Surreal Realities

The X-Men Pack a Punch; Apocalypse a Bummer

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Thu, 16 Jun 2016 05:19:00 +0000

Flashbacks, flashbacks, flashbacks…the latest edition of the X-Men movie series, ‘X-Men Apocalypse’, are full of them. For a casual movie fan who has never read the comics or watched the cartoons, I found the movie entertaining (in contrast to the reviews), which packed in most of my favourite characters, except for one major disappointment…the villain.

In the last movie of the third prequel, we revisit young Professor X/ Charles Xavier (James McAvoy) and Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto (Michael Fassbender), and are introduced to a teenage Jean Grey/Phoenix (Sophie Turner), Storm (Alexandra Shipp), and Scott Summers/Cyclops (Tye Sheridan). Ten years have passed after the Paris Peace Accords from ‘X-Men: Days of Future Past’. A wanted man, Magneto moves to Poland, takes a new name, settles down with a wife and daughter and lives an ordinary life ignoring his superpowers, while the professor is busy doing what he does best…running his School for Gifted Youngsters.

A super powerful mutant, Apocalypse, buried for thousands of years, is brought back to life and proclaims himself as God. In a hurry to recruit disciples he meets the professor and gets envious about his mind reading gift… thus war begins.

Featuring various mutants from the Marvel series, the film even gives Wolverine a cameo. And in the little time he is seen, he meets Jean Grey for the first time and the chemistry between them is evident; although, honestly this Jean is tad too young for him. Talking of which, the movie total indulges its romantic fans. All our favourite mutant couples get their moments in the movie — Beast and Mystique, Jean and Scott, Jean and Logan and even Professor and his CIA girlfriend Moira MacTaggert.

The movie takes us back in time with scenes from the other XMen movies, which helps revive our memories as much as it keeps the movie within budget.

Magneto goes through a inner turmoil to decide whose side he is on, while we get to see the dark side of Storm. We see a struggling Jean and Scott come to terms with their uncontrollable powers.

But, the central character of the movie was a utter disaster. Apocalypse is the ultimate baddie with multiple mutant powers, but acts like a stubborn toddler and looks too much like a carton villain. Suffering from bad dialogues, he comes across as all brawn and no brain and has a flimsy strategy unlike the solid ones by other bad guys we have seen in the X Men movies… namely Striker, Sebastian Shaw and off course the glamorous Magneto.

Hotters' Alert: Spotting a Baby Owl

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Fri, 11 Mar 2016 11:50:00 +0000

Earlier this week, I spotted an adorable baby owl, which put an end to any fears I had about the nocturnal bird. Well, more like I gatecrashed into its home, clicked plenty of photographs and tried to find common ground.

The bird's nest was a hole inside the trunk of a dead coconut tree on a uninhabited piece of land in an interior part of the city. To the best of my knowledge, it was a Tawny owlet and lived with its mother in the nest. No siblings or broken eggs were seen in the vicinity.

The withered tree, which stood tall and swayed dangerously in the post-noon breeze, had no leaves left and its bark had begun to peel off in the summer heat. Sensing the danger it could pose to the children playing on the field, my uncle shook the tree and it came crashing down. Before I realised what was happening, I heard a big crash and the flapping of wings. I, on looking up, got a glimpse of the fully-grown mother owl that flew out of the hole.

On further inspection, we found a little suprise inside the tree -- a curious hunched owlet. Although it was yet to master the legendary owl "hoot", it made some very distinct birdy sounds. One thing which surprised me was how clearly its eyes followed me. I was expecting the nocturnal bird to be almost completely blind in daylight. However, as I moved from left to right it keenly watched me and seemed to warm up to us the longer we stayed. The bird had prominent claws, could hop from one branch to the other and flapped its wings; however, it was not yet capable of full flight.

My mother said the owlet creeped her out and blamed it on the folklore she heard, when she was young, about owls being evil and a harbinger of death. But as I looked into its big warm brown eyes, all I could thing of was how lucky Harry Potter was to have an owl for a pet.

To keep it safe from stray dogs, we left the owlet high on the fork of a tree and it camouflaged with the brown branches. It was already late evening, so we hoped mama bird would return soon and find a sturdier home for little Hedwig.

Of Hand-written Tests and Horrible Handwritings

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Mon, 29 Feb 2016 08:39:00 +0000

Today, I was asked to write something on paper, with a pen. As I read my own musings, I was reminded of a fact I have known as long as I’ve known my ABC – that my handwriting is messier than my vomit (sorry if you just ate).

Why? Why? Why do companies still take tests on paper when there are plenty of free computers around? Or at least a typewriter for goodness sake. We need to throw all those evaluation sheets out the window. No, not literally, but figuratively. Scoop them all up and hurl them out the window. Hand-written tests are like a conspiracy by calligraphy artists, who ran out of business with technology advancement. Its their scheme to shame those of us who are transcriptionally disabled.

Every time I write something with a pen or pencil for someone else, I feel like I’m exposing a part of my soul. Apart from shunning my atrocious handwriting and swearing beneath their breath as they try to figure out what the hell I've scribbled, I know they are judging me - wondering if I have criminal tendencies, trying to analyse my mental health based on every illegible vowel or assuming my unproportionate letters translates to childhood dreams. If you have done that in the past, all I have to say is STOP! Stop analyzing people’s characters based on their handwriting. You can’t do that, and anyone who claims they can is a big fat liar.

I remember drooling over my cousin’s handwriting as a kid. No, he was not a pretentious innocent puppy. On the contrary, he was quite a badass at that age. Bunking tuition classes like nobody’s business, driving the car while his parents weren’t home when he was only 13 years old, picking up fights with boys older than him. Yes he was the exact opposite of your stereotypical good child gifted with a good handwriting. But he didn’t have a good one; his handwriting was great. The reason being he had a real gift -- he was an artist and drew awesome action figures while doing his homework.

Its not like I did not try. I did the grind when I had to. Wrote those cursive writing assignments in schools, got beaten with a steel scale (that’s Indian schools in the 90s for you) if I forgot the book at home, and occasionally, I repeat occasionally, got a star or ‘V. Good’ sign (meaning very good) from my teachers. Apart from being a badge of honor, this special star for outstanding calligraphic performances meant you didn’t have to submit that wretched half-page cursive writing assignment the next day (yay, happy dance!). But in spite of all that effort I end up with this -- a handwriting that resembles Leonardo DiCaprio’s face after the bear attack in The Revenant (congrats on today’s Oscar Leo!).

The irony is I was asked to write something on online courses and tutoring, a field where technology has revolutionised the way we look at classrooms, but the only technology I used to convey that message was the fluid technology inside my ball point pen. Taking of which, maybe I should enroll for a online handwriting course. On second thought, chuck it! I’d rather save up and buy myself a uber-cool drawing pad with a sophisticated stylus and learn to illustrate. Maybe I’ll eventually be able to sketch those action figures my cousin used to when we were pre teens.

Helping Malayalam Take the Digital Leap

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Mon, 22 Feb 2016 16:13:00 +0000

( This article of mine was published in The New Indian Express)

Even as the world celebrated International Mother Language Day on Sunday, the digital experience for non English speakers is highly diminished. Vernacular languages face several challenges on the digital front -- from not being supported by operating systems and mobile apps to a minuscule presence on the Internet, which is dominated by English.

Swathanthra Malayalam Computing (SMC) is a free software group which has spearheaded the movement to bridge the language divide in Kerala on the technology front and is today the biggest language computing community in the country. The volunteer-based group has created several Malayalam fonts, a keyboard for the blind, supported many government digital projects and a keyboard that can support Indian languages for android phones.

“The primary objective of SMC was to enable people to read and write digital content clearly in Malayalam,” said Hrishikesh K B, secretary of the group. Towards that aim, SMC’s first challenge was to develop open source Malayalam fonts.

“Developing fonts for an Indian language is slightly more tedious than English, as languages like Malayalam have many more characters and some are conjunct consonants or combination characters. So we had to develop a rendering engine which would display the right script,” said Hrishikesh. Till date the group has created 10 Malayalam fonts.

The open source collective, which was initially called Malayalam Linux, was started by Baiju Muthukadan in 2001, when he was a student at NIT, Calicut. “I realised that Linux supported a few foreign languages like Portuguese, so I wanted to explore if the same could be done for Malayalam,” said Baiju.

Soon other Malayalam-loving programmers joined him and a mailing list was created where they discussed how the digital word could spread in Malayalam. The group was rechristened SMC in view of its broadened objectives.

Apart from localisation of several softwares, which means translation of its English terms to Malayalam, SMC helped the government come up with a standard set of Malayalam words to be used in softwares and mobile apps by co-ordinating the Malayalam section of the Frequently Used Entries for Localisation (FUEL) Project.

“Without a standard, developers can use any Malayalam synonym of an English term during localisation, which can cause great confusion,” said Hrishikesh.

A six-key Braille keyboard, IBus Sharada Braille, was also developed by SMC member Nalin Sathyan as part of a Google Summer of School project. The project was a very personal one for Nalin, whose father is visually challenged and himself a technology enthusiast. “The keyboard can be used to type in seven Indian languages, English and French,” said Anivar Aravind, SMC’s board member, who mentored the project.

Making much progress in Malayalam, the group later spread its reach to other vernacular languages and is now a pan-Indian community. “The solutions we created for Malayalam could be used for other Indian languages too, so we started looking at Indian languages as a family in our Indic project,” says Anivar, who also the Executive director of the project. The project is supported by International Centre for Free and Open Source Software (ICFOSS), an autonomous institution under the Kerala government.

Indic Keyboard, which currently supports 23 languages and works on android phones, was launched by SMC in March 2014, and in comparison the Google Indic Keyboard only supports 11 Indian languages.

The group had campaigned extensively for net neutrality and was glad that the TRAI ruled in favour of it. Explaining why an open internet is essential for local language content, Anivar said, “In services like Facebook free basics, where some basic content is offered free and other content is subject to data charges, many small vernacular news portals and sites won’t be available for all. In that case even updating a Malayalam Wiki page would be difficult because though Wikipedia is accessible pages for research may be blocked.”

Currently developing an open source alternative to Google Translator for Indian languages is one of the projects the group is working on.

Anivar pointed out that in the last few years great progress has been made in language technology infrastructure development, thanks to initiatives by the government and many open source communities across the country that have contributed to it.

“Malayalam online content is flourishing today due to the robust infrastructure in place. The mushrooming of Malayalam news portals and increase in Malayalam content shared on social media itself is proof of that,” he said.

However, he said that plenty of work remains and the government needs to focus on vernacular technology and content, and not just Internet reach, for the country to become truly digital.

'Kakkoor Kalavayal' on the Lane of Changing Times

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Mon, 17 Mar 2014 17:32:00 +0000

Enthusiasm filled the air as the strongest and mightiest bullocks of the state ran with all their might to be crowned the fastest at the age-old ‘Kakkoor Kalavayal’, a post-harvest temple festival near Muvattupuzha in Ernakulam district.

But the festival at Kakkoor hamlet, which has been hosting the event for the past 125 years, has drastically shrunk in size and number of participants. The annual celebration used to once transform the village into a hot spot for hundreds of cattle lovers across the state.

Though the star attraction of the event was the bullock race, the ‘kalavayal’ or cattle market used to be a hub for sale of cattle, till until two decades ago. But, with the entry of modern technology into the agriculture sector and diminishing farming land, the bullocks have taken a backstage.

“In my younger days I bought several bulls from Pollachi, Nagercoil and Karnataka for the kalavayal,” said John K K, a veteran bullock cart rider, who was in the crowd cheering the racing oxen on Saturday.

John, 63, who has won several bullock races across the state, still boasts of the one sovereign gold coin he got as the first recognition. With the prices of yellow metal going northwards, the cash awards took the place of gold coins.

Joseph Periapuram, a 59-year-old villager, said though he missed the good old days when the festival meant more cooperation among villagers, he is proud of the young menfolk in the village who are still riding on the high spirits of the festival. “When farming took a back seat in the area most of us sold our bullocks. But, off late, local youngsters have bought bulls and reared them for this annual event and revived the love for bullocks in the village,” he said.

T D Kuriakose, a Class XII student is the perfect example. He owns a pair of bullocks that he rears for the event. “Winning is not important, the bull craze is infectious and this is what brings us to the event every year,” he noted.

The high-point of the festival is the ‘Maramadi’ race, in which the bullocks run in muddy-watered paddy fields. A 400-metre race was also conducted on the local roads. The oil-massaged oxen pairs with sharpened horns also took part in a beauty contest.

Telling Blow by Animal Activists

In the past, the competition had no hard and fast rules on the qualification criteria for the bullocks. That meant even unwell bullocks were forced to race and, more often than not, were given alcohol to boost their performance. But, intervention from animal rights organisations has been a boon for the bovine animals.

“We are not protesting against the festival, but the brutality meted out to the bulls,” said B Ambily, founding member of animal welfare group ‘Daya’. ‘Daya’ has been protesting against the cattle race since 2001 and has been instrumental in incorporating changes in the format.

Earlier, cart drivers used to twist the animals’ tails at the starting point to give a kickstart and the bullocks were whipped with sticks fitted with pointed iron rods. But now the whips are replaced with plastic bottles much to the relief of animal right groups.

As protest voices of animal activists got louder, the Kerala High Court had given an order that the race should be held only under the supervision of a government official. A veterinary doctor also checks whether the animal is healthy and confirms that neither the bullocks nor the cart drivers are intoxicated.

(This article was written by me for The New Indian Express, you can read the article as published here.)

In Pursuit of Happiness

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Sat, 08 Mar 2014 17:12:00 +0000

Choosing a career can be a difficult decision, one which requires years of pondering. But, some people have it easy and let others make that crucial decision for them and end up hating what they do for the rest of their lives.

Jubanashwa Mishra gave into the middle-class Indian dream of becoming a successful IT engineer, but two years into the job he found himself stuck in a rat race he didn’t want to chase, which led to an introspection on his career choices. In his endeavour to discover what he was passionate about, the 29-year-old former techie from Odisha found himself at the backwaters of Alappuzha, assisting a houseboat driver, atop mountain peaks picking up garbage, rubbing shoulders with Bollywood stars and selling sundals (snack made with chickpeas) in Tamil Nadu.

In his ‘One week Job’ project, Jubanashwa did 28 jobs in the 28 states in 28 consecutive weeks from May to December 2013. This saw him don the role of a photographer in Haryana, tea leaf picker in Assam, sevak at the Golden Temple in Amritsar, a rafting trainee in Jammu and Kashmir and movie marketing executive in Mumbai, among others.

Some of the other jobs Jubanashwa undertook were of a tattoo artist, journalist, emotional consultant, data entry administrator, Bullet mechanic, hotel manager and mud artisan.

Jubanashwa worked as a cremation assistant in Uttar Pradesh, which left him with nightmares. “The smell of dead flesh stayed with me days after leaving Banaras,” he says.

He also had to try and change the conservative attitude of villagers in Bihar, while working as a field supervisor for a rural contraceptive campaign.

His trip was part of his mission to encourage youngsters to discover and follow their passion. Jubanashwa, who works as a writer and motivational speaker now, says if it weren’t for his parents he wouldn’t have become an engineer.

“Due to parental intervention and lack of guidance most youngsters in India get stuck in the medical-or-engineering dilemma and end up living someone else’s dream. I want to help break that trend and encourage others to do what they love.”

“People who live their passion are the happiest,” Jubanashwa goes on, adding that he saw several examples during his trip. Be it the German woman who dedicated her life to cleaning the Himalayas, or the founder of an adventure club in J&K or his boss at the movie marketing job, all of them had left their comfort zones to pursue what they loved, and the happiness they found was priceless.

Jubanashwa is working on a book and a documentary on his experience.

So did the unusual journey help him discover his passion? “Yes,” the part-time writer replies.

“The toughest job I did was in Hyderabad, where I worked as a playschool teacher, but it was also one I found very fulfilling. So I plan to take up teaching kids as a full-time profession and also start a school.”

He said the school would stay away from “marks-oriented” goals, and focus on developing individual skills and inspire and guide students to live with their passion. For he feels it is high time India taught its younger generation to dream beyond the most obvious professions.

Worst Times

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Fri, 01 Nov 2013 06:37:00 +0000

It’s always the worst times and never the best

when everything gets put to the test.

Only then can you tell if the promise of love will hold

or give in to hopeless remorse.

The tensile strength of that rusty guitar string;
Will the shaky bridge let you cross;
The saneness when intoxicated;

Your immune system’s fighting power.

Your loyalty to your spouse;
The magic in your Hallelujahs;

A relationship’s victory over individual egos;
If you would take a bullet for a sibling.

Which one of your friend’s has got your back;

Your mother’s unspoken vow of unconditional love;

The steadiness in your dad’s protective arm;
Your patience with your children’s bohemian ways;

If true love will see you safe through your darkest nights.

All these, I pray, my friend remains with you during your worst times,

that is when everything is put to test

Only then can you tell if the promise of love will hold

or give in to hopeless remorse.

Only in fairy tales are there happy ever afters

for in real life even kings suffer painful cancers,

princesses die in car crashes,

and marriages fail inside palace walls.

Murderous Silence

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Thu, 31 Oct 2013 06:15:00 +0000

Like a child I was so eager to be free
My soul, an open mind welcomed the world
There was you a friend in a crowded town
You took away loneliness from early dawn to late twilight
You came, you stayed and then you conquered
Until there was no me, no us, only you
Only you in my fantasies, only you in my dreams
I ignored the warning, I ignored the signs
When I choked I said it was the smoke
When I stumbled I thought it was the hangover
I recognized me no more, I saw the death of me in your every blink

And then my mind took control and said
‘you rotten soul you shall indulge no more’
I watched it wipe you away, suck you out,
The double-faced monster I loathed was gone
With it the tiny traces of you I loved disappeared too
I watched as you were tortured on that fateful day
As you crumbled right in front of my eye
A part of me wanted to cry out, wanted to rescue you
But my voice was silenced after all these years of you speaking for me

Then my vision went blurry and I saw
It was I who was strangling you, I looked different -- evil and happy
I saw every tiny particle of you escape into nothingness
Those little demons that possessed me for years howled for mercy
Wish I could say It was painful, but no, it felt almost like heaven
I wondered why it took me so long to realize, you and me were never forever

A new beginning they say it is for me,
But I know there never was an end
From all your broken promises there is one I know you will keep
Where you said if I ever lost you, you’d come find me
And I patiently wait, for I know you, like a phoenix you will rise again
Next time I hope it will be different

PS: Soul = my sofa
you = all that dust on it
Inspiration: Few things in the world are more satisfying than cleaning your sofa and watching all that dust burn

Grammys Play the Quintessential Art Snobs

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 06:38:00 +0000

When Justin Bieber got a hat-trick at the American Music Awards last month he snubbed his critics by dedicating an award "to the haters."

But the Grammy's 2013 nominee list clearly reads "Haters 1: Beliebers 0”. The Teenage "Baby" singer's manager Scooter Braun not impressed with his boy missing out, was quick to react to the nominations with the tweet "I just plain disagree. The kid deserved it".

second....this time there wont be any wise words, no excuses, I just plain DISAGREE. The kid deserved it. Grammy board u blew it on this one
— Scooter Braun (@scooterbraun) December 6, 2012

I have to agree with him, the kid did deserve a nominee this year, not so much an award. But I am glad he has been kept out, as much as I was shocked he took it all at the American Music Awards.

Let me get this straight I'm no hater nor Belieber, I believe the Kid's got talent. I used to have Favourite girl on my phones list and inspite of peer pressure I got rid of it only when i got bored (read after repeated hearing).

Though I'm convinced his haters are equally responsible for his popularity and making him trend on social media sites as much as beliebers, I don't hold it against him. The teen sensation makes music a particular group loves and another hates, it’s not his fault they chose to be all over the place, keeping him in the news.

But, no, he is just not classy enough to win a Grammy. Simple.

The Grammy is a mature award, popularity and record sales alone cannot grant you one. Grammy's are for the greats, not for sensations. To win a Grammy you must make legendary music, not just hit numbers. Or rather I like to think so.

There are two more artists that got ignored in the list that I'm thankful to the Grammys board for -- Brit boy band One direction, who should rater win "most messy hair" than a Grammy; Nicki Minaj, all that color, squeaky voice and bosom (errr, fake bosom) gives me a headache.

But, yes even the Gods go wrong sometimes and proof of that is Carly Rae Jepsen's irritatingly catchy song Call me Maybe has been nominated for two Grammys -- Song of the Year and Best Pop Solo Performance.

If Call me Maybe wins a Grammy I bet a few musical angels will fall dead in heaven.

I support music of all genres, irrespective of my taste, as long as it entertains its own fans. But, I still pray Grammy nights stay classy and does not lower its standards even if time are tough and the music industry does.

As for my favorites to win the awards, I will be rooting for:

Record of the year - Thinkin Bout You (Frank Ocean)
Best pop solo performance - Set Fire To The Rain (Adele)
Best pop duo/group performance - Somebody That I Used To Know (Goyte Featuring Kimbra)

Keeping them fingers crossed.

What lies beneath?

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 15:39:00 +0000

Its poll time again. And this time it’s in the country’s biggest state – Uttar Pradesh.

The world’s largest democracy is all dressed up to conduct elections in its most populated (and typically Indian) state. What’s at stake? The chief minister’s throne!

I did use the phrase “dressed up”, this is not for want of a better word, but an intentional one. If you haven’t heard, the state has been decorated in pink. The pink being the color of the wrapper (covers) used to cover Mayawati and her elephant statues.

Yes, pink is dainty for lady, but I always thought black was the default color for cover ups!

So why cover up the statues in the first place? The election commission of India believes in the phrase “out of sight, out of mind.” Which according to them would translate to the statues not luring voters to vote for the elephant symbol inspite of their own will not do so .

But, no, this really isn’t out of sight, is it?

The whole thing brings a very catholic memory to mind.

Being raised Catholic meant you religiously went to church every Sunday. Though the crucifix is given central position in the altar, it usually wouldn’t get my attention, due to the redundancy associated with its presence. The exception was during lent.

During lent season, after Palm Sunday till Easter, the crucifix and all statues in church are covered in violet cloth. Not dull stale violet but a clean brilliant violet. This never failed to get me interested. I have at times spend the entire mass staring at the hidden crucifix.

I would try and recollect what the crucifix actually looked like, cringe at the painful memory and the brutality of those who were responsible for it. I would look forward to when they would unveil the crucifix and set it free. But, when it finally did get unveiled it would cease to interest me and we went back to the redundant, ignorant phase again.

Yesterday, a couple of friends and myself took a ride through the Noida expressway and the most interesting conversation we had was on the elephant statues on pillars draped in pink all around. Throughout the journey I kept staring at the pretty pink wrappers. Yes I have been there before, but never bothered to look at the elephant statues, Infact I never knew it was the BSP symbol. But, now I know and will never forget.

Like me, many ignorant but potential voters in UP would now wake up to the elephant now that some “color” has been added to them. The cover up definitely wont be a deterrent but, something that will bring people closer to the silent statues, like the violet cloth got me closer to Jesus suffering during death.

So, the whole out of sight funda really doesn’t work here Mr. Dumass-election-commission. But, will all this actually aid Mayawati in winning the election? We could never tell.

But one thing is sure, once unveiled the statues will get a new life, a reinstatement of its presence, something which Mayawati couldn’t achieve without the EC’s help. Amen!

Where has the romance of the Newsroom gone?

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Tue, 14 Jun 2011 12:51:00 +0000

Fifteen days into being a journalist for the country’s no.1 newspaper (according to random sources), I wonder whatever happened to that dreamy cliché’ image of the writer’s world we believed in.

Men in knee-length kurta’s with the doped look.
Women in loose T-shirts who never bothered to comb their hair and looked naturally sexy.
The stuffy room with old books strew around everywhere and coffee mugs that need cleaning on the tables.
The ash tray, picked up as a souvenir from a poverty sticken country, overflowing with cigarette buds that smelled of more than nicotine.
The editor who speaks in Shakespeare English with an accent that is hard to place and yells for every comma misplaced in a copy.
The walls with pictures of great political movements, anti-war campaigns and hand written phrases of world famous rebels.
The activist who would go any length to put his point across and didn’t care if they paid him peanuts for it.
The hot dude with streaks of silver hair who had an opinion for every issue under the sun.

All these things have disappeared and instead everything here is so corporatey.

Let me remind you that I used to come from a software office where they make an extra effort to get things tidy and look pompous, the newroom now reminds me of exactly that place. The men are in tucked shirt formals. No "aha" or "eurekha" screams from the next room. Almost no one comes drunk to office. The philosopher and poet does not call you aside to talk about the book she just wrote. They are all just too busy breaking news.

They do not believe you are a natural writer or intellect (which I shall not argue on) and train you as they do in the chop shop corporates (term courtesy : US senator Schumer)
Not to forget the HR takes care of you, making you feel more important than you think you are. Fending for yourself is left to the rat race department and not in actually “fending for yourself.”

The reporter does not pick up his dusty back-pack and cycle into the desert to meet his character, but picks up the phone to dial the characters number or the cab guy who drives him all the way.

Most of all the big guns (editors) refer to the newspaper/website as the product and the reader as the client. The newsroom/family is called the brand??But, Microsoft, Mercedes, Whirpool, Kingfisher are brands. Aren’t we supposed to be holier than thou?

Alas, my friend this is what we the children of this era of the crisis-of-the-media houses will have to live with. We have to do without the stereotype romantic environment we drooled on when dreaming of the artist world. This we shall do so that the fraternity survives. Cheers to competition and a materialistic world.

The curse of the farmer’s wife

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 16:59:00 +0000

The weekend before women’s day was spend in the company of female friends. A complete girls bash-- alcohol, gossip and talk on how all the good men have gone. These were all middle class late 20-something women who had made a living for themselves, no ring around their fingers, but could pay for the apartments they lived in and more. Thirty years back you had to be a rebel or a very fortunate one to be one of those women, but not today, today the country is filled with these independent women.

One of my friends had just got a pedicure done and was flaunting her feet, when she teased another by pointing at her feet and saying, “look at my pretty feet and your feet .Like a farmer’s wife’s feet.” My friend unknowingly was stating the sad truth of reality. That the illiterate lady in the village who toils all day in the field, grazes her cattle, takes her produce to the market, bargains for a fair price is still seen as the farmer’s wife and never the farmer. She does not get the benefits of a farmer, she is not entitled to the same subsidies. All because the Indian government refuses to recognize her. So what happens if her husband passes away, does she cease to exist?

Today over half of the cultivated land in India is managed by women. But, in the largely patriarchal Indian society it is the man who has ownership of land. The Indian land reforms have not changed much to support the women on the field, thus reducing them from farmers to farmers wives. Despite central and state government laws which allow equality of ownership single ownership or joint ownership of land by women is still unheard of in India’s remotest villages that depend on agriculture for their livelihood.

In many households that depend on farming it is seen that the man in the house is an alcoholic or a loafer and the woman has no choice to take to the fields and bring the food on the table. In Indian social perception, the `farmer' is a landed male with a patta, a patta is a document evidencing lawful possession of the person concerned. But, both Indian land rights and hereditary land ownership culture does not encourage women owning land as property

So women who work on the field and raise families with it are not recognized as farmers and in case she commits suicide her family does not receive the compensation that the government gives for farmer suicides. In fact her death is not even recorded as a farmer suicide.

With more men moving to cities to find jobs it is the women who toil in the sun to bring the grains in the market and food on our plates. But when will the government help her graduate from being the farmer’s wife to the farmer itself? When will it come naturally for us middle and upper class Indians to picture a woman ploughing her field with her two buffalos when we think of a farmer?

Someone asked me if we needed to celebrate women’s day anymore. If all that bra burning and verbal male bashing was necessary since the lady’s presence in the work place was very much felt today and most people were equally glad to have a female child as a male one. I would say yes and we still have a long way to go to reach equality. One reason we need to remember and fight on women’s day would be to break free from the curse of the farmer’s wife.

History repeats itself with Hosni Mubarak

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Sat, 19 Feb 2011 06:28:00 +0000

If you are someone who has followed Egyptian history to a decent level you will remember the names— Thutmose 1 and Herod. In case you don’t then you might remember two more popular names if you follow religious history—Moses and Jesus.

Moses and Jesus are believed to be the founders of two very popular religions in the world—Judaism and Christianity respectively. Thutmose 1 is assumed to be the pharaoh of Egypt when Moses was born and Herod the King of Judea when Jesus was born. There is a similarity in the stories of these historical rulers and the present day Egyptian ex-President Mubarak, which cannot be missed.

The Pharaoh and Moses- The Old testament says that the Pharaoh (Thutmose 1) was warned that an Israelite male child born at that time would grow up to overthrow Pharaoh. To defeat fate and the prediction the Pharaoh ordered that all the Hebrew males be killed by drowning them in the river Nile. Moses, only an infant that time was saved by the intelligence of his mother. He grew up to finally overthrow the pharaoh and liberated the Hebrews from their 400 years of slavery.

Herod the great and Jesus- It is said in the bible and believed that wise men from the east, Magi visited Herod the king to know the whereabouts of the new born “king of the Jews” after having seen his star in the east. Herod was filled with a fear that the new born King might overthrow him and thus ordered that all male Israelites below 2 years be killed. But Jesus parents took him away and he grew up to be labeled the king of kings.

Mubarak and the internet savvy rebels- Wikileaks released a U.S state cable dated March 30, 2009 revealing the fears the Mubarak government had regarding the threat posed to it by the internet. The cable also said how Mubarak’s government went on the jail bloggers and made an effort to block internet access in the country. But on Feb. 11^th Hosni Mubarak was eventually ousted by the internet generation who used social media to organize a country wide revolution.

Just like the Pharaoh and Herod, Mubarak wasn’t successful in eradicating who he thought would be his enemy and who would lead to his downfall. Maybe Mubarak too was warned in a dream, maybe the spirits of the land had let him know his end was near and it would be mastered by the internet. We will never know. But that doesn’t matter, what matters is that after 30 years of ruling Egypt Mubarak is finally gone. No, Mubarak has been finally kicked out.

The Mischievous Dalai Lama

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Wed, 02 Feb 2011 13:17:00 +0000

The 14^th Dalai Lama, the Nobel peace prize laureate was at St.Joseph’s college, Bangalore on January 30^th. It was then that I got to meet him. Me, seated on the floor, right in front on the reserved VIP seats, with my camera in hand. All thanks to the power of the press card.

He is a good example of someone who uses something that comes naturally to him to make everyone love him—his sense of humor. Yes, at times he is sarcastic, he does score his goals at the right time, he does poke you were it hurts most with his jokes. But when you look at the larger picture you do realize that he makes statements using his sense of humor. Statements that could hurt feelings if said in any other way, his jokes are on reality.

He eulogized the college and the Church for doing so much in the field of education all over the world. “Whether it is in the West or in the East, you Christians have built lots of academic institutions, especially for the poor and needy. That’s really good,” the Dalai Lama said. But after praising them he did convey a few things about the church that he dint think was in the interest of the public, like forced conversions in Mongolia.

“If you have a highly priced(expensive) ring, and if you kiss it; will you get any response from the ring? Never, never. But if you show your genuine love to a small cat or dog, then they will respond accordingly, wagging their tail and then licking,” this was what his holiness said to convey his views on the catholic tradition of kissing the bishops ring. Even the principal of the college, a priest couldn’t control his laughter watching the animated actions that Dalai Lama used to speak. He actually checked the fingers of both the priests sitting next to him on the podium to see if they had fingers and kissed their fingers, and imitated the wagging tail with his hands. When the priest explained that it was only bishops who had the rings the Dalai Lama fondly remembered that South African Archbishop Tutu, his close friend often refers to him as the “mischievous Dalai Lama”.

I cannot think of a better adjective to describe him from what he spoke. With his cute little eyes almost shutting whenever he gives us his mischievous smile. The animated actions he uses whenever he doesn’t know the English term for a word is amusing to say the least. If some people use their hands to talk, and some their eyes the present Dalai Lama uses actions to talk. This must work better for him, cause that is another way he can cross the language barrier in his cross cultured audience.

He did not attempt to remind his Tibetan friends about his long exile India with any sad stories filled with despair. Instead he told us a story, a story on why he calls himself “a son of India”. He said that his thoughts were a product of the Nalanda university(Bihar) ideas and his body was a product of Indian chapattis, daal, rice which he has been eating for the past 50years.

Reminding everyone present that that India had a history of thousands of years of religious harmony he said that it was time “we” focused on reducing inter-religious conflicts and conflicts within sections of the same religion like the Catholics & Protestants and the Shia and Sunni groups within the Muslim community.

I wish we had more such leaders in the world and I don’t necessarily imply the religious type. I mean of any kind—politicians, teachers, who spoke in such simple language with innocent jokes and not full of themselves. We would be so much more inspired and so much more involved then.

The rise and fall of a dynasty

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 05:15:00 +0000

Now that I have seen the rise and fall of an empire, I realize that no matter how brutally and viciously the empire ruled during their days, in their moment of weakness you can’t help but look back with fondness on their days of glory.

I used to be a hardcore cricket fan as a teenager. Religiously following every match in every format of it (that was the era before 20-20 was a legal format of the game) on star sports and ESPN. It dint matter which country was playing whom. I even watched the highlights, the presentation ceremony, the senseless talk shows with scantily dressed women in it. It was like a disease, I would loose sleep over it, praying for the Indian tail-ender’s bat to kiss the ball so that we could steal some runs and lower that impossible ‘required run rate’. But engineering college with its unpredictable schedule and one-TV-for-the-entire-hostel rule cured me of this disease. I tried picking up the habit again but it was difficult because by then there were too many unfamiliar faces for me. Its frustrating looking at the batting line up and not knowing if the next guy is a “Matthew Haydon” type or a “Rahul Dravid" type.

Coming back to the time when I was still passionate about watching the game, I remember the one team that was so unbeatable that it was almost evil. They were the formidable Aussies led by the very glamorous Steve Waugh and later by the Adam Gilchrist. It was easy to hate this team. The rival teams easily had nightmares of the kangaroo with the fosters T-shirt running away with the trophy even before the series began. That nightmare was repetitive. Every win against the Aussies, if there was ever any was celebrated all over the world irrespective of the rival team. Even a drawn test was seen as a failure to the Waugh’s tough boys.

Any hero who did his magic against this team was garlanded and worshiped like a god. It was during one such tournament down under that VVS Laxman and Harbhajan Singh appeared to me as serious cricketers’. It was then that a sports editor decided to christen Laxman with the Very Very Special (VVS) tag.

For over a decade journalists and TV show anchors could easily refer to them as the “world champions” and people would understand who we were referring to. I miss that aggressive bunch badly. As much as I thought they were rude snobs it was always a treat to see them do what they did best—Kick ass on the cricket field. To watch a white lipped Shane Warne’s arm movement as he took his last steps before releasing the ball and wonder if he was going to bowl a “flipper” or a “slider”. To anticipate which corner of the ground Mattew Hayden would smash the ball. Mark Waugh’s never rarely disappointed his bowlers in his fixed position in the slip, diving for even the most impossible catches. Glen Mcgrath’s “faster than witches” balls. Bret lee was a newbie then, very very handsome and martial issueless. Adam Gilchrist the “pitch hitter” stole the show from his opponents more times than one. Not to forget Justin Langer’s infamous word games with the opposite teams and the umpires.

Ashes, is the most notable legendary rivalry in international cricket that dates back to 1882. The ashes cup contains the Ashes of the bail used in the 1^st Ashes series. During the days I used to watch the Ashes, the English were raped match after match, series after series. They had my sympathies even before the match began. From 1989-2003 the Aussies won six consecutive Ashes extremely convincingly. It looked like there was no stopping this monster. Like they could go on and on forever, and no savior would ever come to break the monotony of their success. But nothing lasts forever, and slowly one by one the great legends in the Australian team had to retire. Soon it was fresh faces with Punter boy to lead them all. This ended their fairytale story.

Last month I closely followed the Ashes in the news papers. I wanted them to loose, yes. Even after 3 previous Ashes loses, and many humiliating defeats with teams all around the world I still can only remember them as that snobbish sniggering team that grabbed all the trophies greedily. This included three consecutive world cups. Yes, the Aussies did loose this Ashes too, not to mention convincingly. But when the score turned to a 3-1 my feelings to the Aussie changed a little, I suspect it to be pity, sympathy. Out of the last four Ashes series, England won three. I would like to blame Ricky Ponting for the crisis. I never liked him, not one of the players I admired. But that would be unfair. They had failed as a team and it wouldn’t help to blame the captain, we the Indians should know that better.

With the world cup only days away the Aussie team must have a plan to keep the world cup with them. But even while watching that team play I am sure I miss a few familiar faces. The world cup shall miss those formidable players. Something tells me the world cup will also miss the Aussies.

Unholy secrets of the confession box

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Thu, 06 Jan 2011 06:16:00 +0000

I love the holiday season for many reasons, but mostly for the visitors it brings. Not, the foreigners or strangers, but residents from the same locality. People who left to do their education, in search of employment, in the pursuit of happiness, to make a dream come true, for a better life. They returned to this serene parish every Christmas, to celebrate with family, and familiar faces. Whenever they came they brought with them a joy of a different kind, long forgotten stories of this land. They brought with them laughter, fine clothes, expensive smelling perfumes, constant aroma from the kitchens, extravagant donations to the church and the usual hustle and bustle.

This also meant more people came to hear my sermon during the mass, especially on Sundays. The mass at Christmas eve and new years was a treat to look at, with everyone dressed as best as their money could afford. The little girls with their frilly frocks with matching socks and hair clips, the boys in their full sleeve shirts uncomfortably buttoned till the first buttons. It was a welcome change to see the young men give their oversized tee-shirts a rest and switch to well pressed striped shirts. Everyone young and old had a smile on their face, some were fake but they still took the effort to fake it.

Even the church looks happier with its decorated ceilings and baby Jesus cozily sleeping in his crib. Yes there were other benefits for me too, those that my patriarchal ancestors would’ve liked to censor out. The Scotch whisky bottle from gulf still lies unopened in my cupboard along with the many packets of Swiss chocolates and expensive perfumes. The glass painting of the last supper from “the holy land” hangs beside my picture with the pope taken in Rome. These were gifts of thanksgiving from the visiting parishes, but I knew as well as them that the gifts also doubled up as bribes. Bribes so that I would keep praying for the families, bribes to the gods through me.

But I hate the holiday season for the secrets it brings with it. I dread the confession box, and my priestly duties that come with it this time of year. The visitors bring in the evils of the entire world into my isolated little church in this sub-urban Kerala setting. They spit out their darkest secrets and their unspoken fears to me with only the blurry mesh to separate their lips from my ears. The mesh was meant to give discretion, but that itself was a lie. I could see their faces as clearly as I remembered. It was ironical.

The boy who went to a metro city three years ago to become an engineer confessed that he was “doing cocaine” now. But his biggest secret of the year was that he had made a mistake” and had aborted his baby after impregnating his college sweetheart. It pained me to hear this, he was one of my favorite alter boys, the one who knew all the duties and always showed up on time, even for the early morning mass.

The eldest son of the church’s sweeper worked in a northern state. His confession was that he had stolen a couple of expensive mobiles. This was because he couldn’t afford gifts for his younger siblings. He told them he had bought it from the city, they showed off with the cell phones even though they still hadn’t figured how to use it. I reminded him of the 8^th commandment “Thou shall not steal”. He assured me that it was only once, he did not want to come back empty handed and let his family think he wasn’t saving enough. His voice dropped as he said the last part. It was then that I asked him what his job was. He dodged the question, said it dint matter. It was these secrets that they dint disclose that worried me, because that only meant that he was doing something “unholy”, but would continue doing it even though he felt guilty. Some of them held back details for a fear that I might speak about it to the rest of their kin.

Then there were the Bible doubters, their confessions started with “sorry father, for I have questioned the authenticity of the word of god”. They would go on to ask scores of questions about contradictions in the bible. Some compared it with scriptures of other religions. They always impressed me, these mavericks, for most of them were young. To read so much and understand was not an easy task. Of all the people I knew that for like every other catholic priest of my time I had to get through the tough teachings at the seminary. This year a young girl who had gone to a nearby town to do her masters in Psychology was the one who questioned me. She mustered up enough courage to say that they thought the Catholic Church was a big lie, and thought the crusades and holocaust was no different from the Jihadis. She was ashamed of the history of the vatican. But as long as she was saying this to me in the confidentiality of the confession box I knew she still believed in the system and felt guilty for thinking these uncatholic thoughts.I knew there was Hope. I would sometimes surprise these scripture rebels by confessing that I agreed with them, to let them know that I was on their side. Then I would go on to suggest books that supported and cleared doubts of Christianity. These were not by priest but mostly by converts and Ex-drug addicts. The young were inspired by controversy and conflict.

The rich widow who still wore colorful expensive saris told me she spend her 2^nd consecutive Christmas alone, both her children claimed to be too busy in Europe. They still hadn’t recovered from the recession they said. For the first time since her husband died of cancer 7 years ago she felt like was all alone, and the unthinkable crossed her mind—SUICIDE . I told her how there was no worse sin than taking ones own life that the lord had blessed us with. She wept, she dint need the advice, she was ashamed even before the thought crossed her mind. Gently but sternly I told her it was time to submit herself to god, and join us for the daily mass. That usually helped the old and lonely in getting back with life. I had witnessed it before my own eyes, old friends would reunite, family rivals would get invited to each others homes for breakfast. I believed that it was the daily visits of these aged men and women to the church that saved the locality of many evils.

The home beside the church was to have marriage this year. There were one of the richer families and among the many visitors that came for the wedding was the boys uncle and family from America. I remember the uncle when he was younger, almost ten years ago when he left for the first time, he sought my blessings. But I never saw him or the likes of his family in my church after that. They now belonged to the new lot—the “Born Agains”, the protestants. The more I saw of them the more I wished they would leave sooner than later. With their fine clothes, heavy pockets, children with thick American accent and sophisticated manners they were a temptation to the hitherto loyal catholic. Everybody wanted to know what they did, how they turned millionaires overnight. To which he had one answer “I was born again.” The truth was even I yearned to know what the real secret was.

Elizabeth and her husband had one great sorrow in their life, they were childless. Her confession was that she secretly visited the Hindu temples, and prayed to a certain ‘godman’ to bless her with a child. A friend of hers suggested it she said. Three years and no conception later she realizes that she was wrong and it was all the devils doing. I was angry, she had disobeyed the 1^st commandment, this was no joke. She said she was desperate but now had decided to adopt, two—a boy and a girl. My heart softened when I heard that. I told her that ‘Jesus’ would forgive her and I was proud of her decision. With a drop of pitch I added that it would be better to pick the children from the convent orphanages. Not that I had anything against the others, for all children were innocent, but it was easy to poison their mind, and who knew what poison the other orphanages drank on. I assured her that convent kids were disciplined and would blend in well.

Jacob was soon to have his 1^st born. His wife was at her house in the next town preparing for the same. His secret was that off late he had perverted thought about his 13 yr old niece who came from Sweden. I was disappointed; Jacob was a good man, a regular in church, in the choir, a front man in the Jesus youth. “Oh what shame you bring? Oh what shame onto yourself, onto your family, the little girl and to your unborn child.” He told me he would do anything to drive the thoughts away, the niece was his favorite. When the girl was born he was in his late teens, since his brother the girls father lived in Sweden right from then Jacob had stayed in the same house . He took her around in his bicycle all around town, taught her to speak too. I did not have to listen to these stories. Earlier I used to cut people short when they went on with their history, but now I had learned better. What he was telling me was to defend himself from being judged too hard, moreover he had to tell someone. But who would listen to the shameful secret? I doubled up as a close friend at times like these. I had no choice but to listen, he asked me if he should tell his wife. I hated when people asked me to make decisions for them, because it was then that I would be as confused as them. I told him not to, his penance I said would be a week long retreat, lest his child be born with his sins. I dint feel guilty at playing god anymore.

Then there was Rose, the smartest of them all. She wasn’t a big fan of the church even as a kid, but the parish remembered her as the first to reach the famous IIT. She worked in a distant land now, and brought with her the most prominent souvenir ever—a foreign husband. A Kenyan, and worse a Muslim. The news had created quite a stir when we heard it six months back. I imagined him to be angry looking with a long unkempt beard. On the contrary he was clean shaven and well dressed well dressed, from the looks of the high school girls I knew they thought him handsome, in spite of his skin as black as charcoal. I knew I would have to work on this, make these girls believe he was the enemy in the Sunday school classes. Tell them stories of doom that hit on young men and women who married out of religion, site example from the bible. Some called this “brainwashing.” But I had to do it, or they would consider her their rebel heroine, and the church would loose many more good young women soon.

The old choir boy with the strongest voice I had ever heard has a rock band in the city now. Four years ago he confessed that he liked men, I told him it was normal at his age to be confused, but it would pass. I would’ve suggested marriage as a solution, but he was too young and unemployed at that time. Even in my boarding school I had seen “boys with boys,” as young an age as eleven. But, that was because there was no other choice. Now those boys were old men with grandchildren . Happily married. But this year the choir boy shocked me, he said he was living with someone—a man he was in love with. He asked my blessings, he wished the state church would let them get married. How dare he say this? That too inside my holy church. How could he call himself catholic anymore? I cursed the gay bishops in the west, this was their atrocious doing. I cursed the internet too.

The girl who had left to do her MBA said she had fallen prey to the evils of drinking and smoking, and she was sorry. Even as she said this I could get the stick of tobacco through the mesh that separated us and I knew she wasn’t sorry. Most people were like her, repeating the same old sins, no repentance, but just like a duty. Me repeating the same penance. The vicious circle would continue.

Now that the holiday season is over they would all leave, to move on with their lives. But I am still left back lord. Left to with their secrets.to take it to the grave. To pray and be their savior. It was difficult to look at their family members after that. It was hard to restrain myself from telling the mother that her son was using her hard earned money not one college, but on drugs. It was hard to smile at the lady whose husband was visiting whore houses in Dubai. It was hard to not be judgmental.

Forgive these stained souls father. And as you forgive them, please remember to help me forget these unholy secrets whispered in the confession box.

‘Oh god, what do I have to tell them’ to win back their trust

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Sun, 05 Dec 2010 16:34:00 +0000

“Business Journalism is all about money”, is the 1^st thing that my Professor who is also an editor for the Businessline, The Hindu told us in our Business journalism course. What my professor tried to do with that introduction was to tell us to be ready to look at the financial implications with every political decision, charitable act by the big names etc. But we couldn’t help but look at the pun in his statement, after class we went on to discuss the five-star-hotel press conferences, sample gifts from corporate, paid holidays etc that was a part of business journalism.

So if we were to think in the same lines as what my professor told us, then is “political journalism all about POWER”. Well maybe not, but the last two weeks of newspaper headlines tells me so.

Barkha Dutt is not any Tom, Dick or Harry in the Indian industry. For many Indians she is to the Indian media what Sachin Tendulkar is to cricket. So hearing power broking and lobbying allegations against Barkha is not digestible in the 1^st gulp for many. But then reality is a B****, and the tapes are there for everyone to hear. What to believe and what not to believe is the question.

No I have not taken sides, neither Barkhas nor the critics. But I feel the cover up/clarification technique taken up by Barkha was one taken in haste and has only added to the fire.

Barkha in her personal statement in the NDTV website tried to defend herself by saying “As journalists we deal with different kinds of people, who sometime solicit information and at other times, provide news leads. Unless we believe in only press-conference driven journalism, the need to tap into what's happening behind-the-scenes in the corridors of power involves dealing with a multitude of voices”.

Not only did Barkha try to clean up her image by herself but NDTV too came to her rescue by writing an article against Open magazine’story which put Barkha in bad light with connection to the Radia tapes in their official website stating, “to caricature the professional sourcing of information as "lobbying" is not just baseless, but preposterous.”

NDTV even went on to publish in their website the SMS messages exchanged between Barkha and Manu Joseph, Open magazines editor. These messages try to question Manu’s ethics as a person i.e. telling Barkha something, and doing something else. But if that was supposed to take away the attention from the issue itself, then I can only say “sorry NDTV, the trick dint work”.

NDTV then made a brave move by inviting the main critics and experts in the field to a talk show, where the guests could ask questions to Barkha on the incident, and she would clarify(defend) them on camera. I believe “the idea” by NDTV was a good one, contrary to what many renowned journalists think. NDTV tried to show that they were transparent, and by trying to get all three sides of the story (accused, accuser and expert) they were doing good journalism in the process. Moreover it was a plan to save their senior editor’s face. But unfortunately the plan did not work.

Barkha who is normally seen grilling politicians in her show “the buck stops here” was made to exchange seats and was in turn made to defend herself on the “BarkhaGate” accusations. And that was not not easy for her. As much as she tried to keep her cool, and act a participant in the discussion, she could not hold back her instincts. She did loose it in between, her emotions were evident withevery nod of her head and twitch of her nose.

The Open magazine editor, Manu Joseph infact had a good time, he stole the show and managed in sailing it the way he wanted. He got to ask the question he wanted to ask her, which he knew she dint have the perfect answer for, and thus he succeeded in making the statement he wanted to without saying too much. Barkha tried to bring in the issue of whether publishing “raw material” like telephone transcripts was in the lines of Journalists ethics. That is a debate in itself, but to get to the bottom of the lobbying scandal many of the ethic gurus have made an exception to overlook the ethics of publishing the tapes.

Both the articles in the website, and the NDTV talk show dint serve the purpose they were supposed to. While many journalists have remained silent on the whole controversy, a few have spoken in favor of Barkha. The Hindustan Times has decided to suspend Vir Sanghvi's column Counterpoint after tapes of his conversations with Niira Radia surfaced last week.

Will Barkha suffer a similar plight? Or will she be able to convince the entire nation that she was just speaking to a source to get her story?

All said and done, this is one case that asks Indian journalism to wake up, and start mending their ways or more skeletons in the closet will be exposed and more tapes shall be leaked soon. God save us all. Period

How long will we keep fighting?

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Sun, 28 Nov 2010 09:04:00 +0000

November 1995

Post-lunch classes were always a drag, so I wasn’t listening to my social studies teacher that afternoon when she spoke about Kashmir issue. Instead, I was looking at the Indian map on the same page of my textbook. I imagined it without Kashmir; I even covered the Kashmir part with my still-growing palm. The image looked weird, like a headless body, I thought with a silly grin.

Was that my own imagining? Or something that was indirectly inculcated into me by my teacher, who just taught us what the book said and didn’t have an opinion of her own? Or from the textbook itself, and from my previous years’ textbooks that told me that Kashmir was a vital part of India that Pakistan tried to steal?

A 9-year-old’s world is simple: You relate to things with your preconceived roles of villain, hero and the helpless soul that needs saving. To me, there was no doubt that India “the hero” would save Kashmir from Pakistan “the villain.” I believed that Kashmir the “head” was an original and essential part of the Indian body, as I was taught. But now as I hear all this controversy about whether Kashmir is an integral part of India, and as I use the “Google god” to learn more, I realised that I was taught a bunch of lies. My conception of the pretty state of Kashmir with the breathtaking mountains and the beautiful valleys was all based on lies.

I was taught to believe what they wanted me to believe, not necessarily what the truth was. I wasn’t the Einstein type at school—I hadn’t even heard of the Internet—so I just let it be. I mugged up enough and got good grades at school. (No, I’m not trying to show off; it’s just that everybody gets good grades in 4^th grade.)

Miles away in Charar-e-Sharief, Kashmir is this pretty boy with pink lips who is studying the same textbook in his class. Confusion fills his head. He cannot relate what the book says to the reality happening around him. Earlier in the year, the Indian Army had destroyed the Muslim shrine that he used to frequently visit in the area. Following the incident, his best friend’s dad was killed in the conflict between the civilians and the Indian troops. His own grandfather was shot in the elbow in the insurgency of 1989. So he thought he had enough reason to believe that India was the foreign enemy here. The teachings of his textbooks puzzle him, but he dares not talk about this to his teacher or parents.

November 2010

The country has just settled from discussions over Arundhati Roy’s statement “Kashmir was never an integral part of India” at the Azadi: The Only Way convention. A Delhi court on Saturday ordered the registration of an FIR against Kashmiri separatist Syed Ali Shah Geelani, writer Arundhati Roy and five others for allegedly making anti-India speeches. This got me thinking back to what my textbooks taught me, and I decided to rely on the World Wide Web to teach me history. True, unbiased, unopinionated history.

India and Pakistan have been bombing Jammu and Kashmir for over six decades now to mark their ultimate claim on the land. But whose land is it anyway?

I discover for myself how Kashmir, pre-independent India, was a princely state and had very little role to play in the Indian struggle for independence, or Pakistan’s separation from India. I wonder if the self-proclaimed experts who use religion to justify the gobbling up of Kashmir know that the same land’s history speaks about Muslim, Hindu and Sikh rulers in addition to a mentioning about the communal harmony that existed in the valley for centuries before the war for the land began.

The reason why Kashmir acceded to India was that the then maharaja of Kashmir, Hari Singh, needed military assistance to defend itself from the Pakistani tribes that had entered Kashmir. So does that union mean that Kashmir is like every other state, in spite of the fact that the country’s government promised the state special status in 1957? Have we been fair to this promise we gave them, or have we just been too selfish and preoccupied to notice the difference?

The Indian Armed Forces in Kashmir have been accused of innumerous atrocities against the civilian people in Kashmir. The Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA) act protects members of the armed forces and other officials involved in crimes against Kashmiris. These soldiers responsible for murders, human rights abuse or torture are rarely investigated or held accountable for their crimes.

In 1989, a widespread armed resistance to Indian rule began in the Kashmir valley. Many separatist groups in Kashmir openly called for the independence of Jammu and Kashmir from the Indian Union. This insurgency also marks with it the victory of the evils of religious extremism. By now many radical Islamists managed to convince a majority of the separatists that religion was their ticket to a free land. A major cause of this was that thousands of Hindu Pandits who have lived in the land for centuries had been forced to flee from the state. As consequence of the rising insurgency conflicts between the Kashmir civilians and Indian military force increased.

Around 25,000 Kashmiris have been killed in the past six years by official counts. Two-thirds of these deaths are blamed on the Indian Army. So the same military that is supposed to protect these people has been destroying their peace, murdering their men and raping their women. This is not my idea of “One India.” It reminds me of the controversial cases of the Catholic boys who were abused by Catholic priests.

Militant groups have been accused for causing disruption in the valley, but weren’t members of these dangerous militant groups peace-loving civilians yesterday?

When today these Indian Kashmiris cry for freedom and independence, are they justified? Or is a justification even necessary: Don’t they have the right to self-determination? Isn’t that a basic human right we all need to have? How long will we keep fighting for this land? Do we have it in us to win back the confidence of its people? Do we even know what they want? Do we even care?

I wonder about that little boy in Kashmir, who 15 years back struggled with the same textbook I did. He must be around 24 now. Did he get married and start a family of his own? Or is he one of the civilians that attacked the AFSPA forces with stones? Did he go on to join one of the so-called militant groups in Kashmir? Or was he one of the innocent victims who had to pay with his life in between this conflict for his land, which he calls home, this land that his forefathers have nurtured? This land that the rest of his so-called countrymen call paradise and believe they have a right to burn, torture and rape as long it remains a part of theirs forever. So that the head is connected to the body. Or did he escape to green pastures? I cannot know. But one thing I am sure of is that he definitely would not have needed Google to teach him that his 4^th-standard textbook’s story on Kashmir was a lie, for he saw the truth with his own eyes. He and his people live in the midst of the truth.

PS: To avoid any confusion, let me state that I do not support Kashmir’s accession to Pakistan.

Avial a few weeks before Onam

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 10:53:00 +0000

-->

Yes, that's what I had on independence eve night at Bangalore, a good mix of Avial. No, we are not referring to the dish here but the Mallu rock band Avial. My 1^st real rock show, so nothing much to compare it to. But yes it was fun for me, and inspired the very malnourished Malayalam singer in me to sing along.

The crowd was very much an Avial crowd in-spite of the organisers move of advertising the show with Parikrama as the main heroes.

Tony, the main singer of Avial very much reminded me of The Devil, with his sexy bald hair, pixie pointed ears, pale skin, sharp eyes, and just fit body. These not so mallu looks, along with his paccha (raw) Malayalam combined his trademark the rebel mallu attire consisting of a school boy white shirt and a black lungi was what the crowd out there loved most about him.

The “Tony, Tony” chants went on throughout the performance, and he dint disappoint his fans one bit. In between the hit numbers he had his own corny malayalam lines like “are we roking, and rolingg makalle?” to keep the crowd entertained.

Thanks to unequal growth hormones between the sexes I was right behind a bunch of tall guys who just kept jumping all the time, making my view of the concert much more difficult. The crowd was very sane for a rock concert, but off course there was the mood of alcohol, mixed with the fragrance of dope every 5 mins a new guy passed by.

The band is a ‘Rang De Basanthi’(with full reference to the movie) type band. In the sense it is one that has the power to make even the ‘Fraud mallu’ sit back, listen, feel proud to be a Malayali, and understand a few issues/stories related with the place he/she comes from.

The popularity of the band’s music is not restricted to just to Kerala, but crosses even the country’s borders. Many compare it to the popularity of the band to that of the German rock band ‘Rammstein’, with the similarity that both sing in strange languages, but the music is as good as ever.

Also called ‘Alternate Malayalam rock’ genre, the band is one that made me tone my tongue to twist it a bit further to sing their Malayalam lyrics. When someone makes you try hard to do something you never bothered to then that is what I call Influential. No doubt Avial is one such band in the history of Malayalam music.

Sania , Shoaib, aur hum

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Sun, 16 May 2010 05:49:00 +0000

Disclaimer : This post is old news, and I should have posted it 2 months back. Let me apologize for my procrastination.

Let me quote one of the most sought after new age Indian authors of the current generation...
Love marriages around the world are simple:
Boy loves girl. Girl loves boy.
They get married.
In India, there are a few more steps:
Boy loves Girl. Girl loves Boy.
Girl's family has to love boy. Boy's family has to love girl.
Girl's Family has to love Boy's Family. Boy's family has to love girl's family.
Girl and Boy still love each other. They get married.
And now let me add to this a little more for the coveted Sania mirza-Shoiab Malik love story.
The Girl’s country has to love boy. Boy’s country has to love girl.
Girl and Boy still love each other. They get married.

Sania Mirza has always been a media favourite in India. She has made headlines for reasons in and beyond her control, be it because the Islam extremists decided to voice out loud that they thought her skirt hemline was too short for a modest Muslim girl, or her link up with a special bollywood star who was famous for being dumped at that time. But now she is in news for a reason everyone loves to hear, for love, for marriage, for a controversial marriage.
The perfect Indian marriage is one with no controversy, but the exciting and memorable one is one which has maximum controversy as it can take.
In most of the controversial Indian marriage the controversy, confusion, rejection, etc comes from within the family. The parents don’t approve of the guy/girls caste, the religions don’t agree with each other, parents choose totally poles apart partners for their kids etc, etc.
Sania has been spared that part of the great Indian dramatic wedding, but instead her anti-cupid forces are external, external from immediate family. There are two main enemies to this marriage. 1st is the ‘Other girl’ from Hyderabad, who is taken care of for now (hopefully). Let’s not talk about that part, because as far as we know that part has been taken care of and that girl will never interfere with the new brides life (or so we hope).
I would like to talk about the second enemy here, that is the ‘Other’ people who aren’t happy with the marriage. The reason they don’t agree with the marriage is the very famous ‘they aren’t a perfect match’ and this has nothing to do with personal interests, character or favourite ice screams, but more to do with nationalities, countries and borders.
Coming from a family where a few ‘not so perfect in the others eye marriages’ have taken place, i have seen how difficult the bride and the groom struggle to get the families consent, forget the society consent. Here we are talking about a whole country, a few people in the country feel that Sania’s matrimony is a national issue, and to asking Sania to get the blessings of every uncle ansd aunty in the country is ‘mission-impossible.
On a TV talk show almost 2 weeks before the marriage happened I had seen Sri Rama Sene chief Pramod Muthalik voice his opinion that he thought Sania Mirza choice of a Pakistani was an insult to all Indian Muslim boys. I really don’t know how that is relevant here, was it a competition here? In Muthalik’s view is every single adult Indian Muslim boy ranging from the tea-shop boy to the businessman who has just flown in from Switzerland after making a billion dollar deal supposed to feel like a failure in Sania’s eyes?
So finally they married after a lot of hue and cry. But is the drama over? I fail to think so. Lets wait for the next major tennis tournament to come, and hear if Sania wants to play for India. Then many self appointed tennis experts will come out to coach Sania on patriotism and betrayal.

More than a ball game

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Sat, 24 Apr 2010 09:39:00 +0000

A month Pune and Kochi were dancing. Why? Because they were getting their own IPL team, but today slogans of ‘Ban IPL’ are being screamed all over.

A month back IPL news meant ‘KKR thrashed again’ or ‘Sachin proves he is god in all forms of the game’ or ‘Yuvraj angry over captaincy issue’, but today it means ‘Was Shashi Tharoor really playing a foul game or is he another victim of controversy’ or ‘Modi not going down without a fight.’

So ultimately who is the joke on? Is it on Sunanda who was forced to give up her share in the Kochi team? Is it on the newly ex-president of the IPL Mr.Lalit Modi ? Is it on the million cricket fans who religiously followed every match, only to realize that it was all fixed in the 1^st place.

Tharoor’s little secret game has now become a major issue involving many big names in the underworld, and questioning the credibility of many politicians and the government. It all started with Modi’s casual tweet about Tharoor wanting to be all hush-hush about his girlfriend Sunanda holding free equity in the Kochi team, and that ironically has got Modi himself under the axe.

When Tharoor who claimed to be ‘only a mentor’ to the Kochi team found himself at the receiving end of the IPL and political blows, with no ‘team’ to support his case, he bailed himself out by resigning as foreign minister, with grace. His resignation speech was classy to say the least, and only a fool would think that was his vote of thanks to political life. Lets all hope that will rise from the dead.

Lalit Modi was the next victim of the IPL hurricane, but for all we know of him, he wasn’t one to give in so easily, the IPL was his brain child, his baby. For the past 3 years Lalit Modi has taken centre stage of the IPL, he hasn’t had to share the limelight either, because the rest of the world didn’t care for the supporting actors. Modi took the all the right and wrong decisions associated with the IPL unilaterally, and always thought it a better idea to tweet about it as soon as he decided.

But one who has lived by the axe must die by the axe, and ultimately at the end of IPL-3 Modi has been reduced to just another twitter fanatic. Most of the in-house people in the BCCI who Modi trusted he could depend upon has let him down. But then Modi’s best friend Sharad Powar had to play Brutus here, lest he dirties his hands and poses a threat to his own position as the next ICC president.

Modi’s top crime is that he was involved in betting and match-fixing allegations. The IT department has proof for that, but investigations have come out with more surprises, putting the whole IPL brand name into shame. Names were dragged in, denials were in plenty, and the media saw to it that no one was spared.

Earlier Preity Zinta had a lot of explaining to do over the alleged ‘proxy ownership’ of the Punjab kings XI. Now its Shilpa sheety’s turn to save Rajasthan royals face, and she has opted to do that by the language IPL best understands by now, tweeting.

The tax department and the government are determined to get to the bottom of the IPL mysteries. This has become bigger than a national issue, and the government knows that if they do messy job here the ICC will step in along with the international paparazzi and that could turn really ugly.

Except for the bookies no one likes the word match fixing, irrespective of the result of the matches. I remember the match fixing controversy during South Africa’s tour of India 2001. Too many hearts were broken when the secret was out, including mine. So if any hint of match fixing is whispered we want to know the truth.

I was watching Preity Zinta’s interview with Barkha in which Priety stated that, “everybody is talking about the IPL which is great in a way but I wish they would focus on the game, I wish they would focus on the sport which everybody's completely ignored.”

Yes Preity we wish for the same, we would also rather talk about and watch the game, than the dramatic IPL circus show. But we would also like to be assured that whatever happens on the field is the result of those 22 guys who toil is out in the field—The same guys who we idolize, the same guys for who we prayed, and not the result of a raw deal made between a bunch of high profile businessmen in the luxury of a 5-star hotel room. If the latter is found to be true then we definitely won’t be laughing, as the joke would undoubtedly be on us the fans.

Happy (Ignore)Valentines day

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 07:54:00 +0000

When does one inherit the right to moral police? Where do we draw that line?

The law says an individual past the age of 18 is free to live at one’s own will. But then reality is an ass****

I am not new to moral policing, in fact most of us aren’t. We spend most our lives following other individual’s ethics and principles.

I did my undergraduate studies in a college about which people talked more for its dictatorial rules than the quality of education. A written order to ‘keep an arms distance from the opposite sex’, and a rule which said that you could not use the loo after a certain time were some of the outrageous rules there. Being a religious institution free spiritual thought and practises were shunned upon.

In time I learnt to ignore the tantrums they made for every little rebel act, and learnt of ways to live my own life in spite of all the drama around. Then again there were a few who said that when one runs one’s own business (the business of selling education) then the right to design a rule system came by default.

But what does one do when a group of eccentric, irrational morons decide to discipline the country???

Well it’s Valentines day, the day of love, making out, heart shaped balloons, hand in hand couples, moonlit dinners, discovering the romantic in you. But none of that should happen in this country, not on this day.

Why?

Because some ‘speacial someones’ do not like it, and they feel the very idea of a valentine’s day is going over the top. So I say well, if so don’t celebrate it, don’t acknowledge it, and don’t wear red, wear black or rather don’t follow any dress code at all.

But no, they have a better plan of making things work their way, they spit on women in pubs, forcefully marry any guy and girl seen walking together on that day, it doesn’t even matter if they are siblings, beat up the guy in front of the girl. So even if you are a married couple who wants to celebrate Valentine’s Day, you better do that at home.

The irony is that Valentine’s Day is supposed to be all about love and happiness, whereas what’s happening here right now is bloodshed and fear.

A few days back an anti-Valentino activist was giving one of his ‘we are watching you, don’t try any funny stunt on D day’ lectures, when one young man came up and rubbed some ink on his face. Now in a way it’s funny, but I wonder if that was supposed to be a taste of one’s own medicine thing , like in ‘you don’t like the idea of teenagers dating, so you get them married, likewise we don’t like listening to your crap talk so we decide to decorate your face’.

One thing led t another and in the end of the day plenty of buses were burned, people murdered, and the legal police are all over the place trying to restore some peace. I guess St. Valentine never in his wildest dreams thought he would be the excuse for so much violence.

So can keep on lying to ourselves tagging this as moral policing? Will we ever see an end to this re named hitlerism?

I don’t know.

So on this day I wish you all not a happy or romantic valentine’s day, but a peaceful and uneventful one.

India's future embracing Section 377

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 07:09:00 +0000

A scene from a TV show I saw a few months back

Channel: VH1

Characters: Chris Adams(American Idol 2009 ), Adam Lambert (runners up) and the VH1 show anchor.

Location: Studio in the US of A

Topic of discussion : The life of the idols beyond the TV show

Somewhere along the conversation a specific part catches my attention

Anchor to Adam : Is it true you have a crush on Chris ?

Adam(puts his arm around chris’s shoulder) : Yes, He is a handsome man..

Chris (just gives one of his heartbreaking cute smiles)

Camera man adds a fake twinkle in Chris white teeth and conversation goes on to discuss how Adam was glad he made his sexual preference clear while the show was still on air. The show ends and is a success for the channel, viewer level is high, the singers shake hands and life goes on for all….

Now picture the same scene happening in India.
Will such a scene get away with no ‘aftermath’?

Will such a scene get away without the church (and the church I refer to is not restricted to any religion) quoting quotations from the holiest books on how hell is reserved for ‘un-natural’ sex doers?

Will such a scene get away without the news channels flooding their ‘breaking news’ with ‘Gay Idol ‘ strewn all over them?

Personally I’ll have to say that maybe we will reach that stage at some point, but not in the near future.

Yes hail the country for rewriting Section 377 and keeping the Homosexual hope of an equal life alive. I will not exaggerate on the change cause I know that even though the ‘outcast’ criminal tag is off legally, I know life will not be all smooth sailing for them.

Every age or every generation comes with their own controversy, and for this generation homosexuality is a highlight. Not that I say that it din’t exist way before the Indus valley civilization days, but never has it been this much of a public song nor has the Indian society been challenged to accept it to the level of normalcy as it is today.

Let’s be honest with ourselves, are we totally comfortable with the same-sex concept?

Well if I was to answer that question I’ll say ‘Yes’, but with my own clause, and that would be that I’m totally cool with it as long as it doesn’t directly effect me. Now this directly effecting me could range from a lesbian making an indecent pass at me or my son coming up to me and proclaiming that he wanted to marry ‘Adam’. Now though most ‘unorthodox’ people wouldn’t admit this is where they all stand .

Off late suddenly every tom, Dick and Harriet is screaming ‘yay Section 377’ or ‘yuck Section 377’. With the recent change to that little law rule we are all going to see one thing for sure, and that is more and more people coming out of the closet, and the society handles it is one thing I’d like to see.

Homosexuality is going to be the new ‘generation gap marriage issue’. Now when the present generation accepts inter-caste, inter-religion, inter-country marriages, the gay and lesbian ones are going to be the unexpected challenge for them. How the church and temples with deal with this I don’t know, but they better gear themselves with more than just quotes, preachers and threats.

The Indian society will definitely have to see a lot of tears, hear a lot of curses, suffer a lot of heartbreaks, ignore a lot of ‘traditions’ , witness a lot of suicides over the gay issue. But change is inevitable and I guess someday all the aunties and uncles around will have to accept this new reality with a straight face. Maybe for all you know we could have new education and job reservations for the LGBT community and their kids.

The Indian mind will evolve for sure. The 1st time I heard of the very homo concept(I was barely 10) it seemed pretty weird to me, but with time the ignorance was removed and now though I am not one to vouch for the community, I’m one to say ‘You don’t know what they feel, so please shut and stop cursing them’. Today if my best friend suddenly realized she wasn’t straight or my colleague revealed he was gay I would not wince or call them queer.

So I hope and pray that so will the Indian society embraces homosexual relationships.

As for me if one day my son does proclaim that he want s to marry Adam and I loss the controversy battle all I can say is ‘I was expecting an Eve but I’ll try not to make a fuss about Adam’ ,and them keep praying everyday that my daughter does not bring home the ‘Eve’.

PS: The references are purely imaginary, I have no son or daughter now and my best friend is very very straight.

When Mathematical Equations Equalled to Falling In and out of love

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 10:29:00 +0000

Everybody falls in love with someone or the other at some point in their life. Back in school I had no time for love, as there were too many subjects to be dealt with.

In Science, Chemistry always remained a mystery to me. Somehow I could pick up Physics pretty fast, but Biology always gave me a headache.When it came to languages, English was a cakewalk, thanks to the 'Anglo-Indian' blood, along with the fact that I only spoke English at home. This blessing turned a curse when it came to the Indian languages I had to learn at school, as I never watched Hindi movies or listened to Malayalam songs. So even with private tutors to help me out these languages freaked me with their gendered inanimate objects and all.

History was alright as long as we were discussing revolutions, but dates, eras and dynasties were too confusing for me. Geography and civics meant swallowing whole and vomiting, fingers-crossed, whole.

But between all this there was one subject that came naturally to me. Something that most of my classmates slogged over, but I never had to give any effort to excel in. This subject was Mathematics, lovingly called Maths. My feelings and level of compatibility with Math back then was so strong that I can confidently say MATH AND I WERE IN LOVE AT THAT TIME.

Unlike my counterparts in school, I never went for tuitions or attended extra classes in math, but I managed to do much better than my expectations. In the beginning I was impressed with myself, but soon it became a habit I got used to. Now, I didn’t have a daily time schedule for math or anything, but I presumed math wasn't possessive to demand that from me. In fact it was the subject I spent least time with.

It wasn't an obsessive affair either, as most of the time I never did my math homework and ended up copying it from the usual "punctual dudettes" minutes before my math teacher was to enter my class. This never bothered math, moreover, it wasn't like I was cheating on it by spending that "quality time" with other subjects.
But whenever I did 'indulge' in mathematical sums I can tell you that I was totally into it and mostly I never let anything else 'disturb' me (well yeah mostly, c'mon we are all human). If there was a 'problem' I couldn't solve it did bother me and I would try and analyze different 'solutions' till something worked. My teachers believed in my math potential, and they never tried to come between us.

Even in my so called crucial 10th grade, I didn’t seek extra help. I remember one time my sister caught me reading math a day before my model math exam. She was horrified. She proclaimed with all the drama she is famous for, that I was going to flunk my exam for treating math like trash. Instead I got a 96 on 100 for that exam. You see how easily we connected. I wasn't scared, I believed math wouldn't let me down, and vice- versa. For the 10th boards I missed the perfect 100 by 3 marks. 2 marks I know how I lost, but I’ve spent many a night wondering about that rogue 1 remaining mark. It just didn’t add up.

Then I went on to my post matriculation years, the 11th & 12th grade. This was when things took a turn, for the worse. Math got complicated as the months passed, but I never gave it much thought. Differentiation made no difference and integration didn’t, well, integrate. My grades went down, people told me to seek help, go for tuitions, I hated the very idea of tuitions and was allergic to it, so I never listened.

But it’s not like I didn’t try. I agree I never paid attention in class, not that I think it would've helped. In fact I did something at that time, something I’ve never done before.

Before the 'oh-so-important' 12th boards I actually sat down and tried solving all the sums from my textbook all by myself. Sort of like when lovers who realize the missing passion try and talk it out patiently. Find the lost magic and all. But that’s when I realized my love affair was a mess. We HAD problems. I didn’t have the answer and like any lover in history I would not take the blame for it.
When the results came I got a pathetic 57 in math, not that I gave a damn. I was just glad to have passed. There was no burning chemistry between us, there was no love left….

Then college. Due to unavoidable reasons I missed almost a month of the initial classes. So for the fear of being the only one left behind, I pushed myself into giving ‘'that extra effort' for all subjects in the beginning. Somewhere at that time I think I revived the chemistry between math and me. A hint of passion, like static could be sensed, but not for long. I was soon back to my old self again.

By now things were really bad. I mean I just wasn't interested anymore. Maths got complicated with every passing day. We drifted apart to say the least. Now I could blame math for the coldness. It got complicated, it changed, 'It was no more the Math I fell in love with'. But all that would only be my sorry excuse for my shortcomings. Maybe I should've (could've) tried harder, I should've paid more attention, I should’ve sought help, I should've realized change was inevitable instead of being stubborn.

Things only went downhill from then, to the limit that my last encounter with maths was in my 4th semester and I flunked in that. Now it would be good to note it was my only supplementary in those 4 wild engineering years. Yes I did clear it in the next chance, but I wish things would've ended between us on a better note.

What’s saddest is that though I was disappointed with flunking, I wasn’t affected in the least that it was Maths. I blamed maths and I cursed it for my failure. But the disappointment ended at the failure. I felt no emotion for the subject I had such a raging affair with in school. It had become me, me and more me by now.

Today even for the simplest calculation I need to use a calculator. If you ask me if we would get back together, I’ll say a definite no. We have gone separate ways to the point of no return. Maybe like a real relationship if we had sought help at the right moment things would’ve been different. Maybe extra time spent would’ve worked.

But in the end of the day there are no regrets, and as life moved on I found more interesting things to indulge in. In the end of the day I can say is maybe nothing lasts forever but it was good while it lasted. :)

Will Another Hussein rule the world?

noreply@blogger.com (Alexina) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 10:26:00 +0000

No your not wrong the previous hussein im talkin about is Mr. Saddam hussein, and you have to agree he did manage to piss (to put it mildly) the whole world in his own creative way.

The ‘next’, present hussein I’m referring to is none other than the ‘oh so stylish’ Barrack hussein Obama. Now why do I say he shall rule the world? You have to agree that the Americans do control (to put it mildly) the world in their own way. Take the movie world for example, every sensible regional actor’s dream is to make it to Hollywood, and an Oscar nominee is like ‘wowww’. Then don’t forget how the whole world is losing sleep because of the depressing meltdown of the already recessed US economy. So I hope you got my point now.

Coming back to the topic, I just have to give it up to the junior Hussein. With a name like that and in a country like that, given the current situation I’m sure he must’ve had a tough time reaching the top. I mean in the past one decade the Americans haven’t been the best of buddies with ‘Hussein’ in their name, and moreover the whole anti- terrorism campaign which definitely has been a test for American muslims, is just one of the little adventures Obama had to pass. the opposition did their own homework to advertise the Muslim side of Obama in their own style

The resemblance of the name ‘OBAMA’ with the celebrity terrorist ‘OSAMA’ (I say celebrity cause he keeps releasing these videos of himself from time to time, I wonder if he ever had childhood dreams of making it big in showbiz) is way too ironic and could definitely be a major turn off for most American gentlemen and ladies. Yes, I agree America is the most modern of all nations, but they can also be stupidly superstitious at times.

Now if you ask me, if I was American I would go for Obama. Why? He’s kinda cool (sorry I’m not big on politics), and I see a lot of potential in him. Then I also have to admit that I’d like to see what happens when America gets a black president (note, I’m not racist), oh I can already picture the joke they are gone crack over it ,sort of like the innumerable sardar jokes we had when Manmohan took over, its mandatory, and is bound to happen when normalcy is broken. Off course, I dint like his promise of seeing to the fact that America wouldn’t outsource their work anymore, but I’ll let that pass for now.

Yes he is a popular man, and the favorite, but no I wouldn’t put my bet on him, because the Americans are an unpredictable bunch. Remember the last election, when the much hated MR Bush got a second term, that was shocking. But if Obama does loose I’ll have to blame it ton his mixed race, mixed religious history and yes to his ‘Name’.

Now if this was Pakistan (note, I am not anti-pakistan) and the tables were turned then I’m sure the candidate would opt to change his name before getting to politics. No that’s not a fiction of my imagination, but I’m speaking with reference to the conversion of the Pakistani cricketer Yousuf yohanna to Mohamed yousuf, just to fit in. but then again this is America we are taking about, the free country where Democracy was defined by adorable MR. Arbraham Lincoln as being "for the people, by the people, of the people". So everything’s cool (hopefully).

But if he does win I’m pretty sure it aint gonna be easy ride. He will have work to do, pick up the pieces left and start repair, the reconstruction can go either way, nothing is certain. But I want him to win, as I believe he can live upto his promise of delivering ‘the change that America so needs’, and yes not only America, but the rest of the world craves for a change. Besides Mccain is the same old thing, white old man who talks boring.

So I wish you luck Mr Barrack Hussein Obama. But my piece of advise to whomsoever be the winner would be, please don’t screw up like your predecessor did. And you already have your hands full, there’s lot of work to do, so don’t mix work with pleasure. In other word’s, it would be sensible to not have an affair within the white house, you could do without the controversy!