zerothday

Strength of a Woman

2011-03-09T03:17:00.000-08:00

The stubborn doors bereft of emotions closed on a stifled Satyagrahi. An Indian constable, an insidious sycophant who was even more obstinate than the door in front of him, slammed the door of the lockup shut. A normal captivated person would have revolted and resisted in tumultuous fashion; a regular person would have resorted to violent acts of vandalism and destruction. However a Satyagrahi would do neither. Instead a Satyagrahi would abide by the rules of the Jail, even after knowing that the architects of the rules happen to be British. A Satyagrahi would take relentless torture with an enduring smile, which would be more ominous than a cry for the oppressor. As the tyranny increased, the resistance grew ever so gradually, in the intricate path of non violence. Trapped behind the bars of Tirupur Jail was a woman of immense strength named S N Sundarambal.

Born in a Brahmin Family, Sundarambal’s life was almost scripted before she was born. Had it not been for her audacity and valor, Sundarambal would have been a suppressed wife of a man, who was a bigger tyrant than the British lords. Sundarambal was fighting two wars; one against the British who didn’t comprehend freedom, and the other against an Indian Ghetto which refused to comprehend freedom. She was married at the age of 14, which had stirred some controversy in the ludicrous society. Some people had marked the marriage as late, and had also bludgeoned Sundarambal’s Character.

However, Sundarambal hardly twitched. She had a dream; a dream of seeing an independent Nation, a dream of seeing women walking abreast with men in all fields of work, a dream where child marriage and widow abuse would be eradicated without a smoking trace. Her two sisters had inspired her more so; especially after the rough times they faced, with her elder sister Kamalam having produced eight children in the span of twelve years and then going on to lose her husband. To add salt to her wound, her younger sister’s tragedy surpassed horizons; she lost her husband even before she was ready for him. Sundarambal couldn’t forget the naïve face of her sister on the day her husband’s last rites were performed. Her hair shaved off, her ornaments stripped, and with that her self respect; she had an explicable anger which was masked by sorrow. However Sundarambal fought on, she wasn’t afraid of the British. Nor was she afraid of her husband. He plunged into Individual Satyagraha, disobeying orders of the British, revolutionizing the thoughts of her fellow Countrymen. She wrote brilliant poems which penetrated into patriot’s hearts, energizing them for greater acts of non violent resistance. She wasn’t going to fear going to jail, and she knew once she was out of jail; she would rejuvenate more women to join her in the quest for freedom.

Sundarambal threw up inside the lockup. Few constables who still had some Indian blood in them gave a hint of concern. However the ‘White’ blood cells sabotaged them from extending a helping hand. Sundarambal was struggling; the claustrophobic state of the place was making her sick. She didn’t know how long it would last, but she had to brace herself for a long struggle. The Police were never too tender towards women. They would hardly bat an eyelid before beating Satyagrahi women to death. Women were often humiliated, beaten and even jailed with infants. Officers would pass bawdy remarks, ridicule them and in some cases, even molest them. Sundarambal was prepared for the worst, as she knew that the day would come where she could be harassed, and her knowledge of martial arts wouldn’t be futile no more.

Sundarambal’s torso seemed paralyzed. Her legs cramped, due to the lack of fluids was killing her from inside. Her fellow fighters broke down as always, but Sundarambal was vehemently confident. She had a daunting smile which would send shiver down the spines of even stringent Jailers in Britain. However physically, she was as weak as a languid leaf in a fiery storm, and it wouldn’t be long before she would go into an unconscious state. She hung on; with her grit which acted as limbs to her feeble body.

At the break of dawn, the loathly locks broke open and the doors opened for the women revolutionaries of our great nation; as they walked out with their heads held high, like a Samurai sans a sword. Sundarambal tried to trot along, however her body didn’t allow her to do so. English officers had the least of compassion, they laughed in a cocky fashion which gave me a sudden gush of anger. I saw Sundarambal approach me, her abdomen swollen, and her hopes too. She had succeeded in her mission. She strode with immense determination making sure that she wouldn’t faint in front of the devils. In all fairness, she needed some water. I couldn’t control myself; I picked up a glass which was unfortunately engulfed in dirt, filled it with water and rushed to her and gave it to her in utmost respect. She reciprocated with equal respect, being true to the integrity of an Indian woman. I gathered some courage and said “take care of the infant in your womb”.

She smiled. She nodded with an astounding assurance which made me proud to be standing next to her. We might not get independence soon. In all probabilities, it might take even fifty years; but Sundarambal showed a glimpse of valor and grit which could inspire even the most docile and give them a scent of freedom.
She would live to fight many more days, and in a few months; she wouldn’t be alone. She would have a companion who slept ever so passively and in a calm manner inside her womb; feeling the pain of its mother through the umbilical cord. I, an insidious sycophant of the British, could do only one thing. I made sure I kept the dirty glass for the rest of my life.

- Inspired by true characters & incidents from an Article published in the Hindu

The Dalton

2010-11-05T10:33:00.000-07:00

There are times when you feel lost,
Like a Jew corpse in holocaust.
You would want your eyes to be drained in the crimson,
Or drenched in a blue lit fountain,
Oh the bloods in your veins run red,
But it looks black to this head,

People say it’s wicked to have shades of grey,
My God I can’t tell the difference any way.
The glorious colour of gold,
Anyone could tell blind fold.
But the fact shall never be told,
By this man who sees the world in bold.

The blue of the sky,
The collages in a butterfly,
The lips of a girl,
The brown of a chocolate swirl,
The orange which oozes luminance,
The lamp which drips fluorescence.
Nothing would be seen,

Oh life is so mean,
Will I ever see green?
Will I ever see red?
Before I hit the deathbed,
The truth is that I would never have anything to find,
Gosh! I am totally colour blind.

The Football War - A Teaser

2010-09-09T00:32:00.000-07:00

Tegucigalpa 1969

The earth around Central America shook with rigor. In a usual scenario, it would be an earth quake causing it; however the summer of 69 had something more intense and resonating. The 1970 world cup qualifiers had reached the final summit. Honduras had to play El Salvador in a 3 match show down to decide who would get a ticket to Mexico. But the game was hardly a game.
Countries have been torn apart, bodies have been scattered, but sport has been a nurse. It has been a soothing balm to heal the wounds caused due to war between two nations, but the world would witness unprecedented scenes. Sport wasn’t the balm, it wasn’t the salt added to the wound. It would be the wound.

The football war is a story about 2 nations whose relations were terribly strained, El Salvador and Honduras and the events surrounding the grudge matches between them which eventually led to War between the 2 countries.

Baby's Day Out

2010-07-18T23:15:00.000-07:00

Welcome to “Pyorrhea tooth powder, Itch guard, Vaseline” Baby’s day out season no XXII.
We will meet you after a short break. Don’t go away. There is plenty of action on the other side of the break.
On the other side:
Last week, we saw baby Aakash being eliminated in a grueling round which decided the last four.
Let us have a look at the recap of last week’s recap.

Last week:
“Come on Abhinav! You can do it! “ The anchor was ecstatic. No one had ever done this task before.
Everyone waited with bated breath. The entire nation was rooting for Abhinav. Indian television was on the verge of witnessing history being made.” One step for Abhinav is a giant step for the television industry”, quipped some idiot sitting amongst bunch of jobless morons on the isles.
“He did it! He finished the task in record timing! “, Abhinav had stood on his legs at a record time of 30 seconds. The crowd would have been awestruck, but it would have been a tad more of there was anyone else other than Abhinav. Abhinav had been the toast of the nation right from the beginning season XXII of “Pyorrhea tooth powder, Itch guard, Vaseline” Baby’s day out started. He had won the round of drinking a milk bottle with a straw faster than anyone else, pooped in a record amount of diapers and also had a bowl full of cereals filled with spices that even adults would not have. He was the toadie (toddler roadie) that everyone looked up to.
“Great work Abhinav! Now let us see what our esteemed judges have to tell about your success”
The panel was indeed much esteemed. There was “Nanny Kamala” who had 20 years of experience in the field of baby sitting, she had taken care of the celeb babies of 1970’s; also there was “Mother India”, as she was fondly called by the nation. Not because she was Nargis, but she had given birth to a battalion of children who went on to become Toadies season after season.
“So what would you like to say Nanny Kamala Ji about this performance?”
“Well, to describe it in Hindi, actually it was a superb performance, actually basically clearly … “
“Thank you nanny! That was indeed an inspiring message to all pooping toddlers!
“Let us have a chat with Abhinav’s Mom and let her share her views on her son’s performance”
“Well! I always knew he would have a great future. From his childhood, he was very talented and I am sure he would bring more success and glory to our family! Said a proud Abhinav’s Mom.
Abhinav starts crying and this point of time, not for the TRP ratings but due to natural circumstances.
“Now let us have a look at who will get eliminated from this round. On the commode seat this time, we find Aakash and Aditi. One of them would be eliminated from this competition. Let us have a look at the votes!
After receiving no votes, the management came up with a decision.
“Aakash! I am sorry to tell you, that you have been eliminated. I am extremely sorry! Better luck next time!” said an understandably dejected anchor.

End of Recap!
“So hope everyone enjoyed this episode of “Pyorrhea tooth powder, Itch guard, Vaseline” Baby’s day out season no XXII.
Till “Titan” sponsored next time, “fake my trip” sponsored goodbye and have a great evening sponsored by Bun cinemas.
We will leave you with images of the life and times of Aakash in his successful life so far.

Credits roll, along with some eyeballs.

BOOM

2010-06-01T06:52:00.000-07:00

IN THE SUIT

The heat is unbearable. The fact that I am inside an ABS (advanced bomb suit) is not helping me too much. People call it the demon suit. It is only now that I can understand the reason behind the nomenclature. The bastards have done it again. In the middle of the hustling streets of Iraq, they have planted one more IED shit. I need to get down to business. It is time to walk into the danger zone.

50 metres into the journey, I feel like I have walked a marathon. Being in a bomb suit does make u weak; imagine walking with a 20 kilo gizmo which blinds you from all the god damn things that are happening on both the sides of you. I wouldn’t be aware even if an asshole points a gun at me from few metres to the right of me. Situational awareness and agility are some stuff which you can only dream of when you are in that fat suit. Anyway, I got cover from Mac, so let me get up there and diffuse that shit.

THE EYES ON THE SUIT

“Yes bhai! The EOD unit is here. The fuckers think they can diffuse this. Ha- ha, “Hussein laughed. He was on the phone with the mystery man.
“Get up there and give me live inputs on this, “said the mystery man.
“Can’t do that bhai! There are snipers watching us. If they see me on the phone at the balcony, I am as dead as a goat in butchery.
“Yeah alright. At least keep looking, and if you sense something, just let me know. “He keeps the receiver down and tells “Ya baby! I will be there in a minute.”
He picks up the phone and says “Ok now listen, keep me updated. Bye,” the mystery man hung up.

THE EFFECT OF A BOMB

I am in the kill zone. The shrapnel that is generated from the bomb can cut my veins off. I need to be careful. These fanatic bastards would have placed booby traps. One wrong step! And you would be history. Getting killed in a bomb blast might sound easy. After all, dying in a matter of few seconds ain’t that tough. However, most of the civilians don’t know jack about bomb deaths. Shrapnel can cause severe fragmentation, the impact of the bomb can cause damage to internal organs and the heat, well the heat generated from the bomb can roast you in a matter of minutes. The point is, you go through all this pain in your conscience. I don’t wanna experience that shit. I ain’t gonna die a dog’s death thousands of miles away from home. I wanna go back to Texas and play ball with my son. So for now, let me go kick some IED butt.

REDEMPTION

“Hasina darling! Go and ask dad to come over here and help me. There is hell a lotta work up here. And your dad is always busy with outside work,“ Hasina’s mom was shrieking. She was irritable for most parts of the day.
Hasina was raised in an affluent Iraqi family. She had been gifted with all the luxuries in her life. However, happiness and peace was something she never was gifted. In fact, entire Iraq had a never ending nightmare which started in the year 2003. Every other day, there were bomb explosions, Sexual assault by American soldiers, extortion and robbery. Hasina was a victim of the atrocities of the American soldiers too. She had been assaulted by American soldiers, and was nearly raped. Thanks to Syed who came at the right time, she was saved.
The soldiers were murdered brutally in the following days. Syed had denied hand in it. But that was so obvious. Even Bush would have known the perpetrator.
Hasina wanted one chance for redemption. She wanted the chance at any cost.
“Dad! Come over. Mom is calling you, “said Hasina.
“Ya baby! I will be there in a minute.”

THE BOMB

“Alright! So this is what you guys have got huh? Doesn’t look huge. I think the ABS can save me from making a one way trip to heaven. There is a reason I say “heaven”. I have diffused 500 IED’s spanning 6 countries and saved innumerable lives. That is why I would be going to heaven.
However, the guy who made this shit is sure going to hell. The explosive device is pretty complex for a home made bomb; I just need to find the initiation system." Thank god that the wires are not wound together in a daisy chain. It would have taken me hours to disconnect it and we would be goners by then, “

WASHING AWAY

“So my wife, what we have got today for lunch. “Said Syed.
“Give me a hand for help. I need you to wash these vegetables, and also the clothes that are piled up in our bedroom, “exclaimed Syed’s wife.
“Sure! Let me wash the vegetables first. Then, we would wash the clothes away, “

THE SYSTEM

“Alright! I got this. The initiation system has to be remote controlled. Hey Mac! Make sure no one is watching. This is gotta be a remote controlled IED.
“Alright buddy! Cut the initiation system man, “
“I am searching buddy. Just give me two minutes. I am cracking this shit, “

“Hello Bhai! I just saw what the fucker is up to. We need to act fast.” Said Hussein.
“Is he nibbling at the initiation system?” asked the mystery man.
“Yes bhai! He is almost there. “
“Shit! Hang up. This will be over in few minutes, “the mystery man hung up.

“Shit. I found the initiation system. I guess this has to be initiated by a......

“Hasina! Can you switch on the washing machine honey? “
“Sure Dad! Any time “

BOOM

Inspired from the “Hurt Locker”

--------------------------------------------THE END-------------------------------------------

RMS Taconic

2010-05-22T09:11:00.000-07:00

The year is 2010. A US ship named RMS Taconic departs from the Swedish port of Donso to its final destination of United States of America. 19 year old Rose boards the ship with her Mom “Ruth” and her fiancé Carl. Following the debacle of the recession and the ruination of the “Lehman Brothers”, Rose’s family has no other option but to give the hand of Rose to the American billionaire Carl for pulling themselves out of the quicksand. Rose’s family go through a terrible economic turmoil, making her mom obsessed about the marriage of Rose with Carl. Carl restricts Rose at every point of time; he restricts her from talking to other men in the ship, wearing skimpy clothes which Rose loves. The economic and emotional agony tempts Rose to commit suicide. She attempts to jump off the ship, when Jack intervenes. Jack, a software architect sways Rose to reconsider her “stupid decision” and is successful in it. However when Jack helps her getting back, Carl sees them and mistakes Rose to be in an intimate state with Jack.

Carl accuses Jack of Rape; however Rose comes to the rescue of Jack claiming that Jack saved her life. Carl’s Business Partners and good friends Dave and Brian are suspicious of Jack, and Carl asks them to keep an eye on Jack. Rose develops a good friendship with Jack, she escape from a formal dinner involving the business tycoons of USA, and joins Jack in a software company bash. Rose has a great time boozing, and for the first time in her life, she is independent. She also gets to wear the dresses she always loved. Eventually, her affinity for Jack increases with time. Rose’s mom Ruth learns about Rose’s deepening friendship with jack, and threatens Jack to sack him by making use of Carl’s immaculate influence. Ruth yells at Rose, ordering her not to meet Jack again. But Rose disobeys them and secretly meets Jack. She tells Jack that she has never been happier, and they kiss at the bow of the ship. Rose and Jack move to the ship’s cargo hold. They enter a BMW and make love in the backseat, unaware of the ghastly consequences and the events to occur.

Miles away, the Iceland volcano erupts spewing tons of volcanic ash, engulfing almost entire Europe with the Ash cloud. A flight gets caught in the dense cloud making it blindfold. The flight sucks in the ash leading to disaster. The pilots lose control resulting in the flight plummeting into the ocean. To the shock of the passengers in Taconic, the flight’s wings collide into the body of the ship causing collateral damage to the structure of the ship.

Meanwhile back in the Taconic, Brian snaps Jack, handcuffs him and locks him into the room packed with sophisticated alarms and sensor systems. On the other side, Rose receives a shock from Carl. Carl blackmails Rose that in the case of Rose leaving him, he would release the video of Rose and Jack’s lovemaking which he had captured by making his business partners plant a hidden camera into the BMW. Stunned, Rose has no other option but to seek Jack’s help. She escapes from the eyes of her mom and Carl, and finds jack in the room which is impossible to crack.

However, Jack’s software pedigree comes handy. He instructs Rose to crack the code of the systems and free him. With no time and increasing panic, rose bungles with the job on hand. But fortune favors the couple. With the water seeping into the room, the sensors fail and Jack reunites with rose.

Meanwhile the Taconic is sinking. SOS is sent to the US government, however with the volcanic ash eclipsing any chances of a rescue mission from the USA army. Wireless communication comes to a standstill as volcanic ash disrupts radio communication. Back in the Taconic, Rose and jack are on the mission of escaping the disaster.

They also know that the video has to be retrieved, which is in the hands of Carl, safe in his Flash drive. Carl finds ways to escape in the lifeboat. He finds Rose and forces her to board the boat, however Rose refuses. Carl then claims to help Jack in escaping as well, a half convinced Rose boards the boat. However she jumps off the boat and runs back to Jack. A fuming Carl chases jack & Rose and attempts to shoot them. But he runs short of ammunition and he flees to the rescue boat. He finds the flash drive in his overcoat, and is hell bent on revenge. He takes an oath to release the video into the media and spoilt Rose’s life.

With the ship now vertical, and people dying gruesome deaths, Rose & Jack stay put on the stern of the ship. After a long struggle, the ship finally plummets into the ocean, flushing Jack and Rose into the chilly water.

Rose climbs onto a door, keeping her warm enough to survive. Jack persuades rose to be strong and nothing would happen to him. However, Jack suffers from hypothermia and nearly dies as the rescue workers arrive at the right time. The lifeguards grab jack from the jaws of death, by utilizing a heart lung machine. Rose and Jack are brought back to shore. However, they still are unaware if the whereabouts of Carl who has the flash drive.

They learn later that a lifeboat had sunk following a collision with an iceberg, and Carl was present in the boat. The story ends with Rose finding a note left by Jack for her. He tells her that it was a great experience with her, however a relationship built on two days would not sustain for long, and hence he is going far away. Rose holds the note close to her heart and cries as the screens come down.

THE END

Trivia:

The titanic sunk on April 15 1912. The Iceland volcano erupted on April 15 2010.

The Letter

2010-05-09T05:31:00.001-07:00

Respected PM Saab,

Hope you are fine. You are the one who has to act. You are the one who can save our kin. I have heard a lot about you; people say you have done some big studies in the field of numbers and money. People say you are very wise. I have full faith in you, hence I am writing this letter to you. I am sure you would pass on your condolences to my family after reading this letter, but that is not what we want. I have not done any studies Saab; I don’t know how to count. But I have started learning what numbers are. You know Saab, there have been more than 250 suicides in our state of Maharashtra in the last four months, and 2 die every day. I have learnt counting Saab, I should be happy for it, but it hurts me when I see my fellow farmers dying.

I heard some 150 people died in Mumbai last year because of some people who wage war in the name of freedom, I am sorry for those people who lost their dear ones. I also heard the man who caused all the trouble is enjoying in jail. I beg you Saab, please hang him! I heard lot of money is spent on him. Why Saab? Please give us some money instead of spending on animals. Or at least ask the banks to give us some respite. There has been no crop production for 2 years Saab, but these bank “Babus” come knocking at our doors for loans. There is no difference whether we have irrigated lands or not.There is no proper system for dealing with famine. How can I give 1.5 Lakh? Saab, I didn’t have money for buying this non-judicial stamp paper which your government sells for 100 rupees. Even after I die, my family has nothing left for my funeral. I am at least proud that vultures would get a great meal in my district, because we are not getting even one per day.

I have not had a proper meal for months now Saab, my kids cry of hunger. I heard some people play some game in big grounds, and are earning lots of money and are having great food and fun. Please help my children to have at least one meal a day.
Saab, please look into our matter as well. I am too small to be giving you advice, but the tears of the farmers are too precious. More than 200 have gone Saab, and today I would be joining them. Please ask the police not to disturb my family when I am gone. They are not responsible for this. All the big educated people in your side would talk a lot about this; you will also appoint some people for finding out the reason of the suicides. But I am making it easy for you Saab; I have given the reasons on behalf of my fellow farmers. I hope I am the last to be doing this.

I am happy in one way Saab; I am having something for lunch today after a long while. The only thing is they are sleeping pills.
Please take care of your health by eating good food,and also take care of the men who provide that good food.

Yours,
“Kisan”

This piece is inspired from an article in Hindu written by Sainath. The statistics in the article were more disturbing than anything. Let us appreciate each meal that we get from today, because somewhere a child is crying for a single morsel.

Dictionary
Saab - Sir
Babu - Way of Addressing educated people in some parts of India.
Kisan - Farmer

Dull & Duckworth

2010-05-05T06:46:00.000-07:00

In the year 2007, the Caribbean hosted a world cup, dull and drab for most parts of it. The only news catching events were the murky death of Bob Woolmer and the events surrounding the disaster.
The ICC event for the ultra short format of the game hasn’t attracted too many to be frank, the inaugural edition being an aberration. The world cup last year in England wasn’t too exciting, especially after the overdose of T20 thanks to the IPL. The Caribbean edition wasn’t going to be great either, as it was launched days after the hectic IPL. The weather would make it even tougher for the tournament to become a success.
This is where the ICC missed the trick. The world cup could have been hosted in Australia or New Zealand, which is a better place for tournaments in this genre. It would have also meant that the tournament would have been spaced out well out of reach of the IPL; however the thought of Ashes must have loomed large in the minds of the organisers. On any day, a test match between England and Australia would catch more eyes than an Afghanistan- Ireland game.
Another area where the ICC needs to put their hands down is the induction of Duckworth Lewis Method in T20 Matches. It is farcical to decide the outcome of matches in three overs. The ICC ought to come up with the better plan to mend things in the shortest format of the game. You wouldn’t want to reach the stage where matches are decided by the flip of the coin.
Barring a few exciting moments, the tournament so far has been a dull and drab event. The super eights might have a different story to tell. Let us look at my pick of the best teams and players of the tournament so far.

India:
They might have lost the title, but India looks all set to clinch the crown yet again. Suresh Raina has been breathtaking and the team bolstered with the maverick “Dhoni” and a bowling line up consisting of Yusuf and Yuvraj best suited for the low and slow tracks of West Indies; the “Men in dark Blue” can walk away with the trophy which they lost in the United Kingdom.

England:
This team has never won any ICC trophy. But England is definitely the dark horse of the tournament. The batting line up looks fresh and players like Kiewswetter, Lumb and Wright form a great balanced team in them. Morgan has been my player of the tournament, his shots are at their innovative best and he has been the only player along with Mahela Jayewardene to mix caution with aggression.

Australia:
The Aussies might have gone empty handed every time the shortest version’s world cup has ended, but never count the Aussies out. They have a great unit this time around; led by the dynamic Clarke Aussies can demolish any team on their day. Watson has been brilliant and their bowling is probably the strongest seam attack with the likes of Johnson, Siddle.

New Zealand:
They have consistently performed well in this format, and the only team which has never lost to the “Mighty India” in the T20 version. Vettori is a master when it comes to containing the batsman, and New Zealand has the right bowlers to suffocate the batsman in the sluggish wickets. Expect another “Nairobi 2000” if the kiwis get going.
The super eight promises to be more exciting for the jaded spectators. Let us hope the rain and Mr Duckworth & Lewis stay away for rest of the tournament.

Master Data Management - Why is it crucial?

2010-03-10T17:31:00.000-08:00

In this article, we would be learning the basics of Master data management; why is it so crucial in any enterprise regardless of its size.
In any presentation or article, it is said that don’t leave more than three points to ponder. So, I will concentrate on 3 main points of my article.

1. WHAT IS MASTER DATA?

Master data is the data which seldom changes, or in some cases never changes. There are various forms of Master data.
For some reason, Master data management has always been a neglected field in most industries. Enterprises have huge amount of data, mainly
• Vendor master data
• Customer master data.
All the Master data exists in various systems, in various forms. A vendor Master data exists in different forms in FICO, SCM, SD. This leads to inconsistency of Data.
Master data is also important to complex supply chains or complex processes and heterogeneous IT Landscape. Earlier, Master Data management was more or less manual. But with the increase in complexity of organizations and processes, it became crucial for the enterprises to become aware of MDM.

2. WHY MDM?

arlier, every application could manage its own data storage. The credit goes out to the silos that exist in the company. When the new systems are introduced, it is necessary to make the Master Data reusable.
The problem starts when there is duplication of data. The master data is not only used in one module.
For ex, the same data is used in SAP SD, FICO, BI, XI etc. Also, with the dynamic nature of Companies having mergers and acquisitions. It becomes exceedingly tough to maintain clean master data without redundancy and discrepancy. This is where Master data management comes into play.
Master data management is highly useful in
1) Master Data consolidation.
2) Maintaining data consistency.
3) Centralized MDM
4) Duplicate checks
5) Historicization of Master Data.
Master data can be implemented centrally in an enterprise, and can also be integrated with BI, XI & other SAP modules. In other words, it has extended integration with SAP NetWeaver. The MDM architecture is clearly explained in the book SAP NetWeaver Master Data Management.

3. CONCEPT BEHIND MDM.

Master data management has a whole new concept to eradicate the problem of duplication and redundancy of data. The problem with the Master data is, each record is not uniquely identified and hence the problem occurs. A simple and effective solution to a complex problem.
Master data management links each Master Data record to a unique No called DUNS no. (Dun & Bradstreet No). D & B has a huge database which contains almost every enterprise in its memory.
Each enterprise, its branch and its acquired companies have unique identities, and the master data records in them are matched with the DUNS No. the entire concept behind MDM implementation is really interesting and for more details, catch the book SAP NetWeaver Master Data Management.
Conclusion
Master Data Management is a key area for any enterprise. Companies can’t afford to take it lightly at any cost. The consequences of data inconsistency can be hazardous to the enterprise, and more importantly on its clients. Hence, Companies should be meticulously involved in the optimization of their Global Master Data, and utilize the solution to be able to implement future development in a cost effective and an efficient manner.

The Irking Question

2010-02-24T00:41:00.000-08:00

Having a solitary dinner in a rather posh restaurant can affect your appetite. The menu card might be a compelling read, but the fact that you are alone would just put a check on your interest. I was in a similar situation a couple of days back in a hotel in Pune. The menu card was studded with star dishes coupled with super star rates. However, rates were not going to bog me down. I was in a mission to hog. I had not dined at a restaurant for many months now, and my taste buds had not only died, it had been given last rites as well.

I had just finished ordering and waiting for my meal to come when a rather boisterous family came along. The family comprised of a man, a woman and their son who was probably 5 -6 years old. Kids have an unusual adrenaline rush when they have outings. Parents try to control the gusto of the child, as they feel that the excitement of the kid would reveal the fact that they don’t take the kid outside to the society. And hence, the control of the kid’s emotion starts at an early age itself.

This kid wanted to play around, he wanted to talk to all the customers (I guess the Manager of the restaurant ought to learn something from the kid) He wanted to taste Paneer Butter Masala, but was controlled by his discipline freak parents. It is a different issue that he wanted to taste it from the neighbor’s platter, but still the kid wanted to have a ball ; and the parents weren’t given him one( in other words , the kid’s dad didn’t have the balls for it).

I was admiring the kid when he suddenly walked up to me. He was rather shy, and was smiling at me. In order to be polite, I offered the kid some snacks that were present on my table. But he resisted the temptation to accept my offer. I guess the kid had eye balls on his back of the head, as he could vision his parents glaring at my attempt to being polite and kind.
“What is your name? “, I asked the kid softly.
“My name is Sanjay”, the kid was quick to answer. I was sure that his parents would have made him memorize the answer. I was just about to ask the kid another question when he came up with one.
“Aap ka kya naam hai? Aap kahan se ho?”, the kid seemed to have built a good rapport with me as he was talking in his mother tongue.
I twitched, I was uncomfortable. I tried to escape from the question, by offering him some Papad not knowing that only kids were not victims of bribery in India.
“Ah!! I don’t speak Hindi Kid!” I replied to the kid, feeling ashamed.
The kid blinked. He didn’t comprehend the answer that I gave. He scratched his head, rather violently which sprinkled some dandruff on the Papad.
“But uncle, Hindi toh Hamara Official Language hai Na?” the kid had hit the nail not on my head, but in the backsides of many people. He had hit the nail not only on me, but on a dying politician who refused to let the Official Language creep into schools of his state. On people who had hatred towards their fellow Indians from the northern part of the country. On states that fought for ownership of Major cities. On people who vandalized public property in the name of protecting state’s culture. On people who man handled their countrymen for their “sons of the soil” status.

I just smiled at the kid, he ran away in a couple of minutes. I wish I could answer his question in the Official language. But I couldn’t. Minutes later, the food that I had ordered for arrived, but I already had some food for thought. Thanks to the kid.

Game Set & Match

2010-02-20T03:12:00.000-08:00

CATASTROPHE ON COURT

“Game set & match, Nikhil” even before the chair umpire announced these words which were wearisome to him, the result was inevitable. The inevitable has often been delayed, and seldom conquered in sports. But neither of the two happened on that gruesome and disgusting day. The miniscule crowd present wasn’t exactly gob smacked or flummoxed by the way things had unfolded on the Tennis court. Even Nikhil wasn’t punching his fists or shrieking his lungs out on his triumph. He did the customary smack of the ball to the crowd (as if it was Rolland Garros) and approached the net for embracing his opponent who hadn’t taken a single game of him.

“Well played mate.” Karan held out his hand and threw a sheepish smile towards him which went right through him as if he was transparent. The two words were a sportsman’s gesture even to the worst of players on their bad hair days. However, Karan didn’t get the gesture. He gave Karan a violent handshake which was a touch too robust for him. There isn’t any handshake language, but Karan could clearly make out what he said. “Why do you even touch the racquet?” The chair official was no different and I was sure that almost every single human and even some species of animals that were present there would have been snarling at Karan for the mismatch that they had witnessed. The fact that 30 odd people who watched the match free of cost did not mean that they could stand anything so ridiculous.
They weren’t exactly expecting a “Sampras-Agassi “duel, but time was essential for these good hearted people who had the patience to watch district level matches.

Karan switched from his Tennis outfit to a T shirt and a track pant. He had to make sure he made an early exit. He didn’t want to prolong the irritation of the crowd by the staying in close proximity to them. Karan had a feeling that the people would lynch him to death if he didn’t get the hell out of there.
Karan started his bike, just when a small old man interrupted him. The man, probably a septuagenarian about 5 feet tall was staring at karan. Karan scanned his body from head to toe, just to make sure he was not having a dagger or an AK 47. If he had either one of them, he wouldn’t have hesitated in pulling the trigger or forcing the dagger into Karan’s Stomach which lacked the Hunger for victory.
Karan was relieved to see the stare twist into a smile. He came up to Karan, patted my shoulder before saying “Son that was some great cricket! “. Karan was confused for a second, much like he was on the court an hour back. There were two eventualities to the statement of the old man. A) The man was insane to the core and had no idea as to what was happening. B) He was probably stating the most sarcastic sentence ever in his life.

A little bit of common sense told Karan that the latter was more likely than the former.
Karan accelerated his bike and fled!
Home was way different from the hostile crowd. They obviously wouldn’t lynch Karan who was at his “worst-best”, but he wouldn’t get a warm reception as well.
Mom never inquired about the results as she knew it had only one answer. Karan’s younger brother was the “salt-adder” to the wounds of Karan. He would watch only Tennis on the days of a Karan defeat, which meant he watched a lot of Tennis off late.

Karan’s dad didn’t know an inch about Tennis, which Karan discovered 10 years late. He had once told Karan “Federer should improve his Grass court play”. After which he gave a proud smile. But it probably didn’t matter as he was minting money in a mint company of Dubai.

Karan reached home and was quick to get into the bathroom. Bathrooms are great places to be in times of acute diversity and deep depression. A nice and refreshing bath helped Karan in overcoming the damage caused by the on court catastrophe. Karan had had nearly hundred baths in the similar situation.

THE MENTOR

Karan switched on the IPod and hit the bed as hard as he could. He only wished he could hit the tennis ball equally hard.
“Where is my boy?” Raju Mama; Karan’s uncle made a dashing entrance into Karan’s room. Karan’s room was a lion’s den. No one dared breaking Karan’s sleep. Even Karan’s mom found it tough to muster the courage and disturb the lion’s slumber. However Raju shared an intimate bonding with Karan. It was Raju who persuaded Karan to pick up the tennis racquet instead of the cricket bat.
In India, if hundred kids are placed near a table containing a cricket bat, a hockey bat & a tennis racquet. 98 of them would fight their butt to get the cricket bat. The remaining two would go for the other two racquets, and would hence be termed insane.
Raju was a firm believer in the fact that tennis was the toughest sport on the planet. No other sport required the amount of sheer physical and mental strength that tennis required. In team sports, you could take the back seat when nothing is going your way. You could place your cards on your own players in need. But in tennis, it’s only YOU.
If the chips are down, raise the bar! If there is lack of form, get into it ASAP! Every damn move taken on course of the game is the individual’s sole responsibility. Karan had played brilliant tennis few years back. He pulverized opponents with his killer forehands and soft drops near the net. But everything seemed to have vanished, as always is the case in India. Talent has hitherto been short lived and every time there is an emerging talent, it seems to die down with the hunger for the sport turning into hunger for money and fame.
A talented girl from Hyderabad announced herself on the world stage in spectacular fashion, but it petered out without any notable achievements. No Indian had made it past the quarter finals of ATP events. Similarly, after a swashbuckling start Karan’s Tennis seemed to have hit a road block. Only in this case, the road block was bigger than the road. Karan had not registered a single victory for a year now, and by the looks of it the famine could continue the following year as well.

“I can’t take it anymore, I am thinking of quitting Tennis and pursuing my studies in Australia.” Karan was fed up. He had slogged his ass off and got admissions in top notch universities, but his passion for tennis had stopped him every time from crossing the sea.
“Hmmm, give it one more chance son! You know the Emerging Players Series means a lot to you. You have dreamt of winning it. Don’t you wanna give it one final shot?” Raju remarked.
Karan remained silent. He wasn’t sure about what he was to do. On one hand, he felt like never touching the Tennis Racquet, on the other he felt like running out and chasing his dream of winning the series.
“Ok son! Think about it! The series starts in couple of weeks. You know there are two practice games as well. See you soon on the court.” Karan was surprised that Raju was confident about Karan playing the series. All his life, Raju had dreamt of becoming a professional Tennis player. However, family pressures prevented him from becoming one. In India, family pressure is a thorn in the flesh of a sportsman. Raju was no different. He quit Tennis, and when Karan was born; he promised himself that he would nurture Karan into a good Tennis player. He knew that it was always going to be adverse, especially in a cricket mad nation. But all that he wanted was to develop Karan into a player who would give his best on the Tennis court.

THE DREAM

“KARAN, HIT THE BALL HARD! I WILL DO THE REST”.
“Whoa!” Karan woke up with a stutter. Off late, he had not really had dreams and hence this one did sure give him a buzz. Karan looked at the clock. “Shit, I better make a move!” Karan quickly got ready and raced to Raju’s house.
“Mamu! You know what happened today? I had the weirdest dream in my life. Lord Vishnu came in my dream and told me to give my best, and he would do the rest.
Raju gave a perplexed look. “Oh! That is really weird! I thought god had better stuff to do than console struggling amateur players”
Raju had a point. It could be only Karan’s imagination. Karan convinced himself that it was indeed a dream, and not god bestowing upon him.
“Well, what else did God tell you? “
“Ah! Nothing much, just told me to hit the ball hard that is it! Could it really be god? “
“I have no clue son!”
“Hmmm. Anyway catch you later; I have to leave for practice. You will be there for the first match right!”
“Ah well! I have an appointment with a production company for a movie. I will let you know how it goes.”
“Oh great! You got some new assignments? “
“I might get some! Raju smiled.
“Ok then, I better get going. Bye, take care! “Karan zoomed off in his bike.

THE DREAM COMES TRUE!

Karan was having a disturbed sleep. Thud! There was a noise. Karan got a feeling that someone else was in the room. He sprung up. He had to check the situation. There had been thefts in the locality in recent times, and Karan didn’t want to take a chance.
“KARAN! MY CHILD! HOW ARE YOU? “, A strange voice spoke. Karan turned around slowly. The scene that he was about to witness shocked him.
Lord Vishnu stood in front of him. Mighty and majestic, Lord Vishnu was almost the same as humans portrayed him. With his dark skin color and the abundant ornaments, the PRESERVER was standing in front of him.
“KARAN! THE DIVINE FORCES ARE WITH YOU. DO NOT WORRY. HIT THE BALL HARD. I WILL DO THE REST!”
Karan fainted right at that moment.
Karan woke up on his bed, mesmerized and awestruck. To his amazement, he was sleeping under the quilt. “Did it really happen? “ Karan asked himself. He assumed that it could be only a dream because of the fact that he was on the bed when he woke up, rather than being on the floor. He had remembered that he had fainted on the floor. He also inquired his mom whether she had helped Karan in putting him on the bed.
The incidents prior to the practice match had made a serious impact on Karan. He was in a serious conflict of the mind.
Were the incidents real?
Was I hallucinating?
Was I going mad?
Karan found it hard to get answers for these questions that pricked him on the inside.

SAME OLD TALE

Karan was up against a rookie in the first practice match. The rookie had taken giant steps in the game, and in no time he had become the talk of the town. In fact, good players are talked about in whispers while the bad ones got the loud talk.
After the first set, there wasn’t any change in the tale for Karan. He lost the set 6-2 and didn’t have a single winner in it. The 2 games won were due to some unforced errors by the rookie and 2 good serves from Karan. The second set was pathetic, and Karan went on to lose the match 6-2, 6-1. Karan wasn’t really surprised at the result. He guessed that the next match would be no different, and the result was a friend of Karan. It didn’t disappoint Karan’s guess. He lost it at 6-3, 6-0.
“So what do you think? Will I win tomorrow? “Karan had a wry smile on his face.
“Well, you could if you play well.” Raju was equal at the task. “Whatever happens son! Just remember to put in your best, tables can turn.”
“Hmmm. I will try Mamu. I was wondering if I will be playing my last game tomorrow. Coz if I lose, I don’t think I have it in me to continue the sport.” Karan’s head was hung low. He cleared his throat.
Anyway! Let’s hope I play the Big Final on Sunday.” Karan’s eyes were damp.
“See you Mamu. Love you! Bye.”

Karan was finding it tough to sleep. He had already consumed several litres of coffee for curbing his headache but the pain refused to quit.
“HIT THE BALL HARD. I WILL DO THE REST!” God told and left
Karan woke up. He had faced another encounter with the almighty. It was screwing his mind up, and he didn’t know who to tell. Raju Mama was his only option and he too was nonchalant about it. Karan was just not in the right frame of mind going into the first hurdle.

THE HARD SMACK

The nerves were jangling and hands were shivering for Karan. He was up against Vishal Rane. This player had beaten the heck out of Karan two years back. Vishal had a fierce back hand which he delivered with a grunt of a wild boar. To add to it, his stamina was top draw and the odds were heavily stacked against Karan.
Wham! That was ace number 10. Vishal was serving big, and he was doing it at phenomenal efficiency. Karan had managed to hold serve for 2 games, but if he didn’t break him soon. The match would be over.
Smack! Then the unbelievable happened. Karan smacked a return of Vishal, to get his first winner in about many days as possible.
“It was indeed god! “ Karan felt it. There was something that forced him in playing the shot. It felt as if God was holding the Racquet with him.
To the crowd’s disbelief, Karan started to flourish. There was a spring in his step. He was striking the ball as hard as he could. He was also dropping the ball in the craftiest manner. It was a different Karan, A rejuvenated man.
After 2 hours of battle, he found himself on match point. It was a point which Karan had never imagined himself, even in his wildest of dreams. In fact, meeting God was not a dream at all. It was the best thing that happened to him.
Crunch! The match was over. “Game set & Match, Karan “. Karan could not believe the words of the umpire. For a second, he was standing with the mouth wide open, so big that even a Tennis ball could easily go through. It was a moment to remember for Karan. He had arrived on the stage. Now the question was, will he stay there?

BLITZKRIEG

The triumph of Karan was the buzz of the Tennis town. Back home, Karan was reliving the magical moments of the day. He had gone to Raju Mama and spoken hours about his victory. His mom had prepared sweets to celebrate the victory and his younger brother switched off the TV and went to sleep.
“The smack did it “Karan reminded himself. “I need to see God tonight. Hope he comes”.

“KARAN MY CHILD, IT FEELS GREAT TO SEE YOU WINNING. HOPE YOU REMEMBER WHAT I TOLD. HIT THE BALL HARD. I WILL DO THE REST”.
Karan was upbeat for the next game. He had got God’s Darshan on the previous night and he was delighted with the divine companion that he had. He wondered why he felt the “God thing” always murky. He always had difficulty in remembering the events that succeeded the encounter with god.

“Game Set & Match, Karan”…..
“Game Set & Match, Karan”….
Karan found himself amidst a purple patch. He had stormed his way into the Big Final on Sunday. Raju Mama was going Gaga as the tables had indeed turned. Karan wasn’t telling Raju about the Divine link, as Raju would think my screws had come out of victory.
Besides, Karan didn’t want to tell anyone about the secret and reduce his credit for the success. Karan had several meetings with God, and it was his Darshan that bestowed all powers in Karan. Karan was one step away from glory; he had suffered a lot for it. He even made god suffer. But this time, he didn’t want to miss the chance.
“I can’t believe I am playing tomorrow” Karan was amused. He was chuckling at himself.
“I told you Son! You just have to play well” Raju replied.
Karan wanted to tell him that there was something more. But he shut his mouth as he knew that no one would believe him.
“Listen Karan! Just do what you do well! Smack the ball hard! Rest is history”

THE BIG FINAL

The day had finally arrived. The day that Karan thought would never come. The day that that could change Karan’s life forever. Though Karan should have been excited and pumped, he was a touch sad. God did not appear, and that made him a bit nervous.
However, he was confident of the Divine Link and was sure that God wouldn’t let go of him in the last minute.
Karan locked horns with Rahul Singh in the Final. It was the toughest opponent, and the rightful opponent to beat in the final. Rahul Singh was “Roger Federer” of the domestic circuit. He dispatched opponents with blithe, and was icy cool in tense scenarios. He hardly gave chances to his opponents and was very strong from the baseline. He sapped the energy of opponents, and slowly diminished the chances of opponent’s victory.
As expected, the games were tight. The first set was a tie break which Rahul won quite comfortably. The second was even tighter with the tie break stretching to 15 points.
“15 All” It was Rahul’s serve.
Wham! The serve was brilliant. But Karan was up to the task. He gave a solid return to Rahul. Rahul was playing at his best. He started Grinding Karan by prolonging the Rally.
By now, the rally had stretched for more than five minutes, and Karan’s stamina was decreasing. He had to muster the strength to find one shot to surprise Rahul.
HIT THE BALL HARD. I WILL DO THE REST. HIT THE BALL HARD. I WILL DO THE REST
The words buzzed around Karan’s mind. He was waiting for the divine force to act upon him.
Smack! It was a winner. Karan had pulled it off. The point was such an important one considering the situation.
“16-15, Karan”
Karan was to serve. He gathered his strength. He had to find one strong serve to get him the set. Just one shot!
Slam! It was an ace. “Come on! “ Karan grunted. He was pumped & kicked. The set was Karan’s and he was on his way for the title.
The final set was an absorbing battle. By now, both the players were drained out, and the shots were not packed with power. However, Karan was finding strength to smack the ball in the open areas of the court.
It was 5-4, 30-30. Karan was serving. Two points to Rahul would make him the champion.
Karan served, Rahul retorted back. The return was strong and Karan found it difficult to return the ball to Rahul. In the process, Karan slipped. Rahul could have sealed it there. But his return astonishingly hits the nets, and ricochets back into his side of the court. On another day, the ball could have ended in Karan’s court. But it was not to be so.
When Karan got that point, he wasn’t ready to let go of the opportunity. He went on to win the game, and finally stood match point after breaking Rahul’s serve for the first time in the match.
Match point. Suddenly, the one point seemed far away. Karan had made a remarkable journey. But all was not done. He still had to take that evasive point which would make him the champion. His palms were sweaty, and his head was spinning in tension.

Crack! That’s it! Karan did it. He served an ace to seal it.
“Game set & match, Karan”.
Karan could not control his tears. He looked for Raju Mama and his family who were seated a little far from the court. He ran up to Raju.
“You fool you wanted to leave this and go to Australia?! “ Raju controlled his tears as he spoke.
“I swear Raju Mama, I will never go to Australia” Karan hugged Raju mama tightly. It was the moment Raju had waited for. His dream had become reality. Raju wept heavily as Karan hugged him.
“I would go to Australia for one thing though” Karan said.
Raju looked at Karan with curiosity “For what?”
“Have you heard of the Rod Laver Arena? “ Karan smiled as he spoke. Raju hugged him

3 YEARS LATER

The huge crowd present wasn’t really flummoxed with the way things had unfolded on the court. Even Karan’s opponent wasn’t punching his fists or shrieking his lungs out for the triumph. He just served an ace, did the customary smack into the crowd, and reached the net for embracing his opponent Karan who had not taken a single game of him.
“Well Played Karan “, He was generous in his words. He was too modest for his talent.

“Well played. Roger …… Sir!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“Game Set & Match, Roger Federer”

THE SECRET

“So what do you think? Will I win tomorrow? “Karan had a wry smile on his face.
“Well, you could if you play well.” Raju was equal at the task. “Whatever happens son? Just remember to put in your best, tables can turn.”
“Hmmm. I will try Mamu. I was wondering if I will be playing my last game tomorrow. Coz if I lose, I don’t think I have it in me to continue the sport.” Karan’s head was hung low. He cleared his throat.
Anyway! Let’s hope I play the Big Final on Sunday.” Karan’s eyes were damp.
“See you Mamu. Love you! Bye.”
Karan zoomed off in his bike.

Raju Mama was still thinking about Karan. He had to do something for his nephew whom he loved so much.
“Raju Sir! So when shall we go meet the producers? “Suresh, a make-up artist spoke as he came out of the washroom.
“I have got an appointment. Let us see.”
“So, you are set to bag the art director role for this movie right”
Yeah! Sort of! Hey listen. Have you heard of Lord Vishnu? “
“Ya obviously, I am a Hindu Saab “
“I heard that he is the PRESERVER”
“YA SAAB”
“Then, I shall be his creator. You do God make ups right.”
“Ya Saab! 100 percent. I have worked in those Ramanand Sagar serials”
“Fine. I want you to create the make-up and I want you in the make-up.” I shall also tell my sister to spike Karan’s Coffee in the night. Now listen very carefully to me. I want you to do exactly as I tell you………. “

THE END

The Special Day

2010-02-16T03:53:00.000-08:00

Till date, I have never been timely in meeting my girlfriend. It has lead to battles more collosal than certain civil wars and even a World War. But today was a special day. I could not afford to be late.
It would surely have wicked consequences. However, I woke up to find that I was about an hour late.
It wasn’t difficult visualizing the deadly image of my girl fuming at my punctuality. That resulted in me getting ready in super fast motion. If there was a competition between me and a road runner that day, I would have made mince meat and light work out of it.
I reached her place after hustling and bustling throught the traffic. I had a feeling that most men were late on that day, and were frantically rushing towards their girl’s place. But I was sure that my girl was going to forgive me. She wasn’t the one who would remain moody even after my apology.
I sat close to her, as she slept there peacefully. I was sure that she was mad at me. But her anger wouldn’t last long. She would understand that I was late, not by intention but by accident. For 10 long years, I have greeted her every single day, and on very few occassions have I mistakenly come early.
But today was very special. It is a day where I wanted to tell her how much I love her? How much I care for her? It was a day to express my unconditional love to her.
I took out the bouquet and placed it near her legs. I wanted to wake her up and hug her badly. But I didn’t want to disturb her and make her even more livid.
I just looked at her for 5 long minutes, stood up and moved away. I didn’t want to shed tears and wake her up. The last thing that I wanted is a drop of tear touching her legs.
I walked away, and after moving few metres away from her, glanced back and read the words engraved on her bed.

Jennifer Smith
1972-1999
RIP

I whispered to myself “Happy Valentine’s day sweetheart!. Take care. See you soon”. I would be back tomorrow. Hope I would not be late.

Uncle Sid

2010-01-27T20:39:00.000-08:00

I was freaked out! I returned from work only for Uncle Sid. Man he is awesome! The moment I have him, it feels amazing! I reach the moon when he is inside me. Life wouldn’t have been the same without him. Some bastards tell me that I should not be doing it. But who cares! I am not going behind him! The god damn Uncle is sticking on to me.
He came close. My mind ordered to shoo him away. Heart wanted him badly. F*** the mind! Let me have a romp with Sid. The euphoric state was reached as soon as I felt Uncle Sid. As the hungry wolves howled, household items made strange noises; Panic never struck me. The noise of an animal or water dripping from the tap ain’t getting you scared if you are messing around with Uncle Sid.

There was a knock at the door. In one second, I was there standing at the entrance. Or was I? I felt I was there. In another second, I found myself looking at the door.
I rose, and walked. Walking was screwed up. It was as if I was floating in space. Gravity ain’t 9.8 m/s2 if you have Uncle Sid. “Who the hell is it at this time?” I spoke in fatigue.
“Can I come in?”, a woman replied in a strange voice. A voice which seemed too deep for a woman, but too soft for a man. It wasn’t a scary voice, but it wasn’t one of an angel. I could sense an ugly scar face behind the cobweb crammed door.
“Who the hell are you? What do you want? “
“Is Uncle Sid there ? “The voice had desperation. Maybe she wanted him badly. But I ain’t sharing Sid so easily. Its tough bringing him amidst snooping cops. The law can screw me big time if I get caught.
“Get the hell outta here! I don’t have him! “
“Could I come in? It’s freezing outside”, I was skeptical. But this voice had pain; It had anxiety.
I opened the door! A woman was standing sticking her face to it.
For a second, I was taken aback. The wrinkles on her face indicated old age. The paleness of her skin was astounding. Her bottle green eyes were eerie. I turned around! I didn’t want to look at her.
“You can have him, but safe”, she walked slowly; like people would walk in funerals. It was a cemetery walk.
Snap! The power went off! Pitch darkness engulfed me.
Hey! Watch your step! Don’t step on him! He might lose potency! Haha!! I laughed in fear.

People do it. Some whistle in the dark! Some sing! I laughed in the dark. But there was no reply from the woman. There was silence. The silence which drove a chill through my tired spine.
“Hey! Say something! Don’t freak me out! “
“You bastard!” the voice turned harsh. The voice had hate and vengeance.
“Mind your tongue, woman. I will cut you to pieces” I yelled. But the fear was unprecedented. In one motion, a pale figure stood close to my face, staring at me. Her green eyes glowed in the dark; almost fluorescent in color. The stare turned into a smile. A smile so wicked that could make you cry. A smile that could freak the shit out of you. She held my hand with the strength of a wrestler, and in a flash; bit my f***ing tongue which had enjoyed Uncle Sid.

I shrieked! Only to find myself on the bed, cozy underneath the quilt.
F***! Everything seemed so real. A surreal dream that I couldn’t forget. I woke up, dazed and confused. I laughed at the dream and went to pee. I looked at myself in the mirror! Everything seemed fine. I didn’t look like I was attacked by a witch! Hold on! I didn’t look at my tongue.
I opened my mouth and scanned it!
Holy crap! There was a scar on it. Uncle Sid didn’t make me mad. I stood there, still like the door behind me. Will I take him tonight? I shivered with fright and looked at him.
Note:
Uncle Sid is the secret name given to LSD, A drug well known for its psychological effects.

This story was submitted for a short story competition this month.
It was banned for the crude language. :)

Govt Down and Under

2010-01-13T04:32:00.000-08:00

In a famous Bollywood flick, Shah Rukh Khan nonchalantly tells Kajol “Badi Badi deshon mein aise choti choti batein hoti rehti hain”. More than a decade later, the Australian Deputy PM Julia Gillard gives a similar answer to the questions on racial attacks that have marred the Indians down under.
“These incidents can happen in Mumbai, New York, or London”, the statements were bizarrely similar to one that resulted in the ousting of the Maharashtra CM after the 26/11 attacks.
Sure, the deputy PM condemned the attacks. But politicians all over the world are adept at condemning violence and bloodshed. Sole Condemnation is not the solution that the deceased’s parents want to hear, or for that matter any human being. The police forces that are typically relentless in tackling crime abroad, have slept like Rip Van winkle and have not risen to the occasion.
3 gruesome attacks strapped in a time span of 10 days have put the nation to embarrassment: and in the process has caught both the governments snoring to sleep (not even napping).
Australia has rubbished allegations of racial motivation behind the attacks, which is hilariously parallel to the way our neighboring country denies citizenship of their kith and kin. Time and again, India has always found itself on the receiving end of the denial, and it is high time the UPA government took stringent steps in holding talks with the Australian government (strong ones).
Over the last 12 months, more than 1500 people of Indian origin have been victimized by any genre of crime. Even if we rule out 50 % as per the Australian theory, it would still mean that 700 people have been a prey to racial hate and disgust. In a lot of ways our nation is far behind ones which are small in size and big in heart. The entire nation of Israel mourned at the death of the rabbi and his wife. Countries like USA, UK are very serious and committed when it comes to the security of their citizens.
Why don’t we take stringent measures?
Why don’t we shed tears for the dead and injured?
Why don’t we value a human life?
Have we become so numb and anaesthetic that we treat death as a mere subtraction of total population?
It is time we empathized and sympathized on people whose life has been made miserable by a set of hooligans on the run.
On the contrary, if the same incidents had taken place in Mumbai, we would have witnessed foreign diplomats sitting on top of Indian politician heads. Just issuing a travel advisory is not the elucidation for the predicament. The Aussie government has to claim responsibility of the racial attacks.
A sardar’s abusive word created such a buzz, why aren’t gory attacks like this creating one?
The UPA might be playing safe keeping an eye on the partnership which is on the cards with Australia, but sooner rather than later, it has to come up with a contingency plan to bail out the Desis down under.

PS:
In April, I will be attending my cousin’s marriage in the city of Chennai. He is marrying an AUSSIE and I am a bit skeptical about attending it. Imagine bodies being flung into the sacred fire in the name of race.

Hailing "Wall"

2009-11-25T03:17:00.000-08:00

There are a lot of duels played nowadays, both on and off the cricket field. A politician threw a kitchen sink at a cricketer who is probably bigger than any state, and found that a bathroom tub was hurled at him from all directions. Matches have been played in newspapers rather than on cricket fields. Small issues have been made obese thanks to the media, which acts like junk food to the human body. However, one man has been industriously constructing batting knocks in the same passion which reminds you of the glorious days of the Fab four.
Meticulous preparation and earnest resolve to be successful has made Rahul Dravid a serious force to reckon with after being buried by critics and cynics. In October 2007, when the stylish batsman from the garden city was ejected out of the Indian ODI team, few would have envisaged a sort of comeback that the “Wall” has made in the longer version. He was made a guinea pig down under due to the lack of openers in that tour. Still, Rahul answered critics with a sublime knock in Perth, a wicket whose texture can give even silicon carbide serious competition in terms of hardness.
It took more than 15 months for the Indian think tank to realize that Rahul Dravid can never be a liability to a team; the man is always an asset without the slightest of doubt. He was faced with a tough challenge of chasing down a meaty target in centurion, against a rejuvenated Pakistan which was exploding (oops. Wrong word!) With enthusiasm and were intent on turning the table of fortunes in big tournaments, which had always been partial to the its traditional rival. Dravid again replied in style, manufacturing a well paced knock in tough and slow conditions. However, his knock could not deliver a knockout blow as poor running cost him his wicket, and as a result the match.
I am happy to know that other sports are played by the team in training sessions, but the predicament starts when they start applying rules of the other game in the one where they are professionals. Ravindra Jadeja, Harbhajan Singh seemed to have played baseball in training, and are hell bent on running as soon as bat makes contact with the ball. Few seconds of their haste made sure that the well crafted innings was a total waste.
To his shock, Dravid found himself out of the team for the ODI’s vs. Australia. If only his knock would have been a match winning one, he would have been inside that dark blue jersey at home. As a result of poor commitment and temperament, India could not cling on the No 1 spot, and Australia with a bunch of players whose experience totally put together would be less than Sachin’s experience, went home with a smile as broad as the flight they were in.
Meanwhile, Dravid returned to domestic circuit. The commitment and dedication of the man was shown in the way he conducted himself in Ranji matches. The once” Wisden Cricketer of the year” was prepared to stay in run of the mill type hotels, just for the passion of playing the game.
Soon, he was part of the test series at home against the feisty islanders from the subcontinent. The Lankan lions have struggled and choked in India, making them go on a winless streak of 14 tests without a win. The Indians went into the test seeking the top spot in the test rankings, but were in a soup early on as they lost 4 wickets in a flurry, leaving much to be desired from an intimidating batting line up. However, there was Dravid’s technique. He came, he watched and he conquered. The Motera knock would be one of Dravid’s finest as it saw Dravid in a very positive frame of mind. He dispatched loose bowls with blithe and counter attacked perfectly to pull India out of the quicksand eventually saving the test match. Dravid has once again proved that in time of crisis, it would more often than not be him to the rescue, than other batsmen. In many ways, Dravid would have cursed himself for having been born in the same era of the Sachin Tendulkar. For the past decade, Dravid has been part of many records and partnerships, has played brilliant innings, and has mastered several Indian victories. But still, he falls behind the master who just can’t stop people from admiring him.
The century in the 2nd test at Kanpur is just a testimonial of the fact that when the Dravid gets going, centuries might tumble from his bat. I wonder why people call him The Wall, the wall does not have the tenacity to come back after it is floored, there might be walls that can break easily, but this man is not going to break, he will be expecting to play in the World cup couple of years from now. Dravid’s experience and his keen acumen of the game is a better option than stupidity of certain young players which is falsely termed as exuberance.

Peahen Plunderer

2009-10-12T04:32:00.001-07:00

Hi plunderer,
How are you? Hope this letter finds you in the poorest of health. I often wonder what makes your community worse than the British who plundered and robbed India of its wealth and possession of precious antiques. The British lived luxurious and lavish lives in their home land, but explored uncharted territory and robbed the things which they didn’t have in their kitty. No one can forget the unreasonable confiscation of the precious peacock throne by those whites. But your community is no different from those obnoxious creatures my brother! Oh I am sorry, you are not my brother. At least not till you vote for republicans or democrats and pay income tax in dollars. You study in expensive and high quality schools during the days in your native land where character and the ability to learn are embodied in you. I always feel education not only makes us learn, but also teach us how to learn. You utilize the nation’s best schooling and college resources to the maximum and acquire colossal knowledge about all the technologies possible on this earth. Then one fine day you write an exam which consists of few juvenile math’s problems or should I say math; and synonyms of few complex unheard words in English which are seldom used in life. You get admits from various mediocre universities across the globe which claim to be the best, but the fact is there is nothing unique about them other than the bizarre names that they possess. Needless to say, you have a blast in your college life which revolves around parties and girls. Don’t think I am being jealous here! In fact don’t have that doubt in your mind, because I am extremely jealous and I am fuming right now as I write these words on paper. You experience all sorts of physical comforts that a foreign culture can offer you (all sorts of physical comfort which make you stand up and applaud).but suddenly, seriousness strikes your mind which has made it numb like anesthesia does. You decide to get married and be a committed guy in future. You seek for traditional homely goddesses after having dated women worse than sex workers. Good for you mate! Bravo! But suddenly you do something strikingly similar to the white (bad words in English) did few centuries ago, only difference being the gender of the product being robbed. You strip away the peahen from its native land and fly away with happiness. Firstly, you send pictures of sight seeing places in USA where you give the same pose in different postures. Then, you impress the peahen by chatting with her online and bragging about the life in USA , being how cool it is to be mocked about and ridiculed by Americans, how awesome it is to have mortgages five times your pay check etc . you don’t have to impress the peahen’s family as they are on cloud nine in the first place , as soon as they know that their son in outlaw! Sorry son in law is an American by birth in India. It is really ironical that you turn to your native land for some thing that you need badly, but turn your backs to it when the land needs you (does it need you? I don’t think so. Just added the line for some cheesy statements). It is really annoying that your community keeps snatching away our property. There is a concept called sons of the soil, I guess you would have heard about it; which has certain quota for the natives. I guess we have come to a situation where we have to instill quota system in our matrimonial network which is bigger than any other enterprise in the world. It is extremely disheartening to see pretty girls in Anna international airports. I would prefer seeing them in railway stations filled with stink and dirt. But we are humans, we will never curse you . we will never wish for the plane in which the couple travel to crash. We will not wish for a divorce between the pair before the first night (for the girl! mind you). We will just hope you find someone very traditional in USA.(maybe an afro Brahmin or something like that ).
Don’t take care.
Hopefully never yours,
Piteous peacock

Eternal Product Of The Senseless Mind?

2009-10-12T04:31:00.001-07:00

I have always wondered whether statements quoted by great men make any sense in times of hardship. Not many people would have the grit and tenacity to mortgage properties in these adverse times; however mortgages with bad credit are the last resort for some who are taking frantic steps for their redemption. The disturbing fact is that bad credit mortgages have interest rates that are far more bloated than their conventional counterparts. The entire brain child of the concept of bad credit mortgages was born due to the competition amongst lenders which forced them to diminish the rates in order to acquire customers. The financial crisis has not only annihilated the eco-chain, it has also made a severe bump in the credit rating of the borrowers.
Credit rating is a measuring scale which checks the reliability of the lender making note of the past history. Credit rating examination is a litmus test for the borrower which he ought to get through. It is crucial that the borrower survives the intense scanning as every time he is turned down, the credit rating takes a beating which eventually reduces the chances of getting a mortgage. In the scanning process, the lender will analyze the source of the capital, relevance and sensibility of the investment and past records of bad credit.
The financial slump has given a black mark in almost each and every person’s credit history. This is where the quandary starts for both the borrower as well as the lender.
The lenders are very strict in rejecting deals due to bad credit history of people in the same family. A victory can be called a flash in a pan but one defeat often gives people a dire impression to the lender. Investors are mislabeled and in some cases even ostracized from the mortgaging world.
But as always, there is hope and light in the form of a concept known as bad credit remortgages (i.e. borrowing against equity in your home). It acts as a savior by washing off other debts and being abreast with the payments of your remortgage. The common mistake that investors do is decreasing the amount of down payment and in turn escalating the interest rates. It is healthier to make a heavy down payment and reduce the interest rates. Even here, credit rating numbers play a pivotal role in prevaricating the value of the down payment.
The entire concept of bad credit mortgages is a product of the senseless and hasty minds of the various components existing in the system of mortgaging. The pricking query lies in the fact that whether it will be eternally successful or not. We are not Nostradamus and hence it is better we wait for time to give an answer!

Castles In Vacuum

2009-10-12T04:28:00.000-07:00

There is an idiom that was probably framed centuries ago, but was it said anticipating a cataclysmic disaster which was to occur way into the 21st century? The phrase “ don’t build castles in air “ was quoted by some one who had no idea of what sub prime loans could do to the entire economical chain of the world. But, it had greater relevance in the early stages of the millennium. Mortgages with bad credit have been instrumental in disrupting the entire eco- chain (economical chain) of the globe. The crisis was an after math of various factor’s lethal combination.
Buyer’s mortgaged property without waiting for the prices to slide; which dug a grave exactly to their body dimensions .It requires a lot of patience and wit to do things exactly opposite to your other counterparts. Being greedy when others are reluctant and waiting for the storm to abate instead of pressing the panic button are a few postulates which are imperative for an investor to make profit at a colossal level. However, none followed the right path. Every investor wanted a short cut which led to a ruinous consequences eventually leading to massive mayhem. People forgot the basic essence that a home was a place to live and enjoy rather than a place which would enhance your status of self esteem in the society. The troubling statistics annoy us even more as in the previous recession of the 20th century; the reason for the fall was because of first time buyers who invested when the market was at its peak of ductility. If this was not enough; this time 2 out of ten mortgages were for more than 5 times annual income of the borrower. This is where the predicament started and the doors for hell were opened for the borrower.
The lenders were an equal partner in crime. Initially, Lenders were skeptical in giving a deal for the self employed. However things changed with time and lending mortgages to people with terribly turbulent economic status was considered innovative actions. But all actions have effects and this action had adverse ones. Every business has its shares of ups and downs but the high mortgage levels made sure that the borrower culminated with bad credit history. The problem lies in the method in which borrowers are scrutinized. A source of the capital is a vital criterion in choosing your borrower. Unconventional sources of income must ring the alarm for lenders as the stability of those sources are bound to be tentative.
The crisis could be an appalling amalgamation of slip-ups by lender and borrower, but the phrase still holds good “don’t build castles in air “for the borrower. In fact the phrase has attained new dimensions this time round as a reason of the greed of the borrower. It would not be wrong if it is rephrased to “don’t build castles in vacuum”

The Fresher

2009-08-20T10:09:00.000-07:00

Differentiation is probably one of the scariest things on earth. Not only the mathematical term which catalyses the excretory system of a certain people, but also certain things can not be differentiated. However, there is one thing on this earth that can be easily segregated from the rest with out a break in sweat. You don’t need to have great judgmental skills nor a great intuitive instinct. You also need not be a Sigmund Freud to understand complex psychology. You just need to understand what frantic fear and preposterous panic is on a face of a student.

Even if you are transported back to history through a time machine and put in a college in the 1970’ . you would be able to single out the fresher from the rest.

A fresher through all eras and generations is the same. He has a big bag which weighs almost as much as him and a lot of books in it which would help him start a library of his own.

He also carries a water carrier as he requires lot of fluid due to frequent visits to the washroom as a result of terror and alarm.

It is also quite common for a fresher to dress up in a way as if he was to attend a high profile meeting such as G-8 summit. Formal outfit is what the fresher wears which is so spic and span that would even put presidents and white collar professionals to envy.

A fresher’s forehead usually reveals his caste, sub-caste, sub-sub-caste and additional details. It is a thing that needs to be appreciated but unfortunately the forehead goes blank after few days as students think it is not cool to be following traditions in a place where people are fashion and fitness freaks.

A fresher combs his hair in such a way that the partition on his head is so vivid that would put neighboring countries into serious introspection. I wish countries were so beautifully partitioned. we wouldn’t have had border conflicts in that case.

A fresher’s neck is an amazing device which has miniscule degrees of freedom. It is always in constant motion checking out the college infrastructure and college woman’s structure.

The most distinct thing in a fresher across all cities and countries is the skepticism and apprehension on the face which clearly written. No matter what your language, religion , caste you are from, this is the expression you would have found hitherto.

The fact that he doesn’t know what is waiting for him makes the fresher even more timid.

It is an expression which would make you feel that the poor soul’s body is going to be crucified in a few hours time.

But the expression on their faces is justified, as they are put into an act similar to

One which laid Jesus to rest.

It is an unbiased act that would not spare the best from the rest,

It is a miser act that does not spare poor or rich,

It is an audacious act that does not spare influential tycoon’s kin,

It is a fair act that does not separate people as per their skin,

It is an antifeminist act that does not differentiate on the basis of sex,

It is a relentless act that would not allow the fresher to relax,

It is called RAGGING.

PROUD AND PREJUDICE

2009-08-12T04:43:00.000-07:00

The prejudice call it the land of the snake charmer,
The proud calls it the land of the great farmer.
The prejudice call the country as poor,
The proud Knows there is improvement for sure.
The prejudice is adept in the game of blame,
The proud takes responsiblity on his name.
The prejudice thinks there is no deed,
When the proud knows there are lot of people whom they can help read.
The prejudice has spilt milk to cry,
The proud wake up and give it a try.
Some enjoy and relax,With out giving a damn for tax.
The Prejudice curse their fate,
The proud are happy to donate.
The prejudice often cross the sea,
The proud first explore the country's beauty.
The Prejudice criticize films and leave the makers with a scar,
But the proud brings back home an Oscar.
We did get a gold,
But there is more talent to mould.
Are we Goin to be Proud or Prejudice?
latter is an act of cowardice,
and former is the way to go,
Just Say " JAI HO".

FRUSTRATIONS OF A BACHELOR.....!!!

2009-06-13T08:39:00.000-07:00

I sat down in a car with carriage,
and wondered about marriage.
Arranged on one, and love on the other.
The former requires help from mother,
and the latter will leave your clothes in tatter.
So which is better, which is better??
Finally I wrote a letter, to my immediate ancestor,
saying with all anger and rage,
That I'll become a sage.

A PIECE FOR ENVIRONMENTAL PEACE

2009-06-13T07:58:00.000-07:00

The environmentalists wanna go green,
but the automobile producers are really mean.
They produce vehicles which are cheap,
and increase pollution by a heap.
No wonder the ozone has a hole,
and its all 'cos of coal.
So lets wake up and be agile,
'cos a walk of few mts can make a difference of a mile.
Its time to be bright,
so dont forget to switch off the light.
In a time where we have no clue,
to a menace called swine flu,
lets hope the nightmare doesnt come true,
of trees and plants found in man-made zoo.

THE QUIESCENT QUEUE

2008-09-29T06:34:00.000-07:00

"wake up, you moron!!", mom was yelling at the highest decibel possible in a desperate and frantic effort to spring me out of the bed. Every mother in this beautiful world is an amazing alarm clock and as long as you have the former, you don’t need the latter. I was shielded by the ozone-like quilt but even that couldn’t prevent the vociferous nature of my mother’s voice from prevailing under the heavily cushioned layer.
To add to the frustration, the soporific warmth of my room was extremely seductive and tempted me just to spend little more time in the cozy bed. I have always felt that early morning sleep has been god’s cynical gift to mankind. It is that time of the day when dreams seem to be insipid, ambitions make you livid and desires are treated with disdain. All that u care for is a few minutes of sleep in appendage.
However, the day ahead was a special day indeed. An interview for a United States of America visa would have given some lads sleepless nights and loose bowel movements but I wasn’t one who would be shaken by the tremors that tension might offer. In fact, most people have been bewildered by my attitude towards life. In retrospect, I have always considered my "easy-going" attitude as my strength and it has often pulled me out of quicksand during various circumstances. Even this attitude of mine couldn’t stop me from ejecting myself from the bed. I ruffled my hair and had a quick glance at the mirror.
One really ponders over the fact that why humans look at the mirror every morning despite knowing that complexions can’t change and features don’t fabricate in a matter of hours. We can’t expect evolution at such a breathtaking pace. However, there are some days you might appear good and some days where you might not, I resolutely believe that it all depends on our perception. No wonder it is called "mirror image".
Regardless of a man’s IQ level, educational profile, family background , most people are "socrates" while ablution and "edison" while brushing teeth. Somehow, I shunned all those thoughts and was intent on getting ready. The last thing I wanted was to be late for the interview. In any case, I had the auto-journey for my "thought-engine" to work.
Getting dressed in a spic and span attire was a bohemian task as far as I was concerned. I have never given much focus on these issues which I considered futile and trivial. But,there was no room for any pragmatism on that particular day. It was essential to present myself in a suave and sophisticated manner,atleast for a few minutes. The US embassy have obviously forgotten the quote "appearances can be deceptive" and I was prepared to make hay while the sun shone.
So,I summoned all my strength and dressed myself in the best way possible.
As usual, my mom had prepared a heavy and cumbersome breakfast. The mere sight of the menu filled my stomach with satisfaction. She never seemed to comprehend the fact that I had breakfasts in abstemious fashion and simply loathed rich diets. I managed to stuff myself for my mom’s sake and bid adieu to her.
I must admit that I was a bit dodgy during my exit. There were butterflies in my stomach and made me extremely nervous. There is always an emptiness which deserts you during these days. It is like you have a sudden jolt of alzheimer’s.
I scampered across to the nearby auto-stand and managed to grab the attention of a few auto-guys. Unfortunately, I was caught in a tug of war between two guys who desperately wanted me as their first passenger of the day. Finally, one side emerged triumphant and I was glad to get started.
"Where did this all begin?" I asked myself.
I wasn’t referring to the journey to the US consulate, but the journey of my US dream.
It actually started during my high-school days when most of my cousins fled to the "land of opportunities" during the "it" boom. A life in US was an aspiration which kindled the fire in my belly. It was the sole cause of my stellar performance in my board examinations.
The United States of America is probably the only country where talents are recognized without shades of nepotism or bribery. You didn’t have to be the best, you just had to be committed to your job. I have always wondered what the hell were we doing when the US had built a nation with such diligence? The fact is that we were sleeping. One of the few answers that makes sense literally too. Whatever the reason, reality was that the US was the destination that almost every educated indian desired and I was no different.
The reason behind their angst for a life abroad was simple and inevitable. They wanted to be a NRI. No other three letters could give you so much pleasure(of course there is another word). I had always been enthralled by these set of people and wanted to emulate their feats abroad. The luxurious life sans tension and perspiration(climate is good there) was always lucrative for people living in a populous nation with dusty conditions and high level of inefficiency in the system. Pollution in the system exceeded air’s and none seem to bother too much about it. I must say that I too was a stereotyped indian citizen who doesn’t give a damn about the state of the nation.
More than anything else, I felt that the status that the NRI’s enjoy back home is something astonishing. Relatives perceived almost all NRI’s as a person working under bill gates,steve jobs and were totally ignorant of the "crap" you do. The matrimonial profile scales new peaks and parents enjoy a great self-esteem. During the cusp of the "it" boom, there was a slump in the migration but the rate picked up as students started pursuing their masters in a more serious and studious manner.
Getting an admission in an american university wasn’t exactly a cake walk , but it definitely was much easier than I thought. I was fortunate to score 1260 out of 1600 thanks to my affinity towards mathematics(or should I say math). I wasn’t eloquent in english but it was just enough to scrape through in a mediocre university.
"who cares whether it is mediocre,it is in US", this was my reply to friends who ridiculed the university. Deep inside,I knew I was consoling myself and it was a sheer act of escapism as I was rejected by other universities. A pass port with a stamped visa would just be the icing on the cake. Even as I uttered these words, the three wheeled vehicle halted with a jerk.
I was instantly transformed from the dream land consisting of a sea of booze,piles of cash and blessed with gorgeous girls to the sultry land of beggars, snake charmers and piles of cowdung.
"What is it", I inquired the driver . "traffic jam", the driver answered it a blunt and surprisingly in a rather cool manner. Traffic jams in chennai had dissolved completely into the system and people cared least for it. These times would be used for phone conversations, glaring at women and other activities. Every day had it’s own sagas and the traffic situation was nothing but a comedy of errors. Accidents, VIP journeys, riots all had their share in disrupting the harmony on the road.
I was curious to know the reason behind the latest imbroglio. I squeezed my way through the minimal spaces available between the vehicles jammed together. Even a lean frame of mine did not make my task easy. I made my way through to the main road only to see a group of people huddled together. I had an intuitive feeling that it was an accident. I courageously went closer and had a peek at the scene. What I was about to see shocked me to death.
A young man of about my age was clambering for life only to be watched by others. His face was completely shrouded with blood and even "gore" would be an understatement to describe it. It appeared that the person had multiple fractures and was fighting a lost battle. I observed that he was dressed in an outfit similar to mine. I discovered a file lying on the edge of the road which apparently noone had noticed . I tip-toed trying to avoid myself getting the attention of the policemen.
I flipped the file and caught a glimpse of a resume in it.
NAME- C.Vaidhyanathan
COLLEGE- XYZ ENGG COLLEGE

I was filled with dismay. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. I wanted to puke not out of disgust, but of sorrow. Vaidhyanathan was my classmate in my college days. He wasn’t the closest of my friends but we shared a great rapport . there are some people who might not be intimate to you, but there is always a special and soft corner for them. Vaidi was one of those guys.
I rushed to the spot in a phrenetic manner to check on his status. It was too late. He had succumbed to the multiple injuries he had incurred. It was an unbearable pain which emerged from my lower abdomen and went right upto to my upper chest. I couldn’t digest the fact that my friend was nothing but a corpse now. I wanted to cry out aloud but was conscious of other people’s presence.
Meanwhile, an ambulance came in late as usual and took the body(sorry, vaidi’s remains) away with the aid of a stretcher. Ambulances are more like mortuary vans in this nation. I quickly realized that I had to get back to the auto. I couldn’t even envisage the ignominious act of getting late, leave alone skipping it. After a fierce battle between conscience and me, I decided to get in to the auto and head for the consulate.
Back in the auto, I had another glint at vaidi’s resume which I held out in my hand. With every blink of my eye, vaidi’s image flashed across my mind. The times and moments that I cherished haunted me. A life had been snatched by god in a matter of few minutes. Vaidi was heading for an interview and probably ushering into a new life. A moment of negligence had annihilated thousands and thousands of joyful moments perpetually.
I had inquired a person about the tragedy before I had started my journey and learnt that vaidi was travelling in the footsteps of the bus. A small confusion resulted in him being sucked into the wheels. Footstep travel was a daredevil stunt in this part of the country that almost every youngster performed with blithe. It was the most often used puerile way for impressing girls. Even I tried my luck in it when I was younger but my poor athleticism let me down in many instances.
It was quite evident that vaidi’s purse wasn’t heavy enough for an auto fare and the bus didn’t have space enough for a pair of legs. But buses at peak hours seldom did. Accentuated bus frequencies could have prevented the disaster but it was all too late for any thing to be done. Obviously, the conductor of the bus wasn’t shrewd enough to anticipate the ominous scenes to occur.
The auto came to a screeching halt reminding me that I had reached my destination. I quickly got down to pay the auto-guy his fare. I was dumbfounded at the rate he charged. Auto fares in the city had inflated at a greater proportion than the nation’s rate of inflation which in itself was humongous . what the auto-walas didn’t realize that the appraisals of other civilians wasn’t bloating in the nearest of the rates. In fact, at this point, I was contemplating a career in auto.
I had a look at the queue that had lined up near the consulate. It was in it’s premature stages and was building slowly, but surely. I was heading the queue and was probably starting things off on that fine day(or was it a fine one). I was still bruised by the incidents that surrounded me on that day. Even as I was waiting for my chance to go for the security check, I caught notice of a man on the other side of the road. His clothes were tattered and torn and appeared like a man in deep poverty. The stranger, a middle aged man was squatting on his knees and was in a rather unusual posture. He held a coconut shell in his hand and kept it underneath his anus. What was to follow next blew my mind away. I was petrified at the sight that I witnessed.
The man actually, believe it or not was consuming his own excreta. I was in a state of utter disbelief. What made him do a desperate act of extreme human behaviour? I couldn’t empathize with the stranger, or for that matter even vaidi. I strongly feel that sympathy creeps in when there is no room for empathy. But how could I? Putting myself in the shoes of a youngster dying before getting his salary and a beggar forced to commit the most ignominious act of mankind was something beyond my power.
"Excuse me sir,this way please", a man lead me into the consulate prior to the interview. I had to go through a security check where fingerprints of mine were scanned. I was still in the hangover of the incidents that had marred my day. Deep within, I was withering away in extreme emotional pain.
"your documents ,sir", a man asked me in a polite and courteous manner. I almost felt that he had an american accent in his speech. In india, there has always been a case of misinterpretation of fluency and accent. Persons with fluent language sans stylish accent were preferred over affluent people with poor fluency.
Indians abroad had a tendency of aping other accents and in the process, made a fool of themselves. They didn’t seem to realize that they were making caricatures out of it. No wonder, russell peters (a well known stand up comedian who is an indian himself) pulled 2 billion legs in his shows. No doubt, I laughed at his wise-cracks but I had a different feeling inside. In fact, I too had been a hypocrite in this issue.
The entire process was over and I was awaiting the call from the consulate for the interview. As a matter of fact, I had a call from nature at that time. I quickly answered it and came right back and seated myself in an aristocratic sofa present there. I was still cogitating about that stranger.
I have witnessed many a scenes of poverty but this was something that scared me out of my skin. Kwashiorkar suffering children with pot bellies , pregnant adolescent women skinnier than "kareena kapoor size zero look" begging were the regular ones that I had seen in the streets of my city where malls and multiplexes stood tall.
Almost every person was in the wrong impression that the country was heading in the right direction . the fact is that nations don’t develop in sophisticated malls and posh multiplexes, rather they develop in rural and agrarian societies where poverty and illiteracy were the ghosts that seemed to have eluded all exorcists. The socio-economic divide had exceeded the one between castes and religion. Poor man’s necessity had taken a back step to rich man’s luxury.
Vaidi’s death injected a sorrow in me that hitherto I have not experienced in my life. However, the man whom I saw on the road was a total stranger to me. But still, I had the same depression, I had the same feeling of puking not of disgust but of sorrow. Both vaidi and the stranger were victimized by the society.
The desperation behind vaidi and the poverty behind the stranger is something that they couldn’t overcome. Suddenly, my angst for US completely petered out in the most bizarre manner. My life had undergone a complete paradigm shift in a matter of few hours. Suddenly, I didn’t want to become an NRI.
I didn’t want to do menial jobs that fetched money which would put even executives in envy. I didn’t want to miss beloved friend’s weddings and important relative’s funerals. I didn’t want to come back home with "paper mate" pens and lousy chocolates to give away to friends and relatives who have made my life special. I didn’t want to roam around the city with "aqua-fina" bottles criticizing it without a single contribution to the system. Finally, I also didn’t want to speak a few tamil words in between american slangs.
The NRI’s aren’t cynical people. In fact, most of them are extremely talented. The commitments that they have on their shoulders have forced them in migrating. All they want is a life sans tension and perspiration(AC is available here). They have to understand that a luxurious life can be led here too. You just needed a little bit of perseverance and confidence.
The people residing in india havn’t been any kind to the nation either. I too for a large part of my life have been a part of these self-centred civilians who pursue happiness at any cost. I had abstained from voting(of course not for money), driven vehicles in spite of being drunk and havn’t done a single deed for my nation.
I wasn’t thinking of changing the nation. In fact, I would need a million lives for it. I wasn’t "the boss" who eradicated corruption or "the stranger" who terminated people in hill like milieu. However, I was prepared to change myself, probably the best way of changing the nation’s fate.
"MR. SURESH VAIDHYANATHAN", YOU ARE NEXT", the man pointed a finger at the interview room. I rose slowly. I stared at him ,almost motionless, my mind was far away from the consulate. Time was running out. I had to make up my mind.
Back in the auto, I was reliving the moments of that day which was the most eventful one (even now). Flopping in the interview wasn’t a big deal for a person poor in spoken english. I just had to make sure that I didn’t answer their questions in the nearest of contexts and they didn’t comprehend whatever I told them. It was the first instance in my life where I was proud of my blunder. It would remain a secret for a long time.( I had read somewhere that secrets are told to one person……. at a time.) I just was thinking of the people who were in the queue that had become a mutated serpent by the time I left the consulate. Of all deeds for the nation, I wanted to start off by doing one thing. I wanted to go near each person and yell at the highest decibel possible,"wake up, you moron".

( suresh vaidhyanathan got his MBA degree from a mediocre university(in india). He currently works in an investment banking firm(which by the way is not bankrupt). He is one of the well known philanthropists in the city. He is also appearing for the civil services examination… this is his fourth attempt. God knows how many IAS officers fly out the nation every day… in fact only the consulate knows…………)