The Grist Mill

The Turning Points Of My Life

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 04:36:00 +0000

During my early years, despite being a bit precocious, I was a normal kid. And then one fateful day in 6th standard, my Math teacher hit me on my head for a wrong answer, discovering at the same time that I was nearsighted and needed corrective glasses. Something changed after that day. Not only did I start wearing spectacles, but also began considering myself superior to everyone else, looking down on them as mere mortals indulged in satisfying their bodily urges, whereas I spent my time contemplating higher spiritual stuff.

The pair of spectacles instantly elevated my standing in the society. My schoolmates, teachers, and neighbors everyone held me in high esteem. I guess they considered me studious and intelligent, though once in a while, I got catcalls of char-ankhyan, meaning four-eyed, from stupid boys on my way to school.

All of it only strengthened my belief that I was special. In my day-long reveries, with textbooks in my hands, while my mom thought I was studying, I would think only about the other world because this world was full of lowly creatures.

I also started having visions. The lord himself appeared before me. Though I was almost blinded by his aura, I could make out he was well-groomed, attired in modern clothes, extremely handsome… and surprise of surprises, he wore spectacles too. He asked me to convey a message to the world that he was no longer an uncouth ancient troll in robes or dhoti, but a sophisticated, suave, bespectacled gentle God.

Now I understood my feelings of superiority. I was God’s messenger, nay I myself was God’s incarnation on this earth, continuing from where Rama, Krishna, and Jesus had left.

From then on, I began writing Spectacular Verses to spread the message of the great Bespectacled One. I began worshipping the spectacles as a symbol of God. I was sure every wretched person on this earth would find solace if he or she started wearing glasses—prescribed ones or plain ones. I knew the whole world, fed up with the ancient religions and present day godwomen and godmen like, Sathya Sai Baba, Shri Mataji Nirmala Devi, Sri Sri Ravishankar, Swami Falanand, Swami Dhikanand, Falacharya, Dhikacharya, was waiting only for me.

I wanted to open ashrams for my followers all over the world and live happily ever after in palaces surrounded by servile attendants, traveling in my own jets.

I knew soon enough people would start observing Mata ki chouki every Friday, singing, “Chashme walee Mata teri sada hi jai ho… Hail the bespectacled Goddess.” In my religion, I had included all good practices from the major religions and salient tricks from the godmen.

Around this time, I happened to visit Shimla with my family. In that over-populated hill station, we hired a taxi for sightseeing. We visited the Mall, a church, and a museum. After that, the taxi driver took us to Jakhu hill, atop of which, he said there was an ancient temple of Hanuman ji, our revered monkey god. On our arrival, the taxi driver informed us that the place was infested with monkeys, and advised us to leave bags and eyeglasses in the taxi. I couldn't see much without my glasses, hence there was no question of leaving them behind. We stepped out of the taxi and walked towards the gate of the temple complex, when suddenly, tabhi achanak, a big monkey came flying from my right side, snatched the spectacles from my nose, and leaped away downhill.

While my father inquired about the modus operandi of getting back the glasses from the locals—buy a food packet and offer it to the monkey—my mother hit me hard on my head, chastising me with the words, “Couldn’t you leave them in the taxi?” Something changed after that day. I got disenchanted with the Bespectacled God, who couldn’t even save me from a monkey. I stopped having visions and no more considered myself superior to other human beings. Thus all my dreams of living off my guileless followers’ money were nipped in the bud.

Related link: BBC NEWS: Why do people experience religious visions?
Picture: Modified from a picture on colourbox.com

Unrelated: Gayatri Rao, a blogger friend from my neighborhood has written some kind words about the Grist Mill!

Ban Jaipur Literature Festival

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 19:00:00 +0000

If I ever want to go to any festival, I would go to Kumbh Mela to wash away my sins. Never to such a sinful, blasphemous literature festival as the one held in Jaipur.

Even if the organizers send me a private jet, or announce some award for me, or promise to read passages from the Grist Mill, I will not join the derelict, delinquent, morally bankrupt book peddlers.

And after the shameful Rushdie episode, let me ask you, whoever in his right frame of mind would want to go there?

Ever since I discovered that this festival was a brainchild of William Dalrymple, I have become highly skeptical. Yes, he is the same person who portrays India as a country of djinns, dervishes, devdasis, and other despicable stuff. He has singlehandedly destroyed the reputation of the great Mughals. His books should be banned not only in India, but all over the world.

Have a look at this year’s guest list at the festival. Besides Satan Rushdie, whom we successfully kept out, there are Michael Ondaatje, Ben Okri, Tom Stoppard, David Remnick, Philip Gourevitch, Oprah Winfrey, Richard Dawkins—each one a greater blasphemer than the other. If I started writing how these vermin have indulged in hurting the sentiments of common people, this would become a book-length article, and I absolutely abhor books.

Look at Oprah Winfrey! The way she talks about women’s empowerment and women’s freedom. She is a flagrant picture of immodesty. Tau where are you? Khap Panchayat, Bajrang Dal, Sri Ram Sene, how did you allow this woman to enter India? Wait until her documentary on Mumbai slum women and Varanasi widows comes out then all of you will understand what I am saying. Don’t complain later that I didn’t warn you.

Richard Dawkins! OMG, OMG…, he is the most blasphemous person on the earth. Satan Rushdie is a piglet compared to this pigosaurus, and yet he is invited. Have you read his book, The God Delusion? It contains highly disparaging, demeaning, desecrating literature. He shouldn’t have been allowed to trample the pious soul of our Godly country.

Books should be completely banned in India. They disrupt our religious harmony. In fact, any form of reading or writing should be banned. Such activities incite people to THINK, which is horrible. Whenever ordinary people get time from their daily grind, they should provide their brains complete rest. People should be taught only so much reading and writing as is needed to read the holy books and sufficient enough to read the signs while protesting, so that they don't hold banners and placards upside down.

Say no to books, say no to literature, say no to literary festivals. Together we can do it! Yes, we can!

Related Links:
WSJ: A guide to the 2012 Jaipur Literature Festival
BBC: Five highlights of the Jaipur festival

A Very Interesting Story

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 19:54:00 +0000

This happened several years ago. I was young, my friends were young. We were away from our homes, living in a hostel, and we thought all the good things in the world were waiting for us. One day, a close friend of mine and I were in the mood for an adventure. We made a plan. I don’t exactly remember the details, but it included a visit to a big city for some weird purpose.

From Left: The Monument, A Dog, Myself, and My Friend

So great number of years have passed since then that I have completely forgotten which city it was, but I still remember the famous monument we had visited. Though I can not recall the monument's name, it is perfectly etched in my memory. I have tried to draw it for you on the left.

Walking around that monument, we met some interesting people. Now I don’t even remember their faces or names or what they talked about, but I am sure we found them interesting at that time. When we went to see the other main attraction in that city, something horrible happened. I still feel uneasy thinking about that event, but I really don’t remember even a tiny bit of detail.

I faintly remember that there was either a lake or a river in that city, and we had rented a…what do you call it…it is like a ship, but very small and you can travel across water on it. We paddled it away and couldn't find our way back for a long time. We were also mighty scared when some strange birds that could also swim surrounded us. Whoof!

Even on our return journey, we suffered some sort of setback, but I have no clue what it was. I have lost touch with the friend who was with me on that adventure trip. Her name started with either R or S or A. I hope she finds me on Facebook or recognizes herself in the above picture, and helps me fill up the gaps in this story.

Once I entertained a huge crowd with this story. When it ended, they were so excited that they started throwing those white oval things which we break to make some tasty things for breakfast, and also those red round things which are vegetable as well as fruits, and we make, yes, now I remember, finally my memory comes to my aid, yes, we make ketchup from them.

When I Almost Became A Mormon

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 04:34:00 +0000

When we were moving to US, I was worried about leaving God’s own country for a nation of kafirs, atheists, and immoralists. But on my arrival, I learned that people here were as pious as folks back home.

The main approach road to our home had an exasperating number of churches alongside it. As we would pass by them in our car, out of habit and respect, I would bow my head to every church, left and right. One day, this pious act sprained my neck muscles. Now my world revolved around my neck pain, and I became extremely depressed and irritable. Getting a physician’s appointment was even more difficult than finding God. They were all booked for the next three months. We resorted to prayers, and over-the-counter first aid products like Bengay and hot/cold packs.

One of those days, when I was still wearing a neck support there was a knock on my door. I found two white men, barely out of high school, wearing white shirts, black ties, black pants, and broad smiles. One of them was tall and thin, and the other was a bit plump. They were holding books in their hands and exuding pleasantness as if they were my long lost relatives.

The tall one introduced himself as John, and the plump one as Jeremy, and then very politely expressed their hearty regrets at the condition of my neck. John asked if I had a few minutes to spare. I said, “Sure,” and welcomed them into my living room. After settling down, I exhorted them why they were wasting their life on such silly propaganda mission instead of studying, or learning life skills, or doing some real job.

Jeremy assured me that they will join universities after their two year stint as missionaries.

And then to start a small talk, I asked if they knew what was going on in Iraq and Afghanistan? To my horror they were completely oblivious of everything or anything happening around the world because they were cut off from the world and even from their own families. They were not allowed to watch movies or attend parties or have any relationship with girls. I felt very sad for them.

I thought it was wise to let them know my beliefs before they try to proselytize me. I told them how deeply religious person I was, and that I believed in more than 360 million gods and goddesses including FSM and IPU besides bhoot, pret, atmas, jinn, pishach and all the past and present gurus, babas, swamis. And I was smart enough to mention that I believed in Jesus Christ, Mother Mary, Tooth Fairies, and Santa Claus as well.

“Oh, do you also follow Jesus Christ?” John exulted as soon as I paused to breathe.

“Yes, the great man who started happy holidays.”

The Father, the Son, and Joseph Smith
(Courtesy Wikimedia Commons)

They were off-stumped by my knowledge about their religion, and went silent for a few minutes, but then decided to provide me with more information. “Not only that, but he is our savior.” Then Jeremy talked in length about the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Joseph Smith and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which was all new to me.

“Now Ms. Joshi, let us pray.”

All three of us held each other’s hands in a circle, closed our eyes, and John said, “Heavenly Father, we thank thee for everything you have given us. Please bless Ms. Joshi and her family with knowledge, comfort, guidance, peace, and health. We pray in the name of Jesus Christ,” and then together they said, “Amen.”

“Amen,” I also repeated. It felt so strange. These kids didn’t even know how to pray. Whereas, I knew scores of Sanskrit and vernacular prayers by heart. How pathetic! My heart filled with sympathy for their rigorous life and their utter lack of knowledge. Such heightened emotions stimulated my lacrymal glands, which started secreting saline watery fluid.

“You will be all right, Ms. Joshi, Lord will provide you comfort.” Jeremy said, and then asked, “Would you like us to say prayers in the presence of your husband and daughter as well?”

“Yes, of course,” I said, wiping my tears.

So it was decided that they would visit us again on coming Saturday. I was so affected by their hardship, which they said was nothing compared to what Jesus had suffered, that I was ready to join their church and become a Mormon. On parting, Jeremy offered me a copy of the Book of Mormon, which I readily accepted.

As soon as they left, my neck pain alleviated, all thanks to Jesus Christ, the Holy Ghost, and the greatest physician sitting in the sky. The book was interesting too.

Later that evening, I informed my husband and daughter about my pact with the wretched missionary boys and that they would visit us on Saturday. I also tried to explain why we should join the LDS Church, but they turned out to be extremely stubborn, inflexible, dogmatic, and not open to discussion at all. On Saturday, my husband sent the boys back from the door itself, but they were there again on Monday, this time to claim their book, which I returned grudgingly.

Now many years after that incident, sometimes I think had we converted to Mormonism, who knows my husband would have become as rich and successful as the Republican presidential candidate, Mitt Romney, and I would have been smugly sitting on a pile of my published books like Stephanie Meyer with dollars raining over me. “Heavenly Father, if you still insist on raining dollars over me, please make sure that they are high denomination bills, not coins. The latter could cause bodily injury. Amen!”

Kindly Accept My Wishes For The Year 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 22:03:00 +0000

May you burn in hell fire! May you get struck by lightning, falling meteor, or satellite debris! May you spoil your relationship with your friends and family members with your greed and selfishness! May your heart always be filled with cynicism, hatred and jealousy! May laziness, pessimism, and fatalism take control of your life! Now relax, I have stopped wishing such things to anyone or everyone.

There was a time when I was not as mature, prudent, judicious, and sagacious as I am today, and I used to curse people with accidents, pestilences, earthquakes, fires, bankruptcies, etc. Most of the time, my prophecies came true. People said that I had a “black tongue.”

Though I had this power of bringing on disasters, I didn't have any control over the consequences. So when I wished my sister chickenpox, I also got infected catching it from her. When I wished earthquake to the neighbor living one floor above us, we were terrified to see our fans and chandeliers shaking violently. Similarly, wishing fire to the person living on the ground floor once caused much damage to my house as well. My bankrupt friends were another headache. They would keep pestering for loan and frequently drop by uninvited during meal times.

Thus to save myself from the overwhelming miseries of my friends and relatives, I have started wishing them only good luck and good health. Their good heath ensures that I am not infected. All my friends have now been bestowed with exemplary wisdom, and have stopped doling out foolish advice to me. Rich friends have been extremely generous. I have never been so happy.

Therefore even if your success and happiness give me a gnawing feeling and sleepless nights, I wish you all the best. May you own big vacation homes, boats/yachts, private jets, island resorts etc. etc. May your heart be filled with kindness, generosity, and charity towards friends like me! Have a wonderful 2012!

I hope the big international players like USA, Iran, Pakistan, China, India, etc. do not stumble upon my idea. If they started following this strategy, and allowed others to live peacefully and let each other prosper, the world would become such a boring place.

(Pictures: Hellfire from Google images and Happy 2012 from 123greetings.com)

Don Says...

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 04:25:00 +0000

Don is happy that you guys made his movie a top grosser. Not watching a Don movie is not only difficult, but impossible. Why not, after all, Don is damned irresistible. Don’s dashing looks enhanced by a goatee and a gorgeous pigtail have been making gals go gaga. Don’s new look has absolutely charmed and enthralled and mesmerized everyone else too.

But remember, Don likes to be chased only by wild cats like Roma. Middle-aged aunties, please stop swooning over Don’s sensational physique.

Don can be slick, funny, and mean, all at the same time. No one can twitch his face like Don, nor can anyone spit like him. Not even Hrithik Roshan. Boom! Hee, hee, hee, hee…Don doesn’t need to explode bombs anymore, his chuckle and whinnying are enough to scare and kill his enemies, comprising the whole world population except Sameer Ali, Ayesha, and probably Roma.

Don has been minting Euros. Don is now the unchallenged king of Asia-Pacific and Europe. Don’s next destination is America. Until Don hatches an equally awesome plan to conquer the Yankees, he will pay some attention to his personal hygiene. Now, Don will brush his teeth. This toothpaste dispensing machine is invented by Don’s loyal fan, the great computer hacker Sameer Ali.

"Not cleaning Don’s teeth is not only difficult, but impossible!" (modified from a Rube Goldberg illustration)

(Rube Golderg is Don’s latest inspiration after The Italian Job, Ocean’s 11, Bourne Identity, Mission Impossible, James Bond flicks etc. etc.)

Early One Morning

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 14:09:00 +0000

It is holiday season once again. Your spouse and kids are at home all the time, testing your patience. Last year around this time, I had advised you on how to keep your husband busy. This year, I am in the benign mood of forgiveness. The Christmas decorations around the town, the soothing holiday songs, “Fa la la la la, la la la la,” etc. etc. have smoothed my frayed nerves and melted my stony heart as if it were a hardened clod of clay that has now fallen into a puddle. I have been dwelling dreamily in this beautiful puddle, I mean world.

It looks like my benevolence has rubbed off on my husband too. He has stopped frowning and all I see on his face is a smile, hitherto brought into existence only with the aid of the word, cheese.

“You are an angel,” he tells me. Yes, we have seen angels hanging from Christmas trees. “You have been so kind and gracious lately. You make me happy. Next year, I will let you buy two of those Christmas decorations that you were after this time. I regret that all these years I have behaved like a typical Indian jerk, never lending you a hand in the kitchen or at any other house-hold chore. I always thought that wives were meant to be full-time servants for their husbands’ families, except that they didn’t dare to leave their provider on being mistreated. Now, I feel bad that while we enjoy the holidays, your work never ends. Obviously, we can’t shut down the kitchen, so these holidays I am going to take complete charge of the kitchen. You deserve a break.”

It was such a welcome proposition. I start to plan my day. Work on a new blog post, practice dancing to the songs, "Character dheela", "Switty Switty", "Dhinka chika" for New Year’s Eve. I was thinking about what I would wear at the dance party, when I hear my husband’s voice again, “Holidays don’t mean that you should sleep till late. Get up and make tea.”

“But didn’t you just say that you were going to take complete charge of the kitchen?”

“Whaat? Why would I say that?”

I realize I had been literally dwelling in dreamland. I get up and lug towards the kitchen. While having bed tea, I narrate my whole dream, verbatim. The husband goes silent for a few moments. I feel as if he is having a change of heart after hearing such a poignant tale early in the morning, sawere sawere. Jagjeet Singh’s ghazal, "Jo kahta tha kal shab, sambhalna sambhalna, wahi ladkhadaya sawere sawere," start to play in my heart

And then he clears his throat to say, “Even I had a nice dream, but it was slightly different from yours. I saw that you have found a well-paying job and I was too happy to manage the home. And I was doing a far better job of it than you do.”

“Hmm…,” I reply, “These dreams are complete nonsense, weird, bizarre, not connected to real life at all. By the way, what would you like to have for breakfast today?”

(Picture courtesy goodwp.com)

Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells! Merry Christmas, Everyone!

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 03:53:00 +0000

Festivities are in the air. Christians are very happy. They will celebrate Jesus Christ’s birthday as Christmas on December 25th. For them, this is like Diwali, Dussera, Holi, Raksha Bandhan, Makar Sankranti, Shivratri, Navratri, Ram Navami, Ganesh Chaturthi, Pongal, Durga Puja, all in one. Hindus are also happy because they like festivals and holidays. My Hindu neighbors decorate their homes with more lights on Christmas than on Diwali.

Last year, I wished someone a happy Christmas, but she told me that I should say, “Marry Christmas.” So, marry Christmas, dear friends!

Jesus has the largest number of followers, about 2.1 billion, on this earth. I found out this bitter truth from the internet. Seriously, such information should be banned. It hurt my religious sensibilities and felt like a slap on my cheek. Prophet Mohammad is a close second with 1.7 billion followers. This was a slap on the other cheek. Lord Rama is third with 1 billion followers, and shares this attention with several other Hindu deities. I am considering shaving my head at Tirumala Venkateswara Temple at Tirupati to make him the most popular among the three.

On second thought, I should not be so despondent because these guys have been dead for thousands of years. If you go by the Facebook pages of the living, currently, Eminem is leading with about 49 million followers, Rihanna has 48 million and Lady Gaga has 46 million followers. They need to spruce up their PR if they want to beat the dead guys.

As the year 2011 is coming to an end, let us evaluate how the nations around the world have done regarding the teachings of their messiah, prophet, or incarnation, or whatever they like to call their source of enlightenment.

The most powerful nations with Christian population like USA and its European allies have certainly achieved a lot to brag about. Following Jesus Christ’s top advice of ‘forgiveness’ and ‘do unto others,’ they have forgiven a lot. Iraq has now been forgiven. The last of the US troops left Iraq on December 19, 2011 after almost nine years of unforgiving war, which cost trillions of dollars, over 4,800 allied troops and over 100,000 Iraqi lives. The second axis of evil Kim Jong Il was also forgiven, and he died a natural death. The third axis, Iran, recently downed a spy craft, RQ-170 Sentinel drone, which belonged to US. But the superpower has, until now, shown utter restraint and graciousness as preached by Jesus Christ.

I suppose, I don’t need to go into the finer details of how the Muslim countries, like Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iran, and other Middle East nations, have been thriving and experiencing peaceful times.

India, the world's largest democracy with a large number of Lord Rama’s followers, has not been left behind either. We have been successful in being one of the most corrupt and highly misogynistic societies.

So far, all the nations have done extremely well. Let us hope the spirit continues in the year 2012 as well. Meanwhile, let us enjoy the festive season. It is that time of the year when everyone talks about Santa. I also want to share a short story.

Once, Santa in his red shirt and white flowing beard was having a great time at a children’s party. He was gobbling up one delight after another.

Suddenly a kid asked him, “Who are you?”

“I am Santa,” he replied in a hushed tone.

In a little while, Santa was surrounded by many kids. They unleashed their demands for toys, because Christmas was around the corner.

Baffled, Santa shouted, “Oye Banta, what is all this? Didn't you tell me I could get free food here without any hassle?”

(Picture Source: christmas39.com)

How Little Miss Sunshine Saved Her Birthday Party

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 04:54:00 +0000

(Warning: This story contains kid content. Therefore it is advisable to read it under a kid’s supervision. It is written for Shruti Nainwal, who turned 6 today.)

Little Miss Sunshine didn’t care anymore that her birthday came after everyone else’s at the end of the year in mid December. She was happy that this way she got a whole year to plan for it.

Talking of birthdays, the kids all over the world should thank Miss Sunshine that they can now celebrate their birthdays without worrying about the underground creatures, called keekos, spoiling their parties.

Miss Sunshine is a 6-year-old diva with brown curly hair and the loveliest smile. She has a secret laboratory at her home where she keeps inventing many wonderful and magical things. She also knows many languages; besides Hindi, English, and Spanish, she understands the language of animals and birds.

When she sits on the patio swing in her backyard, little birdies hop near her and tell her fascinating stories from far and wide.

One day when Miss Sunshine was still 3, she saw a big, black, shiny cockroach behind a sofa in her living room. You should know that Miss S has never been afraid of any type of bugs. Still, Miss S got angry at the cockroach because her mommy and her big sister usually started screaming at the sight of bugs. So Miss S scolded the cockroach in a low but firm voice, “Why do you come to scare my sister? Why don’t you live in your own house?”

The cockroach froze at his place as if he was terrified of Miss S. And then he squeaked, “You are so lucky to have hands. We don’t have hands to make houses or cook food.”

“Even then,” Miss S said sternly, “you are not allowed in my house.”

The cockroach went away quietly without saying anything. The very next day when Miss S retuned from school and entered her room, she saw the same cockroach near her closet. She was again mad at him. “I am going to tell my daddy on you and he has a spray that will kill you.”

“No, Miss Sunshine, please listen to me. I have come here to tell you something urgent. It’s about your birthday party.”

Miss S stopped to listen to him. She had been eagerly waiting for her birthday party. “Now, what?” she asked, a little irritated and added, “You are not invited to my birthday. All my friends will run away from the party if they saw you.”

“Not that! I came here to warn you that some keekos are planning to spoil your party.”

“Who are keekos?”

“Oh, don’t you know keekos? They are also like you. They have hands and they walk straight, but they live inside the earth. When you people have parties, it becomes too noisy for them. So now they have planned to spoil all birthday parties so that people stop celebrating birthdays. But you can do nothing to save your parties because you can not see them. They are invisible to you.”

“Really?” Miss S was now worried. “How will they spoil my birthday party?”

“They will pop the balloons, spill the food and drink, and make the guests fight with each other.”

“Ooh! That is so mean!”

“They usually roam on the streets and also inside your homes, but they are invisible to people. You will need to invent special glasses to see them.”

At that moment, Miss S heard the footsteps of her elder sister, so she asked the cockroach to leave. After that day, Miss S became busy with her secret experiments. She spent all her spare time in the laboratory. She collected many types of transparent papers, and then many types of spices from her mom’s kitchen, and also many types of leaves and flowers from her garden. Sometimes she also used her mom’s makeup stuff and her dad’s cologne. She would make different types of transparent papers and look through them to spot the keekos.

But all her efforts failed. She couldn’t see any keeko. The only outcome of her experiments was her dad’s scolding for creating mess, for leaving the papers and other stuff here and there.

It was December 13th and only one day was left for her birthday. Her mom and big sister had finished all the shopping for the birthday. They brought lots of stuff for decoration and also plenty of return gifts. When Miss S saw the packets of balloon, she became nervous and distressed. She knew there was no use blowing all those balloons. The keekos were going to pop them. She didn’t tell her mom anything about it because she knew her mom would never believe her, and only make fun of her.

Miss Sunshine’s mom, and dad, and big sister asked her why she was so quiet, but she didn’t tell them anything. She went to her room and started thinking. I have done so many experiments. Now what else can I try? How can I see the keekos?

She was lost in her thoughts when suddenly, tabhi achanak, she heard the cockroach say, “Have you invented the glasses?”

“No. Go away!" Miss S got baffled. "I am thinking. Don’t disturb me. Let me think.”

And she resumed thinking. Only people can not see the keekos, all other animals can see them. All the bugs can see them. It means their eyes are special. Hmm…if I get bugs’ eyes, I can make potion from them.

With such thoughts in her mind, she went to sleep. The next day she collected dead bugs from her backyard, and then put those bugs in water to make magic potion. After sometime she polished some transparent plastic pieces with that potion and looked through them to see what was going on downstairs. To her horror, she saw strange gray creatures roaming around the house. They were more interested in the birthday stuff.

Miss Sunshine immediately told her mom and dad about the keekos. They didn’t believe her until they too saw the keekos through the magic lens invented by Miss Sunshine.

On learning the whole story, Miss Sunshine’s mom gave the keekos such a dressing down, that they all ran away. And the birthday was celebrated with great fun and frolic. No one popped the balloons, spilled the food or drink, or made the guests fight with each other.

Related Posts:
The Storyteller
Save These Creatures: Just 1411 Left

A Tribute To Respected Shri Shri Kapil Sibal Ji

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 06:28:00 +0000

A tribute to the upholder of communal harmony and decency in the Indian society, respected Shri Shri Kapil Sibal Ji.

Yikes! I am sick and tired of the continuous tirade against Shri Kapil Sibal Ji. Please stop calling him idiot, stupid, moron, senile, loony, etc. Why are all of you hell bent on flushing away our culture and civilization, tehzeeb and tameez, down the chronically clogged drains?

(Picture courtesy The Telegraph)

Sibal Ji is an elderly person. We should respect and obey him as an elder, however idiot, stupid, moron, senile, loony, ignorant, fool, sycophant, or regressive he might be.

On the other hand, internet activities of Indians below the age of 60 years need to be supervised and monitored. Sibal Ji was right in asking the representatives of Microsoft, Google and Facebook to prescreen content originating in India, which might insult or offend other Indians. These companies are now acting like irresponsible arbiters. It makes me mad to think why these companies have made empires for themselves in our country when they cannot comply with our traditions.

What freedom of speech are these companies and the internet abusers talking about? It is totally an un-Indian concept. In our culture, it is despicable to open our mouths in front of our elders. The head of the family makes decisions for everyone, not just for the underage children, but for everyone including the wife, adult children, married sons, daughters-in-law, and grand children.

In our own ingenious way, the responsibility to monitor the internet activities of members of each family should be given to the head of that family. These 60+ cyber police—however idiot, moron, senile, ignorant, fool, or regressive they might be—should have the carte blanche to approve the content uploaded by the younger generations.

I discussed this matter with my daughter, who has been using Facebook since the time when all I had was a Hotmail account, that too operated by her. We used to share a desktop computer, and sometimes when I would meander on the net, she would tell me to be careful not to befriend strangers. She used to be my internet guru.

So I told her how youngsters these days have gone berserk, posting degrading, demeaning, vulgar, obscene, and abusive content on Facebook by which "any normal human being would be offended,” borrowing heavily from Sibal Ji.

To which she replied nonchalantly, “Ignore them.”

“What do you mean by that? The offensive pictures and links appear on my newsfeed.”

At this point she started scolding me for making such friends, for engaging in lengthy conversations with trolls, and for visiting offensive websites. “On the internet, there is trash and there is class. You have to choose what you want to see or read. People like you who don’t understand the internet should keep away from it. This is the reason why I have blocked you on Facebook.”

Oops, I didn’t intend to let out this tiny bit of secret family feud. But her argument provided me with a great idea. If implemented, this extraordinary measure can solve Sibal Ji’s problems forever. His sensibilities will remain intact and people will stop calling him idiot, stupid, moron, senile, loony, etc.

The idea is—drum beats, please—the idea is to ask Microsoft, Google, Facebook, Twitter, etc. to block all access to respected Shri Kapil Sibal Ji and his cronies.

In case, the companies refuse to entertain this request, the only other option left for Sibal Ji and the UPA government would be to carry out their responsibilities sincerely and provide good governance so that the amount of accolades for them outweighs the derogatory content.

***

Too much politics actually hurts my delicate sensibilities. Therefore from time to time, I dabble in poetry. Here, as a tribute to Sibal Ji, I have parodied a few poems from his book of verse, I Witness: Partial Observations.

Social Media
Morphed pictures,
Inflammatory content
Disgrace and shame
Western standards
Trolls and abusers
Life is not the same.

Unknown Content
Unknown content
It beckons us
We must just
Censor it.

Your Freedom
Your freedom is
Bound to evaporate
With corrective steps
Sooner than late.

***

THE HINDU: Hate speech must be blocked, says Sibal

INDIA TODAY: Kapil Sibal doesn't understand internet

WSJ: India's Authoritarian Lapse

THE TELEGRAPH (2008): ‘When I’m in politics, I stick to the party line; when I’m a poet, I don’t’

How To Raise A Happy Child

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Sun, 04 Dec 2011 06:18:00 +0000

(In the following article I have used the pronoun ‘he’ for the child instead of ‘he or she’ for the sake of simplicity.)

Source: istockphoto.com

It doesn’t matter whether your child is a genius or an average brat, what matters is if he or she knows how to be happy. I am going to illuminate how to equip your child with an inbuilt fountain of happiness forever and ever.

If you are not burdened with the task of raising children, be your own child, and use these tips to enhance your own happiness.

Your child needs encouragement at every step. As soon as the little one starts mingling with others of his kind, let him freely push, shove, or beat up other kids, although you should surreptitiously keep an eye on the tiny tots for the safety of your own tot. The sight will not only warm up your heart, but also develop mountain-like self-confidence in your child.

Always be ready to fulfill his demands to make him feel like the center of the universe. He should be raised like a prince, a nawab, so that when he grows up he treats everyone in a kingly manner, making sure everyone serve his interests. He should be made aware that he is the best among his peers in every aspect, that your family’s race, class, caste, religion, or nationality is the best in the world. You can find relevant matter on the Internet to fill him up with love and pride for your own kind. This will make your child’s self-esteem soar like a space shuttle.

Next you need to inculcate positive attitude in your child. Despite all the protection, and the rainbow world that you have created for your family, your child will surely come across the ugliness of the lowly creatures, which is very difficult to obfuscate in this internet age. You will have to teach him how to turn a blind eye to it by explaining that all the violence, abuse, rape, hunger in the world is good for your family because you are the fortunate ones not suffering from all that. It is very important to forgo empathy and start enjoying others’ miseries.

Your little angel should develop passion for some sort of activity to immerse his senses when he wants to unwind or relax. With his acquired skills, he can fiddle like Nero when there is too much looting, burning, or bombing around the world. Now it is insanely time-consuming to master any musical instrument like Nero did. It is not easier either, to grapple with any other fine art, such as painting, dance, or literature. But you can certainly help your kid develop a passion for video games, Facebook, Twitter, etc. etc.

You should be a role model for your child because most of the time he is subconsciously absorbing values from your behavior, such as helping others for your own selfish reasons, talking very sweetly to those who might fulfill your agenda or advance your career, ditching them once your purpose is served.

After acquiring all these virtues, I am sure the scion will never be unhappy or distressed in life, rather he would be a source of distress to others. Tension lene ka nahin, only dene ka, ok?

The last virtue in today’s list is like a golden turret encrusted with precious stones on the top of a magnificent temple. And hold your breath—it is none other than the sense of humor! Teach your child to find amusement in everything and everyone. Make him adept at making fun of people. Believe me, it is very easy to laugh at anyone—after all, no one is perfect.

(Disclaimer: This advice is for raising a happy child, not necessarily a likeable one.)

In Pursuit Of Happiness

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 16:42:00 +0000

Picture: Outlook India

I am usually a happy and upbeat person, but last week after reading some contrived and shoddy articles in Outlook magazine’s Happiness Edition, I became highly miserable and fell into a dark well of “critically deep dukh and taynsion.”

To lift up my spirits, I turned the pages of the latest issue of the Time magazine. As if as a sign from Ma Unicorn, the first thing I read was, “10 Questions for Daniel Kahneman,” an interview with the psychologist and Nobel Prize winning economist.

Towards the end, he is asked if his research had changed the way he lives. Being a psychologist, he gives a long-winded, convoluted answer, which essentially means that happiness “depends on how much time you spend with people you like.”

Taking the cue from Heavens, I made a list of people I liked. It turned out that many of them lived in other cities and far-off countries. I put their names in a separate list for future references. If I ever visited their cities, I would definitely give them opportunity to host me and make me happy.

For now, I decided to make do with the people living in my own city. I tried to contact those who were on the top of my list, but their agents and managers simply refused to put me through. I left many voice messages, Facebook messages, and also tweeted to them. Only once, did I receive a reply when an agent told me that if I did not stop, I would be reported for stalking. After that, I struck off all the celebrities from my list of friends.

I thought, I should better spend my time with those friends who are approachable, people with whom I interact regularly. This exercise also turned out to be a damp squib. Some said they were busy as they already had plans. Sometimes a kid would pick up the phone, mumbling, “Hello… hello…” and then say, “Mommy says, she is not at home.”

And then there were others who would say, “My wife will kill me,” or “My wife will burn me alive.” It is a real pity to see men living in such terror. How can you expect people to be concerned about terrorism at large, when they are busy dealing with it at the home front?

Although this idea of spending time with people I liked has flopped badly, it does not signal the end of my pursuit of happiness. I have been mulling over my past and trying to recall the small instances and big events that had made me happy so that I can recreate something similar whenever I am in low spirits. I will share these findings in my next post.

My Life In My Own Words: Autobiography of Mr. S

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 04:54:00 +0000

When I heard that autobiographies are the in books this season, I thought of writing one too. While working on this project, I realized that this way not only will I be leaving an imprint on the tapestry of history, but also bequeathing a treasure of wisdom, enlightenment, and inspiration to the current and future generations.

Once upon a time I used to live a very colorful, bindaas, kick-ass life. I will tell you about it, as also how one evening it came to an abrupt end. Since then I have been living a saintly monogamous life. Of course, not out of choice. Being an inanimate object, I do not have a free will, nor am I complaining because even the most evolved animated bundles of atoms and molecules known as human beings seldom get to exercise their free will. Like us, most of them are brought into this world to be used by others and go on living according to the whims of the very same others.

I don’t exactly remember how I was born. When I grew conscious of my surroundings, I found myself tucked in a box with a few siblings. For many days, rather months, I thought the box was the whole world. And then one day, our world was shaken and torn apart and we were thrown into a bigger world to find many more spoons like us. We also discovered forks and knives and plates and napkins. Whoa!

Soon, I was being used by a variety of people—corporate officials, politicians, gangsters, kitty-partiers, members of small and big extended families, lovers, etc. etc. Thus I witnessed a lot of drama, and was privy to many a secret. Sometimes, I would attend a quiet dinner with dim lights and soothing music, at other time there would be a loud rambunctious party. I served regulars as well as first timers. They would scoop exotic curries and put me into their mouths. The mouths would taste different in the beginning, but eventually they were all same. Here I want to clarify that I never forced myself on anyone.

One day, I was attending to an average couple. After a lot of argument they ordered three or four dishes. With a big smile, the husband told the waiter that it was their marriage anniversary. Incidentally, I was with the wife. All the time while eating, they were correcting each other with comments like, 'Nobody holds a spoon like that,' 'Don’t slurp,' 'Sit properly,' 'This is supposed to be eaten after that,' 'Wipe your dirty face,' 'Can’t you eat without spilling?' I could sense tension. What I could not understand was whether they were fighting or celebrating.

When the dinner was over, the wife, madam GJ (I will use only initials to protect her identity) wiped me with a napkin and put me in her handbag. It was dark in there, and I remained confused for a long time.

When I saw the light again, I was washed lovingly by madam GJ, and placed proudly in her spoon holder.

I miss the good old days when I used to enter the mouths of many intriguing characters and also hear their fascinating stories. Sigh! You lose some you gain some. At my new home, there is not much drama, only slight tension during dinner time over minor issues such as burnt food (madam would assert it is just overcooked, not burnt) or an under-cooked dish (again, madam would claim it is nutritious.)

The good thing is that I have found individuality here. I am different from others and I am used exclusively by madam GJ. Sometimes, if by mistake, I am placed on the husband’s plate, he immediately pushes me away saying, “I don’t eat with stolen spoons.” That really hurts me. It is like calling a child born out of wedlock, illegitimate or a bastard, for absolutely no fault of his or her.

(Note: I will keep on updating this autobiography as the events keep unfolding for the benefit of mankind. Until then, Ciao!)

Modified from a picture on this page: wackystock.com

Aishwarya Rai And Abhishek Bachchan's Baby Quiz

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 15:44:00 +0000

Pictures of Abhishek and Aishwarya's babies from the above quiz
created by morphing Abhishek and Aishwarya's pictures:

How KBC Changed My Life

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 18:56:00 +0000

(Kaun Banega Crorepati (KBC) is an Indian version of the UK game show, Who Wants to be a Millionaire)

Dear all, today I want to share my awe-inspiring, life-changing story with you. Thanks to the godsend KBC and its magnanimous superstar host, the one and only, Amitabh Bachchan Jee, I have been transformed from a meek, depressed, stressed-out person into a confident, optimistic, and an upbeat individual. The game show has burst open the gate of opportunity in front of my eyes and has allowed me to dream big about money, fame, and success in life.

Eleven years ago, I used to slug at home as an unpaid housemaid and drudge at a private school as a teacher bogged down between ungrateful students and hateful administration for a meager amount.
At home, I was always censured by my husband and his family for my experimental cooking and personal habits. While at school, I was reprimanded for my innovative teaching style, wherein I allowed the students to discuss the subject matter freely among themselves, and also let them share notes with each other via paper airplanes. But a few pathetic students complained about me to the pedantic principal, who in turn pulled me up for poor class control.

My self-esteem was at its lowest ebb. I endured such humiliation and indignation only because I needed a roof over my head and some fancy clothes and jewelry on my body. This went on for a year and a half. Around this time, during Dussera-Diwali break, I visited my parents, where I found everyone hooked on a new TV show, Kaun Banega Crorepati, hosted by our beloved Amitabh Bachchan Jee. When my parents saw me answering most of the questions, they encouraged me to participate in the show. That was the turning point of my life. That was the beginning of my passionate love affair with KBC.

In anticipation of becoming a crorepati or a multi-millionaire, I quit my job as an under-paid school teacher. When my oppressive in-laws raised eyebrows over my telephone bills, I left their home to live with my parents.

Since then, I have been waiting for my rendezvous with Amitabh Bachchan Jee on KBC. Meanwhile, I have been devouring general knowledge books nineteen to the dozen.

For my day to day expenses, I have taken loan from many banks as well as from my friends and relatives. I have also bought myself a few luxuries of life that I had wished for a long time, though the wish list keeps on growing. Thanks to KBC, I have been living a comfortable, contented, and dignified life.

Other than trying to get into KBC, I spend my time in pooja- pathh or prayers and religious ceremonies, which gives me immense satisfaction, tranquility and peace of mind. I am a staunch believer, and one of these days, God is going to fulfill my wish.

There have been times when I have felt low because the show was not on air. But this year, when KBC resumed in its new avatar after a brief hiatus, my happiness knew no bounds. You cannot imagine the joy I experience on hearing the personal stories of the wretched contestants and then seeing them win. My heart is filled with gratitude for Amitabh Bachchan Jee.

We Indians do not have good roads, uninterrupted electricity, or clean surroundings, but we are the luckiest in the world to have Amitabh Bachchan Jee. He gives hope and inspiration to the poor illiterate, semi-literate, and literate people of India. He inspires us all to watch KBC and dream big.

I am a perfect candidate for the show, as I have a great personal story to tell, and also have the capability to learn and deliver dialogues flawlessly. I will be the KBC scriptwriters’ delight.

My friends keep asking me what I am going to do with the huge award money. Well, first of all, I will have to repay all the loans and then keep some dough for my future, since I do not want to work anymore for a living. With the remaining amount, I will form a trust to help the destitute and impoverished people of India.

I feel very strongly about the condition of women and children in my home country. Therefore my trust would provide premium quality cosmetics and designer handbags to the poor and needy women, and Xbox, Nintendo DS games, iPod touch, and such stuff to the deprived children. The trust will also distribute free tickets to the events like F1 race and Metallica concert to the poverty-stricken, underprivileged select few.

KBC, here I come.

Picture Courtesy setindia.com/kbc/

Srilakshmi And A Little Firecracker

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 19:53:00 +0000

Srilakshmi stood stupefied, watching the blazing fire at a nearby fireworks factory. She was a 12-year-old, dark and skinny girl, with unwashed sun-bleached short hair, and dressed in an oversized, soiled salwar-suit, desperately waiting to be 14 so that she could also work and earn alongside her mother.

When her strong leg got tired, she squatted on the dirt-littered ground and kept watching the spectacle, without knowing that her mother was one of those trapped in that doomed factory.

The blaze was accompanied by thick white fumes, loud bursting noises, and crackers shooting up in various directions. Although it was the rainy month of August, the sky was clear that day. Such explosions and accidents were common in Sivakasi, a bustling town that manufactured 90% of all firecrackers for Diwali and other celebrations.

Srilakshmi had also suffered severe burns in a fire accident many years ago, which left her right leg disfigured. She had stopped going to school because other children teased her for her limp.

After sometime, the fire subsided like her mother's anger, and Srilakshmi resumed picking discarded plastic water bottles. When her rag-bag was full, she returned to her one-room shack of a home. A few hours later, her mother was also back. As soon as she entered, she shouted, “Do you know there was a fire in my factory? I escaped death today. I was stuck inside for hours.” The mother's dark brown sari was disheveled, so was her oiled hair.

Srilakshmi started crying loudly and limped towards her mother and then clung to her.

“God has saved me…,” her mother continued. “He saved me for you. Had I died, what would have become of you?”

While still hiccuping, Srilakshmi found a little red firecracker in the folds of her mother’s sari. She held it tightly in her hand.

Her mother went away to scramble dinner for the two of them. Srilakshmi sneaked to a corner with the firecracker in her hand. She sunk in the bedding. Her tears dried leaving distinct patches on her cheeks. The mother's presence in the room comforted her. With her eyes closed, she felt the little cylindrical firecracker in her hand when suddenly, tabhi achanak, she heard a tiny voice.

“God has saved me. I would have died today.”

Srilakshmi opened her hand, looked at the source of the voice, and asked, “Whaat?” Her mouth agape. It was the cracker in her hand which had uttered these words.

“I mean I was lucky, otherwise I would have also died in the blast. Stupid firecrackers! They just can not live in peace—always fighting, bickering, back-biting. Now so many of them have paid with their lives.”

“Did their fighting cause the fire?”

“Of course, yes. It started with an altercation between a Bomb and a Phooljhadi (Sparkler) and then everyone started the game of one-upmanship, making fun of each other’s physical appearance, slandering, and hurling insults.”

“Like the school children? Who make fun of my leg?”

“Yes… the Bomb would taunt in a demeaning way, ‘I am the king. All of you are tain tain phiss.’ The Phooljhadi called him a fat, ugly pig, and extolled her own beauty. The Anar or Flowerpot said he was the fountain of knowledge, all others were ignorant fools. One would think that the Rocket would have remained silent, but no, he dismissed others as lowly creatures and gandi naalee ke keede and stated that only he had a refined taste for high life. The cacophony grew louder and louder. They even called each other H**dus, M**lims, and Ch****ians. The ensuing scuffle produced sparks and then it was kind of a world war. Luckily, I got away without any injuries, though I was thrown away in an explosion. All of them perished in the inferno. When will the firecrackers learn to respect each others’ differences?” He sighed.

Even though Srilakshmi was lost in her own reverie, imagining a school where it was all right to be different than others and where no one made fun of her leg, she couldn’t help asking, “Aren’t all firecrackers supposed to be lit and burst on Diwali?”

“Shush…we don’t utter the D-word. I know everyone has to die one day, but why not live with love and harmony until then?”

“You are such an intelligent cracker.” Srilakshmi held it close to her heart and fell asleep.

She had a bizarre lucid dream that day. She saw that her beloved Firecracker had become a celebrity and was surrounded by reporters, who were asking him again and again about the factory fire, and he was repeating the same story.

In the last sequence of the dream that she remembered, a journalist asked the Firecracker if he had any message for the human beings.

To which he replied, “I want all human beings to continue fighting with each other. Please make more weapons of mass destruction. Someday there will be a fight among various types of nuclear bombs, which will be a celestial Diwali. All of you will then burn like firecrackers. It will end all your miseries and spare all other living and non-living beings from your atrocities—forever.”

Srilakshmi couldn’t believe her little friend could say all that. A pall of gloom descended on her. She was left heartbroken.

A Kick-Ass Nation

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 16:42:00 +0000

We need to make India a kick-ass nation, meaning a forceful, aggressive, and impressive superpower. For that, we need a revolutionary transformation in our way of thinking, behaving, and working.

As citizens of a wannabe superpower, we should demand improved infrastructure and efficient services without hassles and corruption. Indians are the best in the world. We should follow our own traditions to find our own ways for development rather than aping the west.

Enough of politeness, courtesy, and respect—these things are not going to take us anywhere. We shouldn’t be bothered about fulfilling our responsibilities either. Only by kick starting a kicking/punching/verbal-abusing/shoe-throwing revolution, both online and offline, can we make India a real superpower. We need to be crazy for our nation.

Even Anna Hazare says, “When a man's power of tolerance runs out, then whoever is in front of you, if a slap is given, then the brain is put back in place. That is the only road open now.”

Please like “Let us kick, punch, and break heads of all anti-India traitors to make India a superpower” on Facebook. Let us spread this message by writing violent one-liners inciting people to beat up Digvijay Singh, Kapil Sibal, Rahul Gandhi, Prashant Bhushan, Arvind Kejriwal or anyone else that anyone doesn’t like.

We should be proud that we are the best in the world, at least in writing expletives and abuses on the web in bad English and even worse Hindi, though Pakistanis are a close second.

For offline revolution, more patriotic armies like Shiv Sena, Sri Ram Sene, Bhagat Singh Kranti Sena, Maharashtra Navnirman Sena, Bajrang Dal should be consolidated, and given a free hand to continue beating everyone and anyone.

Change begins at home. To make our children good kickers and boxers, they should be trained from early childhood. Only a person who is abused properly in his childhood can become a good abuser when he or she grows up. Therefore, please start kicking and punching your children and siblings at the earliest. Conversely, children can emulate their elders by kicking and beating their parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. This is the best way to practice to excel in this field. And then there should be community level, state level, and national level competitions for kicking and verbal abusing.

I have already designed medals and trophies for the participants and winners. This one is for the gold medalists:

A typical day in a person’s life in our ideal nation would be, watching and indulging in kicking and abusing at home, at work, and also at any other place that one would visit for any kind of service—places like the market, a government office, a hospital, a beauty parlor, a restaurant, etc.

When all anti-nationals, traitors, and corrupt people would be beaten up, then only our democracy would start functioning efficiently and our nation will become a truly great nation—a kick-ass nation.

Mera Bharat Mahan! Vande Mataram! Jai Hind!

Related links:
FIRSTPOST: Attack on Prashant Bhushan: The real shame is on us
NEWSBULLET: Bal Thackeray congratulates Prashant Bhushan's attackers

You Only Live Once: Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 15:30:00 +0000

(From the previous post: “What I love doing is eating and sleeping. No one is going to push start my stopped juggernaut. I am a rebel with a grouse. Suddenly I have realized that my time on this earth is limited. I will not waste it living someone else's life.”)

Friends, my Eating & Sleeping project is going on very well. As Ralph Waldo Emerson had once said, “Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen.”

My universe is made up of my friends and my family members. And I have been receiving unconditional support from everyone. All my online and offline friends except a few jealous souls have been extremely delighted at my undertaking. I remember my best friend, praying, “Oh God, if you can not make me thin, make all my friends fat.” Looks like God has listened to her. I am putting on a lot of weight these days.

This is how I might look in the future.
(In this 2007 picture, I am in a jumpsuit filled with balloons)

My husband is the best husband in the world. Not that he has ever given in to any of my demands in the past without rolling his eyes, but this time he has been extremely generous and supportive. He keeps the refrigerator full with cakes, pastries, pizzas, samosas, jalebis, and what not. And also regularly makes Indian sweets like milk cake, gajar halwa, etc. at home. My whole house looks like a pantry these days. He also wants me to sleep all the time, of course, only after I finish my wifely duties.

Only a few jealous friends have tried to put hurdles in my way. I am not complaining. It is human nature to pull down anyone, who aims for higher things in life. I don’t want to name this person, who makes a very bad face whenever I talk about my achievements. And only awful statements come out of her mouth, like, “Overeating can cause serious health problems,” or “Sleeping or inactivity causes muscle loss.” As if I don’t know anything about health and nutrition. How can you lose something that you are not using? For the same reason, nor do I use my brain too much. Many scientists and geniuses have gone mad because of too much thinking.

My mother is very happy these days as she has always been after me to eat, eat, and eat more. She wants me to take a balanced diet with a liberal helping of everything including, ghee, butter, cream, sweets etc. She herself has dietary restrictions because of diabetes and heart problem, but her faith in rich and sumptuous meals for everyone else has not wavered. She wants me to look well-off.

“No exercising.” She has issued prohibition orders against all types of stressful activities including swimming, running etc. When she saw me lifting weights, which is now banned, she couldn’t contain her laughter.

Thrice a day, after both of us are done with our work in the kitchen—cooking, eating, cleaning—she sends me to sleep, saying, “Don’t wreck your eyes on the computer. (Computer pe ankhen mat phodna.)” One should always obey the parents. I am comforted by the fact that I am making my mother happy.

Right now, I am highly motivated and no amount of putting down by the naysayers is going to deter me. I have galvanized all my resources towards my efforts in achieving my goal. I have spent half of my life just finding out a purpose for my life. Now I do not want to spend the remaining half going after it in a halfhearted way. No more mediocrity. I have the biggest pool of knowledge—the internet—at my disposal to find out how to eat and sleep well. I want to be one of the best in the world.

All of my role models are the Guinness World Records' Heaviest Woman contenders and winners like, Donna Simpson, Susanne Eman, Pauline Potter etc.

But I have a confession to make. After watching these superstars, I am feeling a bit depressed. I have a strange feeling of anxiety and morbid melancholy. Maybe I am daunted by their success.

Guess what? I have decided to keep doing what I love without thinking about the results.

You Only Live Once

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Fri, 07 Oct 2011 21:39:00 +0000

Like everyone else, I am also very sad at the untimely demise of Steve Jobs, the outstanding creative genius of our time. He was such a fine human being. I have watched the video of his inspiring commencement speech at Stanford University several times, and have been assiduously following all the stories that my friends have been linking. Quotes from the speech are still popping up on blogs and as status updates on Facebook.

His message, “You've got to find what you love,” has hit a chord with the young internet-savvy Indians.

Why do you think India doesn’t produce people like Steve Jobs, Mark Zuckerberg, or Bill Gates? Is it because most Indians keep their children shackled both physically and mentally? Your parents expect you to follow the old worn-out rituals and traditions. Once you grow up, they make sure that you are well-shackled by someone else. Ultimately, when your spouse relents and grown-up kids stop feeling embarrassed at your choices, you do have an opportunity to break free. But at this phase in life, you have a new enemy, and that is your own body, which will stop taking orders from your mind.

Therefore I beseech you, be a rebel, go against the tide. “…have the courage to follow your heart and intuition.”

I found out early in my life what I loved doing, but never had the courage to follow my heart. This is the time to raise my flag too, now that Steve has showed us a way.

“Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose,” he had elaborated in his speech.

Now here is a wonderful song by Devang Patel, which I find equally inspiring as Steve Jobs’ message. It also lifts my spirit when I am gloomy. It goes, “Bhaiyya zindagi ye ek bar mili hai, bas tu bina soche khaa…(Dude, you only live once, so eat to your heart’s content....)”

What I love doing is eating and sleeping. No one is going to push start my stopped juggernaut. I am a rebel with a grouse. Suddenly I have realized that my time on this earth is limited. Therefore I will not waste it living someone else's life. (Continued => You Only Live Once: Part II)

Thank you Steve! You will remain an inspiration for many generations to come!

More on Steve Jobs:
The New York Times: A pple’s Visionary Redefined Digital Age
The New York Times: Steve Jobs’s Patents
Elephant Journal: Steve Jobs Sought Enlightenment in India After Dropping Out of College
First Post: Why Steve Jobs’ love affair with India ended very, very early
Forbes: The Top Ten Lessons Steve Jobs Taught Us
The Newyorker: Xerox PARC, Apple, and the truth about innovation by Malcolm Gladwell
CNN: The Spiritual side of Steve Jobs

The Economist: The Magician

The Economist: A Genius Departs

The New York Times: With Time Running Short, Jobs Managed His Farewells

The New York Times: Defending Life’s Work With Words of a Tyrant

The New York Times: How Jobs Put Passion Into Products

The Economist: Beautiful gadget, no manual necessary

(Picture courtesy telegraph.co.uk)

How To Prevent Earthquakes

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 13:34:00 +0000

When an airplane shakes in midair, we call it turbulence. Similarly, when the ground beneath our feet shakes, we call it an earthquake. I hope you do not confuse either of these with milkshake, which falls under an entirely different category.

Air turbulence causes only panic and motion sickness among the passengers unless the aircraft is going to crash, while earthquakes can render widespread devastation and destruction. The buildings and bridges could go tumbling down and turn into rubble, crushing human beings as you crush ants and other lowly creatures with your shoes.

If an earthquake strikes your city, either you will instantly die from the heavy objects or the building material falling over you, or you will be trapped in the debris of your beloved house that you had built or bought with all your life’s savings and which you upkeep with all your life’s energy.

In case you survive the initial jolt, but the outside world fails to rescue your damaged, mangled body from the trap, you will gradually starve, lose consciousness, and then die.

To save ourselves from such ghastly consequences, we need to find out the reasons behind earthquakes and try to stop them before they strike us.

We at the Grist Mill Academy of Occult Science and Obfuscated Technology are hard at work to find solutions to the blazing problems of the humanity by scientific methods.

Here I present the outline of our earthquake research program:

Steps of the Scientific Method

•Project: To find out why earthquakes occur

•Background Research: This research has its roots in a personal incident. A few years ago I used to pray to God to destroy my rich neighbor’s apartment by earthquake or fire. I was lucky that He didn’t have powers to grant my wish, otherwise—I realized this later—the same earthquake or fire would have destroyed my apartment too as we lived in the same building. When we started this project, my team researched ancient scriptures and scrolls, and learned that God’s clan lived in heaven or sky and the Devil’s progeny lived in an underground cell. Thus we concluded that fires and earthquakes fell under the Devil’s jurisdiction.

•Hypothesis: On the basis of the above insight, we inferred that earthquakes happened when the agents of the Devil are piqued by the behavior or actions of the human population living on the surface. To find out what inflames or infuriates these underground creatures, we are currently testing five hypotheses:

#1 Girls wearing jeans: This could be the most possible trigger for earthquakes. Girls in denims could have been making the Devil's agents go crazy. Indian devils are not accustomed to seeing girls on the road in western outfits. As more and more girls have been opting to wear jeans, it could be responsible for the increased seismic activities.

#2 Girls and boys playing dandiya during Navaratri and celebrating Valentine’s Day in February: Everybody knows what goes on in the name of playing dandiya. Devil's could be highly displeased with such activities because they prefer people abusing, torturing, or killing each other.

#3 Criticizing Narendra Modi: Next time you criticize NaMo or write an article against him, remember you would be responsible for the hell’s fury. Your whole city could be engulfed in a catastrophe.

#4 Putting rich people like A. Raja, Suresh Kalmadi, Amar Singh etc. in jail: We at the Grist Mill are highly concerned at the growing number of people being incarcerated. Come on, all of us have given or taken bribes at some point in our lives. These esteemed personalities merely had a few more zeros in their transactions for which they should be applauded.

#5 Not allowing the terrorists to explode bombs whenever and wherever they wish: Guys, terrorists are people too. They have dreams and aspirations like all of us. Why not let them live their lives according to their faith and convictions? Why incur the wrath of the Devil instead?

•Different teams have been assigned to test the above hypotheses. They will conduct experiments, and then analyze the data to find out which one of these hypotheses is correct.

Until then, stay safe!

Life Goes On

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 16:53:00 +0000

The parting was difficult. Neither you wanted to leave, nor did I want to lose you. It was our destiny to go our separate ways.

When we were together, I never thought much about you, though you were always there for me. You endured all the sweet and bitter moments of life with me. I took you for granted. You were my hidden pearl, always keeping a low profile. I regret not caring enough for you. Never knew my sweet indulgences were afflicting you until you rebelled and started pestering me.

Yes, you hurt me, you made me suffer. I spent many sleepless nights and painful days. I prayed to all known and unknown deities for your well-being. You remained unrelenting. I even mended my ways and started caring for you, but the damage had been done. Nothing could reverse it.

You were not at fault at all, nor was there any accident or violence involved. My recklessness alone is to be blamed.

I cried when I learned that you will no longer be with me. When you were gone, I was in pain for many days. Gradually, as time passed, the wound healed. Although I don’t miss you a lot, sometimes when I am alone, I do think about you. It’s been many years. The gap you left is still there. I feel incomplete without you. No one can take your place.

Despite the mind-numbing pain at such separations, despite the severity of a loss, life goes on. Now I want to use my loss to spread the message of love and care, though lately I have realized people don’t learn from others’ mistakes. RIP, dear pearl of wisdom! You showed me the light, taught me a lot. Now I brush my remaining pearls three times a day, floss them twice a day, and also get them cleaned by a dentist every six months.

Picture courtesy photobucket.com

Stop Domestic Abuse

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 02:37:00 +0000

Who loves well, punishes well

This is important. Domestic abuse should be condemned in strong words. It is an epidemic. According to one study only 1% of all domestic abuse is reported to the police. The reasons behind this underreporting could be that either people want to maintain the façade of pride and honor of their families, or they become so habitual that they consider it a normal behavior

Before I started writing this post, I used to think domestic abuse meant abusing domestic animals. I had read about them in primary school, and every year from 1st to 5th standard, I always got full marks in exams for the essay “The Cow” until it was replaced with “Independence Day” in middle school. That was the time when my percentage dropped drastically. But none of the essays had any mention of abuse. Thus to research this topic, my first step was to find out the definitions of the words domestic and abuse.

Domestic: of or pertaining to the home, the household, household affairs, or the family: domestic pleasures
Abuse: to use wrongly or improperly; misuse: to abuse one's authority.

Gosh, I was completely off the track. Really, English is such a confusing language that, sometimes, what we infer from a word, a phrase or a sentence turns out to be completely opposite of what it means.

At least, now I understand what domestic abuse means, and once again I condemn it in the strongest words. If you want to make this world a better place you have to begin from your own home, because the world is a collection of homes. I urge all of you to stop domestic abuse.

Domestic abuse, as I realize now, means not caring for your home, keeping it dirty, letting the kids mess up things, not mending the broken walls and windows, not fixing the leaking taps, letting mold, fungus, and garbage pile up in the rooms. This is absolutely detestable, unacceptable, and unpardonable.

You should learn to love, care, and respect your home and all the household items including the idols of God, showpieces, kitchenware, appliances, furniture, etc. If your spouse or children misuse any of these, give them a dressing-down or a sound beating to teach them a lesson or two in love and respect. After all, as a master or a mistress of the house, you need to maintain power and control on all your family members, especially on your spouse because the kids will then automatically toe the line.

There are two methods to keep your spouses under your spell or under your thumb. Follow either of these to contain them, retain them, and prevent them from growing wings.

The first method is to buy them expensive gifts and flowers and praise them once or twice a year.

In the second method, you have to always find fault with them, humiliate them, intimidate them, and blame them for all the minor and major mishaps. You may like this method better as it doesn't require you to spend anything.

Follow either of these two means, but the end should be the same—to make sure your spouse and kids are always dependent on you for all their needs and decisions. Never let them realize their strength and potential. Never let them feel happy or content. If you do so, you will lose power and control and won’t be able to stop the abuse of your home or household objects.

In your mission to stop domestic abuse, your family members might be inflicted with physical disabilities or psychological problems, but that is a small price in the larger scheme of things. Family members are mere mortals. When they die, all their problems will be gone with them. On the other hand, you have different fingers—gotcha—this is an old joke, by Jack Handey.

Now seriously, on the other hand, the benefits are extraordinary in a variety of ways. Your kids will depend on you for as long as you want, giving you immense joy and satisfaction, and if they ever get married they will become good spouse-beaters, child-beaters, and better control freaks. Your house and the household objects that you handle with extreme love and care will carry on your legacy for many generations to come.

Here is a lengthy entry in Wikipedia on domestic abuse. I ain’t got no time to go the whole hog. I just skimmed it to find if our great country India was mentioned in it and I wasn't disappointed..

At one place it says, “Unofficial statistics estimate that 97% of Indian women experience violence at some point in their lives.” What rubbish! There seems to be a global conspiracy going on against us. They have deliberately left out the 3% to show us in poor light.

Please excuse my digression and let’s get back to the topic. Forget about Mera Bharat Mahan type of nationalism and regionalism and factionalism for a while, and consider the whole world and its problems as our own, and for the sake of humanity, stop domestic abuse.

***

Picture: An illustration from JJ Grandville's Les cent proverbs captioned "Qui aime bien châtie bien" (Who loves well, punishes well), showing a man spanking a child, and another beating his wife (Courtesy: Wikimedia Commons)

A Tale of Two Revolutions

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Wed, 07 Sep 2011 23:43:00 +0000

(Picture courtesy samvada.org)

In the year 2011, a sizeable percentage of Indian population woke up from a deep slumber not because an army of termites had eaten away the couch they were sleeping on, but from the drum beats of Anna Hazare’s managers.

The managers specifically targeted the sociable Facebookers, Baba Ramdev’s simple followers, and Sri Sri’s suave breathers. All of them except a tiny minority instantly fell in love with Anna. In other words, Anna ki lagan was bujhaye na bane for many, and lagaye na lage for a few. He was an adorable affable old man, always saying nice things, and ready to sit on hunger strike for good causes.

Together they upped the ante of beating drums to kill the termites that were eating away the frame of the nation. They also wanted to wake up the parliamentarians to make a Lokpal Sword (Lokpal means protector of the people in Sanskrit) that would kill the pig-sized termites owned by the very same parliamentarians—a tough job indeed. In 2011, Anna fasted for five days in April, and for twelve days in August. At the end of both the fasts, Anna was declared victorious against the termites.

Many Annaphiles and Annaphobes believed that Team Anna wanted to kill the termites with only two methods—drum beats and Lokpal Sword. Hence they continuously crossed verbal swords with each other instead of targeting their common enemy, the termites.

Team Anna was made up of intelligent people, barring some dhongi babas and gurus. But I guess, their support was necessary to bring maximum people into the fold, as Indians had been conditioned to revere all types of dhongi babas.

When the 2014 parliamentary elections were declared, Team Anna relentlessly campaigned for the candidates who agreed to make very strong Lokpal Sword. This event became a turning point in Indian history.

After the elections, the coalition government unanimously elected the adorable Anna as President of India. And then, both the houses, without any delay, produced and sanctioned the use of the anti-termite sword also known as the Lokpal Bill.

The Lokpal members or the sword-wielders now started disbursing instant justice. At first, all the ill-gotten money—whether hidden at homes, in bank lockers, or in Swiss banks—was acquired by the government.

And then punishments were awarded according to the magnitude of crimes:

1. People who had made illegal transactions in crores of rupees were deported to a horror island full of ghosts, demons, snakes, lizards, and tigers.

2. Those who had indulged in frauds amounting to lakhs of rupees were dispatched around the world to fight the religious fundamentalists.

3. Rest of the people whose crimes fell in the category of less than one lakh rupees were allowed to stay at their homes, but publicly received as many numbers of lashes.

All these measures were quite effective in punishing the termite owners. But the termite population did not decrease as people continued to feed them on the sly. Moreover many innocents were inadvertently punished along with the corrupt ones. Even the family members of the corrupt ones mourned their misfortune, “Corrupt the to kya hua, the to hamare papa hi. After all he was our papa. Whatever he did, he did for our family. He was a selfless person. He also donated regularly to temples and orphanages.”

Eventually, people got tired of the punishments. Disappointment and disenchantment began to seep into the national psyche just as soot would collect on the trees in Delhi. People craved for their freedom and lifestyle of yore.

At the end of 2017, just like the first rain of the season that washes away the soot, a new savior appeared on the TV and computer screens. She promised to fix the termite problem without harsh punishments.

The lady had been working for the emancipation of Indian women for a long time. But now she pledged her life to eliminate the hardships encountered by the common people. An intelligent team of graduates from IITs and IIMs drafted a revolution complete with a highly effective media campaign for her and persuaded her to sit on a hunger strike to demand the dismissal of the draconian Lokpal Bill.

She agreed as she also wanted to lose weight for her next music video. Crowds surged on the streets of Delhi and everywhere else too. People started wearing two-piece bikinis over their usual attire to support the new superstar savior. The bikinis were inscribed with, “I am Rakhi Sawant.”

***

Read here how the campaign spearheaded by India Against Corruption and Anna Hazare is making a positive impact on the society

“Be the change you want to see in the world.” ~ Mahatma Gandhi

It Happened Only Once

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 16:49:00 +0000

My little daughter, now grown up,
Once asked, “What if my head had been
Taken to put on a
Divine headless body
Because Dad says
Many a time, while sleeping,
You turned your back on me?”

“Oh dear, just think about it,
What a blessing it would have been
To be raised by divinity
To the best of their abilities.

Think of all the love and kindness
That you would have received,
Without the pain and agonies
This mortal world has in abundance to give.

Moreover, your head,
Along with your face on a new body,
Would have been
Immortalized for eternity,
To be worshipped by
Billions of devotees.”

I am afraid that,
After reading this,
The young mothers
Would start sleeping
With their backs turned
Back against their babies.

After all it is a habit
Worth acquiring,
Even if the chances are
One in infinity!

***

Happy Ganesh Chaturthi to all of you!
(According to one version of Ganesha's birth story, Lord Shiva asked to bring the head of a child whose mother was sleeping with her back turned to the baby. )

(Picture courtesy dollsofindia.com)

My First Flight Alone: From Amsterdam To New Delhi

noreply@blogger.com (Giribala) — Thu, 18 Aug 2011 04:08:00 +0000

You have already read how my flight from Atlanta to Amsterdam was delayed because of the level of difficulty in switching on my cell phone.

The three-hour gap at Amsterdam airport before boarding the connecting to India was thus shrunk by an hour. I still had two hours to while away, so I settled down with David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest, a hefty 1088-page book—checked out from Roswell library as a tribute to the author who had recently committed suicide—which I intended to finish during my visit. At the end of the trip, I was as successful in my mission as I am with all other projects in life—I got through a whopping 1% of it.

(Source: 123RF.com)

While trying to keep my eyes on the book I was also blissfully aware of my surroundings, buzzing with colorful fellow Indians—the bawling tots, the buoyant youngsters, and the bored elders. I could hear various Indian accents and dialects. My heart was filled with warm feelings. The atmosphere reminded me of fairs and marketplaces back home. The only difference was that the stores were selling insanely expensive stuff, which made me long for the pestering street peddlers, who sell everything for almost free. I always ask for one more, if I get something free. Absence does make the heart grow fonder.

Here, instead of waiting for the boarding announcement to form a sheepish line, people started gathering near the gate like a pack of hounds. I also got up and played my part of a female hound. Finally, when the announcement came through, the eagerness and the delightful excitement reminded me of the school days when we used to get laddoos on Independence Day. Those were the days when we were scared of our teachers’ canes. Who the hell did these airlines workers think they were? The female announcer was continuously screaming at us to form a single line and repeating, “Please be patient. We will not leave until each one of you has boarded.” As if we didn’t know that.

Anyhow, in no time, all of us were inside the plane. My row was next to the pantry. I fitted my bag in the overhead bin after a great deal of shoving and pushing, and then deposited myself on the window seat. A Sikh gentleman, who I later learned was coming from Montreal, acquired the aisle seat, while the middle seat remained vacant. When the plane started taxiing I couldn't restrain myself from shouting, “Jai Mata Di!” Others also joined in wholeheartedly.

Thanks to Ma Unicorn the plane took off effortlessly. We settled down, making ourselves at home. On the seat in front of me, there was a young mother, who was continuously tattling with her neighbor, who appeared to be a bachelor in his early twenties. Left on his own, the toddler was staring at us from above the seats. Only when I made scare-the-kid face at him and he started bawling did the mother pay any attention to him. Guys, you should not send your young wives alone on long flights.

The middle-aged person from Montreal, sitting beside me, enlightened me by revealing his purpose of India visit. He was going to attend his friend’s son’s wedding. He asked me about the “job-joob situation” in Atlanta. To which I replied, “So-so hai ji,” meaning, it is so-so.”

Contrary to my previous flight where I couldn’t sleep because of the silence of the snobs, this time, the familiar din of people, exercising their leg muscles and vocal cords, sent me into deep slumber. When I woke up, I was startled to see the gentleman from Montreal occupying the middle seat next to me. I felt uneasy. He clarified his move, asserting that there was too much disturbance at the aisle seat due to the adjacent pantry. I didn’t buy his argument and looked away disdainfully, when suddenly, tabhi achanak, just as the sacred ash falls from Bhagwan Sai Baba’s pictures, water started dripping on my neighbor from the ceiling. It was certainly Ma Unicorn’s doing.

The Montrealean kept flicking the droplets for a while, and then summoned the flight attendant, who handed him a few tissues as a solution. Finally, when the tissues were drenched to their combined capacity, he decided to return to his seat. I thanked Ma Unicorn in my heart.

Now we were approaching our beloved nation, the sare jahan se achcha one. To be honest, it didn’t look any different from the sky. Actually, I could see only clouds. But it did make my fellow travelers hyperactive.

I too got up to go to the toilet, but found a lot of people already in waiting. Nearby, a few bright loquacious passengers—all Indians—were conversing with a Dutch flight attendant. This made the wait somewhat interesting, even though I could hear only tit-bits.

“Do you like India?” I heard one of the passengers ask the flight attendant, who sat there in his white shirt, a blue vest, and a blue tie like a withered sapling.

“Of course, I do.”

“You look tired,” another one quipped.

“It’s always like that on our flights to India. Indians are a bit demanding. You know what I mean?”

Huh? Those flight attendants had not even been up to the mark. On my earlier flight the toilets had been tidy—the whole while.

“Yes, yes, we understand,” chorused my fellow travelers.

“We get a day off after our flight to India.”

The guys chuckled at this. Even I couldn’t stop grinning. They may be named Royal Dutch Airways, but we Indians are the real royalty, especially our men folk. We are so proud of them.

(Related: NY TIMES: In Flight For Better India, Best to Look Within)

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SPECIAL: A friend's book written to raise funds for the campaign against homophobic bullying:

Memory of a Face by Anshuman Das

"What is love? Is it the craving to be with him or is it the realization that you should let him go? Is it about telling him how he makes you feel or is it about suffering in silence? Is love a compromise? Can it be faked? Can love change over time? Can it last? Can it be forgotten?"

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