Eternal Sunshine of an Ignorant Mind

The boy who liked boobs

2012-02-01T23:19:00.002+05:30

Of all the things that a 9 year old boy may possibly come to like, Jonathan Fernandes liked boobs. That's what he called them, boobs. He had stubmled upon the term online.

On his 9th birthday, Jon's father bought him an expensive camera. The parent's wish was to let his son discover the joys of paper memories at an early age, so as to avoid regret later on in life, the gaps that derail instrospection and enforce the need for analysis. The first picture that Jon took was of his aquarium. From then on, it was all about boobs.

When he started out, he used the term balls. He took the camera to his school and took pictures of his teachers, neck down. Later when they asked for the photographs, he said he lost them. One of the teachers called his mother and asked her to teach him the value of carefulness. She beat him with a belt.

A grown man, if he wants to photograph a woman's chest without her head in the picture, needs to point the camera down, making it impossible to accomplish the task without raising suspicion-levels. Jon needed to point the camera up to include the woman's face, so he could stop and zoom and focus just below it. Unike his friends, Jon never wished to be tall. Never.

Everyone posed. The teachers, the women in the neighborhood, his mom's friends, his friend's moms, his mom, his grandmother, that awfully sweet salesperson at the mall, his friend's sisters, his girl-friends, the maid, unknown women in parks, known women on streets, women he wished would never leave, women he wished he never met, small, big, thin, obese, confident, nervous, women in dresses, women in sarees, in velvet tops, in cotton shirts, happy women, sad women, women whom his mother disliked beacause they were worse, women whom his mother disked because they were better, girls who called him brother, women who called him son, his father's friend's wives, their daughters and pretty much everyone who would pose was made to and brief checkpoints were made in the time space continuum occupied by varities of bodies.

Once he took these pictures, Jon connected the camera to his computer, downloaded the images and hid them in a multitude of folders. It was manifold destiny, unfolded through singular realities. He deleted the pictures of balls from the camera, leaving behind the ones which, additionally, included other parts of the body.

Once he was playing an online game when he saw a photo he wished he had taken, and a few hyperlinks later, he found the accepted and acceptable terminology. Boobs, then.

The word sounded playful to him. He rolled it in his mouth, the way his dad rolled single malt, using his tongue to heave it from one side to the other, all the while resisting the temptation to gulp it down. He pronounced it in different ways: boooooobs, bubs, bobs, boobz, bewbs, boos, woobs and bawbs before finally settling on a hybrid between boooobz and beubs. The word assumed form and tickled him.

Slowly he began noticing the amount of importance other people laid on what was - to be fair - his discovery, his little secret, like Korean movies are to a film school student. He started noticing men staring at the female chest a lot more often than mere need would explain, and women, on their part, surprisingly, started wearing clothes that outlined their boobs with greater clarity. To be honest, Jon felt a little cheated. His little secret wasn't much of a secret after all. It seemed to him that much of what happened in daily life originated from, revolved around or rested upon boobs. From feeling like a kid who chances upon an undiscovered treasure, he started feeling like a kid who arrives at a birthday party to find that the cake has already been cut.

On one such day of young, ripe remorse, Jon switched on his computer and deleted the folder that contained all the photos that he had ever clicked. From that day onwards, when people asked for the photos he had clicked, Jonathan Fernandes never said he lost them.

Childhood

2012-01-27T22:06:00.007+05:30

On the day he was forced to suck the cock of an older boy for the first time, Xavier's mother had made mutton curry for lunch.

The aroma filled the house with a million little cartoon smoke-lines, each line equipped with an index finger at its end, each finger finding someone and tickling his nostrils, making him drool, then making him gently float through space and time, tongue hanging out, tranquilized, moving towards the kitchen with the focus of a serial killer, sinfully anticipating the salivary dissolution of the warm, mustardy meat.

On a usual day Xavier, upon his return from school, would have thrown his bag on the floor, wiped puppy stain and mud-mash from his hands and sat on the floor like a hermit. He would have banged the cheap, aluminium plate with a cheap, aluminium spoon till the house resembled a war zone.

On that particular day, however, the war was being fought inside Xavier's mind. All the cheap aluminium plates and spoons in the world couldn't begin to fathom the noise that was required to keep the incident from replaying in his mind.

Xavier was in the second grade. The boy who made him do it was in the fourth. Xavier was used to being beaten up, made to eat mud, give up his tiffin box, have the front of his pants splashed with water and made to pee in the Girl's Toilet. So when he knelt down in front of the unzipped trousers inside the Boy's Toilet on the school's second floor, he wasn't overtly scared; for him it was akin to a slap. And it hurt less.

Xavier's first reaction was to consider the thing hanging out in front of him. His first feeling was that of camaraderie, he couldn't believe dicks belonging to different people looked so similar. What he knew was that 'pee comes from there' and was confused as to why someone would make him drink pee directly from the source, assuming that that was what this was about, couldn't the guy just pee in Xavier's water-bottle? Why would he risk getting his dick bitten off?

Somehow, Xavier thought, there was more to this than urine.

Xavier's mother made him take a lot of supplements: Vitamins, calcium and syrups, which he invariably didn't like. So he had developed a routine, or as he liked to call it, a magic trick. He had the ability to hold the dosage under and around his tongue, so that he didn't need to inflate his cheek in order to avoid swallowing them, and could spit them out when he was alone. He had managed to fool his mother for over 6 months.

That morning, at school, he managed to fool the guy too. For Xavier, it was magic.

The next time it happened was three days later, when the same guy asked Xavier to do it if he didn't want his mom to know. Xavier appeared terrified, but on the inside, he couldn't be more excited. Finally, he believed that he was growing up. He was part of something absolutely awesome, an older boy was involved and there were secrets to be kept and mothers to be kept in the dark. This was new to him, this was outside the prescribed boundaries of the kind of fun his parents wanted him to have. Sure, he didn't really like doing the act, but then, does anyone really like running and kicking a round piece of rubber, all the while risking loss of life and
limbs? And Xavier loved football, so he understood pointlesness.

It was, as they say, for glory.

This form of bullying was different in another way, Xavier thought. In every other method, something was done to him, whereas in this, he was the one doing all the work while the guy just stood there. This made Xavier think, believe that he -Xavier- was the true perpetrator and the guy was merely an accomplice. This not only erased from Xavier's mind all thoughts of complaining to his friends or teachers but also gave him a sense of responsibility which made the periodic performance of the act an achievement that he was somewhat proud of, like paying bills, buying groceries or going to work. He felt special, important and busy. He felt like what he imagined to be an adult.

Which is why when the guy stopped involving him in these acts a month later, Xavier was devastated. Was he not doing it right anymore? Did the guy find someone better?

No sooner was he ditched than he started getting nightmares. He started waking up in the middle of the night, sweating and scared. A terrible sense of unfulfilment engulfed and filled him. He felt like the plastic mug that he playfully dipped slowly into the bath-tub every morning, feeling the reactionary pressure of the water increasing, then enjoying the relief in his hands when the mug's tip submerged and water rushed to fill it, taking it all the way down to the bottom of the tub.

It started, happened and ended that way; deliverance disguised as severance, so that Xavier went from confusion, to amusement, to hatred, to indifference, to delight, to dutifulness, to devotion and finally to sadness. Xavier lived an entire little sub-life in those few months and learnt a great deal, synecdochically, about life itself.

Years later, when the Internet was up and running and innocence and sin were institutionalized, Xavier read that millions of children across the world get abused on a daily basis. After reading these articles, by experts, Xavier used to have nightmares, where he dreamt of a world where all the children are abused perpetually and everyone is a victim, and the worst part wasn't just that that was a bad thing in the absolute sense, the worst part was that in that sea of haplessness, his story was perfectly unheard and unremarkable.

In those nightmares, Xavier felt like a plastic mug in an ocean.

Sexy girls on Facebook

2012-01-24T23:43:00.003+05:30

Sexy girls on Facebook hide their photos. The only glimpse you get is of them, standing amongst other sexy people, a tiny frame of faces, like oranges on a distant tree, like babies in a maternity ward, their vague, grainy forms visible across a distinctly European background, or African, or a pub; something exotic, rare and dying, as the sexy girl stands in remorseless sadness, all D&G and mascara and beads and other environmentally suitable maquillage, hugging and kissing and sporting and posing while laughing with friends to convey a carefree attitude and posing sideways with an eyebrow raised to convey cosmopolitan values and posing with thick-black-framed glasses to convey a blend of nerdiness-trendiness and honestly, simply having much generic fun.

There are four types of girls on Facebook. Or maybe more. The first are the outright ugly ones, who pose with other outright ugly ones and never hide their photos. They have great personalities and inner beauty and have flowers or cartoons as their display pictures and are predominantly interested in literature and music of a higher standard, so as to compensate for facial zits, bulbous noses, dry hair, a hairy upper lip, conical shapes, ritualistic arms and sappy eyes. The second are the ones who have inherent ugliness but make an effort towards looking presentable, which means fuckable, they crave for that single male eye with the lowest of standards. The third are outright stunners, who are usually in the presence of men so pretty that every visit to their profiles rebalances the Kinsey scale.

Then there is the fourth category. The sexy ones.

If you are the kind of person who consumes coffee quite generously, you must have come across this highly irritating black, waxy, smelly deposit that occupies the bottom of your cup, if you are the kind of person who, once he had has his cup of delicious, hot, aromatic, creamy, caramelly coffee, forgets (though not really) to take the cup to the kitchen and wash out the contents with one (or two) swift motion/s of the index finger pressed against the bottom of the cup, followed by moving the cup up and down, parallel to the motion of the falling water (think: cocktail shaker, think: mastrubation) and bring the process to its logical conclusion by using a clean towel to rub out the last traces of the cup having ever been used; if you are such a person, you would know exactly what I am talking about. The unwanted, disgusting deposit, which clings to the cup more tightly and makes it more disgusting and unusable with each passing day, like a wife, has to be faced and defeated and cleaned using all the strength that one can muster, since if we don't - and by 'we' I mean you and me and others like us, since I am assuming that if you are nothing like the aforementioned person, you wouldn't bother reading any further, and so it is in my best interest to reduce my target audience in order to affect a deeper understanding, realize stronger bonds and things reminiscent of generic positivity - then we cannot have the coffee we like and need so much and the taste and aroma of which makes up for the agony and disgust of cleaning previously stated black messy sedimentation.

The purpose of that somewhat longwinded last paragraph was to point out the necessary evil that is requesting an ugly (category two) girl to be your friend on a social networking site so as to gain access to her sexy girl-friends' sexy photos with other sexy people.

The sexiness in some is somewhat diluted when you zoom in to aforementioned snaps. You realize that cap wearers are mostly bald or balding, that most clothes are a bit too tight for their owners but are a necessary means to gain entry to a group of sexy people whose clothes aren't too tight for them, that all groups include a fat one (category one) and an ugly one(category two), that when category two girls comment on photos and say that they love other category two girls, it is not meant as affection but as approval, that no amount of rock music or poetry can ever compete with triceps, that triceps aren't a myth, that the uglier a girl is, the more friends she will have, in order to fill vaccums of varying densities, that there is something called 'green energy' that sexy people care about, that Facebook isn't just a global standard but also a local luxury.

There is something wonderful about the smile of a sexy girl on Facebook. I won't say that it hides inner pain or the million little deaths of faking every public reaction until inner comminution, like rocks ashore a shallow but violent sea, because that would be a cliche. No,there is something more to that smile. It provides intellectual, and deeply personal impetus, it is the central bank of hope.

Imagine a world without sexy girls' smiling faces. A world where nobody cared about climate change and poverty and wars and famines and injustice and other such extremely noble causes, all kept alive by the widening of perfectly smooth lips against European scenery.

Scary.

About a girl

2012-01-12T22:36:00.005+05:30

The first time I heard of her, she seemed unreal.

This is the age of information, or the information age or something to that effect, we are told, and being unable to find her on the internet was a terrible thing. We didn't know her name or age or purpose. Not that we cared. At least not publicly.

We called her a cum guzzling slut. It was one of those things where you say something and then you take a pause that lasts for about a microsecond and you judge in that amount of time whether to laugh at that moment so as to show your false lack of seriousness or to keep a straight face so as to find common bonds within.

She wasn't socially networked enough for us to locate. Her online footprint wasn't visible enough, vague, like the faces of children who get abused very young. Like that one song that everyone has, which they claim to know so as to fit in a group, but they don't, usually a song with a high pitched guitar riff at the begining - but not at the start-so that they sing only the first two -wildly famous-lines and gradually, knowingly fade their voices so that it doesn't seem like they do not know the lyrics but just seems like they really respect the riff, and so their veiled ignorance turns into a kind of symbiotic appreciation. There was the whole air of obscurity to this entire operation, to be honest. Nobody seemed to know what to do, and in that common unsurity we found great strength, and this helped to avoid giving up all together.

We really wanted to find her and this almost comic enthusiasm took us to other people, people behind the camera, if you believe in the whole life, stage 'thing'. We found a lot of girls who fit her profile, she was a Cinderella with uninteresting shoes, but we decided to follow our collective heart and look for some more, since not one could fit any one of the images that we had in our individual heads.

Some were pretty, some were outright stunners. Some had great tits and some looked like they had their mouths full.

We never got pouts. It may have to do something with evolution, I don't know.

We did come across a few and we wished she were one of them, but, unfortunately, with the amount of information available, it is very difficult to get mislead. Weird then, this. Getting information like ink on blotting paper.

We needed pens.

The day I was about to meet her, I knew I would be dissapointed, because she, by then, had taken this Bukowskian distressed Goddess-like form in my head which reinforced itself as a figment of collective male imagination, and the sad part is, I was very aware of this. So it would be fair to admit, at his stage, that yes, I was dissapointed.

I was expecting a mango. The dissapointing thing was that there was no there there.

For if I am to believe that I can just imagine these kinds into existence, what effect would that have on me? Will I start imagining things more or less? Will I start more or less imagining things?

These were the questions, sadly, that ran through my head while I shook her hand.

And yes, they were very very soft.

Mrs Lover Daughter Wife's dream about her past past present -1

2011-12-19T23:32:00.003+05:30

"he called out my name o there must be something wrong with me why is he not calling it out louder why am i so ugly why is he not talking to me the way boys who fuck girls talk to them is it that he likes me in a way that cannot be expressed is he trying to supress his desires but no he said so and i do not know what is worse is it that what is worse must be experienced but i cannot seem to bring myself to it seems futile is not just a bad bad word but i remeber in college so many of them wanted to fuck and fuck and suck my tits so beautiful and so marvelous and such a good time my professors all giving marks and he not responding could only mean he is busy o you are so gorgeous baby and athletes and artists so very offending but why you are miss so and so winner of so and so not really won but who cares if he doesn't am i supposed to be here yes sweetheart and not returning my calls what seems to be the issue sir not breaking my heart but melting it then letting it spill few marks lesser than what is required and at home servants and drivers don't wear your skirt so high what can i do to get those additonal marks and why can't he love me then like all of the people around me his hands clasped together people will see don't act like that you are a slut as he once said but isn't this wrong like pelicans that you do not see but always want to or the depth of something dark and cold and looks like you finally caught me but aren't you ashamed she wasn't very interested and see see see what happened i don't want this but what harm could it do to him if he calls me and your legs are so smooth i am an old man but still a man and creepily smiling at my teen legs and wanting to fuck me is that so bad my dear immoral what is that isn't it immoral to love me but say somthing say anything i am so embaressed that you find me in this advanced state of weakness but can't you understand that this is wrong i do not think he means any disrespect but what if someone finds out but what if someone finds out but what if someone finds out and she getting all restless and fucking me isn't the only thing must confront him what a great man turned into ashes in fornt of me and fucked me one night when everyone was asleep always got din't i din't i yes yes got good grades after that but it hurts me he wouldn't call and so tiny but so perfect and black and big and dirty and smelly but so so very very satisfying still he should have called and i ran back to him in a rather desperate attempt to sign the sheets he had promised he would and i do not know how long it is going to take before i lose that btich never got me iota and i kept getting flunked after that self respect not too strong a word and she caught me in the act and everyone was removed asked him confronted why treat a woman you claim to love like that and he was gone and i had to do it with someone else and not easy surroundings and help me lord our saviour for i have trespassed but what in the lord's name i do not quite understand it quite the way you like it right and wrong decisions all the way around that came before you said you loved me, but you you no no wait you you said but you said don't you don't you don't you any more?"

The Audacity of Hot Air

2011-12-12T23:18:00.006+05:30

The first night post wedding is a grand affair for most Indian men. It is then that they usually give the performances of their lives. There is a lack of dick softening fear; to impress, to satisfy, to provide, to hurt, to make an effort, to be a man, to stop breathing, to start smelling, to look presentable, to seem very cool about the thing. The thing seems natural enough, so much so that pulling back the foreskin doesn’t hurt, entering the cunt becomes easy and the woman underneath stays a mere rivulet of sweat away from a toe breaking climax.

Unfortunately, this was not the case with Mr Banerjee. He has issues.

For the first time in his life, he realized that a diet of meat dipped in a cup of the BP oil spill isn’t the answer to all questions related to life. By the time his newly minted wife took off her jewellery, including the golden nose ring that attached itself to her forehead through a rope like contraption, which Mr Banerjee was hoping she wouldn’t take off, he was experiencing acute discomfort. His smaller intestine was exercising its right of first refusal against his testicles, who carried the burden of proof, his penis shuddered at the thought of it being the initiator of an act so untimely and his libido went and stayed so low it almost got married to his self esteem. In other words, one can safely say thet he was not really in the mood, sexually speaking.

Then there was the question of her perception of his nudity.

Mr Banerjee wasn’t too glass shattering. In fact there used to be a time when he took great pride in the fact that he did not have much body hair. He liked to look at himself in the mirror, admiring his wholesomeness, making its presence felt in a metaphorical sense, he once remarked, and run his hand over his belly, which he never really loved nor hated, carefully considering the smoothness of skin, the variety of contours that surely women-natural explorers that they are- would find intriguing, the apparent ease with which one may get lost in the folds and manifolds he exhibited so effortlessly and the four strands of chest hair that defined his masculinity in brief, like an elegant mathematical equation, non verbose.

But the night we are talking about, the night when something terrible happened to Mr Banerjeee, was the night he was short of the kind of confidence that prevented him from talking to the female species for most of his adult life. He was, for instance, beginning to consider the possibility of him being something other than devastatingly attractive, in a manly sort of way, his mother’s praises suddenly started seeming pretty hollow, the choice that he exercised of safeguarding his virginity till that night started seeming more than just a choice, and then there was this other thing.

His wife.

She was, in fact, a woman.

Was she attractive? Mr Banerjee couldn’t really come to a decision before marrying her. He had gone to meet her and her parents after reading a best-selling book on behavioural economics, the decision making process and intuition. He had practiced the art of intuitive decision making, or coming to a conclusion within seconds of being exposed to new data, without spending much time reasoning. It was a fool-proof plan, he argued, combining years of research and experiments conducted in the fields of psychology, sociology, sexology, philosophy, economics, cognition, mathematics, chemistry, biology and semiotics all learned vicariously through a three hundred page book written by a freelance journalist. If there ever was a man who was prepared, if there ever was a girl who was about to be judged faster than a gay atheist, if there ever was a conclusion, foregone...

When the girl appeared, in low cut blouse and tiny golden ear-rings, he stared in the general direction of her breasts till her father cleared his throat.

Their dates had been much fun, Mr Banerjee felt. They had tried out sixteen different types of cuisines in less than four months, interspersed with family dinners and diarrhoea induced or relationship saving fasts. They decided to get married, exercising a choice of the kind unseen since a muslim woman made a choice to be made love to by a hundred crusaders. Everything had happened so quickly, it seemed like it actually had, when it only might have had, in a way.

The topic of sex had not come up in their conversations, yet. Mr Banerjee was afraid at what he may find out, and what she won’t. He wanted the first night to be special and her, to be ignorant. He had decided for, postponed and cancelled regular jogging, morning walks, visits to the gym, a breakfast consisting of raw eggs, egg white, olive oil, boiled cabbage and fruits. He didn’t see the point of preparing for an exam whose questions had been leaked, figuratively speaking.

As these thoughts ambled through his mind, he saw –from the corner of his eyes- what seemed like his wife getting restless. She looked visibly annoyed and beads of sweat had collected on her forehead. Mr Banerjee considered going to the loo, but couldn’t think of a suitable excuse. He wanted to burp, fart and cum at the same time. There was no way only one of those things could happen, since like crabs, the other two would veto. So Mr Banerjee sat there, on his bed, trying to stay as still as possible, fearing motion induced involuntary releases, watching what seemed like a very horny, massively unfucked woman at the edge of her patience.

Suddenly there was a noise. A fart. Unmistakably. You don't need to hear those twice. Mr Banerjee closed his eyes. His mind went blank, as did his stomach. He quietly visualized a lifetime of taunts and domination from a woman who, he thought, had every right to be mad. Here she was, with an excuse of a man, visibly nervous, obviously inexperienced, physically unattractive and sexually impaired on his wedding night, and to top it all, he loosened the wrong muscle. When he opened his eyes, after what seemed like an eternity spent in a butt clenching, self calming sincere buddhist posture, Mr Banerjee saw his wife in front of him, red faced, with the permanent sheepish smile of a girl who had her first period at a Wimbledon tennis match.

“Sorry”, she said.

Epiphany

2011-12-04T01:42:00.002+05:30

The upturned ashtray
woke me up
to sleep;
it ravished my
sense
of appropriation;
it carried me to
far away places,
where people stand
on the edge of mountains,
and think about life;
where women sulk, and
the water
tastes blue;
it moulded me
into a ball of human,
rolling through voids
left behind by my
sidestepping ego;
there was dust
all over,
and i understood,
adult life,
as a stub burnt out
years ago hit me
like a new thought
and i slowly began
considering
cleaning up the mess.

Prisoner's Dilemma

2011-10-20T22:28:00.006+05:30

Maybe when he found out that that girl that he pretended to like so much in order to escape the obvious ugliness and the associated shame of being seen with her, a love that fed on its need to avoid unnecessary confrontations with people who obviously understood how much better he could do and how little he was settling for, for lack of trying or ego or fear of rejection in a public sort of way or laziness or an adjusting nature or for some cold old forgotten thing that he owed her or the way she performed in private to make up for her unpresentability or the million little ways he resented her presence when he did not want to get off or the million and one ways she found to get him to agree to let her stay during the moments he did not want to get off, how very little he was setting for, curve fitting his life to a societal mean, settling, maybe when he realized that at that point it was already too late and that he had simply invested too much to pull out and walk away and go to bars and look at women he always looked at, talk to women he had always thought about when he talked about that girl he was with, whom he pretended to like but didn't, maybe because of the well defined ways in which he feared ending up alone if he let go of her, no matter how ugly she was, always taking care to say how good she looks, how good she looks, especially in front of friends, who, out of courtsey of similar empathies or unuttered sympathies or full of jealousy because he at least had a girl, a girl, a GIRL, maybe because of the way in which he pretended to like the disgusting and pretentious ways in which she talked, maybe because of the way he killed himself inside everytime they made love and he wished he was jacking off instead, maybe because the curtains of self delusion were proving insufficient in creating enough darkness, maybe the way he hated her but was too egoistic to admit in front of his friends and too scared to admit in front of her, maybe because he indulged in such a high amount of self loathig that he thought he did not deserve anyone better than her, when he did, he did, maybe because his best friends, his bestest of friends loved him and complimented her the way an artist's friends compliment bad art, maybe because of the way he always insisted on her hanging out with his friends so that they, his friends, would not think that he was trying to keep her away from them because he was secretly ashamed of being seen with her, maybe because he knew how ridiculous he sounded when he called her sexy and pretty in front of his friends and how ridiculous his friends looked when they silently agreed, maybe because he hated getting hurt, maybe because of the way the five thousand times he had tried to to break up with her had resulted in a long bout of self doubt and debate which he always lost and won and tried to stay away from as much as possible, maybe because he thought she was so ugly she would never cheat on him, maybe because he believed that she truly loved him and wasn't just settling too, maybe because she too pondered endlessly the possibilites that might lie beyond him, just beyond him, if she was tall enough to look, maybe because she too loathed herself for being so scared, maybe because she called him handsome and he called her sexy and they rolled their inner eyes at each other's jokes and poems and were all surface, maybe because they loved each other in that modern game theoretical way, maybe because they were trapped in that, lover's dilemma, maybe because they both realized that in order to find someone better they would need to let each other go but since they had taken so long to find each other or someone what if they do not find anyone who would kiss their genital organs ever again and who would never touch them or let them be proudly unavailable in front of colleagues and call them and talk to them, maybe that was why they were so perfect for each other and maybe that was why it was such a shame when they broke up and ended up crying alone, at the fact that they had so little to lose and so few drops to shed.

Smoke Rings

2011-10-15T03:55:00.003+05:30

i sat and made
smoke rings
an opaque atmosphere
to hide
my insufficient
manhood
until one of them
stopped
mid flight
and started
behaving
like a woman
post menopause
i wasn't being
fair
caring
loving
honest
sexy
i wan't being
sexy
i had promised
i would be
sexy
the ring
the shape
a yelp
a distant cry
a psychological
disorder
a wife
my mistress
the remains
of an
unfulfilled
life
the eagerness
of used rubber
the ego
of a teenager
violated
in a bad way
i had promised
sexiness
the ring
complained
till it was
replaced
by another
smoke ring
who understood me
totally
and smiled
and was shy
and wanted
to run
away
as quickly
as possible
apparently
with this one
i had been
very
very bad
i inhaled
paradoxes
and exhaled
incomplete
resolutions
just as i
had promised
sexiness.

Mirrors of a reflective nature

2011-10-02T11:33:00.000+05:30

I stood in front,
of a mirror, which cried
due to the lack of
serendipity;
It said it was used to
being different
and reflective
but now it plays recordings
of carefully planned
stalemates.
It once was gloriously
made to feel unique,
so it is not to be mis
understood as a
cynic, it only requests
that we be
somewhat
different
from time to time, and
somehwat timely
in our different
ways.

Out of reach

2011-09-30T14:33:00.003+05:30

I think I know, finally, what it means
to die; death, methinks is a state of bliss
of unrestrained thought, the mind it cleans
the memories of life, all puke and piss

staying with me, for times we lived, her
face, her chest, her mind; the little
ways her self is peeved, at the seemingly
small behind.

What i don't know but claim i do, is
a woman's mind in all its glory, the maze
so deep so all but few, can get the gist
of the story.

I know the boundless sky witholds, the magic
and mysteries of how we came, the answer
we pretend to know it moulds
a child's mind, a collective shame.

I thought I knew what music meant,
Beethoven and Mozart were my shrink,
but they are dead and instead i rent,
songs that can really use a drink.

Even friendship i realized isn't benign, it is
more like a broken mirror, it shines, reflects
and shows you a sign, the horrors of your life,
that honest killer.

It bothered me once that I didn't know much, and
maybe i will never, for all my strife, but now
i let my skin the sunshine touch, and gloriously pretend
that I live a life.

Driving under the influence, without any.

2011-09-17T22:33:00.007+05:30

If you walk into the gates of the Andheri Metropolitan Magistrate Court, assorted men in white shirts, white pants and cheap suits will hound you. They will follow you around and ask questions regarding the nature and reason of your arrival. They will ask you about the anatomy of misdeeds or misunderstandings that have resulted in you being there. They will be old and young men and old women, sitting under trees, on benches and on stairs, each having a bundle of papers and files under his arms, sweating profusely and obviously under-worked and they will make you very aware of the urgency with which your work needs to be completed and the apparent ease with which they can do it for you, for a paltry sum.

Driving under the influence of alcohol, if detected, tends to be a messy affair. You need to shell out a few thousand first, in a series of progressively more and more ridiculous sounding fines and bribes. Your driving license is abducted and held hostage for future ransom money and you are provided with a bill for your actions that needs to be produced in a court of law for the judge to examine and use as reference in order to hand out a punsihment meant as a deterent.

If you whine like a bitch, the police inform you of alternate routes to alternate results. One of these lands you at the Andheri Metropolitan Magistrate Court.

The AMMC has three floors. And a terrace. Civil Society members go straight to the terrace. There they find two broken, plastic chairs and an old man in a white shirt, white pants and cheap suit sitting in one of them. He assumes that you would assume that you need to get yourself seated in the other broken chair. You make that assumption and act on its conclusions. You make other assumptions too, like money needs to be ironed out and put neatly inside white envelopes, that you will be required to provide change, that the person sitting next to you knows your strengths, weaknesses and level of sophistication, your salary, bank balance and the level of discomfort that creeps into the inhabitants of Middle Class Land when they find themselves at places that are potrayed only in the movies.

Every year, hundreds/thousands/millions/billions die due to accidents caused by people who drive under the influence of alcohol. Hundreds/thousands/millions/billions more are severely or casually injured. They leave behind an assortment of dissatisfied fathers, devastated mothers, disillusioned children and unfucked spouses whose morose faces on camera are amplified by just that hint of make-up. It is a truly tragic occurence, the loss of a human life, but the sadness is somewhat dissolved in the reverie that is the mourning period, where each relative's and friend's sorrow competes with each other and with the failing organs of the deceased to reach the point of beweildered amusement and anthropic completion.

On the terrace, you feel like a woman in middle of a rape sequence, where if you have come this far, you know it would be pointless to try and pretend nothing ever happened and yet you want it to stop before it reaches its natural state of equilibrium, if only to salvage that last, fragile bit of pride that rests in your eyes. Women being raped, unlike women being made love to, never shut their eyes, for who knows when that last bit of pride will cease all operations and gently sink into the depths of the unconcious, to return later as nightmares or dreams.

It is a pointless death, if you think about it, the entire sequence of trying to cross the road, respecting the signals, looking both sides, seeing a car at a distance, speedily arriving, assuming the certainty of the car stopping as a given and then stranded in the middle of the road, horrified at what you know would happen in a second's time, being equidistant from both ends of the road, not knowing where to run, worrying about your child's future, your spouse's faithfulness and your life's general under-utilization. The actual pain that shoots through your body on contact with a ton of steel moving at a high speed must dwarf in comparision with the stupifying pain that results in the realization of all the tasks that will remain incomplete, all the opportunities missed, all the seconds wasted, all the vacations postponed, all the meals unfinished, all the deadlines missed, all the first dates not resulting in sex, all the possible firt dates not resulting in first dates, all the universities not attended, all the novels not written, all the movies releasing next summer, all the porn lying in your computer, all the lies left unattended, waiting to be exposed and exploited without a defendant.

Once you finish the formalities, the old man asks you to report the next day in front of a judge and plead guilty. He assures that you will receive no punishment and will get back your license in half a year's time. He warns you about the people who, he says, will hound you each time you come to the Andheri Metropolitan Magistrate Court, looking for menial legal jobs that require an amount of reading that in turn requires too much time for a member of the Civil Society to waste.He asks you to walk fast, look down and talk to no-one while leaving the building and the attached compund.

You do that. You say 'Excuse me' a dozen times, in an accented English, to make the difference between yourself and other current occupants of the building quite apparent, you check the wallpaper of your phone a few times to make people realize that time, for you, is of the essence, you walk fast, look irritated and look down. You look down, as you are always supposed to. As you leave the gate, you look up, You look to the right, then to the left and you cross, you walk, you drive away. And in your rear mirror, as you comprehend the unnecessary reality checks that life provides you with from time to time, you cringe, you sweat a little and you mutter the only two words that express the grotesque act of putting a man outside his comfort zone: "The Horror! The Horror!"

An analysis of Jean-Luc Godard's issue with the ebook

2011-09-04T01:02:00.003+05:30

Godard has the following issue with ebooks:

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/movies/2011/01/godard-e-books.html

which I think, implies:

When it comes to digital (digital reading, digital editing etc.), you can either aim for depth or for breadth.

Say you are on page 400 of a novel. You come across a character (say X) in a situation (say A). Now if you want to go back and examine X's previous reaction to A, and if you have an ebook, you can type 'X & A' (or some trivial variation of that) in the search bar and go back to the exact page that you want. Now we can safely assume that breadth is indicated by dates. For example, if X encounters A in 1978 and you want to compare X's encounter with A at an earlier date (as compared to 1978) and if you search for X's previous encounter with A in 1850, you are looking for more breadth of understanding as compared to say if you search for X's encounter with A in 1970. Further, we can also safely assume that depth is indicated by the 'pastness' or 'history' of the previous encounter, which itself is indicated by the number of pages elapsed between the previous encounter (1850 or 1970) and the current encounter (1978). According to Godard, if you search for X's encounter with A in 1850 and land up back on the exact same page that describes this situation (say page number 50) then the 'amount' of 'pastness' or 'history' that is lost is worth 350 pages (since you are currently on page 400), which means a larger loss of depth than if you say, decide to search for the encounter in 1970 (say page number 350) which would lead to a comparatively lesser loss of the past or depth (worth 50 pages). So the perverse dichotomy is clear: If you are using the digital medium (for books/movies/music) and if, during analysis, you aim for more breadth, you have to be content with lower depth and vice versa.

Which again makes a whole lot of sense if you think about it.

Let me try and explain what Godard actually meant in the interview given at the above mentioned link:

Let us consider the same subject X and two different situations A and B. The three dates in question remain the same i.e. 1978, 1970 and 1850. Let us also introduce the notation X:A:1978 to mean Subject X in Situation A in 1978. Similarly X:B:1850 etc. Now say your current status is X:A:1978 and you want to look at X:A:1850, if you are using an analog medium (physical book/analog editing of movies/music) then you need to work your way back to X:A:1850 from X:A:1978 in a linear manner. While doing so, you may encounter X:B:1978 (assuming of course that B:1978 occurs chronologically before A:1978) which may excite you and make you forget all about X:A:1978/X:A:1850. Once you are engrossed in X:B:1978, you may then want to go back to X:B:1850. Once again, you need to do that in a linear manner. Now without loss of generality, say we assume that B:1850 occurs before A:1850 so while going from X:B:1978 to X:B:1850, we will come across X:A:1850. Now our understanding of X:A:1850 once we have gone through X:B:1978 will be finer than what our understanding would have been had we gone directly from X:A:1978 to X:A:1850 without ever encountering X:B:1978, and with similar logic, our encounter of X:B:1850 will be much more refined (when we eventually reach it) now that we have encountered X:A:1850 while moving towards it. This essentially means that this serendipitous refinement that is possible via analog research and understanding is much more rigorous that would have been possible via a digital medium, where we can 'jump' from X:A:1978 to X:A:1850 without re-reading X:B:1978 or (consequently) X:B:1850. This, I believe was Godard's original point.

However, there is one large part that Godard misses out. Non linear narratives. The logic given above works perfectly fine for linear, chronological narratives. What about non linear narratives? Well, if you arrange the events that are part of a non linear narrative in a chronological way (the way some people re-arrange the scenes of the movie 'Memento') the logic above works fine. However, I doubt anyone reads a non linear novel by first re arranging the events chronologically. So in that case, the rigor, consistency and thus effectiveness of the logic stated above itself depends on serendipity, on you encountering chronologically logical X:As and X:Bs. Consequently, that is useless since logic in itself cannot depend on inherent randomness.

There is a way out. If we stop caring about dates and look at the understanding of the story itself, the logic still works. The only reason I mentioned dates was for us to have pins and post-it notes on the entire story board, but that can be achieved by looking at key points of understanding as well. If we allow chronology to be decided on the basis of points that help us understand the story as opposed to points that occur at specific dates, the problem of non linear narratives can be removed and we can apply the above logic to all forms of digital versus analog debates.

An experiment in long term solitary confinement

2011-09-03T18:29:00.008+05:30

15th July, Cells no 25-30, Isolation Ward, Journal No. 6 belonging to one Derek M Ball, Junior Guard, Maximum Security Establishment, Massachusetts.

Today, the two browns got to know of each others shit. Three fucking days! Unbelievable!

************

Ahmed Kazi and Bilal Maqsood, independent researcher in differential geometry and phone booth operator, respectively, bearded and bearded, quasi religious and indifferent, married and divorced and unmarried, father of a child and virgin, lover of music and lover of books, accused of plotting to blow up an airport and accused of plotting to blow up a school, single child and one of 8 children, enthusiastic collector of bulbs and enthusiastic collector of kites, fond of haleem and vegan, blind and deaf-mute, put together in a cell meant for one, put together in a cell meant for long term solitary confinement, put together as part of an innovative experiment in human psychology, put together based on a 4-3 vote, put together as the execution of an idea by Prof H H Brittle of the Univ of Civilization, put together to try and determine how much will it take for a blind man and a deaf-mute to develop a method of communication, put together on an indefinite timeline, put together without any notification sent out to respective families, lover of the smell of rain and lover of the smell of everything, put together without any sort of permission taken from anyone related to Ahmed Kazi and Bilal Maqsood, lover of A Capella and lover of Warhol, put together in spite of Gloria Stevenson of the Association of Human Rights Defendants calling it a "cruel joke, a sadistic experiment and something that would have made Hitler proud to have lived in today's society", lover of extremely loud children and extremely white kittens, put together on the basis of a closed room vote, comprising of 4 members of the judicial-scientific community and 3 of the human rights group, put together in spite of the method of voting called "inherently flawed, retarded and fucking ridiculous" by some, put together in a room meant for one with amenities provided for two, with two toilets, two sinks and two beds in opposite corners, put together in a system where contact with the outside world would take place twice a day through two rectangular slits in the door, one at waist height and the other at ankle height, put together in order to study and understand the human need to interact, put together to know if & how desperate situations may lead to ingenious solutions, put together as a "service to humanity and as a challenge to the basic human spirit of societal relevance" to quote the closing argument of John Wayne of Wayne-Fergusson LLP, legal representatives of the Govt. of Massachusetts.

************

16th July, Cells no 25-30, Isolation Ward, Journal No. 6 belonging to one Derek M Ball, Junior Guard, Maximum Security Establishment, Massachusetts.

Brown fucking fags! Touching each other all the time. Fucking pakis.

************

13th July, Cells no 25-30, Isolation Ward, Journal No. 6 belonging to one Derek M Ball, Junior Guard, Maximum Security Establishment, Massachusetts.

1) 2 hours in. The fuckers don't move.

2) 4 hours in. Both fuckers wanna shit on the same seat. ROFL!

3) 6 hours in. Man this shit is fucking funny! The dumb-fuck just realized that the other dude is fucking blind! The blind guy is shouting is ass off! He thinks this is some sort of torture!

4) 10 hours in. The blind fuck knows.

************

14th July, Cells no 25-30, Isolation Ward, Journal No. 6 belonging to one Derek M Ball, Junior Guard, Maximum Security Establishment, Massachusetts.

1) 5 AM. Blind fuck got crazy and smashed his head on the wall then smashed dumbfuck's head on the wall.

2) 11 AM. Dumbfuck tore their shirts. Fag?

3) 3 PM. Dumbfuck dancing with joy like its Ramadan!

4) 8 PM. Blind guy drawing shapes on the wall. Chief will fucking rape him.

5) 11 PM. The motherfuckers have turned fags! They are touching each other's fucking man boobs!

************

15th July, Cells no 25-30, Isolation Ward, Journal No. 6 belonging to one Derek M Ball, Junior Guard, Maximum Security Establishment, Massachusetts.

Today, the two browns got to know of each others shit. Three fucking days! Unbelievable!

************

The Massachusetts Times, 20th July, 2***
Allison Queasly

Massachusetts: The innovative psychological experiment suggested by the influential Morgan-Warburg-Rothschild Prof of Behavioral Economics and Prof of Psychology H H Brittle of the Univ of Civilization to study the "...basic human spirit of societal relevance..." has been a huge success, Prof Brittle and Governor Magpie said on Thursday. The experiment involved a somewhat controversial but quite original method of putting an visually handicapped and an orally-aurally handicapped together in a cell meant for long term solitary confinement of one, in order to observe the process of development of a means of communication between two human beings desperate for "...societal relevance..." Amazingly, the experiment got over in only three days, post which the two inmates have now been shifted to separate isolation wards. Early reports show that the method of communication was based upon the two inmates writing alphabets on each other's bodies and then trusting that the other person must have understood what was meant to be said (since the matching of what was said vs what was understood could not be verified within the system of a blind and a deaf-mute for obvious reasons) or "communicating via feelings and trust" to quote Prof Brittle himself. The homoerotic nature of this method had initially resulted in some backlash from the Christian-Islamic Conservatives Group, but considering the fact that the inmates had already been declared as possible sinners in the court of law, this backlash quickly lost steam and now the method has been wholeheartedly supported by the CICG. The Govt of Massachusetts has announced a special medal for Prof H H Brittle to honor him and has set up a permanent cell for him to carry out more of such experiments for the betterment of science in particular and humanity as a whole.

************

A highly fuck-the-author worthy account of Anna Hazare's campaign

2011-08-24T23:28:00.004+05:30

You fall into one of the following kinds. You, not me.

The first kind worships Anna Hazare's campaign because it is the only way they will ever get to be in a (facebook)group that has hot, DU-activist/Xaviers-journalist typish chicks. One can recognize these types by looking for Gandhi caps, blue badges, let-us-buttfuck-the-tricolour souvenirs at socials or social networks.

The second kind who hate Anna Hazare's campaign because being a contrarian is a really cool thing to do. These are the ones who usually link to contrarian-ish articles and 'completely agree' with everything that sounds different from everything that is being 'completely agreed to' by others.

The third kind who support Anna Hazare because too many people are being anti Anna, thus being anti-anti Anna is the new contrarian cool thing to do.

The fourth kind who are anti-anti-anti Anna because of the rise in numbers of the third kind.

The fifth kind who are anti-anti-anti-anti Anna...

The sixth group who are anti-anti(6 times) Anna...

And so on, forming a series of increasingly desperate groups consisting of increasingly desperate people, each trying his best to make himself heard, differently, each trying to second guess the other. Not merely a witty status message, but one that is obscure enough to pass off as original. Not just a slogan, but one that cements his position as a truly smart person who more women should be fucking.

It is interesting to see where and when this series converges, if it converges at all. Or do we get into this infinite self-referntial loopy situation where the marginal cost of the addition of one to an existing layer produces another outer layer that contradicts its nearest inner layer neighbour.

In his highly readable "Haunted", Chuck Palahniuk (or rather, Miss America(or rather, slick guy in pink shirt)) talks about everyone's desire to be the person behind the camera behind the camera behind the camera... (ad infinitum), giving the last and the final truth. "We all want to be the one standing farthest back. The one who gets to say what’s good or bad. Right or wrong." To have the appearance of a wise, paitent asshole who doesn't have the balls to stand in front of line but has the audacity to try and be part of progressively hopeful layers of contrarian possibilities. An attention craving whore, a second guessing asshole.

And isn't that all that we are doing? And isn't that all that I am doing? What exactly is the point of this blogpost? Is it adding any more or any less value to the whole issue of fighting corruption than putting up online status messages, staging peaceful protests, sending text messages, fasting? And yet, if I hadn't included this paragraph, wouldn't you have completely agreed with me? Wouldn't I have come across as 'truly' different from the rest? A WOW signal amidst a sea of bullshit? Would you not have fucked me?

And who is to say that I didn't include the last paragraph to be even more unique, more fuckable?

And who is to say that I didn't include the last line to be even more unique, more fuckable?

And who is to say that I didn't include the last line to be even more unique, more fuckable?

And who is to say...
.
.
.

Terrence Malick's "The Tree of Life"

2011-07-31T11:31:00.007+05:30

In one particular part of his masterpiece, "The Concept of Anxiety", the Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard evaluates the difference between innocence and immediacy (with an anti-Hegelian midset) and why we should not end up confusing one for the other. He writes,

"Innocence is a quality, it is a state that may very
well endure, and therefore the logical haste to have it annulled is meaningless, whereas in logic it should try to hurry a little more, for in logic it always comes too late, even when it hurries"

Innocence, he says, is not merely an inferior state that requires a quick annulment with the information of the beyond. Innocence isn't always dependent on the meaning captured in its loss in order to derive meaning for itself. Innocence is a state in its own right, with its own meaning, its own narrative and its own way of viewing what it is and what it will be once it loses itself. There is an anxiety. Especially with regard to children, Kierkegaard writes,

"In observing children, one will discover this anxiety intimated more particularly as a seeking for the adventurous, the monstrous and the enigmatic."

This anxiety leads children to view adulthood as an answer to these questions of existence and meaning. A child accepts adulthood as a state that he is currently ignorant about, but which holds the promise of answering all the doubts that have been building up in his mind, doubts arising from watching his parents fight, watching his mother's face as being different from that of his father, the utter confusion at his body's and mind's fascination with a grown woman's nightdress and his desperation to throw it into the river so as never to feel captured by it and countless, infinitesimal other doubts.

Once adulthood is reached, however, the frustration of realizing the utter sham that is the "loss of innocence" hits the erstwhile child. In that sense the loss of innocence is not that of the child, but of the newly formed adult who was innocent enough to believe as a child that all his questions about life will be answered the moment he steps into adulthood, and this 'injustice' repeats itself at every stage of adulthood. At every stage that you thought would answer your questions you find that there has been a "loss of innocence" and that you are a little bit less innocent about the chances of there ever being an easy answer available and you start rebelling, and with every act of rebellion on your part, in Camus's words, expressing a nostalgia for innocence. Not the innocence of 'not knowing' but the innocence of 'not knowing that we cannot know'.

Finally, at the end of our lives, in that fleeting moment when our lives and all those associated with us seem to walk by us, we are able to meet our yourger selves -as a baby learning how to walk, as a yougster trying hard to please his father because of the abovementioned anxiety, as a brother who couldn't love either enough or just enough- and we have the chance of talking to them and reasoning with them, but we choose not to, for who knows what that might do? We choose to let all the processes be exactly as they are. Because though we may not know it yet, the fantastically complicated process in this universe that has led to our existence as an infinitesimal life form, must in itself, have some meaning greater than the one we search for in our everyday lives.

Terrence Malick's "The Tree of Life" is a grand celebration of these ideas, with visuals of the kind you wouldn't have seen since 2001, A Space Odyssey. Of course, this is only my own interpretation of the movie and this is the kind of movie where each of you will have your own. There has been no other movie, I think (and I am expressing doubt here because this is a big statement to make), that provides as much to the viewer as the Tree of Life, and I cannot recommend it enough.

-Rahul Dash

Issues with Kapoor Sahab's problematic daughter

2011-07-10T10:19:00.005+05:30

"On hot summer nights
in blue denim tights,
when boys come looking,
on the streets, they choose
not, sweets, hags, or whores,
to be very honest,
anything goes."

Historical records provide some cause for dispute as far as the exact date when Kapoor sahab's daughter finally got out of hand goes. Some extremely puritan uncles and aunties say that the day she bunked school for the first time to 'waste time and her respectable father's reputation by spending time with boys', she achieved the aforementioned target. Other more modern kinds of bhaiyyas and bhabhis conjecture that the day she was seen by Manoj bhaiyya in a dark, dingy movie theatre in the company of 'uncultured boys', facing a direction opposite to that of the screen, she had finally crossed the line. Still more up to date, cosmopolitan, Chetan Bhagat reading couples sincerely believed that it was the day she tip toed to Mr and Mrs Kapoor's bedrrom, took out the keys to the Godrej almirah from under the mattress gracing the Kapoor's marital bed (the intactness of which questioned Mr Kapoor's virility, according to some members of the family), opened the Godrej almirah, took out Mrs Kapoor's 'make up wagera' box, lay on her back on the Kapoor's intact, marital bed, spread her legs, lifted her strictly-below-knee-length skirt, pushed (pulled?) down her panties and applied a dark shade of red in 'inappropriate quantitites improper for a prestigious college girl' and in an act of grotesque rebellion, put the lipstick back in the box, the box back in the almirah and the keys back under the mattress, all the while being completely oblivion to the presence of chotu the man-servant, who, as usual, was masturbating to the smell of Mrs Kapoor's used, unwashed undergarments and having seen Kapoor sahab's daughter entering, had hid behind the bathroom door, that she had unquestionably gone out of hand.

It was a sad state of affairs. Kapoor sahab couldn't look into his colleagues' eyes anymore, and Kapoor aunty had stopped haggling with the vegetable sellers, who had started eyeing her with a smirk on their faces in a way that had convinced Mrs Kapoor that they were waiting for the mother to follow suit, since how different could the mother possibly be from her daughter? Kapoor sahab's friends had asked him to look for a 'good boy' from a 'good family' and end all the 'freedom and modern attitude' which were, obviously, destroying his daughter's reputation beyond repair and that before it came to be generally accepted as a matter of fact in the society that his daughter had gone out of hand, he should get into 'damage control mode' and 'cut his losses before it is too late.'

But all that was before the daughter in question had acheived the requisite escape velocity.

These days the Kapoors seem to have resigned to their fate of having an 'unmarried girl of one or two years more than the appropriate age for getting married' living with them all their life. It isn't that they haven't looked for 'good boys' from 'good families', but as Sharma aunty of east-facing-flat-no-205-with-good-view had aptly said, 'good boys are worth their weight in gold, and their parents' in silver, at least' and the Indica driving Kapoors had had one look at the market prices of gold and silver and had cried and cursed for an entire night.

They had problems even with the tier 2 'decent boys' from 'decent families' who were a 'little aged because of work pressure and property based issues'. The problem with the Guptas was, according to sources, the inability of Mr Kapoor to correctly distinguish the father from the 'decent, little aged boy'. The Varmas had an obsession with Mercedes and the entire family had sworn to get their boy married to any girl whose father could afford a Mercedes. The Thakkars were out of the question because there was news in the market that their son was a 'secret "back-bencher"' and that rumor was fed when the Kapoors found the son in question not having any hair on his arms, the part of his chest above the topmost button of his shirt and his face. "That guy is definitely a cock-sucker!", Mr Kapoor had declared with the confidence of a scientist who had done his research. The Junejas and the Mehtas seemed the only two 'decent families' with whom it was worth 'growing the talks.'

But then there was the problem of virginity. Or rather the lack of it. And boobs.

The Junejas were not ready to compromise on virginity. Mr Juneja spoke of virginity as a girl's 'greatest treasure' and the 'second greatest gift she can give to her husband', the first being a male offspring. Mrs Juneja had more practical issues at hand. She astutely observed the fact that her 'decent son' did not 'mix with girls very much' and if the wife turns out to be more 'experienced in these matters' than the husband, the marriage was sure to fail because of 'constant friction'. It cannot be said for sure whether she intended any sort of pun. Mrs Kapoor said that she had heard from her friends that Baba Ramdev has a form of yoga, which, if one practised daily, got rid of constipation but was also said to be able to bring back virginity. The Junejas decided not to take any risks and lamented that maybe this was what the 'intention of God' was.

The Mehtas had an even more severe problem. The Kapoor's daughter, it seems, for all her conquests and the attached glories, had, to put it straight, tiny tits. This was a huge issue with Mrs Mehta, who claimed to understand her son better than 'a carpenter understood wood' and that her son simply could not be with a girl who had small boobs. She also said that she had 'read somewhere' that small chested women tend to be less nurturing since a continuous supply of 'motherly feeling' did not 'come from inside for these women'. The Kapoors did not know how to possibly try and break down such an airtight argument, and all that Mr Kapoor could do was to look at Mrs Kapoor's and Mrs Mehta's chests from the corner of his eyes and feel somewhat cheated of nurture.

These days, there is news 'in the market' and the Kapoors are thinking of approaching 'parties' outside their religion. However, this may be pure speculation.

On some nights, Mr Kapoor, lying on his intact marital bed, has some difficulty in sleeping. On such nights, he gets up, goes over to his daughter's room, kisses her on her forehead and then goes to the 'common toilet' where he sits on the 'western style latreen' and cries for around half an hour. During such moments of intense introspection, he wonders if the reason that his daughter 'got out of hand' was because he hadn't held her tightly enough.

-Rahul Dash

Look ma, an Ad! Or The absolutely awesome & educative nature of advertisements

2011-01-31T19:26:00.004+05:30

In one of the great novels of the 20th century, Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace put in one simple line the supposed aim of all advertisements: “Create an anxiety relievable by purchase.”

It is a ridiculous idea that advertisements are meant to entertain and make you feel good about yourself. Their intent is to make you feel horrible about your current financial, social and sexual condition. A great ad has 15 seconds to make you question your insurance plan, your child’s intellect and/or the hardness of your erections. It is supposed to make you feel queasy. You are supposed to enter immediate and complete depression, with the only two possible solutions being purchasing the product or suicide.

Every attractive man/woman/baby mocks at yours, your partner’s and your child’s relative hideous unattractiveness. You are meant to look down at the cold, yellow, syrupy thing on your plate and compare it with the orgasmic food on the plates of the beautiful people on TV and this is supposed to make you sick to the core. You are expected to make an instant connection between your wife getting fat post childbirth and the brand of talcum powder she uses. The pathetic quality and quantity of sex you have must have a correlation with the colour of the fuel that drives your (amazingly ordinary) vehicle.

If you think AIDS is the worst possible disease then you are wrong. It is cancer. Or polio. Or cholesterol. Maybe even AIDS. You can’t be sure. Ads ensure that you are unsure as to what the most deserving cause is. Oh now you will say that they are all equally deserving! Are they? Do all facial creams have the same concentration of olive oil? No. So fuck you.

The always brilliant (but quite an asshole) Norman Mailer has-to his credit- a beautiful sentence, “Every moment of one's existence one is growing into more or retreating into less. One is always living a little more or dying a little bit.” An advertisement is meant to make you acknowledge the fact that you are retreating into less, dying a little bit and the only way you can move on to the other option is by making the right purchase. You can end the innuendo by asking the advertising agency and Mailer to go to hell, but for that you need to live a perfect life. But you don’t. Your kid gets average grades and gets beaten up at school. You eat some lentil shit every night and you wife can balance a coin on her tummy but not on her breasts. You cannot ignore advertisements. They are meant for losers like you. So fuck you.

After wrestling with such philosophical thoughts, you drive down to the nearest store to buy yourself a life. You use it and everything becomes beautiful. You become happy. The next time you watch that ad which forced upon you the purchase, you can feel good about yourself. You belong to the same group as the beautiful family on TV. You and that guy on TV get to go have drinks together. Your wife can take beauty tips from his gorgeous and tight wife. Your kids can play with their kids and they can win science competitions together. You belong to them and they to you. All their attributes now belong to you. All your shortcomings are shared by them. You are part of a larger, prettier and more intelligent and successful group.

And why not? After all, you drink the same brand of orange juice.

The leaked document that scares Wikileaks

2010-12-10T21:56:00.006+05:30

The following is a confidential document that was sent to me (yes me, not Julian Assange, but me) by a top level Indian MP. I saw the document and got terribly excited...intellectual hard on and all. So now I just HAVE to tell people about this, because that is what people do when they have information that no common man has. It makes people cool and gets them laid...like, big time...or so I have been told.

The document records a telephonic conversation between Nira Radia, Julian Assange, Barkha Dutt, A Raja and Vir Sanghvi. I have absolutely no idea as to what these people were doing together, or why this particular group or who made the document, since every conversational meeting does not lead to proper documentation but nevertheless, this one did. And I have it. For real.

Document begins-

Julian Assange: So Nira, now that I have released the diplomatic documents that you wanted me to release, what should I do next? How do I make the US look more retarded?

Nira Radia: See, the point is...err...my client, Mr Laden, doesn't just want the US to look retarded, he actually wants them to do something retarded, something that can flare up Muslim emotions, you know? Like attack Iran or something. For that you need to leak some documents that conclusively prove that Iran is planning to attack the US with nuclear weapons...or that Ahmadinejad is having an affair with Michelle Obama...you know,that kind.

Julian Assange: The fuck! I don't have that kind of document!

Nira Radia: Oh Julian...you have such smooth hair and yet you are so naive...I know just the person who can help you get...or make such a document...meet Mr Raja...or King in English...Raja? Say hi baby...

A Raja: Hello Mr Massage! Myself Raja. You can call me king.

Julian Assange: Assange! Anyway, how can you get me a document that shows Iran ready to nuke the US?

A Raja: Sir, I don't get stuff. I make up stuff. I can make you a document that looks exactly like a leaked, original document. It will have whatever we want it to have.

Julian Assange: What? Really? Wow! Awesome! But wait! These documents tend to be written in extremely formal language with a lot of heavy, hollow bullshit words...I can't write like that.

Raja: Neither can I.

Nira Radia: You can't write at all Raja. Anyway, I have the perfect people for the job. Meet two of India's most well known journalists...Barkha Dutt and Vir Sanghvi.

Julian Assange: What the fudge man! How come you know everyone!

Nira Radia: I have more contacts than an Intel i7. Barkha, Vir say hi to Julian uncle.

Barkha and Vir: Hi Julian uncle. Nira aunty, can we go and play now??? Pleeeeeze...

A Raja: You mean play with the trust of millions?

Nira Radia: Haha...Oh Raja, you are so subtle...But no Barkha, Vir...you can't go play before you finish your homework. Vir, did you write the essay that I had asked you to write...on how bad Anil Ambani is? You know you have an assignment due to be published in the Hindustan Times right?

Vir: Yesss aunty...

Nira: And Barkha, did you memorize the elocution speech that I had written down for you? If you don't, how will you do well in your viva on We the People?

Barkha: Yes ma'am...

Nira: Good. Julian, you there?

Julian: Yeah...

Nira: So, write about Iran and how it is planning to attack the US with nukes...use phrases like "Ultimate Jihad" and "Project Maut" and "Phir se nau gyarah"

Vir: These sound like late night movies on Zee Cinema...ma'am

Nira: Vir...do you want a spanking?

Vir: I do not want a spanking...

Nira: Then shut the fuck up.

Barkha: We can make a connection with Pakistan so that the US stops aiding them...this will have the twin benefit of Pakistan pulling out of Afghanistan thereby weakening the US there and pushing the Muslim population further away from the US.

Raja: Wow madam...so smart you are...

Nira: How do you think you got the telecom ministry the second time, dumbfuck?

Raja: True...now I realize the true power of media...

Julian: So you guys will make the documents and pass them to me and I will release them on my site and to major newspapers...but this is a very very serious document...this is not like Qaddafi boning some Ukranian chica...no-one will want to believe it unless we have absolute proof...

Nira: I thought of that...we will put Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's pinch-perfect signature at the bottom of the document...Raja is a master in forging signatures...

Raja: Thank you...

Nira: Also, we can shape US public opinion with the help of Bill.

Julian: Clinton?

Nira: Yes.

Julian: And how in the name of Krishna do you know him? And why in the name of Hare would he do that for us?

Vir: Rama. Hare is the term used to praise Rama and Krishna.

Julian: Oh. My bad.

Nira: I have a MMS clip featuring him and a prominent female politician.

Julian: You mean Hillary?

Nira: Oh god no! My God Mr Assange...you are a twisted man!

Julian: Sounds good...but what if the US attacks Iran and innocent civilians get killed...in the millions?

Nira: I have donated my eyes. My conscience is clear.

Julian: Moral-Dilemma-Shattering-Epicness...

Barkha: I can do a segment where I start off by condemning the US for taking the document at face value and for being a counrty full of right wing nuts to consider attacking a large Muslim country on the basis of a piece of paper...We can get some Muslim members in the audience who can't speak English, so that I get a chance to talk in accented Hindi, thus reducing the space between the common viewer and myself...

Vir: Then I will write an article looking at the evidence in an objective manner...by carefully examining the document (that I am writing anyway) looking for hidden clues and shit...

Nira: Then Barkha, you can invite Vir and debate him...with 4-5 ministers present...providing a through analysis of the situation and asking hypothetical questions to the ministers...like "Sir, what would you have done had you been in Obama's place?" or "Sir, what would you have done had you been in Ahmadinejad's place?" or "Sir, what would you have done if I had been in your place" etc.

Raja: Can I also contribute?

Vir: Dude. 2G scam. You. Underground. Like. Period.

Raja: Wokay

Julian: Wait...why the fuck should you guys debate on this? This is a matter concerning the US and Iran? Don't you already have issues of your own...I mean, all due respect to globalization and stuff...but the US government doesn't really give a fuck as to what India thinks...like, really.

Nira: I know that. But we need news! And our client Mr Laden wants us to popularize this concept everywhere!

Julian: Cool. Just one more thing...why are all of us doing this again?

Nira: Because I will do anything...like literally, anything to make money. Absolutely no limits ever ever.

Raja: I don't really need any more money...but I am bored of sitting at home.

Barkha: Because I have no journalistic integrity and in general no integrity otherwise...I am prepared to do anything for money and fame...and I am shameless enough to defend my actions with chor-kotwal-ko-daate typish arguments.

Vir: And what a woman can do...a man can do better. But we all want to know one thing...why are you in this Julian...why the fudge are you in this? I mean...I do not get your deal. Julian? Julian?

Nira: Julian? You there?

Barkha: Gone. Like wind. Again. So strange, no?

Nira: Yeah...I mean... what IS his deal?

-Document Ends

Marital Issues - Part 1

2010-11-23T18:13:00.003+05:30

It isn’t everyday that a man comes back home and finds his wife fucking the neighbor’s son.

One may be tempted to ask how the man found out that the wife was indeed fucking the neighbor’s son, unless he had a spare key to the apartment, which he used every day to unlock the main door and let himself in (since it would be pretty unreasonable to assume that on the day of discovery, he did so out of the blue, for the very first time), unless the wife and the young neighbor’s son forgot to lock the main door from inside and unless they hadn’t finished fucking and washing up and getting dressed and having coffee by the time he came back from work.

It is also surprising that the man hadn’t discovered their fucking session till date, since there was no reason for the man not to have come back home at or around this very hour on any day before the day of discovery or for the wife and the neighbor’s son to have left the door unlocked from inside on this particular day after keeping it locked on all the previous days or for them to have finished fucking and washing up and having coffee at an hour earlier than this on all previous encounters.

This day wasn’t special in any particular way and the husband thought that logically, one can only conclude that this was the wife’s and the neighbor’s kid’s first sexual encounter and that it was a case of genuine mistakes been made and that it demanded careful analysis and consensual therapy sessions rather than hiring lawyers and throwing expensive chinaware from the kitchen closet and screwing up their kid’s chances at making it to the top three ranks in his classroom.

They talked and talked and discussed how this had to be a one-time mistake and how they would not tolerate each others' unfaithfulness ever again, at which point the man exclaimed that the condition lacked basic fairness as he wasn’t given even a single chance to be unfaithful and to get away with it, unlike the wife, at which the wife overreacted and threw expensive kitchen chinaware and the husband called her a whore and an ungrateful bitch and they hired lawyers and split the house and the responsibility of screwing up the kid’s chances of making it to the top three ranks of his class and broke their fixed deposits and multiple bank accounts and sold off their flat and went to live with separate people in separate cities, the wife with an older man and the husband with a younger woman and then they had multiple children and more divorces and more binomial distribution of wealth and bad parenting responsibilities happened and more new marriages and children and divorces, all of which brings us to question the probability of a man coming back home and finding his wife fucking the neighbor's son, unless his marriage is so messed up that he usually has to let himself into the house every night with the help of a pair of spare keys and one cannot help but wonder how better the world would be without the need for a man to carry house keys, to have always the door opened by someone else.

Predicting Depression led Suicides

2010-11-06T18:40:00.009+05:30

Depression is the rubber stuff that people hold on to when they find themselves drowning in an ocean of their own tears. Once they hold on to it, they experience a moment of relief, of accuracy. They feel as if the "belonging to a place" part has been taken care of. That is until they look around. And there is water everywhere.

Jared Diamond has done an excellent study exploring the reasons behind the collapse of certain societies. He gives us a list of 5 points which, if checked, ensure that a society is on the verge of permanent decay. The points are as follows:

1) Human impact on the environment: people inadvertently destroying the resource base on which they depend

2) Climate change

3) Relations with neighboring friendly societies that may prop up a society

4) Relations with hostile societies

5) Political, economic, social and cultural factors in the society that make it more or less likely that the society will perceive and solve its environmental problems

Now if we add Diamond's framework to the post-modernist notion that human beings are social constructs, is it possible to apply the same rules to determine the probability of human collapse, or put in other words, the probability of depression led suicides?

Consider the following checklist:

1)Human impact on the environment: people inadvertently destroying the resource base on which they depend - In our case this will point towards a person who has cut off ties with his family (which is his resource base)

2)Climate change - A sudden change in status quo w.r.t a person's lifestyle. A sudden decrease in wealth, being transferred to a completely new place etc.

3) Relations with neighboring friendly societies - The number of close friends that a person has and the kind of relationship he maintains with them

4) Relations with hostile societies - A person's enemies. And these need not include people who are his enemies for a personal reason or even enemies in the traditional sense. Moneylenders, loan recovery agents, a terrible boss may serve the purpose quite well

5) Political, economic, social and cultural factors in the society that make it more or less likely that the society will perceive and solve its environmental problems - Whether a person is able to diagnose his condition or have it recognized by a friend and whether then, he is able to begin proper treatment, crossing obvious societal and monetary barriers

Now I have an inkling that this analysis will work especially well for highly depressed, borderline suicidal cases. I must state that I have absolutely no way of proving my hypothesis unless I study depressed, suicidal people (post suicide) in the way that Diamond has studied collapsing societies (post collapse). He gives us numerous examples of societies that collapsed including the Maya, the Yucatan, the East Islanders etc. and shows how each of them satisfied his framework before they collapsed. Human collapse, I think, is more difficult to study.

And there is another issue.

Morality.

If you find a person who has already satisfied the first 3 points of your framework, do you get him help immediately or do you wait and see if he satisfies the last two as well? What if it is too late, then? Psychological experiments have done quite worse (Stanford Prison experiments et al)but we need to be absolutely sure of what we are doing.

Studying people who have already collapsed is an easier thing to do. Data can be gathered by talking to his friends and family and all but the 5th point can easily be accumulated. The last point is tricky. Whereas in a society, the failure of the last point comes primarily from the collective failure of its residents to foresee the collapse, in the individual's case, it signals a collective failure on part of his family and friends. Collecting data, from a source that you then wish to implicate is very difficult.

More on this later.

Natasha

2010-11-04T17:20:00.003+05:30

When Natasha comes back home from work after a long and hard day she wishes to be what she hadn't been able to be the entire day on account of who she was in front of those who, if they knew who she really was, would never think of her the way they think of her because of who they think she is , which is not who she really is.

Natasha is the kind of girl who lonely men masturbate over, a lot. She dresses in tight, uncomfortable clothes and talks with an acquired accent that makes her roll her tongue in an uneasy, artificial manner whenever she says "for", "really" (as an exclamation), "oh boy" (as an expression of moderate disgust)etc. She puts chemicals all over her body every morning and walks in a way that requires her to be very aware of the act. She eats an amount of food depending upon the amount she shat that morning, so as to maintain a perfect operational equilibrium which in turn helps her to fit into the tight, uncomfortable dresses and walk in a mode of heightened self-awareness.

She smiles a lot at people who may make or break her career and looks down at her phone while in the company of people who do not possess the power to make or break her career. She hangs out with a lot of women who are a little uglier than her, ugly enough to make her look devastatingly attractive in a relative kind of way but not quite ugly enough to bring her societal status down a notch or two. She stays in touch with men who she knows dream about her when they fuck/masturbate at night because looking at these men, constantly trying to impress her and trying hard not to look at her chest makes her feel refreshed on account of an obvious surge in self confidence.

When Natasha is out in a group comprising of herself, women a bit uglier than her, men who may make or break her career, women who may make or break her career, men who dream about fucking her and other assorted people joined by the common trait of not mattering to her in an obvious way, she discusses global climate, the cheap political tricks of the ruling party and the need to read good books of an intellectual nature. She also makes a comment or two about the decline of musical aesthetics on a global scale. In these social gatherings, Natasha usually wears an even more tight fitting and uncomfortable dress than the one she wears to work. She furthers her complicated situation with high heeled shoes and a bag which contains credit cards and birth control pills and make-up stuff.

In the middle of these apparently highly enjoyable group interactions, Natasha usually lets her mind drift when someone inconsequential starts talking and it is during these few moments of forceful solitude that she thinks how wonderful a feeling it must be to be alone. To not have men or women to talk to. To not worry about sounding lesser than the person people think you are. To be able to fart without excusing oneself and sneeze without being blessed. To be able to dig one's nose for no apparent reason. To scratch at will. To chew with one's mouth open. To wear loose, socially unattractive clothes. To not shave. To not take a bath. To grow fat, slowly, over time, expanding along with the universe. To cry during movies that lack tragedy, to laugh at the ones that lack humor. To listen to the latest commercial track and not have to hide it into obscurity on your iPod lest someone picks up your iPod and switches it on and judges you in an unflattering manner. To watch cartoons and romantic comedies not because they evoke a feeling a nostalgia but because they are simple to understand and enjoy. To not have the eyes of an ever intrusive society waiting for you to fail at tiny little stages of life so that if you refuse to laugh along, the jokes' on you.

Then someone from the group mentions the Iraq war and Natasha exclaims how it is a tragedy.

Slutty Cities

2010-10-17T22:02:00.004+05:30

As October ends, a scary beat,
fruitful trends convince,
that the city grows with every meat,
for it strokes, at night
with a clear view of tall homes, one might
say that the boy smokes, lonely rings,
and girl she squeals, in zesty steps, as she kneels,
beneath the dome to grasp her truth, like a whore
filling her mind, the city lets the wrong ones in,
right behind, for it is we, who run the door
on summer's face, with hollow beats,
we break the intermission with empty seats,
on hallowed shores, sirens remind, a time
so bold, we aim to trap the hummingbird,
to mime the city's heart, with stars around,
all eyes blink but where's the sound?

Traffic Lights

2010-10-03T23:06:00.006+05:30

Your eyes are too heavy
to rest on me, when i am unaware;
So take them off, look at the traffic lights
instead, turning red and green
with the precision of a heartbreak
and the persistence of a heartbeat;
And see how they direct the life, daily,
of so many people, who feel so confident
and so sure of themselves,
not realizing that their entire future
depends, on this silly traffic light;
That something so mundane can result
in a little boy throwing a little ball
against a wall, or a wife calling her high school boyfriend,
nervously, or a mother having to put food away
in a refrigerator, or a man with attention deficiency,
wasting it away on a watch;
And like fools we talk about love and friendship
and philosophy and god, laying our eyes on people,
trying to judge them while they aren't looking,
searching for meaning in their involuntary gestures,
when we could learn so much more, from traffic lights.

Z

2010-09-11T19:02:00.006+05:30

When Z was born, he didn't really make much of it. He couldn't, for example, understand what the fuss was all about him being able to walk or talk or eat or shit, and according to him, the true, amazing innovation would have been in him not being able to do any of these. As he started school, college and then his job, this conclusion remained with him like a second shadow, slowly building around him a remarkable box of why-the-fuck-ness, impenetrable by happiness, hope, religion or family. Z didn't really have to try hard to be what he already was, which people around him thought he had intentionally, painstakingly, become. When he got married, he was happy and sad at the same time. And similar emotional contradictions challenged him when his first child was born. Not the second child's birth though, that he didn't really care about. The first child's birth was science, the second one was mere technology, a stupid repetition. When he retired, Z thought that he finally had all the time in his life (minus all the time he would never have again) to sit back and wonder on the amazing concept of existence, but by now the why-the-fuck-ness in his life had been replaced by an even more remarkable shield of what-the-fuck-ness. When his wife died and his children had their own children and some of them died, he didn't really feel much, as he was worried about his own mortality and fragile health more than anything else. Not that he was inhuman, in fact quite the opposite.

Once he slipped and fell while trying to dance to a tune that was popular during his childhood, and to which he had never danced, in 75 long years, dismissing the tune as frivolous and derogatory to all that is intellectual-ish...sort of. He broke his leg and couldn't really walk properly, ever again, till his death.

And the process of his death,he thought, was as unremarkable as the rest of his life. It was as if he didn't really matter. As if the 80 years he spent on the planet didn't owe him anything. He had risen to a prominent position at work and had won a few awards, but they might as well have been won by someone else. What mattered was that those awards were won and those designations were attained. That the subject involved was him, was beside the point, the baggage. He did matter, to his parents, to his wife, maybe his children, but they were all dead or busy, and he couldn't really, till his last breadth, figure out what it was that he had done while he was alive. He couldn't really put his finger on one thing and say, conclusively, that that was what he had accomplished, good or bad, didn't matter.

So when he was lying on his bed at some hospital and knew that what was going on in his body was so unknown to him or anyone else that it must be the infamous 'death' that people talk about, and when some religious dude came close to him and smiled (having being paid to do just that) and asked him if he had a good life, a fulfilling life and what he thought about the experience of life (before he went to a glorious land with cakes and naked women waiting to fuck him...okay, he didn't actually say that, the priest) Z was confused as to how to reply, and in this state of confusion that had always built itself around him, Z realized that all his life he wanted to point at one single thing ("something...") as his accomplishment whereas everyone around him had their own things to point at, so that everyone was pointing to their own vague things and no-one paid any attention to each other, and that this was the reason why no-one had anything concrete when the time came to show and tell, and in this state of epiphany-blended-with-sadness, Z uttered his last words to the priest,

"Too many people..."

An interview with #200987

2010-08-23T12:58:00.004+05:30

Query:
200987 : It is not the same, you know? Clearly, some asshole stole the documents and put them up on the web and now we have amendments being challenged and governments being fucked and journalists getting all squeaky and media houses all embarrassed and politicians going into hibernation and intellectuals hiding behind big words and activists all charged up and fucking little schoolchildren- who should be eating junk food and masturbating- getting all worked up and lighting candles and holding hands and participating in fucking pansy demonstrations and we have actors and actresses wearing tights and protesting before the release of their shitty movies and housewives killing their sexual boredom by gossiping about the consequences and middle aged husbands with small dicks and sagging testicles and balding heads and kidney stones and high cholestrol trying to feel relative glory by comparing sorriness with worse conditions of sorriness and adolescent poets trying to show their non existent angst and malformed manhood by writing obscure, dicky poems and in general the public is all high morale and contemptuous and preachy. It is all very disgusting, you know?

Query:
200987: I know, I know. What, you think I am stupid? This shit is all fucked up top down, bottom up and in any other kinky way that you look at it. What is it called...perspective or concept or perception or something as bullshitty as that, I think. And then we have people comparing the entire situation to a Greek tragedy and unquotable quotes are put and apologetic tones are used and civilian awards are given and people take a shit on the flag and then go and stand in theaters -during the national song or whatever that is played before the movie about some actress and the wonderful healing ability of her breasts- so straight that you would think they are getting their boners examined.

Query:
200987: It is. I mean, the report said that she was raped in the ass. I mean, if ever there was a report exactly 3 words long! The newsreporterhotchick who has a fake accent and says "for" as if she has an eternal, metaphorical dick stuck down her throat keeps emphasizing that the chick was raped in the ass. How dare that bastard! Rape her in the ass! He should have raped her where god intended women to be raped. Like that was the issue. Like the rape is a crime of fashion. Like the tool and the hole had pivotal roles in this otherwise bland episode. Like if you look into the eyes of the woman while raping her, she might fall in love with you and start enjoying the act, midway and thus salvage an otherwise 'sticky' situation. Like that is what the problem is. Like during she got raped the woman felt a pang of guilt at not taking care of her face which is now so ugly that the rapist isnt interested in looking at her face. Why don't you look at me? Don't you love me any more? Do I look fat? Tell me. It is the haircut isn't it? Like that is the normal thought process of a woman, while she gets raped. And so...

Query:
200987: Well they could have been less technical and more, you know, emotional and maybe human.

Query:
200987: How am I supposed to know?

Query:
200987: Ok. But you are not listening to me. What I am talking about need not necessarily imply that I do not like shit being spoken in public. But some shit stinks real bad and the general public is better off not smelling it. I mena, have you ever taken a stool test? Your shit is checked very scientifically for smell, texture and composition and some other shit. Well, this should be like that.

Query:
200987: Yeah (laughs) I heard that too. That fucker had a different angle to the entire story. He said he was presenting a different angle to the story by discovering the facts that she was raped while going into the loo, not while coming out. The rapist should have at least waited for the poor little thing to take a shit. Getting raped is bad but (laughs) getting raped while wanting to take a shit is terrible (laughs).

Query:
200987: (laughs) yeah even I thought of that. I mean, it would have been messy and it would have pissed the rapist off and it might have made him do terrible, permanent things to her as if what he was already doing wasn't terrible or permanent enough and as if she needed visible proof every day of her remaining life of how different everything could have been if only she hadn't taken the subway that night ...but how fucking awesome a story would that have been!

Query:
200987: Oh that is such a load of shit. It is like some fucker on television speaking in some local language was heard blathering that she got raped because she was wearing a skirt and hence it could be lifted up easily and that if she had had the good sense to wear jeans that would have made it very difficult for him to open and consequently, she would have had a chance to get away taking the help of captain logistics! As if a rapist would attack a girl and then leave the act incomplete because instead of lifting a skirt he has to slide down pants which would ensure that he left the act incomplete as he would then be getting late for his swimming lessons or salsa classes or whatever it is that rapists do after raping someone.

Query:
200987: I got around one, one and a half years to go.

Query:
200987: Attempt to murder. So I will be back.

Query:
200987: Rapists. They are treated like animals. Get buggered every day and if they have raped a child, we take iron rods, put hot wax on them, dip them into sacks with tiny pieces of glass and do our thing with that.

Query:
200987: It doesn't kill them...while making them wish they died or were dead or were never born. It is all quite philosophical.

Query:
200987: No the jailers don't give a shit the first time. And we never do it a second time, lest they get all too familiar with the pain. Memory ensures that they feel that shit every night.

Query:
200987: Oh ok. Busy fucker you are I guess.

Query:
200987: Sure tomorrow sounds fine.

Query:
200987: And give me some updates on that school girl. Some old fuck here got pissed and broke the common room TV while we were watching it. And make them send that motherfucker here, if you can.

Query:
200987: Of course you can't unless you really can. (laughs)

Query:
200987: Me too.

Query:
200987: Bye.

Commonwealth Games = Missed Opportunity?

2010-08-21T17:01:00.002+05:30

My 5th article for the Wall Street Journal can be found here: http://blogs.wsj.com/indiarealtime/2010/08/20/wsjidebate-commonwealth-games-missed-opportunity-for-india/

or, below.

Commonwealth Games = Missed Opportunity?

[In the last 4 years at IIT Bombay where he is majoring in Microelectronics, Rahul Dash has founded the IIT Bombay Debating Society, interned with two investment banks, won multiple awards for writing & debating and made short films. His interests include philosophy, economics, poetry and western classical music. He blogs about all this and more at http://rahuldash.blogspot.com]

Here’s an awkward, unpatriotic question: Why does a largely poor country organize international sporting events?

Does it lead to the betterment of people’s lives? Does it really lead to world peace? Does it signal an end for racism, sexism, classism and all the other bigotries of the human mind? Does it feed the hungry? Does it give education to the country’s kids? Does it empower the country’s women? Or give jobs to the unemployed? Or build widespread, sustainable infrastructure? Improve the environmental condition? Resolve internal conflicts? How about external conflicts?

Apart from the hopelessly optimistic and the absolutely naive, I do not think any of us would find the answer “no” to any of the above questions surprising.

So then, we are back to the awkward, unpatriotic question.

This question, as you can see, has three components- “largely poor country”, “organize” and “international sporting events”. We all know how the dictionary defines these terms, but what do they really mean?

A “largely poor country” is one where the majority of people live in desperate poverty but a select few are so obscenely rich that basic arithmetic compels us to brush the desperately poor under the carpet of the average. A largely poor country is also characterized by a people caught in eternal self-doubt, regarding their and their country’s abilities, a kind of deep rooted cynicism. And finally, each of these countries wants to squash derogatory stereotypical images of itself (the Indian snake charmer, the Chinese sweatshop worker or the Brazilian on the road playing football.)

To “organize” is not really to take care of the logistics and see to it that the event takes place in a smooth manner. To organize is to show the world that you can. To organize is to present yourself to the world through the rosy mirror of “something” monumental that would distract the world’s attention from all your defects, allowing you to build your own image around it.

An international sporting event is that “something.”

If we put these together, a largely poor country organizes an international sporting event in order to present itself to the world’s scrutiny on its own terms, showcasing the grand while covering up the gutter and in the process, breaking out of its old image, and surprising everyone. When we talk about the opportunity provided by the chance of hosting the Commonwealth Games, this is the opportunity.

Has India lost that opportunity?

Yes. By showcasing the gutter and covering up the grand. It is putting the spotlight on everything that a country wants to hide, exactly when the world is looking. Does anyone think that China or South Africa do not have corruption in their systems? And yet what did we take away from the Olympics and the World Cup? Two months before their respective events, were people buying tickets or were they buying newspapers and magazines to read stories about all the reasons why they should not be buying tickets?

In purely utilitarian terms, organizing or failing to organize an international event doesn’t really mean much. However, if you are a society who is craving for adulation form the world, it gives you a chance to make yourself visible. I remember the day I saw the Beijing Olympics opening ceremony. I had two conflicting notions in my mind: “What a waste of money!” and “I never knew China could do that!” It is the second notion that China wanted to put in our minds. And it succeeded, amazingly well. And so did South Africa.

I am sorry to say that the lingering notion in a person’s mind on witnessing the current state of affairs regarding the Commonwealth Games would be: “Corruption and inefficiency? Oh it is India. What did you expect?”

And that is a failed opportunity.

-D

You may find my previous articles here, here, here and here.

Remembering David Foster Wallace (first of 4, maybe 5 parts)

2010-08-16T21:18:00.005+05:30

David Foster Wallace, on what's it like to be a young fiction writer today, in terms of getting started, building a career and so on.

"Personally, I think it's a really neat time. I've got friends who disagree. Literary fiction and poetry are real marginalized right now. There's a fallacy that some of my friends sometimes fall into, the ol' "The audience is stupid. The audience only wants to go this deep. Poor us, we're marginalized because of TV, the great hypnotic blah, blah." You can sit around and have these pity parties for yourself. Of course this is bullshit. If an art form is marginalized it's because it's not speaking to people. One possible reason is that the people it's speaking to have become too stupid to appreciate it. That seems a little easy to me.

If you, the writer, succumb to the idea that the audience is too stupid, then there are two pitfalls. Number one is the avant-garde pitfall, where you have the idea that you're writing for other writers, so you don't worry about making yourself accessible or relevant. You worry about making it structurally and technically cutting edge: involuted in the right ways, making the appropriate intertextual references, making it look smart. Not really caring about whether you're communicating with a reader who cares something about that feeling in the stomach which is why we read. Then, the other end of it is very crass, cynical, commercial pieces of fiction that are done in a formulaic way -- essentially television on the page -- that manipulate the reader, that set out grotesquely simplified stuff in a childishly riveting way.

What's weird is that I see these two sides fight with each other and really they both come out of the same thing, which is a contempt for the reader, an idea that literature's current marginalization is the reader's fault. The project that's worth trying is to do stuff that has some of the richness and challenge and emotional and intellectual difficulty of avant-garde literary stuff, stuff that makes the reader confront things rather than ignore them, but to do that in such a way that it's also pleasurable to read. The reader feels like someone is talking to him rather than striking a number of poses.

Part of it has to do with living in an era when there's so much entertainment available, genuine entertainment, and figuring out how fiction is going to stake out its territory in that sort of era. You can try to confront what it is that makes fiction magical in a way that other kinds of art and entertainment aren't. And to figure out how fiction can engage a reader, much of whose sensibility has been formed by pop culture, without simply becoming more shit in the pop culture machine. It's unbelievably difficult and confusing and scary, but it's neat. There's so much mass commercial entertainment that's so good and so slick, this is something that I don't think any other generation has confronted. That's what it's like to be a writer now. I think it's the best time to be alive ever and it's probably the best time to be a writer. I'm not sure it's the easiest time."

Facebookworm's Thoughts

2010-07-25T23:17:00.005+05:30

Dear,

I wish we had met online before we met in person. I would not have come across as such a grouch. Fastidious, maybe. But certainly not thin-skinned enough to be a grouch on account of your inability. I am not at fault here. At least, not alone. You do not fit. You really do not. You are so inarticulate. I struggle to put together your punctuations, untangle your grammar. You are painfully unfunny. Ignoble interjections based on ignominious interpretations. A normal girl alliterates faster than you state. No doubt, bits and pieces of hubris come to you way too glibly not to be picked up with a certain sense of amazement, but shouldn't you display more control?

I wish I had a chance to read about your interests. I could have expressed disgust behind your back. I cannot now. A man, in person, can only offer silent prayers behind your back, thanking God for His obvious lack of prudence. That issue would not have existed had I known the music that you like or the books that you haven't read or the movies that you cry during. The callousness you display so effortlessly during a casual examination of art. These aspects would have blinded my tongue. But they couldn't, you see, as we met in person.

I wish we had networked socially. I wish we had rubbed shoulders and poked each other metaphorically rather than physically. I could have judged you rationally. I could have, should have and would have avoided you. You bet! I am more symbol, less surface. I would not have fallen for you. Do you know that mean thing that Naipaul said to his wife? "You do not behave like the partner of a writer!" I would have said that to you. Publicly. Don't you worry. My circle isn't well read enough to guess my source. And your circle is a dot. "You behave like the partner of a clerk who has risen above her station."

Please do not treat this as just an indulgence in literary offhandedness. It is not. I am a weak man. I fell for you because I am a weak man. If only I hadn't met you. If only I was your friend online. If only I had the strength to move on. Some clouds do that. They move on. Others stay and cry. The weak ones. Like me. Who fall for apparent heat.

I will now stop writing. I need to be online, where I may get to know a person at a deeper level. I need to know a real person. Unfazed by all considerations physical, I need to learn the truth about a human being. Unaware of skin, I need to be a skinflint, betting very little, playing safe, a man in search of genuine affinity. Not the grinding of the groins, but the haling of the hearts. Goodbye. I need to be online, to browse through hundreds of profiles, to sneak upon unsuspecting female friends of male friends, to peek into their privacy, know their secrets and thus form an informed decision, free from the concept of sex forced by the direct, visual medium.

For in this deceptive world obsessed with all things sexual, if not online and if not anonymously, how else is an honest, unassuming man supposed to find true love?

Warm Regards,

The misery of youth

2010-07-18T19:12:00.006+05:30

Bodies rotting, departing souls
effervescent, oh the beautifully morose,
grey shades of sempiternal nights!
With eviscerated skies,
the mind's gambol turning into a listless
chorus, practiced and perfected,
etiolated, rusty from years of hope.
The lusty exuberance of youth tumbling, from
the throes of a riparian age into the abyss
of a vast, deep expanse of eventualities;
as we scream, push, pull, struggle, cry, breathe
to swim against the tides, our dreams are diffused;
the cognizance that if not for the cold, caliginous
Chill, ephemeral yet deliberate,
how are we to float, with everyone else,
in such a painfully salty sea?

Everyone, on this day

2010-07-14T01:24:00.006+05:30

Everyone blogs these days. Everyone has something to say. Everyone is sure of the existence of a writer within. Everyone is well read. Everyone likes philosophy. Everyone is way too cool to want people to comment. No-one gives a damn about readership. Because everyone is way too complex for anyone else to understand. Everyone is a poet too. And no-one likes to rhyme. Rhyming is for sissies. And for obvious poets. No-one is of-course obvious anymore. Everyone is a rebel. Everyone is a contrarian. Everyone understands the futility of life. Everyone is an existentialist. Everyone sees right through love. Everyone is cynical. Everyone is sarcastic. Everyone has deadpan wit. The jokes' from everyone, on no-one. Everyone loves Victorian English. Everyone argues. And everyone in English. Everyone is a stock investor. Every failure is on account of bad luck. And everyone gets that too. And writes about it. Everyone hates social networking. Everyone is forced to open an account by a best friend. If only someone came up with a new, revolutionary social networking site. No-one would join it. Everyone of-course knows that. Everyone understands Albert Camus. Everyone also understands that no-one else understands Albert Camus like each of them do, and every one of them does. Everyone is a metal-head. Everyone feels the music. And no-one talks like that. Everyone hates sensationalism. Everyone is a deviant. Everyone watches American satirical animated and news shows. Because everyone can relate to those jokes. Everyone has a Blackberry. Everyone smokes. Everyone of-course knows the ill effects. No-one needs to be told, you smug asshole. Everyone wants to make a lifestyle choice. Everyone watches theater. Everyone appreciates Stravinsky. Everyone prefers to use the name 'Stravinsky' instead of 'Mozart' because everyone knows that the former shows a deeper understanding of western classical music, while the latter, a shallow, accidental familiarity. No-one who loses ever does so after taking the game seriously. No-one ever wins by trying hard. Everyone knows that. Everyone knows that the college hottie is a slut, incapable of love. And no-one finds her actually hot. Everyone is way too clever to fall for her charms. Although everyone has the balls, no-one asks her out, even though everyone is aware that she will reject no-one, blow all, and will only bring devastation with her physical and emotional needs. Bitch. Everyone is a leader too. No-one wants to join. Everyone wants to start. Everyone wants to do something different. Everyone has what is takes to go against the crowd. No-one believes in a life that plays musical chairs with designations. And yes, no-one is a virgin. Everyone has had one experience. Of course, everyone knows that it was terrible. No-one would therefore want to talk about it or go for a repeat.

Everyone goes to bed at night knowing that no-one is stupid enough to really believe all that shit, but that everyone is too intertwined in the mess to talk to anyone about this obvious insanity, being hidden like the sun in an ashtray. But as everyone starts falling into a deep slumber, they do so, aware of the existence of someone, one of them, furiously typing away at his computer, trying to convince himself that he is above everyone else as he possesses the ability to grant himself an extra dimension and look down upon everyone else, slowly realizing their actions and taking note of their frivolous existence, in a pathetic loop of self-deceit. This awareness brings an unusual peace to everyone's mind.

They are not alone.

Finding Kafka on the shore

2010-07-01T20:10:00.000+05:30

I was really the first one
who found Kafka on the shore,
but I didn't write about it
out of respect for him, Kafka,
who on the shore lay down,
teeming with lassitude,
broody, and shrugged off my novel
saying, 'what is the point?'
'I wrote too, you know;
a here and a there,
for what? Manhood?
A metaphor? On some shore?
The subject of petty reverie?
Of chatoyant dreams? The horror!
I wish I could catch hold of that
someone, so wretched, and shake
literature out of him,
one letter at a time,
making him fall short of words, when
I ask,
why?'

Differences

2010-06-06T02:28:00.003+05:30

When Dubai got the tallest building in the world, when America got the IPad, when Rio got the Olympics and when Singapore got night-time F1, I thought people there must really be happy. More than anyone else in the world at each of their specific moments.

Until I learned (here) that Rwanda will be getting its first ever ice-cream shop this week.

Not its first KFC or Pizza Hut or billion dollar hotel or trillion dollar dam or Oscar nomination or Miss Universe or world cup winning team.

No, it will get its first ever ice cream shop.

And that should shut you up for the next few minutes.

-D

Has Europe Benefited from a Common Currency?

2010-05-27T16:20:00.003+05:30

You can find my 4th article for the Wall Street Journal here: http://blogs.wsj.com/indiarealtime/2010/05/27/wsjidebate-has-europe-benefited-from-a-common-currency/

Has Europe Benefited from a Common Currency?

[In the last 4 years at IIT Bombay where he is majoring in Microelectronics, Rahul Dash has founded the IIT Bombay Debating Society, interned with two investment banks, won multiple awards for writing & debating and made short films. His interests include philosophy, economics, poetry and western classical music. He blogs about all this and more at http://rahuldash.blogspot.com]

We the people jump to rather rash conclusions.

Historically, any form of crisis in any sphere of human activity has usually been followed by large-scale panic without much thought. And each time, the cure is perceived to be the death of an erstwhile darling of the masses and the media.

Even if we restrict ourselves to the field of finance over the past few decades, the collapse of Long Term Capital Management made people believe that the Black-Scholes model of derivatives pricing was completely useless, the subprime mortgage crisis made a villain out of securitization.

The Greek crisis has led to similar accusations against the European Monetary Union in general and the euro in particular.

No-one really cared to find out whether the Black-Scholes model or the securitization industry had anything good to offer. And no one really bothered to suggest an alternate system. We all love to laugh at the guy who fails to find a seat when the music stops playing. That guy currently is the euro.

So what if low inflation, minimal currency risk, lower transaction costs and greater transparency in commercial dealings in the euro zone have been possible because of a common currency? And so what if it has led to a boom in trade and tourism across Europe, bringing about efficiency in cross border price setting and eliminating the need to change money, pay commission charges and work out exchange rates? We all needed someone or something to fall from grace to the gutter.

We needed an excuse to cover up our own excesses. We needed to blame exotic derivative instruments to camouflage the ridiculously simple fact that if home borrowers weren’t greedy, there would not have been a crisis. And now, we need statements like “there cannot be economic unity without political unity” and “the European Central Bank undermines the sovereignty of smaller European nations” to hide the very simple fact that the countries that are suffering right now were terrible at budgeting.

The same principle that prevents us from randomly buying a Ferrari should have prevented the Greek government from spending excessively, without paying any heed to their fiscal deficit. The single currency did not force European leaders to set up Maastricht deficit commitments that were way too stringent not to be breached and way too theoretical not to be stringent.

A Goldman Sachs report released in June 2008 called “The Euro at 10: Performance and Challenges for the Next Decade” pondered the question of whether the European central bank system will be able to act as a lender of last resort in a future period of financial instability.

The answer is, yes: The ECB has responded to the Greek crisis, in spite of the bailout being a terrible political decision for leaders like Germany’s Angela Merkel. This shows that the euro zone’s leaders are committed to the euro. This is because they have tasted a small but significant amount of success already and they believe that in the longer term, the common currency will be one of the most important factors that will decide whether Europe grows in a united manner or stagnates.

And finally, economic concerns put aside for a bit, we are talking of a continent that faced the possibility of annihilation in the first half of the 20th century. Co-operation was an unknown term. Today Europe stands united, not completely but significantly. And without doubt the part of that co-operation that European leaders are most proud of and recognize most clearly is the euro. Even if the euro is just an illusion of unity, it has given us the reality of peace.

You can find my first three articles here, here and here.

-D

The Chelsea Football Club and me

2010-05-09T23:08:00.003+05:30

I had been waiting three years for this.

The last time Chelsea won the tile was during my freshman year. I waited, cried, cursed for 3 long years, collecting CFC shirts, sweat-shirts, towels, bands, key rings, posters, badges, caps, shoes and socks in the meantime.

I don't think I have missed a single match that Chelsea have played in the last 3-4 years. Even Carling Cup and FA cup matches have been downloaded and seen. At least the highlights.

At the end of my 5th year, as I prepare to leave IIT, they win again :)

And it feels really really sweet.

-D

Is Food Security a Basic Right?

2010-04-20T11:33:00.002+05:30

You can find my 3rd article for the Wall Street Journal here: http://blogs.wsj.com/indiarealtime/2010/04/20/wsjidebate-is-food-security-a-basic-right/

Rahul Dash: What We Choose to Ignore

[In the last 4 years at IIT Bombay where he is majoring in Microelectronics, Rahul Dash has founded the IIT Bombay Debating Society, interned with two investment banks, won mutiple awards for writing & debating and made short films. His interests include philosophy, economics, poetry and western classical music. He blogs about all this and more at http://rahuldash.blogspot.com]

When India became free, a lot of people lost their lives. Millions were displaced. The subcontinent was on the verge of complete collapse. From the point of view of economic and political logic, it would have been much better to have remained under British rule, if only to avoid the brutalities of partition.

But political freedom was an idea whose time had come. The technicalities attached to India’s freedom process (partition, the borders etc.) were far from perfect, in fact some would argue that they were heavily flawed. However, it would have been inhuman to wait any longer to give a people the right to self governance. Freedom was to be ours, at any cost. Optimization-based concerns were tossed aside.

This is why it is ironic that a country that craved for freedom from colonial rule is ready to forsake freedom from hunger, a freedom that is far more important than the one we got six decades ago. A freedom that is more primal. Historically, people have survived quite well under all types of governments, but there isn’t a single example of malnutrition and progress co-existing in any form.

I should make it clear that I am not arguing for any particular solution or bill. I am not a skillful politician neither am I a brilliant economist. But I am human. And I believe that that is qualification enough to say what I have to say.

It is quite shameful that we quote fiscal numbers, GDP digits and diplomatic words to make hunger sound like a politically strategic or economically conducive tool. I understand that the Government of India does not have enough money to hand out a healthy meal to each and every person who cannot afford one; I also understand that the entire idea is impractical. But when you consider that millions of Indians suffer from hunger or that the number of children suffering from malnutrition in India is more than that in Sub-Saharan Africa, there is nothing in these statistics that strikes me as practical or fair.

I honestly think it is a national shame that we consider infrastructure, openness of markets, better regulation of banks among others, as the most pressing issues of our time when a majority of people in our country go to bed without having a proper amount of food. This is not to say that one set of problems can be completely neglected because of the other but, as intelligent creatures, we have the ability to prioritize and decide the areas in most need of our financial and intellectual resources. There needs to be a shift in policy in a country where, to paraphrase Dickens, there are people so hungry, that freedom cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.

It need not only be in the form of hand outs. Increase agricultural productivity, make the distribution networks efficient, and have a focused plan targeting children to ensure that they do not go hungry under any circumstance. There isn’t a dearth of ideas. There isn’t a dearth of money. There is, however a dearth of anger, frustration and consequently, will. We are used to having people go hungry on a daily basis, used to watching people beg at streetlights for food, used to see children searching for food in dustbins.

These are very common sights in big cities like Mumbai and I guess they make us feel quite comfortable. Comfortable in the fact that we belong to a country that celebrates political freedom every year, freedom from standing in queues at banks, freedom to express sexuality, freedom of expression, freedom to watch 100 channels on cable TV, freedom to drink and smoke. But for some inexplicable reason, our otherwise magnanimous sensibilities refuse to accept freedom from hunger as a basic human right.

-D

P.S. You can find my first 2 article here:

http://blogs.wsj.com/indiarealtime/2010/04/05/wsjidebate-was-google-right-to-leave-china/

and

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB126769975627755507.html

The last sip of whiskey

2010-04-14T18:47:00.005+05:30

The last sip of whiskey
is a strange companion.
He shares with you only the vanilla,
known to all, dazzling none,
nothing personal, he simply doesn't trust you with details
like the name of a woman, the drape fetish,
the school teacher with the enticing smile
the smell of late night, the vanity of early morning
the few lines of poetry and the allegro, harbinger
of depravity, resentment and what have you.
The last sip of whiskey isn't really benign,
sans shoulder, hand, brush, pen.
Reminiscent of better times or maybe worse.
Jolted, as you stew in your own juice, he
just sits there, supine, wide-eyed, deliberate,
and asks you if you have someone else,
that he may relate to, better.

Was Google Right to Leave China?

2010-04-06T20:01:00.002+05:30

My second article for the Wall Street Journal: http://blogs.wsj.com/indiarealtime/2010/04/05/wsjidebate-was-google-right-to-leave-china/

Was Google Right to Leave China?

Rahul Dash: A Calculated Business Decision

[In the last 4 years at IIT Bombay where he is majoring in Microelectronics, Rahul Dash has founded the IIT Bombay Debating Society, interned with two investment banks, won mutiple awards for writing & debating and made short films. His interests include philosophy, economics, poetry and western classical music. He blogs about all this and more at http://rahuldash.blogspot.com]

Let us play a game. Imagine yourself to be a young student who wants to form an informed opinion on debatable forms of dissent.

Welcome to India. Please make yourself comfortable in one of the thousands of cyber cafes spread across the country. Open your browser. Go to www.google.co.in. Run a search for “Naxalism.” Check out the results.

Now catch a flight and go to Beijing. Go to a cyber café, open your browser and go to www.google.cn. Run a search for “Tiananmen Square, 1989.” Go through the results.

Frustrating, is it? OK.

Let us try a different game.

Imagine yourself as a smart little kid born in Soviet Russia. Also imagine that your family flees the country for a “freer” nation. Further, imagine that you grow up to found a company with an aim to make factually correct information freely available to the entire world.

Fast forward a bit. You have become a billionaire, a legend, a champion of democracy and freedom of speech. But you are, of course, a businessman. You suddenly come across what seems to be the greatest possible market for your company. You greedily look for ways to enter the market, just like everyone else. The market, it turns out, has its price. In order to do business, you need to give up most of your ideals that helped you become a billionaire, a legend, in the first place. But, as I said before, you are a businessman. So you take a risk. You proceed to cover your dead ideals with dollar bills.

You try hard but you cannot seem to be able to match local competitors. You spend time, money, energy but to no avail. You show a decent performance, your rival shows a fantastic one. Without a shiny enough performance chart to distract them, people start pointing fingers towards your dead ideals. You are caught in a terrible situation. You decide to wait for some time, as if the solution would hop around the corner and greet you with open arms. You decide to disprove Thoreau, by killing time without injuring eternity.

You realize that you have failed in this market from the point of view of both business and ethics.

Sergey Brin appears to have realized this. Others at Google did likewise. Google’s acceptance of censorship of search results by the Chinese government made it look like an evil, heartless corporation. However, an evil, heartless corporation is usually let off the hook by the media if it does great business. Far from it, while Google’s market share in China was 31% by the end of 2009, Baidu (a local Chinese search engine) had a share of around 65% and growing.

The highly sophisticated cyber attack in December 2009, aimed at hacking into the Gmail accounts of Chinese human rights activists around the world which Google claims originated from China, may appear to be the defining incident that prompted Google to stop filtering search results and threaten to leave China. But the causality is carefully misplaced. The attack provided Google a much needed and awaited excuse to exit a business that, although immensely promising, was bad for both the balance sheet and the brand image.

Hence, I believe Google was right to quit China. But it is important to understand the meaning of the term “right.” I do not mean to say that Google was right in the way Gandhi, Martin Luther King or Nelson Mandela were right. Let us not be naïve and turn this debate into that of freedom of speech and justice alone. Google was right because from the point of view of cold economics, it made the optimal choice.

*****

P.S. You can find my first article for WSJ here.

Time

2010-03-26T02:43:00.011+05:30

What if you run into Time at a singles bar,
brooding over her future, unscrambling the dynamics
of her past-ephemeral, planning vacations,
trying to lose weight, taking pregnancy tests,
striving to dissemble age, her big morose opulent eyes
weaving a tale of disappointments, of aborted liaisons;
Trying to connect anecdotes, evocative of an absent
panacea that would render all sorrow ordinary and obvious.
Would you ask her about the deluge of smiles that promised
a line, only to introduce sudden, permanent punctuations?
Would you try and console her? Would she understand
your reasoning; Woebegone as she may be,
that she is precious, and isn't supposed to wait?

-Rahul Dash

On Education: Part 1

2010-03-06T11:31:00.005+05:30

When you come to India, you will meet little Madhuri in Dharavi, the largest slum in Asia, which stands as a blot on the face of Mumbai. Little Madhuri is 7 years old. She looks like an angel; with big, hopeful eyes and a smile that makes the world seem innocent. Little Madhuri likes dancing to Bollywood music, loves watching cartoons when she occasionally visits the home of the wealthy Vermas who employ her mother as a house-maid and likes playing (like all little girls) with whatevar she can lay her hands on: stones, plastic bags and mutilated, thrown away Barbie dolls. She thinks like any other 7 year old girl, except that little Madhuri doesn’t go to school.

Not that her parents cannot afford it. Public school system in India is free. In fact, the government provides children with mid-day meals in order to persuade their parents to send them to school. A survey by ASAR shows that 96% of children in India are now enrolled in school. However, for a majority of them, education ends with enrollment. The number of students actually attending classes is abysmally low, the percentage falling further in the case of girls. And even those who attend are barely able to show much progress. Another survey by ASAR shows that many students in the 5th standard find it difficult to read textbooks meant for the 2nd standard. The lack of teachers, the persistent and perverse short term economic incentive in the form of child labor and the terrible condition of school infrastructure results in a ridiculously low quality of primary education.

The government usually responds in the form of handouts given to various states. Not only is the allocation deeply influenced by regional politics, the amount is laughably low. Proponents of privatization of primary education fail to answer questions on motive, profitability and scale. It would be naïve to assume that a private enterprise may come up with the huge initial investment required to reach various corners of India, especially with no immediate revenue involved. Academics state the need for a free society, not bogged down by excessive government intervention. However, it is not possible to have a free society based on the values of liberty, equality and justice when the members of the society at large do not even understand what these terms mean. We therefore need an education that replaces empty minds with open ones.

The work done by institutions such as Teach For India is commendable, but not enough and more importantly, not fast enough.

Most intellectuals make a case stating that the next 30 years belong to India since it will be reaping its demographic dividends, as US and China have done over the past 20-30 years. However, demography ensures opportunity, not success. In order to convert opportunity to success, we need education.

One look at little Madhuri’s big eyes will tell you a story of hope. Her mother’s eyes present a story of lost opportunity and despair. If we do not act quickly enough, it won’t be long before hope turns into despair and a childhood is lost.

Does India Need an Annual Budget Speech?

2010-03-04T19:09:00.002+05:30

My article in the Wall Street Journal. Here:

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB126769975627755507.html?mod=WSJINDIA_hpp_MIDDLEFourthNews

Rahul Dash: Which Avatar Are You?

[In the last 4 years at IIT Bombay where he is majoring in Microelectronics, Rahul Dash has founded the IIT Bombay Debating Society, interned with two investment banks, won mutiple awards for writing & debating and made short films. His interests include philosophy, economics, poetry and western classical music. He blogs about all this and more at http://rahuldash.blogspot.com]

A budget is a plan to allocate limited resources to unlimited wants. It is made for a particular system by people who are responsible for running the system. Unless one believes that the budget is a method for methodically going broke, its importance as a policy tool cannot be questioned. So the debate "Does India need an annual budget speech?" is in essence the same as the debate "Should the government play an active role in running the economy?"

Thousands of able and altruistic economists, philosophers and politicians have dissected this topic. Each time a country faces an economic crisis, the debate is renewed with fresh vigor; new, bold voices take centre-stage but sadly, the content remains the same.

Instead of putting forward the same century-old arguments in an academic fashion loaded with dubious statistics, let me assume three different avatars that represent three major voices of the Indian economy and try to present their concerns.

Avatar 1: A farmer

I am a hardworking farmer who is often hailed as a champion of the Mahatma's Bharat. I may not be the most efficient or productive, but I try and make the best use of available resources. I haven't yet fully accepted technology and am perennially in debt, but I am improving and I need the government's support. I know that the government hasn't been able to remove poverty in the last six decades, forcing a lot of my brothers to take their own lives to escape debt. But I believe my government when it says it cares. The Green Revolution was the work of a government. And how can I forget the loan waiver and NREGS? I know that many intellectuals have criticized these programs and have asked for "fiscal responsibility" and "productivity." Please don't misunderstand me. I too want to grow along with the rest of India. But first, I have a family of 10 to feed. People keep saying that the private players can help me better. But until they provide a practical, sustainable alternative, my government is my God.

Avatar 2: A teacher

I hope the government understands how important it is to educate our children. I wish the government stopped tokenism (in the form of small handouts) on the basis of regional politics and sincerely tried to improve the quality of public schools. But even when I am making wishes, I can only turn to the government. I do not really expect any private player to come up with the massive investment (with no immediate returns in sight) that the public education system needs. We cannot sustain a free society based on western ideals unless our people are educated enough to understand the meaning of these ideals, an education that replaces an empty mind with an open one. So until we eradicate illiteracy, we need the government. Our children need the government.

Avatar 3: An entrepreneur

Thank God I wasn't born during the License Raj. It was terrible for entrepreneurs in those days. But I believe that one cannot make sweeping assumptions about the government based on one lost generation. Those policies were formed by people right after independence; maybe they seemed right back then. We shouldn't forget that those policies were removed by the government and that too as part of a budget. I believe that the government has made a lot of mistakes but it is trying to learn from them. In a country like India, only the government can get rid of poverty, provide infrastructure and thus open up a huge untapped market for entrepreneurs like me. I think the time has come for the government to remain active but as an enabler, not a micromanager.

In this seemingly endless debate, which are you?

Great Books on India

2010-02-24T05:45:00.003+05:30

India is to authors what love is to poets or women are to painters. There is so much packed into this nation that hundreds, maybe thousands of excellent books later, we still crave for somebody to point a finger at the heart of the idea of India. Not because people haven't already done so, but because we expect so much more.

Starting with this post, I will try and list wonderful books/movies pertaining to a certain topic. I start with great books about India. Not in any particular order and drawing only from the list of books that I have read:

1) Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie - If you haven't heard about it, maybe you are dead. And if you are dead, quick, read it. Maybe it will put some life into you.

2) India after Gandhi by Ramachandra Guha - The best historical work on India that there is. A fascinating account of a nation that, to quote Aldous Huxely, "is almost infinitely depressing."

3) Discovery of India by Jawaharlal Nehru - Can there be a more elegant book? Can there be a more elegant author?

4) The Argumentative Indian by Amartya Sen - The best contemporary Indian voice, especially as a rebuttal to the West's ambiguous stance on India.

5) India: A Million Mutinies Now by V.S.Naipaul - The world's greatest travelogue.

6) The Elephant, The Tiger and The Cell Phone by Shashi Tharoor - Typically Tharoor. Enjoyable.

7) Imagining India by Nandan Nilekani - Modern, wonderfully researched and urgent.

8) India Unbound by Gurcharan Das - Extremely insightful and very well written. In case you want to learn about India's journey from past to present and the uncertainties about its future in the simplest possible manner, this is the book for you.

9) India in Slow Motion by Mark Tully - The most knowledgeable foreign voice on Indian affairs.

10) White Mughals by William Dalrymple - This book should ideally be placed before India after Gandhi, in a chronological sense. Not only is it a wonderfully described love story but a unique account of the Anglo-Indian era.

Do you think I have missed something?

-Rahul Dash

Real Work vs Fake Work

2010-02-19T07:45:00.009+05:30

This is an email that I sent out to Joshua. When we do not spend 24 hours a day together, we exchange emails. I know :P

(Those who don't know Joshua, what are you doing on this blog anyway?)

Read this:
http://ibnlive.in.com/news/forbes-india-why-ceos-want-govt-jobs/110222-7.html

The difference that Arun Maira makes: "As a consultant, he can locate systemic problems and provide solutions. He is already helping the Planning Commission overcome its inward-looking mindset and open up to feedback from the outer world."

So as I understand, his skill sets are: being able to "locate systemic problems" and "provide solutions"

Also, his specific use is: To help the Planning Commission to "overcome its inward-looking mindset" and "open up to feedback from the outer world"

I don't know about you. But to me, this is a very complicated world. It shouldn't be so difficult for people to tell us what they do.

Like,

"I make cars."

"I teach children."

"I write books."

"I make music."

"I sell toothpaste."

as opposed to

"I locate systemic problems."

"I provide liquidity for trading contracts drawn on shares of a company that makes cars."

"I generate strategic actionable insights that deliver impactful results."

Really.
-Dash

P.S. I have a job in finance. Joshua in consultancy. We are both hypocrites.

P.P.S. Nothing against consultants/traders in general or Arun Maira in particular. I have attended a lecture by him. Very smart person. I just hate all the jargon. And I wish people made their work sound easier than what it is, not more complicated than what it will ever be.

On Coetzee and Miller

2010-02-13T12:16:00.006+05:30

Few authors have left the subject of an artist's struggle untouched. Almost everyone has an opinion on the ways and means of a struggling writer, painter or musician. Maybe because everyone has been through that stage. Or maybe because the entire process of achieving success or self realization (or both) is exciting enough to command a chunk of time.

However, in case one is looking at the broad methods of a struggling artist, one can afford to limit the discussion to two books.

1) Youth by J.M.Coetzee

2) The Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller

Coetzee is a 'clean' writer. His books are usually what they are, and they are magnificent in their own way. It is extremely easy to read a Coetzee, but extremely difficult to appreciate all its nuances. The subtle use of language makes reading him a mental pleasure. Youth is a book about him escaping the Apartheid struck South Africa, escaping the mundane that is a day job, escaping various women, escaping love and finding solace in his perceived sense of being an artist. The book uses very simple language, but is one of the most hard hitting and depressing books you will ever read, especially if you have artistic aspirations. The description of the surroundings takes a back seat, the description of self assumes utmost importance. The surroundings become a flexible device, their only use being to reflect the self. Women are objectified, as with all artists and relationships are considered a burden, their only use being to provide an artist with the lifestyle that has come to be associated with artists. Spectacularly honest and emotive, Youth is one of the greatest books ever written to describe a person's aspirations.

Coming to Henry Miller, I am sure many of you have heard of him, or his controversial books. Tropic of Cancer is usually considered his greatest work. The book released in France in 1948 and was subsequently banned in the U.S for 27 years for its 'obscenities'. The book released finally following a landmark court case which had (and still has) large implications on artistic freedom in the U.S. Set in depression era Paris, Tropic of Cancer is a semi-autobiographical account of Miller struggling to become a writer. However, that is where the similarities with Youth end. Lots have been said and written about Miller's choice of scatological language and explicit scenes, so let us not get into those things. They are simply an attempt on part of Miller to hide the true meaning of the book, making it available only to those who have the patience and belief that they will eventually find a true, deeper meaning. Just as Miller himself was patient enough to wait for his brilliance to emerge, he wants us to be patient too. So instead of literature, we look at philosophy.

While Youth has a protagonist who aims at a certain kind of lifestyle, Tropic of Cancer (TC) has one who aims at life. Youth has the protagonist getting into relationships of a certain kind with women of a certain kind on the basis of what he has read about an artist's lifestyle. On the other hand TC has Miller indulging in what he calls "giving it to the cunts" ('cunt' being a metaphor for women throughout the book) Youth is an introspection, a 'hindsight' look at an artist's lifestyle. TC is an artist's diary, written as things happen. Youth has an artist who has an inflated ego, while Miller lets his artist survive at the mercy of others, with the ego having died before page 1. Youth elevates an artist's mindset to the highest level, TC makes it guttural. Youth makes you want to be a free-flowing, detached writer, TC makes you want to hate one. Youth uses the environment to describe the artist, TC uses the artist to enhance the environment.

Youth is an artist's memorial. Tropic of Cancer is his journal.

It is really difficult to put in words what these books (should) mean to anyone who wants to become permanent through his work. One has to read them, one after the other or the other way round. In any case, if you have the ability to get around and beneath Coetzee the dreamer or Miller the detester, you have these two books as the greatest descriptions of a struggling artist's life and mind.

Highly recommended.

-Rahul Dash

P.S. I have written about Coetzee here.

India-Pakistan & the Composite Dialogue

2010-02-07T18:32:00.001+05:30

Is it time for India to restart the “composite dialogue” with Pakistan?

We aren’t writing poetry. So first things first, let us do away with the euphemism. The so called ‘composite’ dialogue that Pakistan wants to resume is a way of saying, “Let us discuss Kashmir, since without solving that issue, there simply cannot be peace between India & Pakistan.” On the other hand, India wants the terrorism issue to be addressed first and in a satisfactory manner.

I love peace as much as the next person. And I really want to see the two neighbors share a friendly relationship. But I am completely against the resumption of the composite dialogue until Pakistan brings the perpetrators of 26/11 to book. Let me tell you why.

India agreed to start a ‘composite dialogue’ with Pakistan provided ‘Pakistan does not allow its territory to be used for planning and launching acts of terror against India’. That was in 2004. The number of terrorist attacks on India since that date is a matter of common knowledge. The latest in the series is 26/11. Hundreds have died. The composite dialogue was going on all this time. Has it brought the nations any closer? Has it stopped terrorist attacks from happening in India? Has it not only postponed the eventual attacks and the souring of relationship?

Charles De Gaulle famously proclaimed, “Diplomats are useful only in fair weather. As soon as it rains they drown in every drop.” We are a nation of extremely impatient individuals. Each time an attack takes place, the entire country wants war. As time passes, people realize the unmentionable consequences of war and decide to go the diplomatic way. Talks start and start going nowhere. Then the next attack takes place. The rhetoric begins. The loop repeats itself.

With 26/11 and its aftermath, the entire cycle has reached a new level of ridiculousness. Not only has Pakistan not been able to prevent its territory from being used to perpetrate acts of terror against India, it has shown a glimpse of the intentional/unintentional mode of inaction that has frustrated India for over three decades. When India produced evidence proving the involvement of Pakistani nationals in the attacks, Pakistan first resorted to denial and then refusal. When the pile of evidence from India and pressure from the international community (read: U.S.A) became too strong, Pakistan kept the mastermind behind the 26/11 attacks under house arrest! He was subsequently freed from this minor inconvenience too.

All of which should bring us to one question. When does composite dialogue work? It works when both parties involved have a true desire to set aside minor indifferences and work at solving the key issues that would bring peace and stability. When one country is globally recognized as a sponsor of terrorism and the other country the biggest victim of terrorism, what is more important? To solve the terrorism issue? To have a composite dialogue?

People who support the composite dialogue usually make the point that it is in India’s best interests to carry out dialogues at all levels. I ask; has it brought the Kashmir issue any closer to a mutually acceptable solution? Has it brought the perpetrators of terrorism to the book? Has it achieved anything other than frequent flyer miles for diplomats?

Others say that India does not have a choice. Is that the argument on which policy should be based? That we are incompetent? Help less? I agree that dialogue is the way to go ahead. But shouldn’t dialogue be restricted to addressing the more pressing issue? Especially when hundreds of lives are lost almost every year to terrorism?

The Nobel Prize winning game theorist Robert Aumann defines a person’s behavior as rational if it is in his best interests given his information. Composite dialogue may appear rational to Pakistan or to the U.S, but until there is change in Pakistan’s attitude towards the safety of Indian citizens, for India it is an irrational option.

- Rahul Dash

Finality

2010-01-03T00:55:00.006+05:30

Update: Writing a book won't be the only thing that I would be doing over the next 6-7 months. It won't even be the most important. I have received a few calls asking me about the title of the book :) I am flattered, but I really do not have a title, just a rough idea of the plot. The most important thing that I would be doing is something that is very very special to me. More details later.

I am writing a book. Finally.
Not just because I can, but because I am afraid I am growing old.
At least as an artist, I am.

But do not worry if you feel different. Even happy and satisfied.

If you do not fear growing old without leaving behind something permanent, something that isn't affected by inflation, earthquakes or war; then you were never an artist to begin with.

Which makes matters much easier. And life much simpler.

So, as another year begins and your life slowly begins to turn towards melancholy, youthful revolution seems like a wastage of time, and uniqueness seems catastrophically bad;

... are you scared too?

-Rahul Dash

Avatar: The EXPOSE

2009-12-19T02:45:00.006+05:30

Once in a generation, there comes a moment which shakes the very foundations of an art and renders all that came before it useless. A vision, that challenges all that we know (or think we know) about a particular well established methodology. A paradigm shift, that brings along with it a tsunami of creative overhaul and technical revolution. One man's vision, that creates a monumental pice of art which then ceases to be just art, in fact, it becomes a movement.

I am of course talking about Rajesh Khanna's 1983 magnum opus, Avtaar (or Avatar) directed by Mohan Kumar. Right now, everyone in the world is talking about a hollywood remake of this film. However, I had recognized the genius of this movie when I first saw it on Zee Cinema, around 6 years back. Everywhere I look, everyone is talking about the new standards set by Avatar. With tears of undiluted happiness in my eyes, I am thrilled that this movie is getting its due. But wait, are the original movie makers getting their dues?

Avatar, directed by James Cameron, is (has to be) a blatant copy of Avtaar, starring Rajesh Khanna and Shabana Azmi. A writer on Wikipedia puts the story in a line that is filled with more nostalgia than a swine flu victim's nasal tracts are filled with snot:

"Rajesh Khanna and Shabana Azmi play a poor, middle-aged couple who are mistreated by their two sons and daughters-in-law. However, their fortunes are reversed."

A truly genius script, which, James Cameron must have blatantly got "inspired" from. Mr Cameron, you may spend 400-500 million dollars, but can you get your random blue creatures to wipe their spouse's tears like Rajesh Khanna does? Can you get the subtle madness that is the directorial brilliance of Mohan Kumar (who has given us cinematic gems such as "Mom ki Gudiya" & "All Rounder")? Can you get the heart wrenching melody of Laxmikant Pyarelal, who, among other songs have given us gems like the theologically rhetorical "Choli ke Peeche Kya hai?" (Pray, what is it that exists beneath the blouse?), the inquisitive "Yeh ilu ilu kya hai?" (What is this ilu ilu shit, man?) and the individualistic "My name is Lakhan" ?

And James Cameron's Avatar isn't the first case of film-makers copying from this cinematic landmark of a movie. In 1985, a Telugu movie was made called "O Thandri Teerpu" starring the legendary Murali Mohan about whom, Wikipedia writes the apt line:

"He is very positive minded person, and health conscious person."

and the actor turned politician Jayasudha about whom Wikipedia writes " She has excellent range" and "She has done fighter roles."

However, Rajesh Khanna and Shabana Azmi are only the tip of the iceberg (although, as Jenna Jameson says, the 'tip' is the most sensitive part). The film has legendary characters such as Gulshan Grover, AK Kangal, Pinchoo Kapoor and others. And none of these superstars get any credit for James Cameron's Avatar.

It is a sad phenomenon that in this day and age of sustained cooperation, common but differentiated responsibility, strategic confluence, synergy and other SITV (sand in the vagina) words, Hollywood can get away with copying Rajesh Khanna movies leaving Rajesh Khanna alone who, even in this age, does innovative cinema like the movie Wafaa, where he plays an old guy with a young wife who has ED and who later finds out that the wife is actually a tranny.

Yes, we must now wait till the day Ridley Scott copies this one too.

Sigh.

-Rahul Dash

A script for love

2009-12-11T02:12:00.006+05:30

On a blank sheet of white paper
I and she,
sat down to write the perfect script
to guide our relationship-lest it shows to commence
as though the flirt of adolescence-No!
who me? for me,
the way we see in movies and read in books
the way it is supposed to be.

We started with the meeting place, not
too shallow not too deep, a bookstore
where we both proceed to steal
the last copy of something profound,
like the woman is a btich or the earth may be round,
and our eyes meet, we smile,
I hide within me and she mentally calculates
the amount of weight I need to shed
to reduce the mile.

The first date, on a beach at night,
we drink wine then coffee then wine then coffee
scrupulous as we both seem alright,
our hands touch and our smiles join,
I suggest we write we have sex, she asks me to wait
to suggest we write, and to call it 'making love'
I plead we write we make under the open sky
and she says she feels shy, but why
isn't it only a script?
Strict adhearance she says, he who wants
to win, obeys.

The first time I meet her dad, she is petrified
he gives me a cold look, I pity him
She says I am her friend, no more, the dad knows
with experience all that the youth shows
And later at a movie hall, we kiss
I slid my hand up her skirt, at least on paper
She shoves it away, and bites her lips
and smiles.

The first time we make love,
under the open sky, on the terrace of a broken building
she asks, why broken?
To make it have a twinge, I write
She bites her lips, she smiles
as real as reality might.

The script goes on, we decide to break up
as all in relationships eventually must
but how and why? And how silly!
We agree it would be a shame, though
we plan a quiet place, where we can cry
one for each,
but, we don't tell each other where
and which.

We sign the script and promise,
when suddenly a bird flies into the room
and she jumps off her bed and squeals
with happiness and laughs like a moppet,
which she is.
And she gets the bird to sit in her palms,
with scientist eyes she comes to me
and shows, I quickly look into the script
and try to find me doing something, saying something
to take time by the forelock, now as then
but none, this wasn't on paper to happen
scripts do not indulge in twists by themselves.

And so the paperwork lay in disarray,
outdone by what I am told the romantics say
is love.

-Rahul Dash

RADIO- Review

2009-12-08T12:30:00.006+05:30

Pre-Script: I have begun allowing comments on my blog once again. It took time, but I realized that blogging without people commenting is akin to masturbating without climax - a wasteful exercise of the arms.

Review: RADIO

The law of gravity, the uncertainty principle, the general theory of relativity, the incompleteness theorem, the Riemann hypothesis, Fermat's theorem, Knot theory.

Throughout history, there have been ideas that have stunned mankind, making the brain go weak in its knees. These ideas have been beautiful, revolutionary and more importantly, fascinating even to the layman. The only point of much distress was that most of these ideas had come from either the sciences or the arts. There was no idea that unified all knowledge and presented itself with the force of a constipated bear farting in a distant forest.

Well, that fart has been sounded. And boy, does it smell like shit!

Wecome to RADIO. A movie that isn't actually a movie, but a futuresque look at mankind's complications, be it over relationships, food, music or sexuality. A thesis on life. In James Blanco's unforgettable words from Pineapple Express, it is the "apex of the vortex of film technology, the future, this is like God's vagina."

RADIO is a seemingly simple story about Himesh Reshammiya playing an intercontinental superstar RJ named Vivan Shah, who, through his masculine voice, trendy lingo and thorough grounding in post-modern philosophy, takes calls from souls in distress, soothing them, playing with them and answering mature, life changing,heart-wrenching, blouse-bursting questions like:

"What is this true love maaan?"

"Sachcha pyar karna chahiye kya?"

and

"I hate my parents maaan...what should I do maaan?"

What is not known (till 2 mins later) to the audience is the fact that beneath the calm, macho, serene and raw sexual exterior of Vivan, lies a true Shakepearean tragedy. Vivan's wife (Chick 1 or G1) has filed for divorce, leaving Vivan high and dry. Considering the fact that Vivan is hugely succesful, enormously rich and faithful and loves his wife very much, it doesn't take much to guess which department he might have fallen short in (length). His wife's departure devastates him. Who can forget those tear-jerking moments like:

a) Vivan, looking at the judge with a dick-caught-in-the-zip look conveying pathos of the highest degree while his wife blatantly asks for separation.

b) While throwing flowers at his wife's face, Vivan gets a cut on his fingers and starts sucking it really hard, thus finally revealing to his wife what might have saved their marriage.

c) The constant chanting of surreal poetic lines like "Man ka radio, bajne de zara. Full too attitude, de de tu zara" combining thousands of years of Indian ragas with Beethoven's optimism, blending together like a healthy child's faeces blend with the soil between the railway tracks.

d) Vivan's female friend at Radio Mirchi giving him amazing advice, "Arey, us ladki ko kyon chod diya...kam se kam billi to maar deta." (You could have at least hit/beat her cat/pussy)

The movie gets its zing when cute-as-a-button babe Shehnaaz Treasurywala (G2) makes her entry, with blue hair and cute buttons. And one of the greatest depictions of neoclassical love on celluloid takes place before our very eyes. Scenes such as:

a) Vivan's completely asexual attittude towards Shehnaaz, looking at her like an old man looks at his penis, confused as to what its use actually is/was.

b) Shehnaaz's family, with a little sister in little clothes showing little things that call out to little brothers worldwide.

c) Vivan and Shehnaaz on the ladder, in a pose that would make Peter North and Tory Lane seem innocent.

d) The 2 girls dancing together in skimpy clothes, followed by one of them looking at the other and licking jam, followed by one of them bending in front of the other and talking near her ear lobes, followed by...(you see how this is going to end, for me.)

e) Vivan's ex-wife calling him and asking, "Are you and Shehnaaz buddy buddies or f*** buddies?" (The starred part was beeped out, so I would naturally assume the word to be fish or film or four or fear.)

However, what makes RADIO a cinematic landmark is not the understated ambience, the closeness of the two female lead characters or even the sexy hot air exhaled by Himesh Reshammiya. No. What makes RADIO the greatest human achievement after Buddhism and cheese burst pizza is the fact that it is 'hip', 'trendy', 'cool' and 'in', for example:

a) The movie presented as different chapters, with titles that would kill Tarantino first and then make him turn in his grave.

b) The use of pulsating images to convey the efforts of Shehnaaz to rejuvenate Himesh, like a mother, who after making her 6 year old son stand in front of the toilet and after opening his pant zipper, makes the sound 'ssshhhhh', in order to facilitate the gentle passing of urine.

c) The song sequences that capture Himesh's face from different angles, making the audience feel like barbers.

d) The use of RADIO as a metaphor, simile, hyperbole, synecdoche and alliteration, taking the English language out and fucking it in the street.

RADIO isn't a movie. It isn't art. It is a coming together of man, nature and technology like never before. In this day and age of people getting upset over not getting placed in the company of their choice, RADIO and Himesh stand as a testimony to how much you can achieve with zero talent, you only need to be completely shameless. And for that message, it must be watched.

-Rahul Dash

Borders of Youth

2009-11-02T10:09:00.004+05:30

I feel cold.
My youth has been exposed, the quilt
of pretence trivialized my fantasies.

My legs feel numb, as I
lie in perennial wretchedness,
aching for consequence on a morose bed
of cotton and wool.

My semblance fails to convince what
should be not, as a gust chills my joints,
and my youth begins to age
towards premature awareness.

My limbs freeze, I am unable
to move, I lie in a shortened demesne
of protection, eternally.

And I feel cold.

-Rahul Dash

Milton's Youth

2009-11-01T15:53:00.005+05:30

One of the greatest poets of all time, John Milton was, in his own words, a late developer. The following is a poem that he wrote to express his disappointment and his worry:

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth
That I to manhood am arriv'd so near;
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure ev'n
To that same lot, however mean or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heav'n
All is, if I have grace to use it so
As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.

I usually analyze and tell how good (and where) a poem is. But I will leave you with this. This sonnet will mean different things to different people. But if it doesn't mean anything to you, you must be old.

And that would be such a shame.

-Rahul Dash

Turing, Godel, Coetzee & God

2009-10-12T19:52:00.004+05:30

The brilliant mathematician Alan Turing searched for the possibility that human beings are actually machines. It is believed by some, including me, that this wishful (maybe) thinking was to then believe that as machines, we are capable of logical deduction in all situations. This would have been quite useful to Turing, who was homosexual in an age where logical deduction wasn't the basis of defining rationality ,homosexuality was illegal and for which, Turing was arrested and chemically castrated, leading to hyper-emotional problems that eventually led to his death.

Another brilliant logician, Kurt Godel (proponent of the Incompleteness Theorem, which essentially states that logical systems cannot self satisfy themseleves, there has to be an extrenal rule that is to be assumed in order to validate a logical system completely) discarded the idea that human beings are machines. In fact, human beings are capable of that one leap which may act as the necessary externality required to prove a logic system: intution. And although Godel could never prove the existence of intution on paper, he was sure of its existence.

I have been reading a lot of the work of J.M.Coetzee, who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2003 for being someone "who in innumerable guises portrays the surprising involvement of the outsider." In a majority of Coetzee's works, one can find the social or personal system (often based on logical deductions) to appear impossible to understand, impossible to predict and extremely difficult to accept. However, with an extrenal factor or involvement, there comes to the surface a logical system which was hitherto hidden under the wraps of a Godel based handicap.

Which brings me to a very interesting question. Each person, if he views his life from his own point of view, finds a particular sequence lacking any particular deduction. Many a times, we hear about people craving logic in their lives. In fact all of us crave for logic. For a completeness to our being. A purpose. A destination. Or just plain sense of our being here. If we believe Godel and others, we cannot understand the rule guiding our life, the logic involved as we are nothing but a mere system. Is it for this purpose that we invoke God? As an external theorem, an external truth that validates the system that is our life? And did this God arise out of a need to satisfy our intution?

-Rahul Dash
(rahuldash@gmail.com)

P.S. It needs to be mentioned that the incompleteness theorem I have stated above is not the rigorous version, nor is the Turing's idea described. I have mentioned only so much since I was lazy to describe the details and I believe that the essence of this blogpost is not to be an introductory tutorial. However, in case anyone is interested in these ideas, send me an email at the abovementioned id.

Wake Up Sid

2009-10-04T13:13:00.001+05:30

I have seen Pulp Fiction 15 times.

I have seen Reservoir Dogs 8 times.

I have seen Kill Bill...

Ok. You get the point.

I am as big a Tarantino buff as you would find anywhere on this planet. So naturally when I went to see Inglourious Basterds on friday night, I (and I would like to think the people who read my blog) thought that a review was inevitable.

I saw the movie. I liked it. Surely not Tarantino's best. Though I would rate it above Jackie brown, Death Proof and Kill Bill 2. A lot of style. A lot of spunk. Expected.

Saturday night, instead of writing the review for Inglourious Basterds, I decided to tag along 3 friends and go watch Wake up Sid. My friends were apprehensive. And although I pretended to be sure of the movie being good, I too was apprehensive.

And then it came.
The realization.

That a good movie need not come from Quentin Tarantino starring Brad Pitt. It may as well come from Ayan Mukerjee starring Ranbir Kapoor.

Wake Up Sid is that. A good movie. Pure joy.

From the first till the last scene, the movie doesn't try and prove anything to you. It does not try to prove a particular philosophy. Neither does it try and make you like a particular style. It is neither heavy on the mind nor is it heavy on the eyes. I won't go into the details. Not because I don't want to. But simply because I can't. There are just so many details. The little things that make or break a relationship are the same that make or break a movie. And you can't list those things, can you?

While Tarantino on one hand grabs you by the collar and screams at you, "Look! Look at how I have done this scene! I am fucking brilliant!", Wake Up Sid tells you "Oh, are you watching this shit? I really do not give a fuck."

And it is there that it makes a connection.

I recommend this movie to all of you who take life too seriously as well as those who take it too lightly. I recommend it to all those who live by rules as well as those who hate them. You will come out of the theater with a smile on your face.

And in this pretentious world where everyone constantly behaves as if he/she has an umbrella up his/her ass, that isn't such a bad thing.

-Rahul Dash

Unlike Fish

2009-09-16T22:01:00.005+05:30

Chris Anderson is the curator of the TED Conference. Chris Anderson has also written a bestselling book, called The Long Tail.

They are two separate men. Let us call them CA1 and CA2.

It is quite ironic that the opening example from CA2's fantastic article that appeared in Wired magazine begins with an example of a certain book that found new life because of similarities in title (and content) with another one. In Anderson's own words:

In 1988, a British mountain climber named Joe Simpson wrote a book called Touching the Void, a harrowing account of near death in the Peruvian Andes. It got good reviews but, only a modest success, it was soon forgotten. Then, a decade later, a strange thing happened. Jon Krakauer wrote Into Thin Air, another book about a mountain-climbing tragedy, which became a publishing sensation. Suddenly Touching the Void started to sell again.

Chris Anderson published his wonderful book, The Long Tail, a couple of years back. And despite it being a blockbuster idea back then, the book has lost relevance with today's youth. The 20 year olds today who were too young to read anything conclusive a couple of years back. Not surprising, in an internet age where the most popular song is a different one every week, in every country, two years is too long a time for any idea to survive. Unless it is reinvented.

Let us come to CA1. Ever since it was announced that TED would be organizing a conference in India in Nov 2009, the interest in the brand has grown tremendously. A large number of students I know started viewing TED lectures (as they are called) because of the recent local association. The name Chris Anderson cropped up frequently, but the person that people searched for was CA1.

Nevertheless, a google search puts both of these men on the front page. And both have a wiki-page. Thus CA2 was rediscovered, at least amongst the people I know. And so was his idea of the Long Tail. Now you realize why I call the opening lines from his article ironic.

The main contention of The Long Tail is that the time to offer only a select number of items on the basis of perceived profits to the perceived market is over. In today's incredibly large world with enormous diversity, it is impossible to find a handful of products that may satisfy the entire market. Or worse, even identify the entire possible market.

The world is increasingly becoming one where the demand for a particular kind of commodity is very limited. People have choice. A huge amount of choice. Let us take an example.

Take a group of 1000 people. Give them 10 different types of ice-cream, with the only changing element being the amount of almond topping. Now ask people to mention the ice-cream they like the most. Plot the results on a graph. You would like to believe it is a bell curve. Think again.

I did the experiment with 50 people in my own neigbourhood (do not ask me who sponsored the ice-cream) and the curve was of a shape that merits no name. But the results merit attention. There were 4 distinct groups. Even in a sample space as small as 50! And that too when I changed only the almond toppings! People divided themselves into 4 specific groups on the graph. And what's more, they were highly sensitive once they alligned themselves into groups. In other words, consider the 2nd group. If I had given them an ice-cream that had twice the amount of almonds as is defined by the group before these people alligned themselves in the group, they would have had no problem. However, once they realized that they are in a sizable group and they like a particular flavour, a major change from that flavour would definitely lead them to switch shops (if I ran an ice-cream shop). However, there was one group, namely the first, which was fixed upon what it wanted: No almonds for health reasons. This group was already present, even before the experiment was conducted. However, this miniscule experiment created three new groups.

Imagine, in today's internet age, where reading material, videos, music even pornography is available in enormous varieties, how many groups must there exist? Millions of them, on a global scale. Many groups are aware of their existence. Many others arent. Why do some groups realize that they exist and why are the others unaware?

A group's existence depends on a)the product and possible versions of it b)people that can possibly form the group.

Consider for example the porn industry. Even the most disgusting and vile forms of pornography (disgusting according to me) have thousands of websites devoted to them. I have had countless number fo people exclaim, "Yuck! Who watches that?" The answer is, a lot of people. Pornography is the most dominant internet product, atleast amongst the youth. And because people watch porn privately, they can watch anything...at least once. The ability to experiment with porn is very very high. It is precisely because of this experimentation that different people realize that they actually like different types of porn movies. And the porn industry complies by setting up websites for each type of porn movie.

Compare this with a more traditional form of product like music. How many new bands have you come across online? How many websites dedicated to different genres of music? Why do you think the number is that low? It is because people gain social acceptance based on the kind of music they listen to. Friends know of the music you listen to and you make a lot of attempt to try and like the music that most of your peers think of as good. Thus the level of experimentation is very low. consequently, many niche groups that could have been formed aren't formed at all. And hence, there isn't a niche market based supply. Well, at least not in India.

Chris Anderson's Long Tail, Seth Godin's Purple Cow, Blue Ocean strategy and Taleb's Black Swan are all catchy phrases that say that there are a lot of such groups out there that none of the marketing gurus or management companies exploit. Heck, these groups aren't even aware of their own existence. That there is a large, untapped market...if only people would exercise more choice and less conformity. And it is the job of product sellers to make people experiment in large numbers.

Because no matter what you sell. The world is so big and so diverse that you would always find a buyer. The point is to make a lot of people aware of and experiment with it.

I have written on similar topics here.

-Rahul Dash
If you are intrested in such ideas, write to me: rahuldash@gmail.com

The Purple Cow & The Black Swan

2009-09-13T18:49:00.005+05:30

Seth Godin, one of the world's most innovative marketing gurus, coined the term "The Purple Cow" to describe anything that is remarkable. In his own words,

Cows, after you’ve seen them for a while, are boring. They may be perfect cows, attractive cows, cows with great personalities, cows lit by beautiful light, but they’re still boring. A Purple Cow, though. Now that would be interesting. (For a while.)

The essence of the Purple Cow is that it must be remarkable. In fact, if “remarkable” started with a P, I could probably dispense with the cow subterfuge, but what can you do? This book is about the why, the what, and the how of remarkable. - From Godin's book- The Purple Cow

I have been following Godin's work and his blog for quite some time and very few principles have had a more profound impact on my style of thinking about problems and innovation than the principle of being "remarkable" or the "Purple Cow" principle.

In fact, the art of being "remarkable" does not stop being important when you step out of the marketing sphere. Nassim Nicholas Taleb, a really smart hedge fund manager, talks about Black Swans, or in less colourful terms, statistical outliers. These are events that constitute the rare end of any frequency curve. For example, in a year of bull market, a one day 500 pts downfall of the Sensex might be termed as a Black Swan. Taleb's hedge fund acts on these rare events, which, although rare in nature, have a possibility of incredibly huge one time gains.

A Black Swan is nature's ways of creating a Purple Cow. You do not expect it and you do not expect people to expect it and so on. But the consequences of its existence are enormous.

At the heart of Black Swan and Purple Cow is the concept of small trends. A trend that lasts for a small period of time and is visible to an astute oberver, however, which causes a massive opportunity. The trend maybe very sector specific, but the solutions to take advantage of those opportunitites may lead to large scale innovations in the way we think about and solve problems.

The world is full of such trends that emerge (only for a while) and cause large scale changes. And these trends need not be macro. I truly believe that the most path-breaking trends in the world today are, as Mark Penn calls them, "Microtrends".

Consider for example, the rise of microfinance. And I do not mean the traditional, purely as a form of social change, non-profit model. That wasn't sustainable. I mean the for profit version of it. The version that has seen the total number of clients worldwide increase to about 100 million and the amount fo micro-loans outstanding increase to about 40 billion. A wonderful offshoot of rural microfinance is urban microfinance. Day loans, to be precise. Having worked for a firm to study and help raise private equity for an urban microcredit organization, I could see the small trends that, when analyzed, provide some of the greatest clues as to what are the most pressing issues that should be tackled by urban microcredit. I can't give much details, because the project I was working on still isn't complete.

However, the underlying microtrend, call it a Black Swan, was the obervation that, in vertain areas, the grades of certain students belonging to low income families were increasing. My analysis showed that these students belonged predominantly to families in a particular slum. The slum had received training sessions from a certain NGO on the benefits of education, in a vocational way. The parents of those children started paying more attention to the child's exams. They ditched work and stayed back during their children's exams, not to help him/her study (the pranets were mostly illiterate) but to help them get up in the morning and prepare tea, food for them. The school that these children attended had an important unit test right after Diwali, which meant that these parents took consistent leaves during the Diwali season. These parents mainly included maidservants. The frequent leaves ensured that their 'masters' had no help at home to prepare sweets and ther food items during the Diwali season. Thus there was a sudden increase in the already increased demand for eatables at small sweet shops, leading to a capital crunch. Thus arose the need for urban microcredit, in that small area, for a short period of time. And credit, once it engulfs an area an an imagination, engulfs it completely.

In hindsight, all logic seems simple. All events seem either obvious or just freakish. The Black Swans seem either as abberations or common occurences in a different form. However, the art of trendspotting, to recognize an oncoming black swan and set up a purple cow before it loses significance, is rare.

-Rahul Dash
If you are interested in these ideas, write to me: rahuldash@gmail.com

On BJP's bigotry

2009-08-20T04:26:00.003+05:30

I haven't read Jaswant Singh's book yet. I will definitely read it and post my views in some time. However, a much larger question that troubles me is this:

What is the difference between Ayatollah Khomeini declaring a fatwa in the name of Salman Rushdie after the much controversial Satanic Verses and the BJP expelling Jaswant Singh for praising (and pointing out the flaws) of a man who, unlike Hitler, is hated and loved by an equal number of people? And if there is no difference, why is Iran described as a theocratic rule without reason and India considered a champion of democratic beliefs?

-Rahul Dash (rahuldash@gmail.com)

A Date with Drought

2009-08-19T02:57:00.006+05:30

In the August 15 edition of The Hindu, P.Sainath, in his usually hard hitting style, launches a scathing attack on the mismanagement-both intellectual and practical- of the country's drought issue facing the UPA government. A particular point where he found the current line of thought unacceptable was the casual dismissal of the drought by some media personel and businessmen as not enough of a threat to the country's GDP fugures.

Sainath points out that since the drought affected activites this year contribute a mere 3% to the country's GDP figures, a lot of the think-tank is hell bent upon dismissing the entire issue as insignificant as far as the popular 7% growth rate is concerned. He believes that to talk of GDP figures when millions of people are being adversely affected by the drought, is stupid at best and insensitive at worst. This particular topic was discussed on Karan Thapar's show on monday night, and the argument given by the panel (R Seshasayee and Shankar Acharya) concluded as follows: A 1% drop in agricultural o/p usually decreases the GDP figures by around 0.2. Now this year, had the drought not occured, agricultural o/p was expected to be around 3% . On account of the drought, this figure would go down to about negative 2-3%. Thus, the expected swing in GDP figures because of the drought would around 0.2*(3-(-3))= 1.2 (negative swing). Thus the GDP numbers may come down to below 6% as compared to the finance minister's base estimate of around 7%. Although the change isn't that insignificant, I, like Sainath, am apalled at the fact that inaction as far as drought prevention is concerned is being defended or justified by stating the relative unimportance of agriculture in our GDP figures.

Another pressing point stressed by Sainath in the same article points out how unjust the brouaha created about further extention in NREGA being a major additional burden on the state is. He gives figures that simply stun the reader. He writes:

There’s always money for the Big Guys. Take a look at the budget and the “Revenues foregone under the central tax system.” The estimate of revenues foregone from corporate revenues in 2008-09 is Rs. 68,914 crore. (http://indiabudget.nic.in/ub2009-10/statrevfor/annex12.pdf) By contrast, the NREGS covering tens of millions of impoverished human beings gets Rs. 39,100 crore in the 2009-10 budget.

Remember the great loan waiver of 2008, that historic write-off of the loans of indebted farmers? Recall the editorials whining about ‘fiscal imprudence?’ That was a one-time, one-off waiver covering countless millions of farmers and was claimed to touch Rs. 70,000 crore. But over Rs. 130,000 crore (in direct taxes) has been doled out in concessions in just two budgets to a tiny gaggle of merchants hogging at the public trough. Without a whimper of protest in the media. Imagine what budget giveaways to corporates since 1991 would total. We’d be talking trillions of rupees.

There are two very similar debates that emerge out of the entire discussion. One is the debate over the ability of a single number like a country's GDP to forecast the level of human satisfaction and general well being in that country. The second is the dilema of the government over tax-exemptions given to the corporate sector and the agricultural sector. The corporation vs farmer, rich vs poor, capitalism vs socialism debate, that has been beaten to death at various inter collegiate events, suddenly finds voice again.

-Rahul Dash (rahuldash@gmail.com)

P.S. Read Sainath's articles on The Hindu's new website : http://beta.thehindu.com/

No comments

2009-08-18T23:25:00.010+05:30

My very good friend Ranjeet Kumar Vimal, who writes a fairly popular tech and web oriented blog here, has no reason to complain any more.

For the last two years, Ranjit (and a few others) have been accusing me of maintaining a blog whose sole aim is to attract female visitors, who then post comments, which is supposed to be the first step in a discrete sequence of increasing propinquity whose final step is me hooking up with those ladies.

And although I have always vehemently defended my innocence in this regard, it would be a lie if I say that the prospect hasn't occured, more than once, either in my imagination or in reality :)

And as I have decided to disable comments from now onwards, I finally feel at peace with myself. I know that Ranjit and other cynics may still accuse me of stopping only because I might have already built a large enough database of female bloggers, I would like to reason my decision as follows:

a) My posts from now on will be fairly regular and quite serious. Unlike my previous posts like this, this, this, this, this or this; posts from now on will be more informative, better structured, matured(I hope) and consequently, less fun to comment upon. However, poetry and short stories will continue.

b) I want anyone who is provocated by my articles to take the effort of sending me an email. For the last two years, I have had tons of comments with general, inconsequential but quite flattering words. Very few people have actually put in the effort to understand the stance behind words and comment in a constructive manner. I understand that I may be sounding a bit arrogant, but I am a 5th year student in IIT Bombay. So I don't really care, I only cayer(that is a wing-specific joke.)

Lastly, I would like to thank everyone who has ever commented on my posts. I hope you continue to email me as and when you like/dislike a point in an article. I will provide my email id along with my name after every post. So please do stay in touch.

-Rahul Dash(rahuldash@gmail.com)

A dreamer, woebegone

2009-08-18T04:14:00.005+05:30

My youth once caught a chill,
quite strange and morose;
As guarded by a moat of fear,
dulcet like first love might seem,
ineffable things i chose.

Poetry? Opulent words that sting?
Like an ingenue chooses her mate?
How very unthoughtful of me, that
with which a harbinger won't conflate,
never my soul as the offing.

Not that I never tried not to make
it seem jaded, though my heart did lilt
and leisure seemed to fill so, that
it never seemed the scale would tilt,
from forbearance would creep this ache.

How untoward! I said to me. Oh but surely
not! How could I be so sumptuous without a bait.
And always but the propinquity was lost
with a little death in me, a gait
that secret witheld so dearly.

An unfit blanket left my feet cold,
no matter how much I tried to pull
and tug and curse and blame the wind
and blame the feet, hark, and a lull;
the blanket as culprit why should I hold.

As the pyrrhic life began to soothe,
and my fire began to heat, not burn
and warmth made up for heat, and weather
for warmth, and then climate's turn.
Venom without a tooth.

Heed all youth, if you too shiver;
It isn't the winter storm, but try
and smell your redolent blood, and let
that moiety with joy make you cry,
but not forget.

-Rahul Dash

Dunn's Clown

2009-08-17T15:11:00.002+05:30

A magazine that I admire more than any other, The New Yorker, introduces us from time to time to otherwise lost writers. One such introduction happened early this morning, when, out of bed, I decided to read something inconsequential. I have been reading Amartya Sen's latest, The Idea of Justice, which, though quite heavy on the mind, is an absolute delight for anyone who has ever considered and debated political philosophy.

I wanted to read something very different from Sen's book. As usual, The New Yorker provided me with exactly that. It is a poem by Stephen Dunn, a Pulitzer Prize winning poet, whose poem Talk to God(here) has been one of my personal favourites for quite some time. I had forgotten all about Dunn.

Untill I read this.

I won't forget him ever again.

-Rahul Dash

Climatonomics 1

2009-08-15T22:20:00.003+05:30

Gregory Mankiw, whom most IITians remember as the person who wrote an economics textbook that is far better than the prescribed one by Samuelson, has recently written a critical article regarding the nature of the cap-and-trade bill by Obama and the congress. Read it here.

Another fabulous economist, although not as popular, Steven Landsburg, has written a wonderful little counter to Mankiw's simplistic thought process. Enjoy it here.

Personally, as someone who has debated on similar issues many a times, I am intrigued by the larger question raised by Landsburg: "When people do things that are socially destructive but nevertheless perfectly legal (like, say, owning slaves in the 19th century or leaving an excessive carbon footprint in the 21st), ought they be punished ex post facto?"

Think about it.

-Rahul Dash

Rusty Pen

2009-08-12T11:23:00.004+05:30

My rusty pen has
caught an everlasting cold.
It has lost voice,
almost irrecoverably.

A twitch, the mind,
a peccadillo, tiny,
seldom degenerate into
words

or sound, voice, fierce
and rooted deep inside
my rusty pen
with a runny nose.

Infallibility fails to amuse,
lovers seem ordinary
in ways that invite causality
to breakfast, only to refuse
not a morsel, but a viand.

Little thoughts, weary hands
my thoughts hidden, celebrated
like shadows at night
with a broken lamp.

They stew in their literature,
the brethren
of a seemingly meaningless word,
like copper flakes dipped in blue
from within a rusty pen
trying too hard.

- Rahul Dash

On Homosexuality

2009-07-05T10:50:00.004+05:30

I have been asked by a lot of people what my views on homosexuality are, given the fact that I am a student of IIT Bombay with 550 boys and 35 girls in my batch and that I, like most male IITians, usually bond in public with my friends in graphically obscene ways. So here:

On Homosexuality

There are two aspects to the argument. Everyone seems to be confused about both. There is a religious argument and there is a legal, rational argument. The court and the government decide as far as the legal argument is concerned. Pandits, maulanas and bishops decide as far as the religious argument is concerned. The government can decriminalize and religious leaders can criminalize homosexuality at the same time.

Now, homosexuals can belong to 2 broad classes:

1) Gay and atheist/self-religious

These people should not have any issues with Maulanas denouncing them. In fact, they should not even give a damn about any religious matters.

2) Gay and wanting to be a part of a religion

When you are looking to be a part of a religion, you have to adhere to the rules of that particular religion. Religion is not driven by logic, legality or rationality. A religion that believes in a talking snake or a multi headed god cannot be expected to make rational decisions regarding gays. In fact, believing that homosexuality is a sin would be a step-down for them in the ridiculous-o-meter. So when you want to follow such a religion, you cannot be a homosexual if the religion does not permit it. This is because religion is driven by faith, not rationality.

The government, on the other hand, cannot pay heed to religious matters when it comes to providing equality and justice(ideally that is). The government has to look at the matter from the apparent rational point of view, which is that everyone has a right to love and make love with everyone else, with each other's consent, the consent being proved beyond doubt.

More tricky is the aspect of gay marriage. Now marriage is a religious act. Legal union is the rational counterpart. When you are gay and want to get married, you are basically wanting to adhere to religious texts and go against them too. I do not understand why homosexuals don't get together and form a religion of their own...one that would be tolerant and rational. Anyway religion-for some reason- is protected by law. Gays should understand that religion and marriage are based on scriptures that are based on sometimes obvious and more than often highly counter-intuitive and irrational set of laws. If you want to adhere to these laws, you do just that, adhere to these laws. You cannot expect the laws to change according to your needs. This isn't a rational constitution that can be amended.

As far as having a bad effect on children is concerned, children are not taught heterosexuality or homosexuality. They discover one of the two and in the process discover themselves. I wasn't groomed to get erections everytime I see a well endowed woman. And I do not think I could have been groomed otherwise either. Sexual preference, most of the times, is completely natural. Religion, on the other hand, is a life choice, just like your denim brand and your favourite TV show. I cannot understand why a life choice is heavily guarded by the state laws whereas a natural, involuntary process isn't. A rational state must understand that at least. One argument against that is the fact that homosexuals are much more open about their sexuality than most heterosexuals. But I believe that is the case simply because they are being oppressed all the time. That amount of oppresseion finds voice in a colourful coming out, and that is but expected to tone down once they are treated as normal.

And lastly, regarding the argument that legalizing homosexuality can reduce the large scale AIDS occurence amongst them. I do not think that this is as strong an argument as projected. The same argument holds for prostitution, drug trafficking too. And for most other things where the easier way to counter something "apparently bad" is to legalize its proceedings.

I know that it is quite a fad amongst the youth all across the world to be liberal regarding everything. Legalize eevrything, down with the government and other slogans seem very cool indeed. However, one must understand that just as banning something is an undesirable, knee-jerk reaction, so is legalising everything.

However, good or bad. This is an idea whose time has come. We need to see if this idea will be the atom bomb or the personal computer.

-Rahul Dash

A Waltz in the Dark

2009-06-19T15:14:00.002+05:30

The following is an entry for a creative writing event. It was written after consuming some godforsaken tablets meant to reduce stomach ache. See if you can spot the side effects :)

A Waltz in the Dark

The year was 1965.

I sat in a large auditorium, surrounded by people who were so old the blood in their veins bet with the air in their lungs as to who would get a chance to get out first. The musician on stage played with the fierce conviction that he is not obliged to compromise as far as obscurity is concerned. My parents sat together, to my left. At one point of time, they seemed lost in the music. It was the Minute Waltz by Chopin. There sat a girl next to me, roughly of my age. As the piece was about to end, she turned to me and said, “It is supposed to remind one of a little dog. Does it remind you of a little dog?"

I looked at her. She had big brown eyes.

Later that night, I threw up. My long and well-felt silence had accumulated so many words that I could see them amongst the yellow colored substance in the sink. Right there, intertwined with half a digested lettuce, I saw, “My name is Rahul." I wondered what her name was. That night, stained with hypothetical rejection, vomit and ego, I had my first encounter with the probability of being alone.

The year was 1979.

Our class had gone for a picnic. To Agra. To see the manifestation of desperate loneliness, Taj Mahal. To stand there and try to find a suitable juxtaposition of epithets that would academically prove my aesthetic sense. I was having troubles with my girlfriend. My last option was separation, preceded by the general acceptance of hopelessness and succeeded by the hopelessness of accepting that fact. I tried to pass time by looking at other equally confused tourists. No wonder the king made the monument after the death of his beloved. Imagine making a Taj Mahal for the one you love and then breaking up with her. The deterministic negligence and the faux pas that a tourist destination and a tourist are, respectively, render any empathy you share with the fellow baseless. Add to that a missing woman.

I threw up again that night. "I am sorry." "I am lonely." Fully digested chicken wings.

The year was 1995.

I was at a point in my life when I judged and farted at will. Synecdoche had taken over reason and reason over feelings. Feelings then sat down and made a compromise with the universal that defined my mind's synecdoche, changing it into a metaphor. At the end, words were lost and grammar prevailed. I kept creating and shooting epithets at everyone, caring not one bit that none of them actually gave the quintessential 'fuck'.

There was no one to love and not one reason to be loved, or so I felt. I had stopped throwing up. There wasn't much I was holding back in terms of words. I lived mocked by photo-albums. The absence of periodicity in life had just set in and I had learnt to free my soul of the third dimension of reality, and had flattened it into the pictures.

The year was 2008.

I sincerely believed in the power of the spirit and other such auxiliary thoughts dominated my attention span. That night, I kissed my wife while we watched ET on television. The darkness didn't reveal her face fully. It didn't really matter. The human eye has great data filtration ability. Thank god for that. Imagine if you could see (in detail) what you kiss (or want to kiss) on a girl's body. I watched her sleep. There was a curious similarity between the movie that we had seen and the generally accepted human condition. A need for love, serendipity and the constant hand that taps us on the shoulder and says, “You are not alone."

The more time I have to think about it, the more I admit. I do not have the strength or need to dissemble. And for all my fears and memories of my life, I, at any point of time, could not have brought myself to believe that my words falling into the sink that night in 1965 instead of falling on that girl's face and my lips tasting of vomit on that night in 1979 instead of colored wax would all make the case for a glaring sensitivity and an uncompromisable bona fide requirement that outlasts the need for all other whispers, prayers and assurances. "You are not alone."

A waltz. The root of the lonely chord as the first note makes it music. Life makes it a metaphor.

-Rahul Dash

A brief digression

2009-06-09T16:31:00.003+05:30

High fever, a bad stomach infection and a bruised knee have ensured three things:

1) I stay home for another week or so, not that I mind
2) I don't get much done w.r.t my DDP (as if !)
3) I read a lot more random books

Wait, there is a fourth thing. I watch a lot of late night movies on WB, HBO and Zee Cinema(what?). Off late I saw Wag the Dog, Analyze This, Akira Kurosawa's Dreams, a movie featuring Alec Baldwin about dark matter(seriously!) and this incredible movie featuring random b-grade folks directed by the Ramsay's. I also watch every single match of the T-20 world cup and I must admit, after a long hiatus from cricket related shows, I am thoroughly enjoying myself. I especially loved watching the Irish, the Dutch and of course, apna team. There is this special gene that every Indian is born with, and no matter how hard you try to break free, to denounce cricket for cooler jerseys like those of Chelsea and Real Madrid, you keep coming back to the bat and the ball. It is etched in your psyche.

I am probably rambling here. But I guess it is good to ramble every once in a while. It makes you less pretentious.

I am also slowly learning not to make harsh and hasty judgements about people or their work, which I am notorious of doing. For example, I have always been skeptical of Man Booker Prize winning books, especially after reading The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai and after Arundhati Roy cut her beautiful hair short. And for that reason I have avoided those books for the last couple of years. But I decided to give White Tiger a chance and it was delightful. It is a bit anti-Indo-jazz but hey, every shining sun does cast a shadow !

There are also going to be lifestyle changes as far as I am concerned. Things that I have long considered useless and secondary will assume prominence. Those of you who know me well will probably have an idea as to what I am talking about :) Those of you who don't, well, know me first ! There are better things about me :)

The good thing about blogging is that the whole world is your shrink. Sometimes you say stuff in a direct way, sometimes you write fiction; but you always talk about yourself.

-Rahul Dash

Paper Man, like Tank Man

2009-06-07T02:20:00.001+05:30

For everything that journalism stands for, read this.

-Rahul Dash

Tank Man

2009-06-04T20:12:00.003+05:30

If you want to find out how the youth used to fight opposition 20 years back, watch this .

In case you want to see how people fight now, read the comments below that video.

-Rahul Dash

Fading Memory

2009-05-31T11:09:00.007+05:30

Maya sat in the back seat of the car. Ravi was sitting next to her.

It was raining outside. She was making little moisture-inked doodles on the window glass. He looked at her through the mirror and sighed. She could at least acknowledge his presence.

It had been like that since Maya was diagnosed with a growing case of forgetfulness. Alzheimer's made people forget. It was extremely irritating at first, tragic, then almost cruel. She started to forget the little things, then the big ones, then him. Over the years, she had acquired a part of the house into herself. Because of her association with it for 45 years, because of her care. She was 11% sofa, 10% television, 10% dining table and so on. Now, because of her forgetfulness, she was leaving behind her parts at random places, like an old snake shedding its skin. The 11% sofa was filled up with 10% dining table and 1% lamp...the house was ignored and uncared for. The house was in a mess.

But it was when Ravi realized that her forgetfulness could harm , that he decided to bring her to Alankaar Home. They had a separate section for forgetful people, people with a lot of experience but not much memory. She would be better there, he thought. She would at least be in the majority, even if she had no way of understanding that.

And let us face it, Ravi was no young gun himself. He was finding it increasingly difficult to take care of his wife. A few weeks back she had left the gas stove on for almost a day. Then there was the incident where she forgot Ravi in the mall and went out, roaming on the streets. Ravi was sad, lonely and he was tired. He had visited countless doctors, therapists and even magicians, all in the hope of some cure or even the possibility of a cure. The very last option was separation, preceeded by the general acceptance of hopelessness and suceeded by the hopelessness of accepting that fact.

When they reached the place, he found it looking better than he had expected. The rooms were well maintained and the nurses were friendly. The place floundered with people of various shapes, sizes and age. None of them looked too shabby, none looked dangerous and noone seemed insane.

That was Ravi's greatest fear, insanity. Her condition, his suffering and her utter disregard for his suffering might turn him insane.

He took her to her room. She was greeted by the nurse, who helped her put all the belongings in place. Ravi stood near the door, trying to hold back his tears as the nurse gave her instructions on how not to make the cupboard messy.

Maya had always been a cleanliness freak. He remebered the time when he left his cheap Goan t-shirt in the washing machine. The colour of the t-shirt now raised its hand whenever the roll number of any other dress was called out. The sex that night had been, well, acrimonious.

He remembered. And to him the greatest tragedy was that the only person he could share all of that couldn't remember. The "Oh yes, wasn't it during the time we..." was missing. The "Are haan, that had completely slipped..." was missing.

The tears thus came naturally.

The time came for him to leave. He gave Maya a kiss on her cheek. She smiled back, blushing. He saw her walk down the door, into the hallway and out of the building. He saw her get into the car and leave. The nurse tapped his shoulder.

"Get some sleep. I will call you down for dinner."

-Rahul Dash

P.S. This story has been completely inspired by Alice Munro's The bear came over the mountain. Read that, if you want to know how stories should be written.

God, Dawkins and me

2009-05-27T16:12:00.002+05:30

The following piece was written by me while I was on the August Kranti, traveling from Mumbai to Delhi.

The Trip

The deterministic negligence or the faux pas that a railway station and a train are, respectively, render any empathy you share with the fellow traveler baseless. True, dicks are of different sizes, breasts progressively sag and every voice that breaks the unsaid alliance made with the intersection with the space you just exhaled brings about reactions in your soul that makes you want to make the tautness in his bowels compete with the ego in his heart to leave his body.

But idiosynchronies apart and idiots away, the status-quo remains. Individually, there are differences. But if ever algebra existed and axioms held true, this would be the case. For seen at once, not one, there exists a positively unchanging envelope in which state exists.

I am having thoughts about what we call god. And why should a minor recreation of his apparent perception be worthy enough for a visit. I tell people that I am an agnostic. I use Russels's arguments about the brilliantly shinning tea pot and Nagel's bat as shields. I used to love Dawkins. But there is one point that makes Dawkins an 'almost' instead of an 'already'. If it is fundamentalist to assume what people who are god-fearing do assume, it is equally fundamentalist to accept Dawkins' stance. The fervour with which Dawkins believes is no less than the zeal of an evangelist.

The crux, I believe, is arrogance. It is true of atheists and theists. What Dawkins seems to forget is that a theist can put forward an argument that natural selection itself is an experiment by the intelligent designer. What disturbs me is the fact that instead of fighting the criticism of doubt, he criticizes particular beliefs. As if he knows. Or anyone for that matter. Deux ex machina is applicable as much to the presence of God as his absence. The essence, I believe, is in humility, not humour.

A point that Dawkins and his disciples(ironic as it may be/seem) cannot help but try and put across table is the fact religion is terrible because it is human-centric. Flesh and blood, they and otherwise funnymen like Bill Mahler(Religulous)argue, are the constituents of us all. There is nothing that makes us special, as humans. This, I have a big problem with. I firmly believe that the acknowledgment and acceptance of the fact that we know very little, especially w.r.t questions about the very begining or the complex simplicity/simple complexity that gave way to grander schemes is, or should be the most pertinent issue on which the subtle grandiose nature of us being human, depends. In that sense, the supply chain of thoughts that imply our assumption of a strongly pro-Dawkins philosophy, then imply the gross injustice implied in a human-centric approach and then back, is self-defeating.

But why God? And why now, sitting in a train? It is because sitting in a process, a mode of transport, a train, you feel as if your being in the 'now' scheme is the scientific outcome of the process of natural selection of website, agent, date, station etc. But we know that there is a destination, a purpose, because we planned it, or we know of the plan. We know, and that gives us the right to admit the same.

Unfortunately, we do not plan our own life or lifestyle. We are neither homo-evolutis nor are we homo-generous enough to accept that. For once, let us not be homo-logic.

-Rahul Dash

Youth and Impatience

2009-05-14T20:49:00.002+05:30

I sit on my desk, all ready to randomly start knocking on the door of every single website till one, through its curiously designed interiors, lets my mind in. I press the common buttons, type in the uncommon words and sit down in front of the screen, my knees shaking. I use Firefox, and hence I see green bars at the bottom. You may see other bars or an animation of the earth rotating without purpose(what is novel in that?) The page is loading. I start getting impatient, the shaking of my knees competing with the beating of my heart. Why the hell isn't this page loading any faster? I blame the computer, I blame Bill Gates, I blame those guys at Intel, at VSNL, the guys who did the wiring in my house. I blame everyone because I have been taught to do so. I too am the youth. And I too have been taught the virtue of efficiency.

Not limited to my internet connection. I expect quick results with regard to my microwave, the tubelight, I expect people to pick up my calls within the first few rings, I want my breakfast no sooner than I ask for it. I want my news in bullet points, my academic work in the form of powerpoint slides, my geyser to work fast and my exercising machine to show results faster.

When I start for college I expect the bus to arrive exactly at the moment I arrive at the stop. Not punctuality in the traditional sense but a new self imposed stupor. A tightness that disallows any sort of mismatch between when I decide things should happen and when things actually happen. Once I get into the bus, I want the conductor to give me the ticket before everyone else, I want the bus to stop at my stop first and fast. When I get to college, I want the class to get over quickly. I want Plato's Symposium, Ricardo's Economic Principles and Russel's Logic to be put up in the form of charts, figures, graphs, colourful pyramids anything that demand the least amount of time to get in the maximum amount of matter into my head.

When I read books, I expect them to provide me with the "interesting stuff" as soon as possible. A story cannot take more than 'required' time to reveal its plot, a paper should contain itself completely in its abstract and a piece of art cannot be Kauffmanish. I too am the youth. I am used to hyperlinks on the internet. When things get boring, I close one free page and go to another. Even writers on the internet have shed their egos, like old, venomless snakes. They provide links and hyperlinks in their essays, so that when it gets boring, we can go to another page via their own article. At least they can earn some money in that way.

Money yes, that sole symbol that maintains status quo. I want fast money. I believe in the technicals, not the fundamentals. Benjamin Graham is passe, I follow the latest Shah. I watch T20. Test cricket is like a honeymoon, I believe in one night stands. 2 minutes is too long a time to wait for Maggi...and the folks at Nestle completely understand that. They now ask me only to add hot water to a plastic cup and voila! Desh ki kahani, bas daalo garam paani! I also cannot put up with the time consuming romanticism involed in getting to know a girl by writing her letters and meeting her near parks. I add her on facebook, poke her from time to time and when the moment is really serious, I take the pain to send her an email. I get my exit poll results via SMS Gupshup, I despise long political analysis on TV. Every election, every match, every earthquake, blast, festival should be reduced to a few numbers. Otherwise, I cannot help not caring about it.

The queue at the polling booth is extremely long, so I do not vote. Too many people died in our freedom struggle, I lack the patience to appreciate them all. The national anthem before the movie makes me impatient. Our elections go on too long for me to keep caring about them.

I too am the youth.

I have been taught by many well-educated people all through my life. The freedom struggle was 150 pages in the history textbook, agriculture in India was a 20 page chapter in my school books, Gandhi is a statue near Fort, Subhash Chandra Bose is the name of a street, Nehru is limited to November 14, the flag is limited to 4 colours. I have been taught the joys and importance of expressing things in a very concise manner. And this too, is India.

-Rahul Dash (India minus the 'I' mentioned above)

Elections 2009: A Farce

2009-05-11T19:47:00.004+05:30

I had promised many that I would be covering the elections extensively. I did not. I didn't even vote. The current elections are probably the most issue-less in the history of this country. At a time when the economy of the world is struggling, most of the neighbouring countries are in a state of political disarray, the case of the "great emerging market dream" is losing its shine, we haven't had a single news channel, a single debate, a single article, a single rally, a single kilometer out of the 80,000 covered by Rahul Gandhi or the 80,000 covered by Advani that focusses on the issues at hand.

We are more interested in the abusive words that Varun Gandhi did and did not use against Muslims, the amount spent by Mayawati on her golden statue, the physical and emotional strength of Manmohan Singh, the debating skills of Advani, the platonic friendship between Nitish Kumar and Modi, the not so platonic one between Jaya Prada and Amar Singh, the future of Chiranjeevi in politics, the friendship between Naveen Patnaik and Mick Jagger, the shoe thrown at Chidambaram, the late dismissal of Tytler, Barkha Dutt chit-chatting with Priyanka Gandhi, noone talking to Maneka Gandhi, the impossibility of the Left, the possibility of the impossible Somnath Chatterjee joining it again, Lalu's future, Rabri's future, Paswan's future, Karunanidhi's health, Manmohan Singh's lack of health and its possible use as an excuse, the "Lone" separationist operating out of disregard in Kashmir or rather, regardless of it.

Advani's incredible memory lapse regarding Babri, the Sikh's lack of lapse regarding the riots, Sajjan Kumar's brother getting a ticket, Nilotpal Basu's amazing belief that the Third Front will come to power at the centre, the Shiv Sena's lack of voice, the MNS's lack of balls, the curious case of industrialists wanting Modi to be PM, Rahul Gandhi's sexual orientation, Sanjay Dutt's rights, Amitabh Bachchan's duties, Katrina Kaif's choice of clothes during a rally, Salman Khan's generosity, the Trishool, the Haath that is aam aadmi ke saath, the orange band on the head, the dead Muslim in the gutter, the dead Hindu in the gutter, the dead Christian in the gutter, the dead Sikh in the gutter.

I know. I have read and will continue reading. But I couldn't bring myself to write or care much about an election that is so close to people who are so distant from the reality. Come May 16, and no matter who the single largest party is, no matter which allies change colours, no matter who becomes PM, no matter who celebrates and who is made to wait for another 5 days/weeks/months/years; the one thing that won't change is the fact that this election, with all its "Jaago Re" campaigns and 26/11 related "youth power" crap will remain one of the most aimlessly fought elections in mordern history. And you know what the funny part is ? In all our excitement to vote, we cared about the elections, but forgot to give a fuck about the country.

And the fact that we be the largest democracy, simply makes the entire situation funnier.

-Rahul Dash

The Future of IIT Bombay

2009-04-29T20:41:00.001+05:30

IIT BOMBAY: PANORAMA-ESQUE

A look at the ideas and ideals that have changed and will change IIT Bombay.

The problem with writing about an entity’s future is that you tend to get too prophetic. And whether you are an American financial expert who in 2006 predicted the economic boom to continue for the next decade or an Indian politician who predicted that giving Mumbai policemen proper guns or the NSG proper modes of transport would never become essential at the same time, you would know how bad people generally are with predictions. And I, of all people, am most skeptical of articles that forecast the future based on past occurrences; a regression of sorts since day to day occurrences are dependent on so many varied factors that to try and include the effects of all is, well, futile to say the least. And anyway, if I could do the above, I would be making billions (which is the standard unit of money, according to the US Treasury) in the stock market instead of writing articles!

So what am I out to do here? Speculate? Maybe. You can call this article a mere speculation. No finite point has any meaning without a reference at infinity. I am, against all odds, going to speculate as to what the future might hold for IITB. But first I need to look at the various factors that led to IIT Bombay changing the way it has over the past two decades. I gather my thoughts and information by talking to a large number of students who have passed out of IIT over the past many years and are currently engaged in doing various things with their lives. I then move over to take the internal and external factors affecting the institute today into perspective and speculate as to what might happen in the future.

The three most important factors that have affected IITB over the past 10-15 years are: The Computer, the Cell-phone and the Investment Bank.

Well, to be more precise, the networking facility provided by the computer, the “call-your-mommy-if-your-elbow-hurts” facility provided by the cell phone and the investment bank back office recruitment(ouch ! but true…)

The Computer

Defn: A gradually shrinking box that allows one to tackle Kaka, save Rs200 on Ghajini and have friends who are ‘actually girls !’ all at the same time.

It was magical and monstrous at once. With every room in IITB having a computer with an internet connection, the possibilities were many. For each student who modified the code needed for his project, there was one who bunked classes watching movies. For each student who spent time networking with possible start-up partners, there was one (many?) who spent countless nights sending, re-sending online-friendship requests to girls/boys all over the country (world?) H5 vs. H4, Football GC was forgotten for Real Madrid vs. Barcelona, EA Sports. Throwing water balloons on your room-mate during Holi was forgotten for throwing bombs on your enemies in CS. People began to build little worlds of their own inside their computer hard-disks. 2GB, 4GB…200GB, 500GB, more the disk space, bigger the world you can create for yourself and more unnecessary the people next door become. A large number of pass-outs I talked to were terribly emotional on this issue. “We knew we were losing out on late night chats, festivals, get-togethers; wing-specific, hostel-specific but we couldn’t do anything about it. And then, of course, the little doubt sessions, or fundae sessions which we had with our peers, which many a times was an excuse to meet people and have long chats, were done for, mainly by that other really cool thing that came about…”

The Cell-phone

Defn: A small device that renders unnecessary, the need of looking at ugly people.

An ex-IITian working with a major consultancy firm says, “Back in our times, we used to get phone calls very rarely, and that too only from our parents. An announcement used to be made on the PA system in the hostel, and we used to run down for our call. Sometimes, it so happened that we had to wait in a queue to receive our phone call! And then, in my final year, people started getting cell phones. And everything became so convenient!”

It did.

For with every IITian having a cell-phone on him 24*7, the need to go talk to anyone in his room became absolutely unnecessary. Unless the assignment question you wanted to get solved was too big or the restaurant you wanted to eat at did not deliver food inside IIT, there was no real need for a student to go outside his campus, heck, even his room! A cell phone brought you closer to the person living in a different city but distanced you from your next door neighbor. The only reason why people still hung out was group activities, cultural, sports or technical. Those were the things people still derived pure joy from, just for the sake of it. There seemed nothing that could take away the importance of these group activities and the knowledge acquired thereof.

The Investment Bank

Defn: An organization that existed many months ago. Legend has it that these banks created and distributed wealth out of nothing, putting the alchemists out of work.

Out of the many pass outs I talked to, a large number had this one common sentence to share: “Lehman Brothers came and offered 7L.p.a. And then everything changed…”

The following scenario became very ubiquitous in IITB: A student comes into the institute, joins a large number of extra-curricular activities, pursues all of them diligently till the third year, then either becomes an Institute Secretary/member of institute contingent or gives up on the activity. The advent of the Investment Bank and other ‘non-tech’ jobs and the associated need to ‘build a resume’ have together, ensured that originality, genuine interest and talent building are murdered in the first year itself. What remains is an undying quest to get the magical combination of ‘decent academic performance’ + ‘P.O.Rs or position of responsibility’ + ‘passable extracurricular activities’ on one’s resume. Further, with multinational consultancy firms laying down the ‘3 spikes on your resume’ rule (loosely translated as having 3 distinct, impressive points on your resume), students spend a ridiculously large chunk of their time merging, modifying and mutilating their resume points to make them look more impressive and less believable. Talking to friends, discussing the politics of the country, taking part in intra-hostel events are generally considered obscenely laughable and are left to the ‘naïve’ freshers and sophomores.

Having taken a look at the various factors that have affected IITB over the last 15 years or so, it is very interesting to note that the basic problem that our institute seemed to face was breakdown in communication between students. The basic problem that faces us in the next 10-15 years is the breakdown in communication between the students and the institute on one hand and the institute and government on the other.

The 3 most important factors that will decide whether the next 15 years turn out to be fantastic or dismal for IITB are: The Ban, the recession and the IITJEE.

The Ban

Defn: An action that, in order to get rid of an insect harming the fruits on a tree, cuts down the tree.

Bike ban, LAN ban, fresher-senior interaction ban (well, not exactly…but very close.) It seems that the institute has found out a push-button solution to all the problems facing us; ban anything that sounds remotely related to the problem. So, while one might have considered traffic regulation etc. to be a possible solution to the problem of accidents, the institute banned students from owing motor vehicles. And similar is the case of freshers being segregated. The moment regulation becomes too difficult, ban the activity all-together. This knee-jerk reaction attitude that the officials have adopted can end up having serious consequences. Isolated, unfortunate incidents can very well lead to a ban on girls/boys entering the boys/girls hostel or pizza delivery being allowed inside the institute and so on. It is not the intensity of the ban, but its very concept, that exposes the terribly lacking communication between students and the faculty. No group seems to be even remotely aware of the needs and constraints of the other. The institute has to come up with a gradual solution that is based on reasoning, logic and constructive input from students and the faculty. I know this sounds very ideal and very difficult. And it is. But this is IIT Bombay, and we are not new to the concepts of either ‘ideal’ or ‘difficult’.

The Recession

Defn: An extended period of time when the importance of a student’s academic performance suddenly becomes apparent and the concept of “higher studies” becomes cool.

A student who passed out a few years ago and is now at top management school says, “You know what really saddens me? Students who come to IITB now-a-days have already decided what they want to do after they pass out. And this decision of theirs is not a well calculated, experienced decision; rather they have completely blocked their minds even before they are introduced to the plethora of activities that go on in IITB. Without realizing their potentials and their interests, they set poorly calculated goals for themselves, based on nothing but the previous year’s placements and the related.”

In case you haven’t looked at the placement scenario this year and the “expert opinions regarding the possible scenario next year”, it is bad. Really bad. The mammoth expectations that students passing out of IITB had regarding paychecks, bonuses and ‘career growth’ have now slowly started coming to realistic levels. The bad thing is that this is, and will continue disappointing a lot of students, at least in the short run. The good thing is that people have started exploring avenues other than the famed Investment Banking/Consultancy/Oil based jobs. A lot more people are looking at higher studies, whether a MS or a MBA as viable options. There are a lot of people who are very serious about pursuing a completely different career path, like music or film making etc. How long the job market recession lasts will be the sole factor determining whether this change in the pockets, and consequently the attitudes of IITians is temporary or permanent. A Senior Vice President of a very well known firm in India puts it beautifully, “IITians are a smart bunch, and there is nothing to stop them from doing well, not even a first job that doesn’t match up to their own high expectations.” So a lot of people do believe that we are really smart…on the basis of…

The IITJEE

Defn: The world’s most fair, most well conducted and toughest examination. Clearing it makes you a God…or so I have been told.

I use this header to include all the government intervention over the past few years. While issues like reservation, setting up new IITs, ‘relaxing the JEE exam’, increasing the number of seats in the already cramped up institutes are as much political as they are social, it requires no great mind to realize that if not properly handled, these can spell disaster for our institute in the next 10-15 years. I have participated in and seen countless number of debates discussing reservation and setting up of new IITs, one thing is clear: There is no clear solution, no black and white sides to these issues. In fact, these are win-win or lose-lose situations depending upon how you perceive them. Relaxing the examinations both inside and outside IITs is no different, with their own flaws and innovations. Whatever is the case, and there could be one of many, the next 10-15 years, without doubt will define a paradigm shift as far as IIT or rather people’s perception of IIT is concerned. Whether this will be for the good or bad, I cannot say. But the change is there to happen.

The above factors that I have mentioned are not the only ones that are going to affect. But I do believe they will be the major ones. Shaping an institute’s future is all about shaping the minds and attitudes of the people who make up that institute. IIT Bombay is at a definitive stage in its illustrious existence. The mindset of the people who run it is changing, that of the students and teachers who depend on it is changing; in fact the world around it is changing. We need to wait and see, if decision-takers recognize this shift and are able to help IITB continue on the path of excellence that it always has maintained.

I had sent a bunch of questions to some friends studying in various colleges in Mumbai, outside IITB. One question that was of particular interest to me was ‘Define an IITian.’

65% of boys and 97% of girls said ‘Nerd’.

Some things, unfortunately, stand the test of time. Ah well…

- Rahul Dash

Fingers pointed: A short story

2009-04-22T23:51:00.009+05:30

Fuck.

If she gave me a chance I would show her what sex should be like. That bodies are not meant to satisfy the mind, but the other way round.

That what matters is not how high you rise, but how low you stoop. That sweat and blood are indistinguishable when it comes to their use as lubricants. That sex should be the greatest rebuttal against that son of a bitch, Darwin. That childbirth is fucking auxillary. That using protection is like eating bananas with their skins on, drinking with the cork on, throwing a large, closed bucket of water to extinguish a raging fire. That a woman should not think that domination in bed undermines her...in fact it defines her. That every time a bead of sweat accumulates on your forehead, your hands should not be free or clean enough to allow you to wipe it off. That pillows are unnecessary. That sheets are, to prove your point the next morning. That every time your lips touch, you should exchange a part of your body. That to close your eyes is the most shameful and cowardice act an idiot can perform during sex.

That every woman looks beautiful when she sweats...just give her a chance. That no man is capable of satisfying the bed. That licking whipped cream and chocolate and wine from a woman's body is a wastage of resources, taking into account the amount of liquid produced by her body. That whether or not a man truly loves a woman can only be decided on the basis of how he treats her just after sex...and thus the entire "falling in love before getting physical" is fucking stupid, invented by liars who claim that that is possible. That the concept of sex organs is bullshit, since every organ is a sex organ. That creativity makes dicks out of ears.

"Can I have a seat please?"

I stopped looking at the woman standing in the bus and turned around to see a girl, roughly of my age, giving me a combined expression of happiness, disgust, dissapointment, affection, lust and raw confidence. She looked confident of chopping off my dick and scared of getting raped. The look most girls give when they talk to strangers. I moved in, taking the window seat. She sat next to me. The woman who was standing had got a seat by then. I hate it when men show their chivalry and lack of humour by getting up, letting women sit. A woman takes fucking hours to get dressed. Wastes money on wax, waxing, getting pierced, piercing, getting the perfect bra, the perfect underwear, the perfect fitting clothes, the perfect haircut. And these fucking idiotic chivalrous men do not even let them present themselves to the world by standing in a crowded bus. For all we know, the woman would never get as much attention as she gets by standing in a bus anywhere else in the world. Her husband must be thinking about the maidservant or the young secretary at office while ritually banging her. Her friends must either be too fat or too dumb to resist competition. Her kids, unless Freudian, must be too busy lusting after the latest actress to have been fucked on screen. The crowded bus, in all its smell and glory, gives a well dressed and well endowed woman undivided attention. So every time a man tries to be chivalrous and gets up to give her his seat, the woman must actually be furious, harboring thoughts of the kind that makes you want to cut a person till the blood in his veins compete with the air in his lungs to leave his rotting body.

"It is really hot."

"Right?"

It is not that I didn't feel the weather was hot. Or that she wasn't worth talking to. Or that I was so fucked up not to talk to a pretty girl. Or that my self was so small that words, semen and air couldn't be processed at the same time. I heard her, twice. But I did not respond. I was gazing at the world outside the moving bus. There were a lot of people. People who deserved to do better than they already were, people who had achieved more than they should have, virgins, paedophiles, homosexuals, people of colour, people of nature, people who deserved to live but weren't going to for a long time, people who deserved to die at that very moment, under my bus. I kept looking at people, wondering how that fad called the six degrees of separation connects me to that leper on the street, that middle aged woman with a low cut blouse, that stern looking nun, that pussy, that idiot, those pair of breasts, that penis there. Synecdoche took over reason and reason took over feelings. Feelings then sat down and made a compromise with the universal that defined my mind's synecdoche, changing it into a metaphor. At the end, words were lost and grammar prevailed. I kept creating and shooting epithets at everyone, caring not one bit that none of them actually gives a fuck.

The pair of legs next to me had by now, hurt, taken to looking at anything and anyone that formed an empty set when intersected with my smell. She hadn't expected me not to give a damn. No girl does. It is tough being a girl, in that aspect. You wear makeup and push-up bra and try to make men notice, you then pretend not to like the fact that a man looks at you even tough half your existence goes into ensuring that, you then pretend to not care and hope that some man will make a move, you then pretend to despise the move made, while slowly getting wet inside your head at your apparent victory. And all this not because you want something tangible. A man's stare provides more confidence to a woman than an hourglass figure. So you be grateful that men look. And then you say, "Men only want sex." Like as if every footballer scores goals so that he can show off his well toned body by taking his shirt off. Hark, I hate when I deviate like a horny, scalded cat, leaving the innocent reader wide-eyed.

So let me make some sense.

The girl was hurt. I turned my head towards her. She looked at me from the corner of her eyes, trying as hard as she can to avoid direct eye contact. She wanted to talk to me 5 minuted back. now, she wants me to believe she doesn't give a fuck. I smiled and continued looking. She looked back. She gave me a weak, apologetic smile. The kind of smile you would give a waiter if there exists a waiter man enough to hold your collar and ask you for a tip.

"My name is Rahul."

"My name is Anita."

The bus started approaching a stop. She got up, without any reluctance, smiled once, and stood near the door. Many men ogled, pinched, tried to pinch, breathed heavily, rubbed their penises over their pants, smelled her, imagined her, tried taking photos of her ass. She (apparently) had no idea. Bitch. Either too innocent or a complete slut. Her place, near me, was taken by an aged 'aunty'. The kind who get jealous whenever they see anything firm and not sagging. Jam based aunty. Ordinary aunty. Pepperish aunty. Pinter's aunty. Indian, old aunty. Fuck the aunty. I'll rather not.

She tuned to me, covering her sagging breasts with her saree. I really do not understand why old women have to cover their bodies. They should walk naked and make men pay for all the ogling they had done during the woman's youth. "Here fucker, look! Do you like my rubber now?" The aunty gave a weak, apologetic smile. I smiled back.

"It is really hot."

"Right?"

I was looking at a dog fucking a bitch on the road, oblivious to all else that was happening around. Damn, we can never have sex like that. We are more concerned about how we look, how we breathe, how our parents will feel about it, how the society will perceive this particular position. If she swallows, will my boss fire me ? If I, will she? Am I fit enough? Is she hot enough? Are they even fucking correlated? Oh shit, I came. Was it too soon? Am I too small? Too fast? Does she realize I am already in? Already done? Is she sleeping? Is she dreaming about her ex? Am I dreaming about mine? Am I dreaming? Why am I not?

Bertrand Russel called it being a tea-pot agnostic. You may believe that there exists a giant tea pot that revolves around the planet Jupiter. If I say that I am agnostic, it does not mean that according to me, the probability of the tea pot existing is 0.5, indeed there are many strange things that one can choose to believe in. In each of those cases, the onus of proving existence rests on the believer, the onus of disproving doesn't apply. And this is true while being agnostic about the existence of God too. At that very moment, sitting in the bus, I chose to be agnostic about the existence of life and the usefulness of that old woman sitting next to me. The respective onus, existed and didn't, for her and me.

I looked at the old woman and decided to response to her two questions.

She was looking at the other side, trying to figure out the theory of relativity...to salvage her lost pride and juice I guess.

Women...

The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense. Take what you have gathered from coincidence. And the God called Dylan started fading in my ears.

- Rahul Dash

Radio Play: The Right

2009-04-12T20:08:00.003+05:30

The following is the script of a Radio Play 'The Right' that I had written down in 15-20 minutes. The concept, I believe, is quite interesting. Feel free to contact me in case you think you can add something to it.

The Right

Performers:

Louis Armstrong, Initial Govt announcer, Rahul, John : Played by Rahul Dash

Rj : Played by Jonathan Minz

Scene 1

What a wonderful world is played for 30 seconds. Fades out.

A gentle, soothing voice looms: Disregard how your life is looking now if it is grim, you just have to wait. If you allow yourself to live and continue throughout life, longer, then everything will clear up; remember this: Everything changes all the time in any length of time whether it be seconds, minutes, months, even years... everything changes. Life is like a Line: Life slowly advances throughout every single second that passes us by, we all[as a human race] move forward and events change.

Your life right now is just a step, continue your life, and you will gradually take more steps that are brighter and more optimistic for you.

Things will not remain the same forever, your life is not set in stone, and you don't need to end it earlier before it is intended to end.

A computerized voice: This message was issued in Public Service by the Government of India

Scene 2

(A radio station, 9:30 pm, Mumbai)

RJ : Hello and welcome to " This is the end...".....a radio programe that lets you give your reasons for committing suicide....our next caller on this big day where we await a big decision, is Rahul from Mumbai.....let us see if his reason is better than the reasons given by our other contestants....remember , you have only till tomorrow to vote...send us your sms on 8888.....please vote before the deadline passes....or you are dead....this is radio Mirchi 98.3 FM...it is hot!

Rj: Hello Rahul....

R: hi...

Rj: so Rahul...tell us something about yourself....

R:(voice trembling) can we just over with this already ?....you are freaking me out ? ....first of all...i cannot see the point of this show...

Rj: oh come on Rahul !!!!! this is 2025 !!! committing suicide is cool now that it has been legalized for over 15 years....we have so many people doing it !!!....and as a radio network our motive is to bring what people want...to their living rooms !!!! .....for example on my show..." This is the end...." ...we have stories of inspired suicide attempts....stories where the person going to commit suicide chickened out at the last moment and loads of other stuff !!!! And then there is this bit...where we ask people like you to tell us why you will be committing suicide in the near future.....and you are damn lucky...to be getting a chance on this day...this really big day !

R: ok

Rj: So Rahul...what is your reason darling ?

R: (laughs)

Reason....i always thought the lack of any reason was what prompted suicide...anyway....
There is a time for everything...and death is an idea whose time has come, for me. You know what, in the last 10 years, so many suicides have occurred...so many people have killed themselves...the official figure is 20 million but i think it is much higher.......so many young people have taken their lives just for the sake of it.....just because people like doing things that are cool....that are socially acceptable....without thinking about the consequences of their actions...without actually having any sort of reason attached to their failed philosophies.......today we have kids growing up listening to suicide rock bands....wearing t-shirts that say things like "let us cut ...ourselves".....everyone is bloody committing cult suicides...thinking of innovative ways to kill themselves....i mean...come on...doesn't the fact that you want to die when the majority of the world wants to live make the idea inherently innovative enough ?....look at me...i Really want to die....i would have committed suicide even if i was born 15 years back....when suicide was illegal......people today treat suicide like college going students treat heavy metal music.....the guys wear black t-shirts that abuse and the women wear heavy amount of maskara and wear tight fitting clothes that show off their ill maintained bodies.......no-one is true to himself in this bloody world......no one has ever been....everyone does stuff simply because doing it will give him/her social acceptance....even if it means bloody killing yourself !!!!

Rj: wow !! someone is fussy....so you mean to say that you are the only true carrier of the suicide bug....everyone else is a phony ?

R: That would be a mildly arrogant statement......there are many people like me.....these people are usually secretive about their desire to kill themselves....it is exactly like people who are in true love vs bloody ridiculous campus romances....where the need to tell everyone about your girlfriend is much more than the need for the girlfriend...!!!

Rj: Hey hey hey !!! that is unfair !!!! ....you cannot say that the majority are a phony......i mean....look at what the human rights organizations say about suicide ......they say it is bad....they actively campaign ...even on our radio frequency....in fact the hugeness of today is partly because of them too ! They would not be saying this unless the majority really meant it !!!!

R: What the hell are you talking about !! a human life is a human life !!!! no matter what the reason to die is !! I mean...I am choosing to end my life because of my own problems....because of my own choice....not because of some idiotic sense of accomplishment i plan to have when i kill myself to prove something. You kill yourself because there is nothing to prove....not because you have a later back stage to sit back and reap benefits !

Rj: Hold on Rahul...we have a breaking news...ladies and gentlemen...the time has arrived...we go over to our correspondent John. John ! Can you hear me ?

John: (bad frequency...noise) Jimmie this is huge ! The bill that the world was waiting for has passed. The Parliament has passed a bill that makes committing suicide illegal ! 15 years ago the Indian parliament had passed a law that legalized suicide. This was a desperate measure taken by the government in order to manage an ever growing population and horribly low production of goods due to the global economic recession that hit India in 2009. The government had taken this audacious step after several research reports led to similar conclusions. Notable mention must go to the head of a minority party for pointing out that the majority must shed some of their numbers to avoid anarchy from spreading in the society due to lack of fulfillment of basic needs. The majority leader had also concluded his 100 cr rs research report by saying "death to the minorities !!" The government had chosen an optimum, unbiased stance and had made suicide legal for everyone. 10 years and over 20 million suicides later, when suicide has become a rage...causing many rock bands, movies, television reality shows and social networking sites to be based around it, the government has made it illegal...due to a petition filed by a religious group that claimed "suicide is against the Indian culture...and it is a western idea...like condoms, contraceptive pills and feminism." The bottom-line is that 'From this very moment...suicide in India, is illegal, just as it was 15 years ago...'

Rj: Wow...that is big news...so I guess our philosophy has been lynched once again. But hey, we have an unfortunate caller...Rahul, what will you do now ?

End

-Rahul Dash

China, India etc.

2009-03-09T11:26:00.003+05:30

A few points:

1) China's exports account for around 10% of the world's trade. Chinese exports grow at around 25% a year. The world trade grows by around 15%. Now if we assume that this scenario would continue, then by 2020, China's exports would account for around 40% of the world trade. No country, ever, has been in that position. And the leaders of the world simply won't let that happen. Consequently, China's exports won't be allowed to grow at this rate till 2020. China realizes that. It also realizes that the slowdown in export related activites has to be compensated for by an increase in consumption. Presently, the Chinese consumption to GDP ratio stands at around 30-35% which is probably one of the lowest. So unless internal consumption drives China's growth in the next decade or so, the Chinese dream is all but over. An internal consumption growth dpends heavily on infrastructure, and hence one can see the Chinese govt paying so much attention to the growth of quality infrastructure in the country.

2) Compare the scenario in China to that in India. The Indian economy is one third in size, compared to the Chinese. Indian exports too are around one third as compared to China. So a growing Indian export industry is very much possible till 2020. However, along with that, India also needs to boost a)manufacturing and b)internal consumption. In case of India, the govt(for some God foresaken reason), has not yet undrestood the importance of infrastructure when it comes to boosting manufacturing and internal consumption. Thus the Indian dream and the Chinese dream both may be over by 2020, but for entirely different reasons. The Chinese are at least trying to foster infrastructure development and consequently internal consumption by realizing the problem. The Indian govt meanwhile is happy that we have an IT services revolution that gives us International prestige(not anymore I guess...) and that we have got Gandhi's items back through the private sector.

Rahul Dash

-Raferences:

1) Surjit Bhalla vs Anil Gupta on ToughTalk(NDTV Profit)
2) A recent issue of the Economist
3) WSJ

Shout Box 1

2009-02-23T01:07:00.004+05:30

A few shout-outs:

1) Please do not tell me that capitalism is over. As I know it, capitalism has survived as the cutest monster simply because of its ability to re-invent itself. Whenever capitalism, as a form of economy or as a social order, has faced a crisis( Marx, The Depression et al), it has always re-invented itself. And there is nothing to tell that it won't do so this time around too. Sure, everytime there has been a crisis, people in the red underwear start making a lot of noise regarding the impending doom for capitalism, but their red underwear never comes out like that of a superhero.

2) It is a sad sad idea to nationalize banks( the buzz is that the US gov might consider nationalizing Citi, BoA etc.) I am 100% sure that the nationalization that Tim Geithner is talking about does not involve securing a company's preffered stocks. If you let these stocks vanish, you pretty much risk taking down a lot of insurance companies and other large funds. As Cramer puts it in his usual "I am getting raped by tribes from the Amazon basin" manner, "If you nationalize these huge banks, you pretty much finish off the financial system as we know it."

3) The RBI and the Fiscal people(are they called government ?) don't understand two things:

(a) Yes sir Mr Governor, you have reduced your repo, rev repo, CRR. But do you realize that inflation is at 3-4% ? Do you realize that your rates have been reduced to the present levels with a higher inflation in mind ? Do you understand that people's purchasing power will not improve at all if your rate reduction does not match up to atleast compensate for the decrease in inflation ? Do you really fear an increase in inflation in the near future ? In fact, is it something that you should fear ??

(b) Dear Mr Fiscal policy maker, do you know that government borrowings as per this budget have increased around 3 times from the figures available during last year's budget ? Do you realize that this implies that the governent is borrowing heavily from the market ? Do you realize that you are taking liquidity out of the market ? Do you also understand that unless you start spending or you ask Mr Gov from RBI to decrease rates further, interest rates won't come down ? Do you realize that though RBI wants to have a fair amount of autonomy, fiscal and monetary policies should work hand in hand ?

4) Do not go ga-ga over slumdog millionaire. It is not an Indian film. It is a film that has been made in India. By your logic, all of Yash Raj productions would be Swiss films.

5) It is very very irritating when I watch a large number of shows on TV that debate the finance minister's recent claims that the GDP would grow at 7% next fiscal year. They usually have a panel of 4-5 over-educated, old people who(using tons of stats) criticize every comment made by the finance ministry, but, at the end of the show, when they are asked for a figure, they say " Haan, around 7%."

Seriously yaar, WTF !

-Rahul Dash

A girl

2009-02-14T20:30:00.003+05:30

I looked at her.

She was not very beautiful. Just a simple girl with simple emotions. She smelled of nature and of perfume. I couldn't tell the ratio. She had this one side of her lips curled into half a smile. As if she was trying to hide a secret little moon in her mouth.

She spent a considerable amount of time raising her left eyebrow at nothing in particular. Her head, situated on her neck, swayed to the right and then to the left. She kept on looking at inconspicuous things. Maybe the raised eyebrow stood for disapproval, maybe for amazement.

She stood in one continuous frame. The frame looked good. Her hands were in front of her, tightly held to her body. The right one was above the left. This was a result of her shoulders stooping a bit. The right one a bit more than the left. Due to this situation, her head(on her neck), moved about like a little bulb on a socket. And some socket!

The legs were close to each other. They had this restless air about them. Had she been on a high platform, she probably would have dived into the absurd abyss in front of her that we call the world. But she was firmly situated on the ground. So there was no jumping. Just the posture. Her hair was left open. Black, shoulder length hair. The fingers produced Darwinian copies of each other and of the hands in general. One small ring(not on the devil's finger) looked like Saturn's rings protecting the leaning tower of Pisa. The finger was inclined at an odd angle to the horizontal. And the inclination kept increasing at an ridiculously slow but important-because-beautiful rate.

The eyes were black. Not too big, not too small. Not extraordinarily pretty. But they fit, as possibly all eyes do. It is a strange coincidence; our eyes not being more disproportionate. Why should some divine ratio be maintained ? Anyway, she was of some color, I can't really say what color. Not that I am not a racist, just that it wasn't fit enough to be a misfit.

The nose was slender. Not like one of those sharp noses that are made for fast moving, streamlined bodies. This one was lazy, gaiety. It cut through the air gently, like a boat in water, with a tired man at the oar. The cheeks had just about enough flesh to be pulled, but less enough to maintain non-disruptive equilibrium.

There existed a neck (on which, as I have maintained, resided a head) which provided a gentle passage of every gulp she swallowed to her frame. It also, as an auxiliary duty, provided space for jewelery. One necklace of some material, with a pendant shaped as a bird at its end. Strange necklace, but then I don't really know how necklaces are supposed to be. If there was a rope tied to the end of the necklace( at the back of her neck), she could be hung. In that case, her beautiful neck would have a third auxiliary function. To prevent those gulps from going anywhere. To make her moderately sized eyes become bigger. To (probably), spread those hands and legs a bit. To (definitely) make that little moon fall from her mouth. But why would anyone have thoughts so morbid ? So erotic ?

She wore a dress that held itself by two straps and covered flesh till her knees. Light yellow. If colors were dudes, yellow would be getting laid big-time. Women love yellow. This one was no different. No, no, I take back that last sentence. She was. I didn't notice the design on her dress. It didn't really matter. The human eye has great data filtration ability. Thank god for that. Imagine if you could see (in detail) what you kiss (or want to kiss) on a girl's body.

Her breasts (as visible over her yellow dress) were distinct. So were the other anatomical anomalies that god was stupid enough to give women and then was smart enough to make men stupid enough to not see though His stupidity.

She had a brown handbag. I have always been fascinated by the sheer number of things that women need on an average trip on an average day. If the earth's volume was divided up into billions of pieces and each person was given a piece, women would have sex with men in return of space, not money. They need so much of it.

Her train came, she boarded it and left.

She took away her eyes, her neck, her jewelery, the little moon, the mysterious handbag, the stooped shoulders, Saturn and its rings. She left behind a mark in that air where she stood, a mark of her shape in space. It was a space that would forever remain a space, a void. For no matter how hard anyone tried,they couldn't fill up that space completely, with the same shape. There are many such shapes left behind in each of the little worlds that we create for ourselves and live in. Shapes that beg to be filled, till we find a better shape, a better smell and so on. And every once in a while, we try to fit ourselves in one of these shapes, and desperately try to do so for the rest of our lives.

How many times have you fallen in love at a railway station ?

- Rahul Dash

P.S. Happy Valentine's Day...to all the immoral and culturally retarded individuals who remain oblivious to the obvious harsh effects of holding hands with the members of the opposite sex, as opposed to kicking them and dragging them by their hair out of a pub. I will meet you, in hell :)

The Evening: A Short Story

2009-01-23T23:52:00.003+05:30

His hands trembled as he took the loaf of bread from the shelf. He curiously checked its expiry date and put it in his cart. Then he took jam, custard powder, some mustard and other things that a 80 year old could digest in moderate quantities. He was used to it now, the doctors had put him on a strict diet. " One more heart attack and you won't be lucky." And if that was not enough, he had to stay on his diet, to complete his search. His search wasn't over yet. It had begun some 30 years ago and it still went on. Not that he wasn't trying hard. It just was a very difficult search. A difficult position to fill in. And with so much secrecy plus the additional bitter-sweet healing memory made it all the more difficult. Anyway, he went to the counter and stood in the line, waiting for the counter-guy( what is it that they are called anyway ?) to put an end to his misery.

A few blokes came running into the shop. It was one of those shops run by an Indian guy, located near a residential complex. The blokes who ran in were all around 20 yrs of age. At that ripe age when one seems to find time for everything but capture moments of none. When memory seems to be a blessing and there is too much of breathing. These 'kids' ran into the shop, picked up a few cans of beer and breaking the line ( and with it, every promise made to mother, father, grandmother, grandfather, elder sister, elder brother), jumped towards the counter. The Indian guy helplessly looked on, smiling within himself at the everyday victory that he had over the 'whites'. His own children won't dare jump the queue...any queue especially when the honor of old strangers is at stake. A few people in the queue started objecting, although feebly. The kind of negative confidence that is delivered in installments...one every birthday. The old man, 80 years old, with a loaf of bread, jam etc. went red and started shouting at the kids. They didn't react. In fact they were visibly amused. The old man kept shouting and these kids kept laughing...at his appalling condition, at their visible physical superiority and the associated provable superiority in all other aspects.

They called him grandpa, then an old dick, then a burden on the society, then a sore sight and so on, till all the others in the queue thought of all the things they could be called and shut up. They started feeling sorry for the old guy, since feeling sorry for themselves was more humiliating. It is like little children, when they play with dolls, they assign particular features that they possess to their dolls and look at themselves as an algebraic sum of the doll's qualities. People tend to critique themselves by assigning their shortcomings to other people and then judging them.

The old man kept shouting till he stopped to cough. He coughed for 2 minutes, continuously. It was really dark outside and the Indian shop-owner was thinking how to get the old guy to a hospital in case he got beaten up by the kids or he choked on oxygen. But the old man drank some water and then continued with his shouting and inaudible grunting. The blokes on the other hand, they kept laughing.

Finally the old man stopped. He realized that the maximum damage was being done to himself. Both physically and mentally. He sighed. It was the wrong time. He was the wrong person. And this was the wrong story. The kids had stopped laughing and the Indian guy had given them the bill. The old man looked at the kids, helplessly, as they opened a can of beer, had some and took turns to burp at his face. They then laughed and went out, so slowly that they almost slipped due to the earth's rotation. Then they left. And business as usual was resumed at the shop. Some people sympathized with the old man. Calling him 'poor good old soul' and things to that effect. The old man's turn came. He paid for all that he had bought and he left.

While walking down the street towards his apartment, he kept thinking how important it had become to fill the post. Urgently. He had never imagined that the world would become so different so soon. He had expected the acceptance of the emptiness of the post to be gradual, but it turned out to be fast. He had expected the disappearance of surprise and sorrow amongst people to be gradual, but it was fast. Every time he wanted to go talk to someone, he would think how ridiculous he sounded. And how crazy people would think he was. He was partly responsible for his own condition. 80 years old. No-one in his life. Living all alone in an apartment. No visitors, no friends, no relatives, no phone-call...in fact no phone, no ambition, no quest...except the filling in of a post. He had the aura of a man who had achieved everything but, realizing the pointlessness and the helplessness of his situation, decided to just live out his days and fade out of memory. It was a sad condition and his was a sad story.

In another world at another time he wold have been the busiest person on the planet. But here, he was free. And it was this very freedom that was rule. He had given up his material possessions long ago.Each part to a different charity under a different pretext so as to remove all chances of a reunion...of either matter or memory. He had kept a small amount of money for himself in a small bank to see off his days in peace. He was lonely. But then few people would have wanted to know him any better.

The world was not meant to be his. It was not meant for him. He had done a lot for the world, and in better times he was the toast of many. But now he was old and worthless to the cause which had engulfed him. It wasn't a question of 'why to live', but a question of 'what left to live for' ? And he had found the answer long ago. For closure. He was living for closure.

His neighbors took very little interest in him. He was mostly locked indoors. With a few visits to the grocery shop run by the Indian guy for the necessities. And he never disturbed anybody. He never said hello, he never complained when the neighbor's kids put on loud music. He always found innovative ways to avoid eye-contact and conversation. He reached his apartment. the name-plate read nothing. Nothing specific about the name. Nothing specific about the apartment. It had lots of books, a bedroom, a kitchen and a bathroom. The dining room was attached to the kitchen. It had a T.V and a computer etc. A decent living place for a single, lonely 80 year old guy, whom the world had forgotten.

He was about to start off with his daily routine of having a hot water bath in the evening when he suddenly saw, through his kitchen window, a girl held up by two guys. The girl was pinned against the bonnet of her car and the two guys were holding knives. This was happening below his bathroom window, in an alley that was as deserted by people as it was by light. The old man froze with horror as he saw one of the two guys slapped the girl and the other guy started unzipping his pants. The girl was bleeding from her nose and was crying, begging for help. But there was no-one. Just an old man who stood on a plastic bucket, looking down through his bathroom window. He could have gone and shouted for help to his neighbors...but that would have invited unnecessary hero-status and recognition. He could have also shouted at the guys himself...but then he remembered the words of those blokes at the shop run by the Indian guy. He had to act quickly. He had to act smartly. He had to act in a discreet manner. It was his way.

He went to his living room, pulled the T.V cart to his balcony and using all his strength, threw the T.V down. He then quickly closed the balcony door and pulled down the curtains. The T.V fell down with a thud...on one of his neighbor's car. The auto-alarm went off and the guys on the adjacent alley panicked. The auto alarm invited curses and glances from the entire neighborhood. The owners rushed down. The guys left the girl and ran away. The old man smiled from the bathroom window. A huge satisfied grin.

He went to his bedroom and opened a trunk. He took out a few clothes and wore...tried wearing them. They were all loose and looked really horrible on him. But he tried an wore all of them to the best of his abilities. The rubber suit, the protective shield, the hand gear, the leg protective high quality plastic wear, the black electrically charged material as a cloak, the high quality boots, the mask. An old man in a rubber suit with high tech arm and leg gears and gadgets, his loose skin seemingly more flexible than his clothing. He stood there, smiling, in front of the mirror as he used to stand everyday...around 40-50 years back. At that time, he wanted to help the citizens of his city in a discreet, in-genius way, preferring to stay in solitude and without going for the hero factor.

Bruce Wayne still did.

- Rahul Dash

Vote are you saying ?

2009-01-12T01:08:00.005+05:30

If an award is ever given out to the 'most cliched, passable excuse' everytime things do not go according to individualistic or societal plans, 'blaming the government' would win hands down. The beauty and burden of democracy is that it gives people a chance and responsibility to do something rather than, say, just sit and blog about issues.

For example, you can light candles and walk down polished roads wearing polished shoes a la celebrities who are actually social workers, farmers or Gods in disguise (Amir Khan, Amitabh Bachchan and the like.) You can also write op-eds in leading journals using highly 'GRE-tesque' words. Further, you can approach a Rang De Basanti-sh attitude and actually, literally, go for the kill.

Or you can vote. The concept is that every person has the right to excercise his/her grievances in a simple and apparently effective way. Vote for or against the group that has caused you happiness or hurt. Is it really that simple ? Well, no.

It is like this. I do not concede that everyone in this country has the country's best interest implicit in their decisions. Even if they do, they do not have the numbers on their side to make any sort of difference. I am not being skeptical, I am being realistic. And if the reality seems grim, well, that is just the way it is. You cannot cause a real difference just by sitting at home, reading about policies and going and casting your 'informed vote' on the day. What matters is to convince others about your ideas and gain acceptance within them first, then get a majority of people to vote on the issue you want to address and then bring about the required change. Imagine an election within an election. We can find a lot of people in this country who may have the heart, but neither the mind nor the voice to bring about a positive change in the way things work. And each of these people have to first win millions of elections within the election. And only then can their opinions find true volume.

So if you think why you should vote, well, it is not to excercise your right or to bring about change. It is either to be the whisper which works towards being the voice that eventually brings about the change or to be a mere bait in the whole process. Because unless you strive to take part in and win the small elections within the election, you will never win in democracy. You will only receive a self-flattering participation certificate.

-Rahul Dash

This new year, I wish you...

2009-01-01T22:08:00.011+05:30

This new year...

1) May you not go bankrupt

2) May you not be desperate for a job even after slogging for half a decade to get in and pass out of the country's best insitute

3) May you not get shot and murdered by a stranger in a van while you are walking on the road, near Marine Lines, waiting to ask your friend out

4) May you not get stripped, molested then murdered while you are at a luxury hotel, celebrating your recent proffessional success with your family

5) May your old, rusty gun not get jammed by a bullet when you are face-to-face with a terrorist, wielding an AK 47

6) May you not get blown up while you are using an intra city transport facility

7) May you not get burnt or cut into pieces while you take a long distance train

8) May you not get raped,molested or harassed because of the wonderful, delicate way that God created you

9) May you not be deemed a perverted killer because of your facial hair or the lack of it

10) May your mother need to pray only for your success, not for your safety, when you go out

11) May we not need to depend on a person staying on the other side of the world for inspiration

12) May the other side of the world not depend on the colour of the person's skin for inspiration

13) May our own people provide us some

14) May I not, for the first time, be ashamed of the state where I was born; where people burn and rape others from the same religious community to which my best friend belongs

15) May our leaders grow tonsils and testicles

16) May Naseeruddin Shah, Rajeev Khandelwal, Sean Penn act in more films

17) May Salman Khan give up

18) May you, never

-Rahul Dash

Religion Part 2

2008-12-29T19:49:00.002+05:30

A few days back I had an extremely interesting discussion with this person, a friend who presently studies at a really good university abroad. The problem with Ivy League bred despondency (if I may) is that it is usually a product of inherited skepticism, rather than logical reasoning. Consider, for example, the following sentence:

"If religion had been free of the unnecessary chutzpah, if the only reason why people turned to religion was to attain a stable state, peace and support when required, then much of the world's problems would not have existed. So the basic problem is that religion was not allowed to flourish, like art or music. Instead, religion was housebred by a group of people who had vested interests in seeing religious mindset develop in a certain way, rather than be open to public interpretation."

Or rather, as Pinter would put in a much more reader-friendly way, the wound was bandaged, not peopled.

The only reply to the above 'logic' explained by the friend in question would be this: "You say if religion was like this...the world would be better, if religion was like that...the world would be free of all problems we face. Counterfactual conditionals are always true, because the premise is false. Religion is widely followed and has any impact because of the chutzpah. Because of the eccentricities. Since what people want is not peace of mind, but blatant escapism disguised as an impossibility(or is itthe other way round?). To escape death, to escape the fact that we do not know what will happen after we die, to escape the fact that we have abdolutely no universally acceptable idea how we came to be, or what will happen to us. Even something as basic as why we react in a particular way when we would have loved to react in a completely different way. Religion promotes escapism, if you look for mental peace you get mental peace, if you look for eccentric occult based practices you get that, if you look for sodomy you get that too."

I got branded as "typical geek who takes logic too seriously."

WTF

-Rahul Dash

P.S. I have written about religion before here.

India and Pakistan

2008-12-21T19:42:00.006+05:30

Ok, before we start on this one, watch this. And then this.

And now we present, before anyone has ever seen it, the new episode of the unbelievably cool Dr Zaid Hamid's Brass-tracks research findings on the India vs Pakistan world cup 20-20 match in which the whole world was made to believe that India defeated Pakistan. But only Dr Zaid Hamid (let us call him ZH) knows the real story !!!

Here is a transcript of the news programme, Mujhe Ikhtilaf Hai, where a fat newsreader (FN), Dr Hamid (ZH) and hot understated member of the parliament (HUMP) discuss the true story.

FN : Welcome to this show. Today, after a few weeks of conceptually and strategically analyzing the Mumbai attacks, Dr Zaid Hamid has come up with his new breakthrough research analysis. All of you must be remembering that during the world cup 20-20 match, people all across the world were made to believe that India had defeated Pakistan and that we were watching it live. But that is not possible, because God won't let that happen. Some people might say that cricket is a fun sport that has nothing to do with God but that, again is so untrue.
So Zaid sahab, everyone in Pakistan is saying that this 20-20 world cup victory that India had was a fix up exactly like the 1983 world cup tournament where the world was falsely made to believe that India had won the world cup when we all know that was not true. So is this the present India's 1983 ?

ZH : This is not the 1983 of the present Indian team. Dekhiye, 1983 Indian team had beautifully camouflaged the entire tournament's proceedings to falsely make everyone believe that India had won. However, consider the present Indian cricket team...akal to hai nahi. In ahmakon ne complete disaster kar diya is operation 'defeat Pakistan' mein. But it is too late now...ab sabko inka gameplan pata chal gaya hai.

HUMP : I just don't get 'it'. I haven't got 'it' for so long. And I really want 'it'. :(

FN : Zaid sahab, can you analyze this situation ?

ZH : During the 20-20 world cup, look at the pictures of the Pakistani bowler whos got his ass handed to him by Dhoni. Look at him. Iski shakal Indians waali hai. Pakistani cricketers ki shakal aisi nahi hoti. Also, look at him, trying to hold the two cricket balls and trying to figure out which one would bounce more. Everyone knows, Pakistani cricketers do not have balls. Further, the entire world was watching when ex-Pakistani cricketers were dying to be a part of the commentary team that serves Indian matches or that Pakistani players were ready to ditch playing for their country to put the Indian Premier League first or that the Pakistani cricketers were actually seen smiling and shaking hands with Indian cricketers. That is not how Pakistanis like me, and consequently an ideal Pakistani behave. So the whole match, in fact the whole tournament was a farce. The begining of the end of the begining of the end of the...(loop)

HUMP : Exactly, and what abt the fact that unhone humara paani aur pepsi rok rakha hai. Humare khilaadion ko paani nahi milti, pepsi nahi milti. They don't get those in the same way that I don't get 'it'.

ZH : Indian cricketers ne yeh sab akele nahi kiya. Inke saath umpires Simon Tauffel and Billy Bowden yaani ki western zionists and Indian zionists ne milkar yeh pakistan ke khilaaf yeh khel khela. But ab bahut late ho gaya hai. Poore duniya ko unka game-plan samajh mein aa chuka hai !

HUMP : Exactly, even when Yuvraj Singh hit this sixes and then wiped off the sweat off his face and then Dhoni gently brushed his hair behid his cap and Irfaan....

FN : Ya you don't get 'it'. We all get that part...

HUMP : Hmmm :(

FN : What should we do now ?

ZH : We should mobilize our forces along the western border of....

FN : I was talking about cricket.

ZH : Oh that, yeah. Fuck that !

FN : Hmmm...so basically your research organization says that no matter what happens between India and Pakistan and no matter whether it happens on the cricket field, bollywood, music industry, scientific research, college level extra curricular activities et al, no matter what happens, your organization is devoted to see to it that we mobilize our forces and create a situation of war at the slighest possible chance...and anyway some elements in the Indian government also do that, so no one can blame only us.

ZH (smiling) : You got it. The common man in both India and Pakistan acts like a retard. That is the belief that propells us.

HUMP : But what if the common man in both countries realizes that ?

ZH and FN : That day my dear, you, and all of us WILL get 'it'.

- Rahul Dash

Words are all I have : Part 1

2008-12-06T17:56:00.004+05:30

I induct some new terms into existence.

1) Terrorify (verb) : To create a sense of fear and panick on a large scale amongst a mostly innocent and mis-informed population by use of bomb, gun, telephone or politics.

eg. The armed men terrorified the people of Mumbai on 26/11. or

The hoax phone-call regarding a bomb at Sophia college terrorified the students. or

People who terrorify are termed terrorists.

2) To pull a Ram Gopal Verma (descriptive phrase) : To appear suddenly, unexpectedly with regards to both space and time.

eg. By appearing alongside Vilasrao Deshmukh during the former CM's visit to the Taj following the attacks, Ram Gopal Verma pulled a Ram Gopal Verma. or

By appearing at once behind Lieutenant Gordon, Batman almost pulled a Ram Gopal Verma.

3) Manooseuvre (verb) : To control and drive a large number of people based on issues that are so disconnected from reality that their very appearance involves 'pulling a Ram Gopal Verma'

eg. Raj Thackeray's speech did well to manooseuvre the Marathi manoos.

4) Obamaan : The apparent prestige (maan) that a country's leader gets on being high up in the list of people Barack Obama (or any other US president) calls on being elected to the White House.

eg. By not calling Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, the newly elected US President hurt his Obamaan.

5) Facebook (verb...different from the noun Facebook) : To randomly keep on looking at pictures of girls on Facebook, then, based on how pretty their face is, to either move on or to open their profile page in a new tab/window ie to book girls based on their faces.

eg. Oh look Joshua, she is that chick from Xavier's I Facebooked.

To be continued...

-Rahul Dash

Decoding a Terrorist's Psyche

2008-12-04T03:47:00.004+05:30

As the events of 26/11 unfolded, different mentalities led to different reactions amongst people. Some took to the phone, having got an excuse to call the "hot girl" they know from south Mumbai, asking her whether she was all right. Some went back to their rooms to update their Facebook status (more on that here) and some stopped studying for their end-semester exams and sat in front of the TV in what would be the longest relationship of their lives. Some, however, asked themselves, "Why ?" And that question makes sense. Why the fuck would anyone kill people without having to do anything with them ? It doesn't take much to understand why. And I believe I have finally decoded the psyche, the mentality of an average terorist.

Here :

The Core Logic :

1) A terrorist is a person belonging to a religion that is followed by billions of people worldwide.

2) He has been told by a person who has inturn been told by another person who has in turn mis-interpreted the teachings of a third person who in his case, mis-interpreted the writings of a Book in a mis-interpreted sense, putting incidents and quotes out of context; that his religion, his faith and his God are in grave danger. And so are other people following his religion.

3) Information has also been passed onto him by the above described series of people telling him that this "war on his religion" is carried out due to the selfish motives of a few world leaders and their parliaments, senates etc. He has also, sucesfully been made to believe that unless he does something about it, his faith and his people are in grave danger.

4) Thus, the obvious way to teach those handful of politicians a lesson is to kill people who are already suffering under the rule of those politicians. This way, he will be able to teach those politicians a lesson, proving to them that he can make their people suffer in worse ways than they can make their people suffer. And quite obviously, that will stop endangering his people because...well because it will.

5) Carrying out this work will also ensure that he leads a peaceful existence after he dies. He also should let aside all thoughts of a comfortable life and be prepared to commit himself to killing as many people as he can, because based on the above 4 logical statements, well, he has to. He should also, be prepared to sacrifice his life in order to protect the lives of others by killing still others.

6) A terrorist is a jobless motherfucker. Seriously, what did you expect him to do other than blow up innocent people ? I mean...think about it, you people just call yourselves that just for fun, but a terrorist; he actually is a jobless motherfucker. He has no job, no vocational talent, no talent, no girlfriend, no friend, no-one to tell him in an unbiased way whether what he is doing is right or wrong, no sense, no hobbies, no aptitude and I am very sure he has no testicles either. He may belong to Al Qaeda or some Mujahideen or other such retarded gangs, but the point is, they are all motherfuckers and so is he ! Now once you realize that, you will see my logic. In fact, once you realize that, you will see that there is no need for any logic.

Terrorist logic ends.

Now tell me, doesn't that make sense ? At least the last part ?

-Rahul Dash

P.S. Writing "motherfucker" on a blog is not the nicest thing to do. However, after what all of you have seen on TV in the last few days, I believe a simple word like "motherfucker" shouldn't offend or disturb you.

What Idiots Want

2008-12-01T07:45:00.005+05:30

UPDATE : Some of you have got the point of the post totally wrong. What is written in the post is a worst case scenario; where you have an idiotic mind and an idiotic style of writing both in display. However, even if you take away the sms style of writing, the main culprit remains behind as the grossly cliched and idiotic, wannabe style of thought that is so bloody nausating ! While I may not know many people who write in a SMS style ( I try my best to avoid them), I do know a huge number of people who behave exactly in the same way as far as matter is concerned.

And now, the post...

The following may be a piece taken from the webpage of any general boy/girl belonging to the post-adolescense pre-maturity internet loving age group, shortly after the 26/11/2008 incidents took place.

omg !!!! itzz a horrible thing to happen......me hopes all of u ppl r allr8. itz lyk sooo bad....i m kinda sad :(:(:(:(((((........................so d first thing dat i did was ...i created a FACEBOOK page fr all offf us to l8t onlyn diyas for all the hundreds dat died :(:(:(((((((......................................i have been sooooo saddd :( dat i just had to tell all of u guys and gals how sad i am and how i m becuming more and more sad evry moment by changing ma FACEBOOK status.............evry 20 minsss.........so dat ma buddies and me can let each other and evry1 kno just how sad we r !!!! :(:(((((((((((.....

i luvvvv AMIR KHAN.....<3 ......and he is just the best !!!!!!!!!!!!!1.........he has dun the thing most necessary now by asking evry1 to send 1000 roses to the families of the dead ppl......i mean..aint dat lyk really cool ?????!!! i will c his movie GHAJINI becoz he is soooo socially responsible !!!! he is nt a movie star ........he is a social worker cum farmer !!!!!!!!!11 i love him <3 <3 lollzzzzzzz...

all these terrorists shld be lyk.....be killed.....the government suckzzzzzzzzzzzzz :(:( :X(...........evrything is sooooo political !!!!!

we shld thnk barkha dutt and all for showing what happens to earthen vessels and glass windowssssssss when we lyk, blow bombs near them....... was soooo sad :(:(:((((((((...................

btw commandos r lyk sooooooooooo cooool!!!!! all the police guys dat died .......we shld have FACEBOOK pages denoted to them.......evry1 plzzzzz join and post messages........also lets forward emails to evry1 we know to sign a petition onlyn to do sumthing.........and then lets take a printout and send it to TOI..............we just hv 2 do sumthing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! if sumthin is nt dun....we cant catch the bloooody terorists !!!! :(((

bollywood stars hv a cobcert at bandra sumtym nxt week..............in remembrance of those who died......................also i thk madhur bhandarkar is makin a film on mumbai......................i lyk, luv priyanka in FASHION........omg she is sooooooo pretty...........

itzzz all pakistan's faultt............we knw !!!!!!! we shld lyk.....declare war and all................or maybe we shld write to ORKUT to ban all pakis from ORKUT........................................evry1 plz download bjp's latest anti-paki slogan and plzzzzzzzzzzz set it as ur ringtone !!!!!! :((((:(((((((((((

cya.........for now.........and all mumbaikars........ ma heart (<3) is with all of u............plzzzzz be safe !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! we can do it !!!!!!!!!!!!!! and we must do sumthin !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

peace

The End.

P.S. I happen to know a lot of people who react like this after every bomb blast. In case your blood boils too, whenever you happen to witness one of them online, lets get together and create a Facebook comuunity, what say ?

-Rahul Dash

Desh Drohi

2008-11-22T00:23:00.004+05:30

When Obama was giving his victory speech at Chicago, sending the general American public into a frenzy and giving Oprah multiple orgasms with his hard hitting words, thousands of miles away, on a small cot in a small house in a small village in Bihar, India, one man was watching it live on TV, "taking it in" with the zeal of an average DPS RK Puram girl.

Around the ame time, when Raj Thackeray was giving his usual speech, asking people not to consider him as a "ganduchya aulad" and asking north Indians to take an MNS seal on their asses before breathing in Mumbai, the same man on the same cot in the same village in Bihar stopped watching "guddubabu request buchi darling to let him break her seal" and gulped in each and every word of Raj with the restraint of an average IIT Bombay girl.

The two speeches, the two lines of thought and the two sets of words juxtaposed to give this man on a small cot in a small house in a small village in Bihar his greatest dream and Indians, their greatest champion of democracy, secularism, tolerance and the delicately woven ethical fabric.

For when Kamal.K.Khan conceived Desh Drohi, he dreamt on behalf of the entire nation. A nation that was caught between Guddu Rangila asking young college girls "Thoda sa jeans dheela karo" and Dada Kondke threatening a village girl saying "Teri le lun". A nation that was caught up between Chaggan Bhujbal and Nitish Kumar, between Deepika Padukone and Anjali Tendulkar, between farmers in Bihar committing suicide and farmers in Vidharbha committing suicide... Oh, thank God, at least the last part remains the same.

Desh Drohi is the story of a certain Raja Yadav from Bihar, who lands up in Mumbai, generally and before he knows it, kills 10 people in 24 hrs by mistake. He is then helped by the girl who started out looking like Diana and has now begun looking like Camilla Parker... Gracy Singh. Raja is coaxed into committing more murders by the inimitable Mohan Joshi(the legendary "Pote" from Gunda..."Mera naam hai Pote, jo apne baap ke bhi nahi hote") and the brilliant Aman Verma( from the famous sting operation video courtsey the greatest news channel India TV in which he says to a girl..."Please stand up and turn around, I want to look at you.") however, unperturbed by the fact that his pink shirt, yellow jacket and light blue faded jeans don't match, Raja delivers a plethora of speeches that would make even Thakur from Sholay clap. The genius of the movie can only be described by a description of some of its most memorable scenes. Who can forget...

1) The cameo by Manoj Tiwari, who speaks in a combination of Bhojpuri and Hindi accents, making a sound reminiscent of a hissing cobra and a gentle fart.

2) The scene where Raja jumps from a car, slides along the ground for half a mile and punches a bad guy in the nuts, giving Raj Thckeray a warning, " If you attack north, I'll attack south !"

3) All other fight scenes, with action inspired by the Matrix, Jai Hanuman and Swat Cats.

4) The heart wrenching scene where Manoj tiwari shoots at Raja... and Raja, the genius protagonist, lets out a series of moans that give us a preview of what a mms scandal featuring Kim Kardashian and Shakti Kapoor will be like.

5) A dance number, shot in phoren, where KRK moves his arms and hips seductively to combine the styles of PrabhuDeva and Makhaya Ntini, leaving women weak in their knees, like the now famous "chiltua ki didi"

But these are just cinematic technicalities. What makes Desh Drohi a true legend is the fact that it shows us how to dream, in both Bhojpuri and Marathi. It touches us in unexpected ways(and places) and lets us know that we are not the only ones wanting to touch ourselves. It puts a hand on our ears and whispers the true spirit of India, while spitting on our cheeks at the same time. It tip toes into our bedroom and puts dreams in the minds of sleeping toddlers...

What Kamal.K.Khan has done is not called making a film. It is an attempt to open one's pants, slide down the underwear and take a piss at the dirty politics of the country...even if you are peeing onto an electric wire.

KRK, we bow before you. Thank you for kicking us...in the nuts.

-Rahul Dash

By Request

2008-11-01T00:59:00.007+05:30

So I was dining out with some friends. And suddenly ( I think through a comment made by me on hot girls generally choosing douchebags as their cuddle-partners) the topic of relationship compatibility and such other pseud sounding over-rated terms started coming up. So one of my friends remarked, "What if one of the two has a physical handicap ? How do those relationships work anyway ? " And I very casually replied, "Thats good right ? You will inculcate pathos along with love, lust and greed. "

This casually thrown statement led to an hour long discussion on hypothetical, uncalled for situations and solutions ranging from the graphic and gross "If your girlfriend was handicapped, would you help her crap ? " to the more subtle " If your girlfriend is handicapped and has a huge ego issue, how will you handle that ?" After wasting an hour of my life over such toilet-bound, 'flushable' thoughts, finally, one of the girls(not hot :P) aksed me for a favour. She wanted me to write a poem.

This is a poem from a guy to his girlfriend, who isn't handicapped, but demands that the guy writes something that would convince her he would be with her no matter what. ( I know, chicks talk complicated shit, a lot)

The following was what I wrote, in true J.K.Rowling style, on a piece of tissue paper, at a CCD, in 10 minutes. I am reproducing is exactly as it was written on the piece of paper. Let me know what you think.

************

The "I-am-so-cheezy-you-should-spread-me-on-a-bread" poem

Oh dear God,
you are so worried,
about how I perceive
your bod,
through the conscience of
my sieve;

But how you forget,
that little heart
on that little ring
on the day we met
made a promise, a gesture
sort of a romantic
conjecture,

that love is like a knee length mirror
that a lover builds
for his or her
lover...sorry, love, since it is
one sided I believe, for
technicalities to relive;

And this mirror gives a stare or look
ogling at what is yours
like polythene covers
for a hard-bound book.

And then, as a matter of curiosity
you are amazed at,
the dilema of what's below the knee.
What if you are without feet ?
The mirror cannot uncover, like a bed too big,
for it's sheet.

The mirror, just about to mock,
when I remind, isn't it love's due ?
If I can walk,
then so can you.

-Rahul Dash

The Polarization of Maharashtra

2008-10-30T08:14:00.003+05:30

During the 1960s, 70s, a talented cartoonist and brilliant orator in Maharshtra, based in Mumbai (then Bombay), started, sustained and popularized an agitation against "Madrasis" or people from South India, who were accused of migrating to Maharashtra in large numbers and stealing jobs that "actually" "belonged" to the vaguely defined Marathi manoos. That agitation and its success defined an entire party's philosophy and dictated the path that would, in due course, lead to the formation of a powerful and revered political party in Maharashtra...one that would, in due course of time, make every single political leader bow down in front of its supremo, one that would inculcate more fear and more respect in the minds and hearts of ordinary citizens of Maharshtra in a way no other entity ever could and one that compelled the making of a few blockbuster Bollywood movies.

The gifted cartoonist was Bal Keshav Thackeray or Balasaheb. The party was Shiv Sena.

That, was then.

Today, as we witness the same class of agitation, with similar reasons given, with similar methodologies and ideologies at work, with only the gun barrel having moved from the south towards the north, the man's name having changed to a certain Mr Raj Thackeray, and the party being the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena; it is a painful sight to see a huge number of people in Maharshtra still depending on politically stimulated violence to tackle a problem that seems to have existed all the way from the 60s till date. For what we know, a guy may write about Raj Thackeray describing his history pretty much the same way as I have described Bal Thackeray in the opening paragraph, 30 years from now. And mind you, the situation then, can be much much worse.

When Bal Thackeray announced, in 2003, that his son Udhav would be taking over the responsibilities of Shiv Sena, rather than the more suited (in the eyes of many) nephew Raj, it became clear that Raj would float his own party, if only to prove his worth. After a much celebrated establishment, the MNS started concentrating on various issues that were of real concern to the people of Maharashtra, such as those of employment, education etc. But the absence of any real agenda that stood out as the "party philosophy" made the party seem very "ball-less" (if I may) in the eys of many and forced Raj into adopting a desperate measure to publicize himself and his party : the cause of the marathi manoos's protection against north Indians who migrate to Maharshtra.

The problem, no doubt is one that pinches even the most liberal of Maharashtrians. Mumbai, a part of Maharshtra and extremely cosmopolitan, has less than 40% Maharashtrians. The contention that MNS has is that people from the states of UP, Bihar and others infringe upon the rights of the Marathi junta to have "first-access" to the jobs created within Maharshtra, entrepreneurial opportunities and others. Like globalization threatens the culture and identity of the people of a country that is overwhelmed by foreigners and foreign ideas, intra-national barrier removal threatens states that are overwhelmed by "outsiders". It is a genuine issue. But the way it is being tackeled can make matters unimaginably volatile.

Udhav Thackeray is a moderate. He has strived to turn the face of Shiv Sena as green as possible. But now, in front of MNS's "heroism", the green-ness on Shiv Sena's face has begun looking like a sign of sickness, not of peace. This has threatened the very philosophy of Shiv Sena's existence. If not for the rights of the Marathi Manoos, then what for ? Also, the Shiv Sena has been trying to get commerial establishments in Maharshtra to compulsorily get signboards in Marathi. However, what the Shiv Sena couldn't achieve for a long time, the MNS achieved in a very short time. In order to get back to the pole position as the topmost caretaker of the "Marathi Paddhat", Shiv Sena has started actively participating in and competing with MNS's agitation against north Indians. For example, while reporting about the recent incident of railway examination candidates being beaten up by MNS workers, Samna, Shiv Sena's daily publication, proudly announced that Shiv Sena workers were also present there, taking part in the violence. This ridiculous competition and the race to utmost polarization can devastate the state.

Raj Thackeray, as a child, used to spend more time with Bal Thackeray than with his own father, thus developing within himself an ideology that now threatens the hithertho unshakeable position of Shiv Sena. The Congress government, for a long time, didn't stop Raj because it knew that the larger the base of MNS, the more divided Marathi votes will be towards both the Senas and the better chance Congress would have in forming an alliance with Raj. However, while every politician was busy strategically making his/her move in accordance with the upcoming elections, Maharashtra was getting polarized in a way it never has. The consequent current that will flow will undoubtedly harm the innocent, un-insulated, emotionally charged Maharashtrian, and by Maharahtrian-here, and only here-I mean anyone who lives in and loves the state.

-Rahul Dash

Uncle Sam's new Avataar

2008-10-29T00:46:00.004+05:30

America votes on 4th November, 2008. As Indians, why do we give a damn ? Well, because as the popular saying goes, 'when America sneezes, the world catches a cold' And right now America is sneezing her intestines out. So it makes sense to look at the possible tissue papers (candidates) that may be used to clean up the mess. I shall stop using the analogy. It is getting too gross for my liking.

1) Barack Obama (Democratic)

Pros : He dreams. And in this world of Bushes and Dicks, it makes sense to have someone who dreams big. Plus, he is a pleasant change from the conservative policies of the Republicans. And he is smart, no doubt about it. I recommend every budding debater to watch the American Presidential Debates to understand how one needs to speak suring a policy debate( IIT junta can find the videos on lan). Also, Obama has a much better plan for the issues that the world economy faces at large. He is also extremely media friendly and has a youthful, jazzy appeal to the way he conducts himself. If elected, there is a huge chance that he might go on to become a president as charismatic as JFK.

Cons : He dreams too much. And in doing that, he somtimes loses the sight of reality. If you read about his tax plans or his plans for public healthcare, some of the points are a bit too optimistic. Also-and this is a view shared by many American political pundits-he sometimes acts a bit too intellectual, or maybe he is too intellectual. For example, during one of the debates, he threw an enormous amount of numbers at the American public. And every sincere follower of SouthPark knows that one in every four Americans is retarded. And it is true for any country. You can't just throw numbers at people...even when the numbers make a lot of sense. His choice of a running mate (Joe Biden) has also come under the scanner. Joe Biden is one of those guys who does not know how to stop speaking, and honestly, after a few minutes, you really feel like kicking him-as Eric Theodore Cartman would put it- "in the nutsss !"

John McCain (Republican)

Pros : No matter what the American media says, John McCain is not a dumbfuck. I don't claim to know much about the American sociopolitical system but from what I have seen from the Presidential Debates and what I have read about McCain online, he seems to be a pretty decent guy. He has actually worked hard in the 20-30 odd years he has been in office. His tax plans and medicare logistics aren't bad either. Plus, he has something that Obama doesn't : experience. And in times of extreme geopolitical, economic and cultural volatility all across the world, it won't hurt to have some amount of experience in the topmost office of the country that means a lot to the world. And lastly, you have to give it to the guy's grit. He suffers from cancer which can consume him at any point of time, he has been a soldier, aPOW, he has lost the Republican primaries in 2000 to a jackass like Bush and still, at this age, he is doing all he can to achieve what he set out for. Also, his wife is rich and hot :P

Cons : Sarah Palin, his running mate. I mean, for fuck's sake ! What was John McCain thinking ! He has put up as his running mate, a hot blonde who thinks abortion even in case of incestual-rape is going against God, who says Obama is a muslim terrorist and who stands up during campaigns calling Americans by names sounding like that in Pran and Raj comics. For example, Joe the Plumber, Eric the mailman remind us of Tantri the Mantri and Cheeku the Rabbit. It has to be one of the strangest political decisions ever taken, especially at this stage...Sarh Palin can do to the Republican party what Sven Goran Ericksson did to the English football team. If-God forbid- McCain wins and if-God Forbid- something happens to him, Sarah Palin will be the President of the US. It is indeed a remarkably disturbing possibility...

My endorsement : It probably doesn't matter who I endorse, but then it probably doesn't matter what views I have on any issue I debate on...so I might as well say it. I support Barack Obama...not a surprise since internationally, in polls conducted, Obama has fantastic majority support. Even domestically, in the US, Obama leads in the pre-election polls by a decent margin. Lets hope that whatevar happens, we have a person sitting there in Washington, who doesn't attack other countries unless obviously instigated, who doesn't give shoulder rubs to German Chancellors, who doesn't inspire people across the world to write gaff-books about him, who doesn't talk shit during interviews and who, at the end of the day, generates respect in people's minds.

-Rahul Dash

P.S. I will be covering the Indian elections extensively from December , 2008 till D-day. Why ? Because it is fun ! :)

Capitalism, in the defence of...

2008-10-25T13:09:00.005+05:30

In his new book, George Soros calls the free market theory essentially and inherently flawed. Yesterday, one of the champions of the same theory, Alan Greenspan, admitted the free market theory to be faulty or, rather, to quote him, there is an inherent flaw in the "critical functioning structure that defines how the world works."

Soros goes on to define what he calls the way people interact with their social surroundings. His main contention is this : Man's intercation with the society is in two ways, he wants to understand the working of the society and he wants some part of society to be influenced in some way by his actions. Thus the interaction is based on two functions, the cognitive function or the function that defines the way man seeks to understand society and the manipulative function or the way man strives to influence society. A little thought (or a reading of Soros's book, The New Paradigm of Financial Markets) will make it clear that when we are talking about the cognitive function, what actually happens in society is the independent variable and our actions based on it is the dependent variable. On the other hand when it comes to the manipulative function, the actions of man is the independent variable while what then happens in society is dependent. Thus, we have two coexisting, concurrent functions with reflective variables which act to determine the way we interact with society. This is different from the way we interact with nature. In that case, what actually happens in nature and what we do are essentially independent ( forget the environmental damage caused by our actions for the time being)

What I contend is that Greenspan, Soros and lots of other so called "experts" of the industry are basically saying the same thing : There is a structural change required in the way our world business functions, especially financial ( which would anyway influence everything else) This change would necessarily imply that the unmoderated interaction that different economies have with each other is in dire need of a change ( consider the interaction between two economies as the interaction between man and society, in order to classify independent and dependent variables, we take each country and while it interacts with other countries, we consider it as man and so on for all other countries. Note that there wouldn't remain a need for considering over counts.)

But then, we are talking about the provision of more oversight while enabling even basic interaction between economies.(since even the basic interaction suffers from the same cognitive-manipulative functional incoherence that Soros is talking about.) Isn't that same as saying there should be a check on globalization. I know such interpretation would meet with resentment at once, since keeping a check on globalization implies keeping a check on capitalism. If capitalism is a burger, globalization is the meat inside. Why then, would yesterday's champions of capitalism/globalization suggest changes be made in the way the free market works ?

The reasoning goes like this. If a person's dick gets caught in his pant zipper and there is a major cut in his dick, it will pain a lot while passing urine. However, when that person is unable to pass urine in front of his friends, he will be too embaressed to say that he is retarded enough to get his dick caught in his zipper. He will instead propund theories on how it is extremely healthy to store one's urine in one's bladders.

So that is the main contention and the main resoning. Greenspan, Soros and others got their dicks caught in their pants. It doesn't mean others shouldn't take a leak. It just means others should be careful while opening-closing their pant zippers. Don't blame capitalism or the free market theory. Just remind yourself that in the case of capitalism, in case you stand making a profit, you also stand making a loss and in the case of globalization, if you accept the goodness of an intruding economy, you also have to do with some excesses.

Just be careful with you dick and zippers. It hurts. A lot.

- Rahul Dash

P.S. I really have no idea where the dick thing came from... :P

Karzzzz... : The Review

2008-10-23T11:31:00.007+05:30

For those of you who thought that the age of IBanking and the million dollar lifestyle associated with it are over, up yours ! A global superstar has showed us what exactly will happen to the IBanking system in the future by addressing the root cause of the global financial crisis : Debt.

For Karzzzz...( or debt) is not only a bollywood movie, it is a prediction made by an inter-galactic superstar Gujarati about the future of the financial world, about the fall and then the rise of the IBanking system. And going by the number of Gujarati brokers we have, we must take him seriously !

The story goes thus : Dino Morea is a typical IBank, chilling out and enjoying life like there is no tomorrow. He does so with the help of his superhot wife, Urmila Matondkar, who is the CEO of the bank. The CEO keeps on taking risks on behalf of the bank and keeps losing money (the scenes with Urmila Matondkar gambling while Dino Morea cracks lines like "Lucky in love, unlucky in gambling...unlucky in love, lucky in gambling" have been meticulously shot)
Finally the risks add up to a lot of money and the CEO can take no more of the bank. Then, the CEO uses leverage ( or an aeroplane) to take the IBank to a very high altitude and, as the leverage breaks down completely, the CEO(Urmila) using a 'golden parachute', jumps off the plane, while the IBank ( Dino), looks on, tries to balance the leverage but ends up crashing.

That's right. A big IBank crashes !

The CEO gets rid of all the non-performing assets of the IBank ( Maa, Behen etc.) and starts living a life full of richness.

But no one knew what was about to come...

The same IBank returns but with a bigger loan base and much better management. The new IBank is not a quintessential IBank, it is a part of a commercial bank ! A sell-out ! The new IBank is...Himesh Reshammiya...and strangely enough for a commercial bank, it does not have a cap( on its spending...)

What happens next is a cliche. The new IBank restores faith back into the financial system, gets back its non-performing assets and even gets a new CEO. But amongst these cliches lie some of the greatest method-acting moments in cinematic history, like :

1) The eyes-half-shut, nostrils expanded, "answering nature's call" smile( a continuation from "Aap ka Suroor") on the face on Himesh that describes first love like nothing else does

2) The main villian, Gulshan Grover (US Federal Bank chief) who makes facial expressions of genuine constipation and communicates using sounds made by touching himself and emitting light from his robotic arm

3) A man, John, who plays half a tune using a broken guitar, standing under a tree for his entire life, representing the Lehman Brothers stock owners

4) An airplane crashing into a car and dissapearing for a few seconds before emerging again...at once reminding us of the 9/11 conspiracy theories and Jesus Christ's ressurection much better than any gotcha-journalistic documentary like Zeitgiest ever did

Whether it be Himesh's naach-gaana, or his unbelievable powers to release pheromones inorder to attract women of all ages, or his ability to remember things from the past, or his sudden leap into the air followed by shrill noises, or his unmatched capacity of playing an electric guitar unplugged(literally), Karzzzz is a tribute to one of the greatest actors of our times...a man who means to the Indian society what government regulations meant to Wall Street. Himesh Reshammiya is the bailout package bollywood was awaiting all this time...

-Rahul Dash

Financial Crisis 101

2008-10-09T10:35:00.004+05:30

An extremely busy schedule prevented any posting from happening. So here, breaking the metaphorical ice, is my latest article for Insight, IIT Bombay's student run newspaper. (Warning : Long Post)

The Fall of the Wall

After every major newspaper and publication in the world has used every possible adjective to describe an occurrence, with every single person having read at least a part of it, what new, is a student newsletter of a technical institute going to offer?

Well, very frankly, nothing. This article is about the worst financial crisis to have hit the global markets, not to mention the most complex one too. It has been written by a group of undergraduates who are majoring in a discipline as different from finance as Ridley Scott is from Kanti Shah. Yet, we thought we should write this, not because we know more, but because it would help us put forward our grossly simplified thoughts on this highly complicated problem and through discussion with our readers, would help us to better our level of understanding.

If anyone finds anything unclear (even after googling :P), please feel free to contact me on my email id

So you wake up every day, pick up the newspaper and read almost the same headline that you read the day before. A carefully structured juxtaposition of the words “Wall Street crisis”, “Subprime Mortgage”. “Credit Crunch”, “Lehman Brothers”, “Fed, Treasury” and recently, “Bailout, $750 Billion”. And it makes one wonder, what the hell is all of this? And how did things get so bad?

Why the housing sector?

In the US, owning a house is considered to be the best investment a person can make. The US government encourages people to buy their own house by providing incentive in the form of tax cuts on the mortgages paid by them. Further, a person can use his house as an “ATM card”, drawing credit based on the value of his house. Now post the dot com crash, in 2001, Alan Greenspan, then Chairman of the US Federal reserve bank, slashed the interest rates (down to 1%) This, combined with the encouragement provided by the US government to buy houses, made people in the US borrow a lot of money (in the form of loans, with a very low interest rate) Mortgage institutions also took advantage of this huge demand of loans by providing a large number of the now notorious “subprime mortgage loans”

Wait! Subprime what?

Usually, when you take a loan from a bank, you need to show your credit history, whether you have defaulted in the past or not. You also need to provide something known as collateral (an asset that can be taken over by the bank in case you default) You also need to show that you have a job with a steady income. A subprime loan is a loan that is given to a person with a bad credit history, with nothing to show as collateral (except the house that the person would buy with the money) and in many cases, with no job too. Now why would an institution give such a risky loan? Two reasons. Firstly, during the period 2002 to 2005, the US housing market was undergoing a tremendous boom. This means that a house that was bought for $100,000 today would be worth, say $150,000 in a year’s time. Hence a mortgage institution could always take control of the house, in case the person defaulted, and could sell it at a profit. Secondly, the banks would charge a higher interest rate on a subprime loan. Note that the incredible numbers of subprime loans were made based on this one assumption: The price of houses would keep on increasing.

Sounds good…

But wait, it gets better. The loans that were made by the mortgage lenders were further bought by two giant institutions; the Federal National Mortgage Association (Fannie Mae) and the Federal Home Loan Mortgage Corporation (Freddie Mac) These are private institutions with a high level of government backing. Normally, if a mortgage institution gives a loan of $100,000, it would recover back an amount of say $150,000 after a period of say 20 years, via monthly payments made by the borrower. But the institution’s money would be “stuck” for 20 years. Enter Fannie and Freddie. They buy these loans from the institutions for say $120,000 and then recover the amount of $150,000 themselves, earning a profit of $30000 in the process. And these giants need not worry that their capital gets “stuck” for a long period of time, since they sell what are known as “ Mortgage Backed Securities” ( similar to stocks) to the common investors. A part of the $30,000 profit that they earn is given away as dividend to these investors.

Cool. But how do investment banks come into the picture? And what are these CDOs we keep hearing about?

Now comes the most “beautiful” part of it all. Seeing a nice opportunity to earn some large amount of money, the large Wall Street investment banks also got into the picture. These I banks bought the risky subprime loans that were made by the mortgage institutions. They then made packets of these loans (securities) that could be traded. Now, securities are rated by rating agencies according to the chances that the underlying assets will be defaulted upon. U.S. Treasury bonds, for example, get AAA+ ratings because of the negligible amount of risk associated. Enter a special type of security called the Collateralized Debt Obligation (CDO) A CDO takes these subprime loans and slices them up into “tranches” (like layers) The upper layer consists of loans that are least likely to be defaulted upon and so on. These upper layers got AA+ ratings from the rating agencies; the lowermost layers got BB-. Investors who wanted lesser risk (and were ok with lesser returns) went for the AA+ rated parts, the risk takers went for the high returns yielding BB- parts. Thus, the I banks were able to form AA+ securities from absolutely risky, subprime loans. Brilliant! Further, investors bought insurance on these securities. The insurance companies (like AIG) were more than happy to sell a large number of insurance products to people to protect them against possible losses due to the securities failing. Insurance companies kept on making out these insurances far beyond their covering capacity. Companies started insuring any kind of big loan with the guarantee of coughing up the cash should the loaner default. Just like mortgage-backed securities, these instruments (technically called Credit Default Swaps or CDS) were being bought and sold on the market at high premiums and companies who were dealing in them were raking in the profits. And what was the risk involved in these transactions? A CDO could not fail unless there was a total collapse of the system, which could happen only if a large number of the loans could not be recovered, which could happen only if the underlying collateral also failed, giving the mortgage lenders no option but to give up. And that wasn’t supposed to happen…since the assumption that “the price of houses in the US would keep on increasing” still held ground.

Fabulous! So why didn’t this romance last forever?

All this was fine till the day the housing market went crashing. Thousands of people began to default on their loans. The insurance companies and the buyers of credit default swaps, needless to say, did not have the cash to cover the claims. The investment banks—the Bears Stearns and the Lehman Brothers of the world had gone deep into mortgage-backed securities or the credit default swap markets. As a result of years of high-paying lobbying initiatives, the investment banks had made sure that they operated under the minimum of controls and oversight, freeing them to take unreasonable risks while investing. Now, when the system went bust, the only way these banks could have survived was by borrowing a lot of cash from the market and getting rid of their obligations based on CDOs and CDSs. However, Wall Street firms refused to trust one another. Banks had become extremely tight when it came to credit. No money was available. The great, 158 year old Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy. Bear Stearns narrowly avoided that by getting bought out by JP Morgan, along with the Fed’s backing.

Merrill Lynch was bought by Bank of America. Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac as well as AIG were deemed too important to be allowed to collapse, and were rescued (and nationalized) by the US Treasury. Morgan Stanley and Goldman Sachs ditched their sole I banking existence and adopted the consumer banking + I banking model. Washington Mutual, an US bank, collapsed, resulting in the largest banking failure in US history. Citigroup, UBS and others had losses amounting to billions of dollars.

Wall Street had changed, forever.

After spending around a trillion dollars of American tax-payer’s money to bail out some of the above mentioned organizations, the US Treasury came up with a plan, asking for $700 billion to buy the underlying “toxic” bad loans and attack the problem at its root. After much political deliberation, the plan has been accepted by the US government. It remains a huge question whether this plan would help, or will we be pushed into an extended period of financial mayhem. It is unfortunately a question too difficult (and risky) to answer.

-Rahul Dash

P.S. Some major institutions that fell and their effect on the job scenario, especially in India :

Lehman Brothers
Filed for bankruptcy due to unavailability of funds to continue daily market operations.US ops sold to Barclays. Indian ops to Nomura Asst Mgmt, a Japanese co. Most employees expected to be retained. Top talent to be retained on existing payscale.

Merrill Lynch
Sold to Bank of America for $50 billion. 600 Indian employees. Future uncertain but not many layoffs expected due to non-overlap of BoA and Merrill’s ops.

Bear Stearns: Sold to JPMorgan

Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac nationalized

AIG nationalized

Washington Mutual sold to JPMorgan in the largest banking failure in US history

Wachovia sale caught in a legal battle between Citigroup and Wells Fargo

P.P.S. Parts of this post have been lifted shamelessly by me from a more popular blog:P Do read that for a better article.