes that were started for the economic and social good of India started to witness the phenomenon of “Brain Drain”. This was mostly attributed to our country not being able to provide “good job” opportunities. And the big winner in all this was the US. They were getting brilliant minds that were educated in India at the expense of our tax payer’s money. The whole purpose of starting these esteemed institutes was lost. It must have been really frustrating. One positive way to look at it would be look at the money they helped to bring in to our country as foreign investments.
But the situation has changed now after the liberalization policies post 1990s. People are willing to stay back and do something here. People are ready to give up high paying jobs to start their own ventures.
The only way of consoling ourselves at things that happened in the past, is by looking at the kind of work that these guys did which has helped in certain aspects of changing people’s lives and making a difference to humanity in general.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Explore.Dream.Discover.
I read a couple of wonderful quotes and here they are:
Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the action stems the dream again; and this interdependence produces the highest form of living.
Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bow lines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dreams. Discover.
Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the action stems the dream again; and this interdependence produces the highest form of living.
Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bow lines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dreams. Discover.
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