Delusional ideas about the calibre of poor children!

2010
07.31

I switched on the news recently and there she was – a parent whose child studies at Bethany High school (Bangalore), saying something to this effect: “How can you place two types of children – poor and rich – students of different “calibre” alongside in the same class?” The assumption was that the calibre of a poor child is low and that of a rich child is high. She used words such as “higher” and “weaker’ to describe children from these economic backgrounds.

The pupils dilated!

The bile rose in disbelief as the lady spewed garbage on national television!

Ameeta Wattal, Principal, Springdales School, also a part of a raging debate, shook her head in disgust. ” I can’t listen to this, ” she muttered every few minutes, under her breath.

The discussion was pegged on a circular put together by Bethany, which was then circulated privately to parents; it referred to poor children as “criminals” who are likely to smoke and beat up “your” children in class. According to the principal, the idea was to warn parents of what to expect in the following one year in light of the Right to Education Act, according to which private schools must reserve 25% seats for poor students in Class 1 in 2011.

Click here to watch the debate.

It is one thing to be uncomfortable about the consequences of the RTE, but to actually believe that calibre is decided by one’s economic background is delusional! Arnab, looking bewildered and somewhat resigned at this attitude, quizzed the parent on how “calibre” could possibly be dependent on whether you are rich or poor?

The principal of yet another private school stated that putting a rich child and a poor child in the same classroom is not appropriate, as one would be gabbing about McD’s while the other “does not even know whether he will get the basic things” (perhaps if they do the latter would discuss global warming instead of McDs!). This idea was somewhat thwarted by a tweet by an ex-student of Kendriya Vidyalaya who said that many of his schoolmates came from very poor backgrounds, and some of them are his best friends even today.

Come to think of it, I had poor classmates, too. It was really no big deal. But one thing is certain; before poor children set foot into a private school populated by children of a certain strata, it is the principal, teachers and the management who need to be sensitised.  Children of course are the least of the problem as they tend to emulate whatever is practiced by their role models.

On a different note, as I fed Daffy one day (a street dog who lives down the lane), a little boy of about 7-8 years of age, who works as a rag picker watched Daffy as he lapped up half a litre of milk. I felt guilty for feeding a hungry dog whilst a hungry child, looked on. The boy began following me and asked me for some money to buy food. But instead offering him money, I gave him a packet of biscuits, which he wolfed down in a jiffy before I could say “Khao”. I asked him his name and had to stoop really low to get a whiff of what he was saying. Braj Singh, I figured.

Every now and then, the boy follows me and I give him biscuits or a kachori. One day we decided to have some aloo tikki. As it was being prepared on a wok, the man started warning me (animatedly) about how the boy uses the money people give him, to buy beer. I then reminded him that he is a kid. Then he told me that the gang of rag pickers steal, and that the police is always keeping an eye on them. Once again I reminded him that these “thieves” were between 8-12 years of age, and unless taught otherwise, they are bound to be up to no good. He quit eulogising and handed over a plate of food to the boy.

On a different note (seems I am addicted to this phrase!), a friend of mine once made a very, very odd statement during those formative days when I was getting acquainted with him. “I like poor people,” he said, later confiding in me that his parents were migrant workers who had seen very, very hard days. A bright student, books and his love for reading set him free.

A media professional who has created somewhat of a niche for himself, today, I applaud my friend for making the crossover to a white collar position that lets him influence thoughts, ideas and people. But he never forgets the difficult days and remembers the names of the children at every traffic signal, and has a smile, food and other goodies for them, when the signal turns red.

On the other hand, I have another friend who is also a position to influence thoughts, ideas and people, someone who is jovial, funny and empathetic, and yet is unempathetic to the chai boy who delivers his chai. He asked the chai boy for the amount he had to pay him to which the boy muttered something incoherently. My friend asked him rather brusquely to speak louder and gave him the amount sans a tip. The chai boy seemed like a zombie, a little zombie of eight years or less, with no expression on his face. I asked him his name and gave him some money, but his expression did not change and he seemed resigned to being expressionless.

Rediff.com, recently did a series children who work for over eight hours a day and earn a pittance, everyday:

12-year old Mohammed wanted to watch FIFA. But he could not…

Lil’ un named Shumbhu

”With Rs 200 a month, I can’t even afford to dream”

The comments to these pieces were diverse. Some insist we ban child labour. But then if we ban it, what will they eat? Another observed that employing children is one thing. But being cruel and brutal is another. Yet another reader was pissed with the author: “By writing this article and giving the photograph of the 11-year old boy, you have done a grave injustice to him. Most probably he will lose this job as the government authorities will be after his employer and charge him for engaging child labour. The poor boy will lose his job and whatever little earning he is getting now to educate his brothers. Has the writer given any thought to this before writing?”

Perhaps he has a point. But the long and short of it is that the series of stories, which tells it as it is, generated much interest from readers and several comments, mostly empathetic, concerned ones. Perhaps it is because of the approach to the stories is to tell it as it is, and not romantise their situation through the use of rich prose. Either ways, these stories gave a face to the little faces in our chai stalls and grocery stores. Perhaps we cannot change their lives, but we can be kind and we can smile and we can give them a cookie or a tip every now and then.

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Our education: High hopes and unrequited dreams!

2010
07.07

IN the last few weeks I heard two young guns cussing (vociferously) for being coerced into pursuing a BCom degree at a young, impressionable age.

They mean no offense to the discipline but they question the role it played in shaping their careers (which is according to them is zilch). Today, one boy is a scholar in Political Science, the other a yoga instructor who comes home to train you.

Those five formative years (includes Class 11 and 12) of academic drudgery seem to have inspired infinite boredom in two bright, young minds. In hindsight, they wished they were more empowered in the decision-making; the yoga instructor wished he pursued a BSc in Yogic Science as this is his calling in life, and the political science scholar wishes he had pursued a Bachelor in Arts and not commerce and economics.

But at the time, they could not withstand family pressure, despite having good parents who want the best for their kids. But parents can be ill-informed and clichéd in their beliefs, which sediment over time due to lack of information on future job prospects.

For instance, my merchandiser friend who now works for a retail conglomerate (of somewhat vulgarly large proportions), is a glowing example of several wasted years on a generic degree. Today, one element of her job is to interact with craftspeople from across the country and the world (she is constantly raving about the boys and girls in the Philippines who are muchos creative!). She picks and chooses odds and ends, which she hopes will add some character to her consumer’s home. She loves this aspect of her job, immensely and when she meets the craftspeople, she is like a kid in a candy store, mesmerised by their creativity. But getting to the candy store proved to be an arduous journey.

After Class 12 she wanted to pursue a design programme at NIFT. Hailing from a family that rates literacy very high on their life agenda, her papa insisted she complete graduation (BCom) and then see if she still wanted to pursue NIFT.

She completed three years, and once again asked her papa about NIFT, and this time he insisted on an MCom degree, and the girl agreed. Two years down the line, again she asked about NIFT, and this time he had no choice but to agree since the girl refused to find a job. She gave the test and submitted her portfolio, a series of sketches all featuring solitary figures (a lone tree, a lone girl with sadness in her eyes and other such solitary objects). And then she made it, opting for a non-fashion design programme (textile perhaps).

She began life at NIFT, with classmates who were at least five years younger than her. It was an odd situation, but in a way a dream come true after five years of a forgettable academic experience.

The long and short of the matter is: should children be forced to pursue generic graduate degrees without mapping them to future job/ career prospects, marrying them with interest and aptitude? If not, then who will do the mapping, and at what age should both parents and children be exposed to multiple career paths that are more specific and less generic in nature?

During Class 11 and 12, we were pretty clueless as to what was on offer besides medicine, engineering and microbiology. I once contemplated becoming a nun, since I lived in a hostel run by them, and the strict regimen tends to sometimes mess with you head for a few weeks! Anyways, I opted for a BSc in Microbiology for a few weeks and an epiphany later, realised that it would be of absolutely no consequence to my life. So, I switched to a BSc in Physics but now work in editorial. During the course of the programme, I joined the Communications Club, mostly attended by Arts students, and the Prof who kicked it off made more than a dent in my impressionable young mind. The seeds of my future career were sown right then. I knew I wanted to be in the media, with a focus on education and careers. I suppose the drabness of my own college years, spurred me on. After all physics is an intriguing subject made excruciatingly dull by professors whose teaching methodology, not to mention worldview, bordered on the redundant.

On a different note, I joined Instituto Hispania to learn Espanol, a language that is music to my ears since I am inclined towards sangria, Gaudi, Dali and little coastal towns such as Torre Vieja (old tower) where if you speak good English, people mistake you for being from England (though I do detest bull fights from the bottom of my soul)! I was so looking forward to being a student once again, and embracing the joys of learning. But the institute managed to squish the sensuality and passion out of this lovely language, and reduce it to a series of theory lessons. Sigh.

As a nation, we seem to love to squeeze out all the joy of learning, don’t we? And our mantra seems to be” let’s take everything interesting and make it dull as ditchwater”.

So on the one hand you have, teaching methodologies that discourage curiosity and interactivity, encourage learning by rote. On the other, you have generic degrees pursued by million of students in the country. And what do we have at the end of it? Chronically unemployable kids.  You need only speak to employers, to understand the disdain with which they approach recruitment.

Remember I am not talking about the best institutions in the country (though some of them might also be highly suspect) but the thousands of institutes churning out an assembly-line production of generic graduates with some knowledge but little skills, every year across the country. One cannot merely blame parents for this odd state of affairs. The current system is just not rising to the occasion in terms of either meeting the demands of the job market or doing justice to a student’s aspirations.

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Are we the people, okay with rising prices? Yes, it seems!

2010
07.05

ON the onset, let me say that I don’t give a rat’s arse about either the party in power or those in the opposition. They both upset me in equal measure for varied reasons. So, I don’t really gravitate towards entire parties, just a few mavericks here and there who are all about getting the job done, as compared to their contemporaries who want political clout and little else.

But this bandh has left me feeling very weary, very sad and very dejected as a citizen of this nation; by itself, the debacle managed to garner so much more criticism than the very issue it is protesting against ie price rise.

The means of protest – the bandh – has hijacked the issue. In fact our FM has already announced that there shall be no roll back on prices, and though the opposition has deemed the bandh a blockbuster, the FM’s current stand pretty much means that we are back to Square One (throw in 2000 crore of losses incurred on one hand and daily wages lost by many poor people).

However, what upsets me more is people’s acceptance (those hailing from the upper middle class) of price rise as a natural progression of events ie being okay with it.

Have these folks stopped even for a minute to think about the fact that even if they decided to eat less because food costs more or cut back in other areas to spend more on food, it’s a death knell for poor people for whom eating less could pretty much mean eating nothing.

How can we be so darn cavalier about such an issue? If you have any doubts about it, just visit inane banter on twitter. such a waste of a public forum!

And yes, I get it that our food distribution channels are highly suspect and that there is much inertia on using/ finding alternative fuel sources for varying reasons, et al. But the long and short of it, is that the powers that be who are the current custodians of these issues, are the ones who need to work backwards and ensure that prices do NOT rise.

So, by merely venting our angst on this bandh, which has inconvenienced all and sundry, and by not speaking out on the price rise itself, we as citizens are missing the woods for the trees.

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Why Goans are squealing like pigs

2010
06.28

THE invasion of swanky housing projects has been a reality since The Great Depression (perhaps earlier). And now they are taking over the Goan landscape. Here’s a quick 101 on the state of affairs in India’s soon-to-be erstwhile paradise.

On May 17, 100 Goan activists were jailed and subsequently released for peaceful protests against the lack of development in the state. Several days later, PWD minister Churchill Alemao said, at a press con,” Whenever a construction project starts, Goans here start squealing like pigs.”

He was defending the construction of a mega luxury housing project in Carmona. Or rather his concept of development (agriculture and sustainable jobs be damned). According to a report in TOI dated May 26, 600 flats will be built in the small village and this was being vociferously opposed by Goa Bachao Abhiyan, an umbrella NGO for several protesting groups, and the Village Groups of Goa (VGG).

The minister’s audacious remark (not the first by any measure) inspired a symbolic protest by the the VGG; they clothed a pig in finery and paraded it around in the rear of the pick-up truck.

“Since Churchill Alemao called us Goans pigs, he should also tell us who feeds a pig like this? Does the mega construction company feed this pig? Or does Churchill feed it?” VGG spokesperson Zarinha da Cunha demanded to know.

To put things in perspective, Goa is currently “being developed” through a spate of swanky housing projects (a la the ones in Gurgaon and Noida). I do not begrudge corporates for initiating these projects. They are in it for the moolah, and that is what they shall continue doing.

But what is the government doing to regulate the distribution of electricity, water and other amenities between the old houses and the new developments? And where does preservation of the environment, the role of agriculture and creation of sustainable jobs in the state, feature in this development scheme?

My deceased uncle spent a lot of time tending his precious paddy fields courtesy of which we had some quality unpolished rice on our lunch and dinner table. But the cost of labour proved too costly and he eventually gave up.

This is the eventuality in most cases. In fact the government is buying off land from people who can longer afford to till their field (which now lies  idle) and in turn selling it to corporates, when in effect they must be encouraging and helping people to cultivate.

Housing projects and other types of projects, present a nice little opportunity for the politicos to fill their coffers. On one hand they are corrupt, but on the other they are also downright lazy and reticent about creating sustainable development, which needs thought, ideas, creativity, strategies, all things they are ill-equipped for. Of course, dubious intent defeats all purposes, first.

This country is being invaded by housing projects (some claiming to be eco-friendly) at lightening speed, and this will continue. I recall living in one of these swanky housing projects in Noida for eight months in 2009. The reason: they have power backup and it’s a gated community (advisable for single, career women in Noida). What the government of UP cannot provide, this corporate can, but at a ridiculously pretty price. I had to cough up Rs 2,000 per month so that I could sit in an air-conditioned room in the peak of summer. It wasn’t instant power back-up, and the electricity from the back-up took around 30 seconds to activate. My friend Alan who crashed at my house for a bit, once counted the number of powercuts in a day: 20!

2 K was pure maintenance. The electricity bill was extra. I wonder how the average Jo survives with such power shortages, not to mention the hard water that flows through his tap everyday. The latter corrodes your utensils, makes your hair fall and destroys all your clothes. You are ill-advised to drink it lest you want your intestines to be corroded, too.

But now I am digressing.

This international tourist destination is suffocating under the debri of housing projects and illegal constructions being erected dangerously close to the sea. What’s even sadder is that when Goans protest peacefully no one takes notice. But when protests get violent, it sets off a media frenzy and the government announces some knee-jerk measures to remedy the situation.

I hope the Indian media and the international media take notice of this travesty and reports on it with a vengeance, before it is too late. After all Goa still brings back many a found memory for many, as also the prospect of getaway.

But soon memories are all we may have. And some enterprising writer may pen a book or rather a eulogy titled The Goa we all used to know and love.

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Why are you scared of a Muslim?

2010
06.14

A COUPLE of weeks back a close friend from Mumbai popped down to Delhi for a work trip. Right off the bat I noticed she wasn’t sporting her pristine white Hijab; she donned it some years back as an experiment, felt comfy wearing it. It was here to stay. Or so we thought.

Sadly, this pristine white piece of cloth hampers her pace of work, she explained.

This qualified dentist who now works in the social sector, is fiercely dedicated to her NGO’s mission. But it turns out that the folks she interacts with during field trips are less receptive when she dons the Hijab. During more generic activities such as (surprise, surprise) watching a play at Prithvi Theatre, it arouses odd – sometimes devious stares – from supposedly evolved theatre-goers.

She now uses discretion when wearing it.

So whilst the Burka is being banned in Europe, here in India our girl conforms (for psychological reasons), so as to get the job done. A feisty American woman @jbacyrus tweeted: ‘What’s up with French people and their burqa obsession? Will they require boob displays next? http://bit.ly/cQ5Efb

Now S, who has been living for donkey’s years with her grandparents in an old building in a Mumbai suburb, has a paan-spewing tenant for a neighbour who also happens to be Muslim. During a society meeting, some members wanted to disallow Muslims as tenants and this seems to have been triggered by the tenant’s paan-spewing shenanigans. She pointed out coolly that she is Muslim too, but not a paan-spewing one, and that this act is related to personal preference, habit, not religion. During my house-hunting days in Mumbai a broker once told me in hushed tones that the landlord would prefer if I did not keep a Muslim roomie. Sigh.

S observed, “So, even if you want out of the ghetto, no one gives you a chance and you are forced to return and feel humiliation at the hands of the very same ghetto.”

“Okay, so you will get turned down by six people but what about the twelfth house. You must persist,” I suggested. “No, the twelfth person will also turn you down,” she said with conviction.

I felt a tinge of sadness because we grew up knowing Muslims, very closely. Our neighbour in Muscat was a loud, affectionate, garrulous, bindaas dishdasha-clad Omani chap named Khalid, whose daughter was tutored by my mother and whose wives (I think there were two) babysat us when the folks had chores to attend to. We attended Zakia’s (mum’s student) wedding, ushered in by wailing women.

And then, when I was six, mom would leave my sis and I, with this homely woman, whose kids Aftab and Amar became staunch playmates. Sadly, Amar is no more. We looking forward to the  Ramzan meal with the family after the sun set every evening. To date Mrs Jameel’s mutton gravy makes my mouth water.

And back to the present.

On a more positive note, a common male Muslim friend (of S and I) took the initiative and organised a big family holiday at a valley resort located many miles from Mumbai. The quiet little resort did not know what hit it when a bus full of bearded men and burqa-clad ladies arrived at the venue. My friend, who is in his late 20s, encouraged the ladies to take a dip in the pool (clothed from head to toe), a first for many women in the family.

He experienced “sheer delight” watching them enjoy themselves. “I had to cajole them into trying it. Someone said: this is so funny, water is going in everywhere! I had to hold their hand and slowly introduce them to the waters, something they have resisted for so long,” he says. According to him, the men and women in his family are so brilliantly house-trained that the housekeeping staff must wonder if anyone actually stayed in their rooms!

Coming back to my conversation with S I asked her very earnestly,” Why are people scared of Muslims?” She posed the very same question to me, and we pondered together. A couple of days later, I posed this question to another friend, a non-Muslim who was engaged to a Muslim boy for many years. This was her answer,” The sight of so many people praying in unison makes people sub-consciously envious of the community. It’s the numbers that instill the fear.”

”Okay, so people are scared but perhaps the younger generation should try and change perceptions,” I suggested to S. “I don’t think that’s the solution; people should just mix more, not keep a distance. Talk more, mingle more, have regular experiences,” she said, earnestly…

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100 Goan activists arrested for peaceful protest

2010
05.17

“When non-violent Indian protests decadent governance, no one notices. when violence reigns, India watches in horror”


On the afternoon of May 17 (Monday),  I received a frantic phonecall from Arjun, a friend and son of Judith, one of the activists who was arrested. According to Arjun, this is what transpired in Goa, right  outside the Secretariat in the capital Panjim:

Approximately 200 people representing various activist groups from across Goa gathered on the Verna Plateau (in Goa) between 10 am and 12 pm, to voice their anguish and misery at the devastation of Goa’s environment, lack of governance and rampant corruption in the state.

After speeches by members of various groups, it was decided that the groups would approach the Chief Minister Digambar Kamat with a list of demands on the very same day ie May 17, since Monday is the official ‘Public Grievance day’.

The group gathered outside the Secretariat, and after some time Chief Minister allowed five representatives to meet with him. He was asked to address the concerns of the people, to which he responded saying that the people had not made an ‘appointment’ with him and that ‘they were not his voters’.

The police then manhandled the delegation and women activists were assaulted in the absence of women police personnel .One woman was pushed over by a police inspector, which resulted in a head injury. The crowd was then arrested and were housed at the Porvorim police station.

The arrested citizens refused bail and were finally released. However, the war against decadent governance in Goa has just begun.

Goan citizens and activists, ready to speak up…


Judith Rebelo: 9970742046
Zarina D’Cunha: 9423313313
Swati Kerkar: 9823670072
Carmen Miranda: 9881281009

UPDATE (June 28)

THE invasion of swanky housing projects has been a reality since The Great Depression (perhaps earlier). And now they are taking over the Goan landscape. Here’s a quick 101 on the state of affairs in India’s soon-to-be erstwhile paradise.

Post jailing and subsequent release of the activists on May 17, PWD minister Churchill Alemao told reporters at a press con,” Whenever a construction project starts, Goans here start squealing like pigs.”

He was defending the construction of a mega luxury housing project in Carmona. Or rather his concept of development (agriculture and sustainable jobs be damned). According to a report in TOI dated May 26, 600 flats will be built in the small village and this was being vociferously opposed by Goa Bachao Abhiyan, an umbrella NGO for several protesting groups, and the Village Groups of Goa (VGG).

The minister’s audacious remark (not the first by any measure) inspired a symbolic protest by the the VGG; they clothed a pig in finery and paraded it around in the rear of the pick-up truck.

“Since Churchill Alemao called us Goans pigs, he should also tell us who feeds a pig like this? Does the mega construction company feed this pig? Or does Churchill feed it?” VGG spokesperson Zarinha da Cunha demanded to know.

To put things in perspective, Goa is currently “being developed” through a spate of swanky housing projects (a la the ones in Gurgaon and Noida). I do not begrudge corporates for initiating these projects. They are in it for the moolah, and that is what they shall continue doing.

But what is the government doing to regulate the distribution of electricity, water and other amenities between the old houses and the new developments? And where does preservation of the environment, the role of agriculture and creation of sustainable jobs in the state, feature in this development scheme?

My deceased uncle spent a lot of time tending his precious paddy fields courtesy of which we had some quality unpolished rice on our lunch and dinner table. But the cost of labour proved too costly and he eventually gave up.

This is the eventuality in most cases. In fact the government is buying off land from people who can longer afford to till their field (which now lies  idle) and in turn selling it to corporates, when in effect they must be encouraging and helping people to cultivate.

Housing projects and other types of projects, present a nice little opportunity for the politicos to fill their coffers. On one hand they are corrupt, but on the other they are also downright lazy and reticent about creating sustainable development, which needs thought, ideas, creativity, strategies, all things they are ill-equipped for. Of course, dubious intent defeats all purposes, first.

This country is being invaded by housing projects (some claiming to be eco-friendly) at lightening speed, and this will continue. I recall living in one of these swanky housing projects in Noida for eight months in 2009. The reason: they have power backup and it’s a gated community (advisable for single, career women in Noida). What the government of UP cannot provide, this corporate can, but at a ridiculously pretty price. I had to cough up Rs 2,000 per month so that I could sit in an air-conditioned room in the peak of summer. It wasn’t instant power back-up, and the electricity from the back-up took around 30 seconds to activate. My friend Alan who crashed at my house for a bit, once counted the number of powercuts in a day: 20!

2 K was pure maintenance. The electricity bill was extra. I wonder how the average Jo survives with such power shortages, not to mention the hard water that flows through his tap everyday. The latter corrodes your utensils, makes your hair fall and destroys all your clothes. You are ill-advised to drink it lest you want your intestines to be corroded, too.

But now I am digressing.

This international tourist destination is suffocating under the debri of housing projects and illegal constructions being erected dangerously close to the sea. What’s even sadder is that when Goans protest peacefully no one takes notice. But when protests get violent, it sets off a media frenzy and the government announces some knee-jerk measures to remedy the situation.

I hope the Indian media and the international media take notice of this travesty and reports on it with a vengeance, before it is too late. After all Goa still brings back many a found memory for many, as also the prospect of getaway.

But soon memories are all we may have. And some enterprising writer may pen a book or rather a eulogy titled The Goa we all used to know and love.


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Tweeple and the PPP (politics for personal profit)

2010
04.27

Demand accountability with a vengeance

SOMETIME back, in my capacity as concerned nee cynical citizen, I tweeted that Indian politics has degenerated to such abysmal levels that no matter what a politician says, I shall consider it false until proven true.

No matter what the news channels, magazines and other news sources report, it’s best to be suspicious and take absolutely nothing at face value, because all parties have some sort of vested interest. When the opposition opposes, usually in that typically patronising manner (like when Arun Jaitley lambasted UPA for not standing by their own HM, while opposition was ready to!), it does so, because it’s waiting in the wings of power.

When the state refutes, it is mostly saving face (as in the curious case of phone tapping when they maintained they did not “authorise” it, except that intercepting phone signals is not the same as tapping and it can happens sans “authorisation” as things stand).

So, in-between slanging matches in parliament, appearances on news channels, managing sports associations, orchestrating bandhs, vulgarly displaying garlands of moolah at rallies and other token gimmicks such as austerity drives, breaking bread with minorities, travelling by local trains, and the like, when do our dear politicos find the time to do an honest day’s work (like the rest of us)?!

When a politician is investigated, it’s even more curious. It might be because the media has decided to engage for a cause (Preity Zinta described media as “spectacular” when it came to Jessica Lall) when relatives of the deceased are unrelenting to political muscle.

A politician may be investigated because the opposition has created a ruckus of extreme proportions (as in the case of Tharoor), when another politico/ public officer must save own skin as well as protect his own private coffer (like some folks or may be all folks at the BCCI).

The long and short of it is that most are not working in the interests of the people. There is no pride in improving one’s own constituency, slapping things into shape, jumpstarting development (sans uprooting people). I don’t buy for a minute that development is being obstructed, merely due to violent elements such as the Maoists. If this was the only reason for the lack of development, the rest of the country would be paradise. Far from!

I think we citizens should be the ones raising hell in the most unapologetic manner, not the media or the opposition. More accountability, more transparency, more efficiency, more development, more period, from politicians.

Vir Sanghi recently wrote that, “Twitter can be fun. I know because I tweet. I have 3.6 lakh followers. But it cannot be—and should not be—confused with the real world”. But the other way to look at it is that the very fact that the ouster of a Minister and a CEO, all started with a Tweet, indicates that there is great potential in the medium.

I believe that Twitter has the potential to be much more than fun. It could be a platform for citizens to be more vocal about their discontent with how the country is being managed. Tweets are already used as fodder by news channels to gauge public opinion, a space reserved for mobile phone texts in the past. Accompanying the content of these Tweets, are the ids of Tweeples, clearly displayed on the TV screen. If a Tweet strikes a chord, you can instantly connect with the Tweeter using his or her id.

Which other platform gives you the luxury and opportunity to connect with politicos, corporate honchos, journos, authors, activists, and the like, across the globe, besides of course regular people, everywhere? The Twitterbug is here to stay, so I urge more people to get online and express themselves vociferously; connect, discuss, debate and engage with peers and the powers that be, on matters of development, governance et al, besides of course stuff like what’s on the lunch menu, PJoftheday, today’s pickup line ‘n’ why we love Justin Bieber.

Tweets can even move simultaneously to Buzz and FB. I honestly believe that the nation must Twitter away about what must can be done to improve the lot of this country.

Some Tweetworthy related reading:

Travesty: Eating disorder

Hope: Development in the time of Naxalism

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Gay night out!

2010
03.31

WHEN a gay fashion designer invites one for the opening of his new signature store, be ready for both drama and surprise. Not that all gay people are dramatic. Some folks are subtle, and prefer maintaining a low profile (such as my friend Sunshine).

But coming back to the evening, post working the zombie hour for a couple days with pasty skin and disheveled kurtas, this soiree presented a nice opportunity to transform from geek to goddess. It was time to deck up to the nines, with heels, pencil jeans, chunky silver jewellery, the works. It was also time for eye shadow. Powder blue.
I landed up at chic little boutique, which had stark white décor and found myself in a room teeming with gay men. A familiar face popped out of the woodwork, and some air kissing happened. He introduced me to his friends. One of them was a doctor who also choreographs. Another owned an art gallery and sweetly invited me to explore it on a Sunday.

Post white wine, sushi and banter, someone christened me with an epithet that is popular in the gay world. It sounded a lot like ‘Fat Hag’. I stared at the boy curiously, and turns out he meant Fag Hag; a straight woman who hangs out with gay men (detailed description available on Wiki). Someone then asked me if I had noticed so-and-so’s brand new shoes. I said,” No”. “Then you’re an FFH…a Fake Fag Hag,” he said, tweaking epithet with precision.

In the course of the evening I chatted with this chap who grew up in a predominantly Roman Catholic country. His coming out (at the age of 12) was a horrific journey, and I was shocked to hear that he was beaten up every day by family and at school kids were encouraged to throw things at him. Daily living was a nightmare and he finally fled to the US. Since then he has been very happy with an Indian partner, who’s own coming out story was much more tender. His mother cried for one night. Now, all is well.

Post the inauguration, we proceeded to a nightclub owned by a well-known fashion designer in Delhi. One of the straight boys in the group (who hails from my hometown), looked bewildered, flabbergasted, flummoxed by this explosion of effeminate men, who air kissed, dressed chic and expressed themselves with a certain joie de vivre. The doctor who choreographs took me under his wing and began scoping out straight men in the vicinity, and with a vengeance.

While he went off to continue with his R&D, one chap came up to me and asked for my number. This very forward gesture by a Delhi straight male, reminded me of something I was told when I first came to the city. It is the gay capital of the country. “Also, everyone is sleeping with everyone,” the person said of people in the upper middle class and upper class, where promiscuity reigns supreme. Indeed, the folks oozed sexiness from every pore. As they canoodled with one person, they also scoped out remaining eye candy in the room.

I shooed away the chap, figured that all straight (or most) men in room looked kinda daft and joined some people on the dance floor. A couple was grooving together just a stone’s throw away, when one of them dropped his beer.

Two drops fell on my sleeves, and he apologised profusely. Seizing the moment, I told him that he could make good by buying me a drink. And he did. And guess how much this measly pint of Kingfisher cost? Rs 300. “This would have cost me Rs 5 or something to that effect in Goa, “ I whispered to a friend.

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He’s a pistol. Not an AK-47

2010
03.29

Daffy, the survivor. An auto ran over him when he was a baby.

For the last one month or so I have been coordinating with a local NGO, which works towards the welfare of animals, especially street dogs. I wanted to get ma boy Daffy – a little street un’ whom I feed everyday – vaccinated. Many people feed street animals but don’t vaccinate them. Besides it being a prevention measure, since a dog is a dog is a dog and it will bark, most people feel safer in the presence of a vaccinated street dog.

Finally, I called up the owner and told him very agitatedly that if we don’t vaccinate ASAP, the little fellow is going to bite someone. Paranoia will strike the neighbourhood and someone would also come after me, blaming me for the debacle. Anyways, he agreed to send his people.

They landed up at 10 am, an army of four, equipped to face the lion in his den. Except that this lion is one and a half years old, has a back that is slightly squished (an auto drove over him when he was little) and who will wag his tail at anyone who expresses a smattering of affection.

The plan was that I would take him to his usual corner where he would be fed, and then we would proceed to vaccinate. Two of the boys landed up with their dog-catcher sticks (two long poles with a noose at the end of each one). The boy started barking at them with a vengeance. I think he smelt something fishy. One chap slipped in from the other gate. He then grabbed the boy using the skin at the back of his neck, and not in the right manner. This tactic proved disastrous; Daffy peed, not one but twice out of fear, and then scampered away in fright. It was a horrific sight, and in the bargain I found myself fending off some tears. The guys looked at me as if I was a ninny. I told the dog catcher that I would go after the boy, but he must stay as many square miles away as possible.

Boy was found crouching on the porch. As dudes approached, he began barking at the ambulance and all the local dogs joined in the symphony, which pretty soon reached deafeningly-high decibel levels. I tried feeding him a biscuit, but all appetite was quashed. Finally, he came and sat next to me but refused to follow me to the ambulance.
So I finally lifted him myself (he was heavy as hell), walked towards the ambulance and sat with him in my lap. By now he had calmed down significantly.

The door was pulled shut and one chap standing at one window, held his mouth closed (gently) and another sat on the driver’s seat and gave him two quick injections. It was over in five seconds, and Daffy did not as much as wiggle.

He hopped out of the van, and I paid the folks after they took 15 whole minutes to tell me the details. In dog years that is several hours, and the dogs in the neighbourhood grew very, very agitated, howling themselves hoarse. I requested them to park the van outside the compound, but they were callous and nonchalant about it. “Madame, they also bark at our NGO,” one told me in the most sub-moronic manner. ”True, but the local people here will get very irritated and not understand what the drama is all about,” I said, and right then a man came and tossed a large stick on one of the howling dogs.

It is far fetched to expect the average pedestrian to be kind to animals, considering that they are often not kind to even humans! However, one would expect these boys from an NGO that uses celebs to promote their cause, to be both, sensitive and sensible. But no. This is a job for them, and they are not attuned to treating situations with some amount of finesse. But let me not blame mere mortals for earning a living, in a manner can sometimes prove fatal.

While I have no doubt that the owners of the NGO have the best intentions and love animals to distraction, it currently functions like a one-man show, and that is not condusive for the survival and expansion of any initiative or enterprise. When a volunteer wants to join hands to help, one is left standing for a couple of hours at the venue with no one to give you any instruction in the areas where there is much to be desired. The call-to-action is missing as is resource mobilisation. The website states that they need newspapers and clothes and things. On several occasions, I have asked them to come and collect all these items and more, neatly stashed away in garbage bags at my house. They just answer in the affirmative and never show up.

Sadly one has very few alternatives in this city that are besides being committed, are consistent in their functioning. So, one has no choice but to call this one in question since vets will never come to a street doggie, let alone any doggie even if you are ready to pay them. On a different note, many people claim to love dogs. But this is really code for approving of a particular brand of dog, that comes with beautiful sheen, costs a ton of cash, is walked and attended to by a dog walker and may eventually be abandoned by being tied to a pole somewhere.

PS: 3-year-old Rottweiler found tied to pole (abandoned by owners) in Delhi. Very docile. needs good home, desperately. call Ritu @ 9810111691

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Eggetarian days

2010
03.27

I AM giving eggetarianism a serious shot. It’s not a health and fitness decision, but an emotional one (as my Editor pointed out); I realise that I can no longer suffer the cruel methods used to butcher animals in this country (maybe others, too).

One of the worst killing rituals I have witnessed is the excruciatingly painful and gruelingly long manner in which we butcher pigs in Goa. I was about 10 years old. Some folks cooed and whistled with rapt excitement akin to Spaniards at a bullfight. Both are equally inhumane killings, though the bullfight would figure higher up on the cruelty scale. They prepare the bull; intoxicate and agitate it sufficiently, by poking it with spears before it thunders down the rink. The matador’s job is to massacre it, and this spectacle entertains fair maidens and royalty.

I watched a documentary on a bullfight at a bullfighting rink, which is no longer functional, in Barcelona. Thank God. It made the bile rise.

Coming back to the little piggy, a slit is made in its throat, and the blood is collected, and later used to add flavour and thicken the gravy in certain dishes. For some time the poor thing scampers about, looking very alarmed. Then it bleeds and squeals itself to death, literally. The entire village knows what’s happening and so do the remaining pigs in the pen. That’s how loud the squealing gets.

Some have asked: what about plants? Yes, they suffer too. But having been born a non-vegetarian, giving up meat by itself is a tough nut to crack, but I am committed. Every now and then, I feel very tempted to bite into some salami, and then I remember the squealing piggy. So if you see me taking a bite of a chicken wing, forgive me. It’s probably during a moment of weakness, when the flesh is weak.

Baby steps.

I also come from a family, with a legacy of meat eaters. In the past, I have jokingly called myself a carnivore when people enquired if I eat meat. Turkey, sorpatel, vindaloo and tiger prawn balcao, grace the dinner table at family dos. Holidays and dinners may prove difficult if there’s only meat on the menu. How does one tackle such limitations without causing a scene, inviting difficult questions and being labeled as someone gone cuckoo? It’s something I need to figure out.

On the bright side, I am sampling a variety of vegetarian food in a city, which has some of the best food I have ever tasted in my whole life. This transition is forcing me to do it, and there were some wonderful surprises, along the way. Dal Bhatti, a crunchy Rajasthani delicacy, best consumed when warm. Paneer Tikka Masala, a spicy concoction, relished with a garlic naan. Bhatura. Paneer Chilli Fry.

A veggie friend should be thrilled about this development. Now, we can break bread together.

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