In Shambles Lay The Freedom Of Expression.

It really isn't a very nice feeling, being ever so flustered at the egregious way your own motherland functions. A week or so back I was taking part in this mock parliament in this fest called Vaayu (perhaps some of you have heard of it?) and I found myself debating a topic that's been rather popular among the cynics and intellectuals for a while now - about the Indian sensitivities and censorship yada yada yada. The educated have closely linked the Salman Rushdie incidents and the Jay Leno incidents and have come down heavily on the Indian sensitivities and perhaps even going to the extent of accusing India of being an abattoir of free expression.
In that mock session I was forced for the sake of participation to take up a conservative argument and support the view that such furtive behavior towards certain impudent opinions was justified and that the authorities only did it in the interest of the citizens at large. Surprisingly it wasn't a very hard argument to construct given the fact that I'd fancy myself more as a part of a more liberal school of thought.
Somehow this Saturday all that came crashing down, and I now come to the reason why I feel all this anger towards Incredibly yours, India. See up until now I could always put up an argument as to why curbing the freedom of expression is bad but I never really felt for it this passionately, in the course of these few days however I seem to have become more angered at the situation.
It all started when I went to the Juhu crossword to pick up my weekly issue of the economist. As uncanny as it was the shelf still had last weeks edition. I asked the ignoramuses that worked at the store but they hadn't a clue as to what was wrong. I quickly rushed over to the Andheri branch only to be disappointed again.I asked a few friends to check a few other outlets, no one in the city had the economist. Strange.
It was while I was talking to a friend who actually subscribes to the magazine that I got to know what the matter really was. This is an excerpt from the mail she received from the economist -

"We deeply regret to inform you that we will not be able to deliver your subscription copy of the February 11th issue of The Economist.


This issue includes a special report on Pakistan and features a map showing the disputed territories. India does not allow us to show the current effective border, requiring us instead to show only its territorial claims. As a result, the issue has been seized by the Indian customs authorities."

Now there is this gargantuan chagrined feeling that I've been having for the last couple of days, but what can one do? Not every one can fast unto death to fix whats wrong like some astonishing and intriguing leaders we have today, nor can we print revolutionary articles in papers like the visionaries Chetan Bhagat or Suhel Seth for example. We cant even go on talk shows and advocate how 'Baapu' would react to get the country back on track like Tushar Gandhi would do. So I have to live with this chagrined feeling although the entire matter sickens me now, repulses me to say the least.  Once again, I present to you Incredible India. 

The Elephant's Dream

Economics is a mystical subject, one that even the greatest minds cannot always get right. The world today is experiencing a paradigm change when it comes to the question as to where the economic power actually lies. People everywhere are announcing the shift of power from the glorious west to the BRIC economies. But how much of this paradigm shift is purely speculation?
While Mr. Schwab and the W.E.F build models about Global Redesign Initiatives and the likes of other eminent western economists harp on tunes of the world working together as a community to restore order in the fragile situation the world economy is in today (refer: Europe and even America a while back), most of us simpletons back home just wonder if India will actually be a superpower in the years to come. For some time now we have been hearing optimists say that India is going to rise to new heights and make its way to a superpower for a while now, but how real is this dream? 
Most economic thinkers back home think it is institutional changes that would set India to this path. But how does one bring about these institutional changes, especially to such a schizophrenic economy that our leaders have assiduously worked to keep in such tangles for decades now.  Maybe the likes of Anna Hazare and his intriguing ideas could work as the disruption that the country needs to bring about many of these changes. But jokes aside, what could we do that we assuredly get that superpower position that we have wanted for aeons now.
One thing that needs immediate attention is for our leaders to get their priorities right. Our political class has been battling the grounds of otiose issues right through the year gone by and at this rate I wouldn’t be surprised if we got back to the Hindu growth rate in a couple of years. India Inc as well needs to get its relations right with our leaders in parliament, the current mud-slinging between the two will get us nowhere.
Somehow it is simply difficult to answer a question about India as ‘Incredible India’ truly has so many forces pulling in so many different directions. Even if we compare India to the other BRIC economies you would see a very many differences. Much to the delight of the capitalists in the west, India seems to very confused about its policy towards privatization as well. Whether it is the recent debacle about 100 per cent FDI or just the general residual Nehruvian Socialistic attitude even after liberalization, India all in all seems rather perplexed.  Last weeks Economist had a special report on how a lot of the rising powers today are using a model of State Capitalism where they bring about the best of both worlds, the very cynical report towards this new model being used in the BRIC countries excludes Indian PSUs calling them leftovers from the Licence Raj. Where does that leave us? Neither are we working at efficient levels on the invisible hand nor on the visible one.
I bring up just a couple of issues here, but there are arrays of such questions that need answering.
As a student of economics still, I can’t conclusively say where the elephant is headed but I sure can tell you that the mahud is giving the elephant a very many mixed signals. Where this elephant actually goes only time can tell.

A Pinch Of Salt.

India truly does bring out the meaning of the phrase 'Unity In Diversity'. I mean in this 21st century the way this exuberant democracy functions remains a remarkable feat.
India does have certain shortcomings though, one of them being the divide on communal lines. A very many people believe that communal issues remains one of the major debacles today in Indian society.I must point out however that such a statement is not entirely true.
India maybe full of people belonging to various religions and communities but over the years our country has assiduously worked her way to building such national unity where an person identifies himself as an Indian first and then from whatever religion he may be. One such quintessential characteristic of an Indian across all religions is their tolerance.
India is a democracy that prides herself over her freedom and after more than sixty years of her existence the people have built this love for peace and tolerance, aah what Gandhians!!
For example the Hindus have learnt to be very tolerant and live in harmony with their Muslim brothers, its a whole different issue that one of them (read: MF Hussain)  decides to paint Hindu goddesses naked, I mean that sort of blasphemy calls for the bajrang dal, no questions asked what so ever. The Muslims too have learnt to be peace loving, they have not picked a quarrel on religious grounds for a while now. We have to give them the leeway of the fact that they threatened Rushdie such that he could have nothing to do with the Jaipur Lit fest, but he is one of their own right? We should have that much freedom such that they settle their squabbles amongst themselves at the least.
The Sikhs are another case in point, I mean for so many years they have been the butt of all jokes and their santa- banta classics have had us in splits. They have been real good sports all this while so we really should cut them some slack when they are ready to go up in arms when Mr. Leno says that the golden temple was Mitt Romney's summer home. As long as you uphold that all Indians are brothers and sisters its okay to have your guard up against Americans with a vile sense of humor making jokes about your religion.
Like I said before India truly has come a long way, *sigh* , Amazing India. 

Its Just Another Day In Paradise.

It was another mundane class of agricultural economics. I had comfortably seated myself in the last few rows where I could afford a little afternoon siesta. The poor and deprived farmers of India shall have to remain uncared for a while longer I guess. Soon enough though the class got over, I really didn't have the willingness or energy to stay through the day in college and decided to make my way home in the purple of afternoon.
I was rather disoriented for some reason, and although our class was on the eighth floor I decided to make my way down the stairs. I waded through the acrid floors of UPG and Mithibai college and got an auto rickshaw parked right outside the gate.
As we made our way down the road, the auto slowed down at the first signal and stalled in the first line of vehicles at that signal. I peered out my auto as the melodious tune of 'she will be loved' (maroon 5) kept playing in my ears from that old i-pod. A young mother dressed in a cool summer jeans and tank top was crossing the road with her young child. She must have been something around five or six years old. She had a tiny pink bag with one sling gently placed across her shoulder and kept adjusting it. It was all rather amusing because the child had evidently picked it up by seeing other women around her continuously adjust their handbags.
The other side of the road still had traffic and they waited until it would empty out such that they could cross. Another girl about the same age suddenly came up from behind the auto to greet the mother and child standing there. She was about the same age but juxtaposing to the well dressed babe that stood with her mother. This girl wore tattered clothes and had her hair in a mess, unwashed for days together. Her face had smudged mascara and marks from nights of crying all alone. She poked the mother on her buttocks and lay her hand out asking for some alms but the mother was quick to dismiss her off with a wave of elitism. She despised these street urchins, it was all very evident from her face. The mother pulled her daughter and crossed the road hurriedly now, the urchin followed them across.
The mother started to look for autos completely aware of the urchin still lurking around. The daughter broke away from her mother grip in a rather abrupt fashion and stared looking through her little bag. The mother was too busy in getting an auto, a formidable task indeed in this city. The daughter called the urchin closer and took a small box out of her bag. She jingled the box a couple of times and slowly opening it took out a shiny one rupee coin. She looked at this coin with radiant eyes for a brief period and then gently placed the coin in the urchins hand. The mother had by now noticed what was happening and quickly and firmly grasped her daughters hand and climbed into an auto that she had just stopped. The daughter gave the urchin a wide grin and got pushed into the auto that took off in a couple of seconds.
The urchin made her way back and soon came begging to my auto. Now I usually don't believe much in giving alms but after this entire incident my hand just automatically slipped into my pocket, My fingers did not even take permission from my brain and was already picking out one of the new ten rupee coins. I quite fancy those coins and dont give them around, but this just called for it. I placed it in the urchins hand and it took a few harrowed stares from her side to actually grasp that it was a ten rupee coin. She looked back at me and had a wide grin on her face, much like the daughter a few seconds ago.
We are ever so often told to not behave in a  childish fashion, to grow out of our childishness. Somehow no one tells you, that you must try hard to never lose your child-like-ness. That innocence was something that made me simper to myself as the signal broke and my auto sped ahead. 

Where art thou, Guardian Angel.

The head and the chest have been throbbing for a while now. Its like I can feel this white light emanating from within my body. I was at peace. I was in a trance.
The night gone by had been one where the mere mortal and the great destroyers souls had merged. They had drawn breath together. I did not have Shakti on my phallus but the rest of the experience was much like a bhor tapasya.
A lot has happened over the last one month. A lot has changed. The world is ever changing like that, in fact there were probably ten odd life defining moments happening in the very house where I meditated. A lot of things changed around me last night while I sat in my sacrosanct and pristine state of mind.
Life has been a haze, a hurly burly really. The thing that bothers me these days is that I live a fearful person. I lack perspective to do anything with this life. Economics is intriguing and writing is my passion, but where lies my will to live? Where lies that pursuit of happiness.
Perhaps I should not bother my innocent mind with these thoughts. Let my genius rest, it has poked my shoulder for a long time now. Its tiring really, perhaps I shall sleep a while longer. The sleep of the woodchuck in winter.  

Art, Naturally!

Somewhere in the countryside of Incredible India he roamed like a spirit in those woods, collecting pieces of wood and branches that appeared like a divine form of art to him. There are a hundred ways in which the human mind can express itself, and sometimes the abstract is beautiful.
It was a few years back in my days of youth that I visited him, forgive my absolute lack of memory because I don’t recall the exact place or date, and in that house saw his perception of what he thought to be magnificent art. I laughed out loud (LOLed in its actual sense) at the sight; such figures were a very amusing sight to my innocent and foolish mind. See what that man had done was collect such branches from the forest floor and polish…them that’s all. And he saw beauty in them, figures of men and women and birds and animals and all sorts of other things. He had called it ‘au naturel art’ I remember distinctly. 
 It had achieved a decent level of fame now in the stagnant lands of cultural richness, Bengal. It was a small galleria in the town of the Nobel poet, the town of Shanti-Niketan. This was years later, when I was an adolescent. The memory of the man who saw figurines in wood a distant memory tucked away in some corner. This was slightly different, it was rocks. This particular gallery contained rocks and stones found naturally in the countryside that looked peculiarly like some figure. One like Ganesha, one like a swan and another like a bull…there were all sorts of rocks that met the eye.
  I was never really a great fan on art and was still very bemused at this entire display, quite like the younger version of me. Evidently I hadn’t matured much.  As we walked through the gallery, most of the art was met by cynical remarks and over-smart wise cracks.
 After we left the small gallery my parents tried to explain how very often there is beauty in the abstract. I didn’t quite understand what they were talking up. A couple of years passed and I moved out and went to the city of bright lights, Mumbai, to do my college. This one time when I was flying back to Bangalore and my i-pod didn’t quite seem to work right I found myself looking outside the window. I didn’t have much of a choice as my rather faithful companion had finally stopped functioning like its fine prior self.
Lo! As I looked outside the window I saw so many picturesque images in the clouds. I won’t even go into the details and description of all the things I did see, but I could tell you that I could swear by Jove that one cloud even looked like a tele tubby.
The flight landed and I went back home after the tiring journey from the Bangalore airport to the city. My parents were never told, I really didn’t want to admit to my folks that they were right all along, right through my childhood. The joke was on me. But yes! I had myself discovered now, what they all call ‘beauty in the abstract’  

In New Shoes.

It was the purple of afternoon and most of the others in the kingdom were high up in their abodes engaged in their afternoon siesta. The innocent babe twitched his snout again as the bee flew by, it had been pestering him for quite some time now.  The child’s eyes were fixed on something else though, not quite bothered about the bee buzzing near his face.  He was fascinated by those round robust and rather scrumptious looking oranges that hung high in the branches of the tree under which he had seated himself.  The elders had always said that he was special and he had very thick fur and a peculiarly long tail for his age but this did not mean that he could jump unusually high and get that perfect orange for himself.  The odds really were against him but he never was the kind who would leave believing that the grapes, or in this case oranges, were sour.
   He crouched on his hind legs like he had often seen the elders do whole jumping trees and jumped as high as he could. He may have been the apple of his mother’s eye and the most popular child in the tribe but that did not imply that he could fly up to the realms of the juicy oranges and pluck one out. After all he was only a child. This was followed by a series of recurring attempts, obviously all fails. He had almost given up and had arrived at the conclusion that his love for oranges was futile when he looked up and noticed the most spectacular thing. It was above the tree, far above it in fact. It was this huge orange sphere, the largest he had ever seen. It was beautiful and grand and full of splendour. He wanted it.  
 With all the energy he had in him he leaped up into the air. He was bewildered at what seemed to happen. He kept rising and rising. Past the tree of oranges that seemed so far away earlier. In a while he could look down and see the earth below him. What was happening, he was utterly perplexed. ‘Aah! who cared how this was happening’ he thought to himself, the important thing was that he was getting closer and closer to that gigantic orange in the sky.  He was almost there when suddenly he felt a strong gust of wind against him. He tried to fight it but the wind was too strong for him and he had no control so to speak over his flight. The wind blew him hither and thither like a thistle and slowly and gently deposited him back on the green grass of the gardens that he was previously playing on.
 He lay there in a dilemma of emotions. He didn’t know what had happened today and how he was to ever tell the story to anyone without being laughed at. He decided that it was best to forget all about it, the important thing right now was that he was orange-less. Orange-less. He began to wail thunderously until his mother came rushing and took him back home, cajoling him all the way back.

                                                                           ***

That was the closest he would ever get to the child, his own son. He would have refrained from this too but letting the child touch the sun was too great a risk.  He could afford a smile now having come in such proximity to the child. After many such days of angst and torment this was definitely one of the more pleasant days.  
 He would watch him every alternate day but his love for the child forced him to stay away from him. He was the god of the trade winds; he could bring about storms and have what he pleased from this mortal realm. Never in the history of his immortal life had he felt so helpless, it was all very new to him.
 
That one fateful night where he had given in to a moment of lust had cost him such a great deal. He had never foreseen such a situation at all that night atop the hill. The silken apsara had glided to his side guilt free.  She wouldn’t even hold the scar of that into her vanar form; it had seemed a very good bargain for him. Alas the unforeseen, now this innocent babe played in front of his orbs every single day. The child had almost looked like one of his cherubins on one such day infact, and that had in fact moved him to tears. A god, with a flowing tribulet down his cheeks. 
 He couldn’t tell the child about his existence for the sake of the child’s own sanctity, he had loved the child too much to do that. The worst part was that this love sort of manifested itself as a jealous rage, one targeted at the vanar father.
 The father was unaware of the entire situation, but still he was the one that got to enjoy the childhood of this babe. Why! the child would be called Maruti and Anjaneya, but where was the father’s name. Why should he be fortunate enough? It burned the god, it really did but again he was just as helpless.
 Some day that blue boy who was destined to slay the demon of Lanka would unleash this childs power, the one that he inherited from his father. Someday the wise old bear would tell the child of his real father.  It was up to the stars, but he would have missed the babes childhood by then. It was rather uncomfortable, these new shoes were. He took a deep breath awaiting that fateful day in the distant future when the child will know himself as Maruti. Until then his only companions were love and jealousy.