The end of the chain prescient either as the chain weakens leading to its gruesome death with the just the infamy of being some random thought in some crazy existence, no more bullet points at its epitaph, or as it strengthens bringing the loop to a close, still destined to be forgotten as the result takes the spotlight.  And it detaches. It detaches and you, motionless not by your volition, see it float away into the vacuum of thought.

But nature does not like vacuum. It fills. It fills with the repetitive chain that you tried so hard to escape. Yes the same one, the tormentor from whom you had celebrated your freedom. But no rescue is permanent, you realise, as you fall back into the depth a familiar pit, whose only problem is that it’s just too familiar.  But the chain is stronger as it has grown weaker in your absence, patiently lurking in the forbidden ally of your mind, waiting for you in its solitude.  Should you now re-forge it with the very hand that first made it what it is or should you abandon it. But if only you had the choice.

So you lie near the forge furnace going through the motions, trapped, waiting for the next one to come along, to shackle you in its own length and hide you from the heat and fire of the furnace.

Will it end?

Balance. We humans as a race are obsessed with it. Every story, every song, every life needs to have a balance. The perpetual good vs. evil, where until the balance is restored no story is complete and if we think it is, we accused of thinking small, and encouraged to think from a larger plane of being. I am no different for however cynical I get (have got) there is that underlying glimmer that hope for it. Balance.

(Goodbye My Lover) And we have god, the great shopkeeper, ever ready with the extra cup of good or evil to set the balance straight. Life is easy for us, for the balance is out of our hand, and more importantly it exists controlled by some invisible strings. The connotations of helplessness that set in with “strings” make it too fatalistic and easy. But is it really that easy? For don’t we have enough tricks up our sleeve to control how the balance is distributed and aren’t we anyway too neck deep in our gentrified life to be not bothered, and isn’t the pain and joy that comes with this is what makes us live and not survive. And god there to ensure the balance of worry and bother exists and is maintained at the cosmic level. A contradiction ? Yes but one that, by virtue of working, ceases to be one

Just like me sitting here hoping that this vomiting of words is going to have an effect on the greater balance of the universe, which, even if it does, will be known to be only by my belief and not by my senses. At this juncture god revisits us giving the conviction for this belief to exist, becoming that self fulfilling prophecy which exists by virtue of its improbable inception and is equally true by virtue of its existence.

(So Long Jimmy) But too much of people to my liking, yet I am enjoying it. The contradiction is too strong and the urge of the reclusive side stronger. The darkness engulfs me, manifesting it in channels that I can easily accept without questioning my sanity. God comes in again this time in form of an urge to feel a temple. So I walk.

(Wisemen) Contradictions galore! My mind wavers at first, but then slowly draws comfort from the chord it strikes with the surroundings. The first part of my pilgrimage, or mental masturbation if you will, takes me about half an hour. In my loneliness James Blunt, gives me company making me feel lonelier, happier. His’ is a monologue, but I have nothing to add, nothing to contradict, only the need to listen.

And so I sent some men to fight,

And one came back at dead of night.

Said he’d seen my enemy.

Said he looked just like me,

So I set out to cut myself and here I go

(Same Mistake) The song is banging full volume thru my SE earphones, making me feel like a character from an Alejandro González movie, father time obliging , the world moving in slow motion as the headlights on a dark road look at me like sneering eyes and stares that pierce through the air conditioned interiors with filled disdain (or jealousy?) . I forget it’s the middle of the road. For a while the world stands still for me. The music penetrates deeper into my organism than what the stares could even dream off, a state of orgasm, but then the survival instinct kicks in guiding me to the footpath. The pseudo sense of machismo, creating a temporary hormonal in-balance, is countered by my sense of reality, at least at a subconscious level. The veracity of the situation is lost in my consciousness but captured fully by some vague part of me to whom I owe a lot. Probably some fuzzy act of cosmic balance to ensure that this piece gets written or just that I brush tomorrow? I understand the pretence of the situation but it does not take anything away from what the moment is to me.

(Your Beautiful) The ground grows softer, as the soiled remains of the deconstruction work that is currently going on in Delhi gets solace under my feet. Their new resting ground, as the city marches on into its tryst with new India. Is something under your feet trampled or is it protected till its eventual erosion from our memory? The contradiction strikes me. But for now the imprints that I leave on the soil, only to be washed by the next rain, gets some hope of care and remembrance in the picture that I take.

(1973) Images of 21 grams flash through my mind as I see rolled up glass left scattered after the last accident. My mind wanders into the realms of absurdity as I think about the people involved, and their family. About how it would feel for a kin to come back to that place which lay witness to the last few moments of a life never meant to leave so soon. To see a leaf dancing to the wind in front of their eyes, the same leaf that bore the weight of the splash of blood so close to that what runs in their veins? To have time running parallel and be able to reach out and touch that leaf during its herculean moment or smell the flesh blood but be unable to do anything. But eternal return consoles me with the knowledge that each moment, from your birth to your death all run parallel, not interfering with each other, but existing for an eternity. For it is the same with a book that one reads with each character reborn, different yet similar, in each mind that it comes across, sometimes taking more, sometimes less life that what the author intended more dependent on the neural pathways and experiences of the mind than the words from which it came, each stream running parallel to one other.

Balance. My hunt for balance is successful as I finally see the gate back to the campus at a distance. The sight is broken by involuntary pangs closing my eyes as James engages in his final vocal gymnastics for the day. And then all things in the world seem to fit again.

Every single moment I didn’t hear his voice was wasted time. Every breath of his I missed was a wasted lifetime.

Love is defined beautiful, but it’s emotions were too complex and faded to tag them right or wrong. Sentiments were plenty, even those which did not have an explanation. And yet obsession plagued  my love.

There were scribbled signatures I didn’t throw off. Those were cherished memory to me, but may be crap to him. It bounced back the smile on my face from the lost moment. There were flowers, guarded by my book leaves. Dried though they were, it brought back the lingering fragrance of the one time gift of love. To others it might seem like crap, but those were the things nearest to my heart

but why was it that he never had even a paper flower that once knew my touch. Why was it that he never saw my eyes puffed red, though the tears held, as they were thrown crushed into a waste bin. A moment shared under a tree together was bliss to me, but happiness to him was when he ran around with his gang.

The urge of wanting to be the priority in his life, was un-detachable from love. Love provoked to seek attention. Jealousy was an emotion termed bad, but yet in love they arose in heart for those who got his time and those who felt his eyes.
Pain gave way…revealing that you don’t always need a knife to pierce the heart.

Silly it would be, to the watching “world” sentiments might look foolish. But though the “world” to me, was… only you and me.

DON’T PANIC !!!

Evertonians around the world are a worried lot today. After all the positives of being a club on the progress last year, finally breaking the pattern of following up a strong season with a weak one by two successive strong finishes, most blues were more optimistic at the end of last year than they were the season we finished  4th.

But with all the bubble built up with names, from as exotic as the Russian magician to as unknown (to me) as the African enforcer, the bubble has finally seem to reach its limit with everything starting to go wrong at least on the surface creating the negativism that I  find online and that exists offline. Of course being a blue from India, I am far removed from the “real” picture happening on the ground, but I can still sense that general sense of despair that is being felt by us blues.

Many a times fans have been frivolously been accused of being away from reality, more as a form of protective rationalism on the part of vested interests , be it the different clubs or the media, but this is one case where I think we are actually refusing to leave our blue heaven and come down to earth.

Looking at out squad, one can only help but wonder who we are going to but the 11 + 7 people on the bench as the season progresses and this is truly a major cause of concern. But what we fail to understand is that the global economy is facing a credit crisis. Once we internalize this fact and take off our blue tinted spectacles off for a moment, we can see certain things.

• There is a global banking crisis and credit is getting harder to get for a football club or any institution for that matter. This is not really a good time to take out loans if we cant realistically project where the money is going come from.

• There are chances for as slump in the economy and this can lead to lower expendable income and football is one of the things that, at least for the less passionate of the fans will cut down from their budget. From what I perceive this is something that will affect Everton less than other clubs because the very fact that our catchments area is lesser compared to London clubs making us a relatively bad investment choice, will work to our benefit for the kind of club loyalty we have from out “small” catchments area but none the less there can be a decrease in the amount of people coming to matches and this must be accounted for

•  Just because other clubs are spending heavily does not automatically make it the best thing to do. I want to quote the oft repeated example of ManU’s golden years to drive home this point. We have good players coming through and not spending heavily and accepting a mediocre (as in maintaining our 5th spot rather than going all out for a 4th spot)  season might be the best thing to do. This is not a pessimistic plea for us to lay waiting while the other clubs to buckle down and implode under financial mismanagement but more a plea for a pragmatic look at the transfer scene and credit situation of today. Going in with Rodwell, Kissock Baxter and Gosling etc may actually be heralded as one of the boldest management moves in the history of club football if the Moyeasiah is able to pull it off.

• From my basic understanding of finance, the real “extra” money for a club comes from the world wide merchandising and not winning and this is one place we are lagging behind. But the thing to note here is that we have taken some concrete steps to alleviate this problem and should be able to reap in the benefits in time. But again this is not something that will happen overnight and we need to give it time rather than lament about the “gap” between us and big four and then try solving it the “leeds” way.

To conclude, I would like to say that, the general negativism is understandable, but would urge blues all around to take a closer look at the financial and practical side of things before writing us off.

Everton Forever.

For is the virgin night violated by the stars
Or are they what make it timeless, limit less
The discontinuity helping us realize the infinite stretch
That otherwise would be lost in total darkness
But isn’t a spotless sky as mystic and divine
And does it have to feel infinite to be infinite?

Being in deep shit teaches you a thing or two
An excuse to break bonds
That probably shouldn’t exist anyway?
But they have been there and will be there
So who are we to question?
Both the bonds and the breaking
Nothing might be forbidden anymore
But this and that and this will always be there

For one who can see beauty in the smallest things
Can taste the water in the subsequent drinks
And the hidden emotions of the waiters who see
People breaking bonds everyday
And breaking their limits as well
But to them is it anything more than a charade?

(Written in a party)

as the warmth grows
part of it disgusts you
other makes your wonder

is contradiction its truth
the truth of life
is hipocracy the expected norm

or just a human trait?

So bound by that pact, not a day went by where she didn’t tell him how much she loved him and he also obliged. But as their relation ship grew she understood something. All people are not the same. When they say “I love you”, how much ever they love the person in actuality, some times the words are not sincere enough. When he was tinkering on his laptop or watching a football game, such frivolous expressions of love was made, born more out of their pact than any deep love that she knew he had for her.

At first she lost herself over this, for the same thing that she hoped would save her from her parent’s perceived misery was like a needle thru a heart; every time he made a careless confession of love. It was like a bullet shot thru her heart which she had to gracefully accept for the want of not hurting him, how much ever it hurt her. Then after many such sleepless nights and restless days, one night she fell asleep. Later on she would wonder whether it was the sleeping pills that she had started taking or providence that made her sleep that day but time has made that fact irrelevant.

But the next morning, the moment she woke up she sensed it was different. The feeling felt right for it was not some logical conclusion she had drawn after careful deliberation for she was not even fully awake to be aware of herself. But it felt right.

She woke up to him watch her spend her last few moments of carefree slumber crouched on their bed. Whether it was just the last few moments or the whole night that she slept under those loving eyes she would never know for he never seemed to hear that question. But she knew that both would not make a difference to the way the moment had panned out.

“I love you”.

Words, not born out of any pact but from an unknown urge, that God or Darwin - take your pick, had so beautifully placed into the human psyche.  Born from an unsaid, unrequested promise to care for each other for eternity, made in a moment lost to time. At that moment it made perfect sense to her. It made her happy. Happiness she had demanded from the foolish pact, happiness that it had miserably failed to give. And every passing careless confession ever made to her till then, just gave more and more meaning to that moment of truth for it was the contrast that filled her heart with joy.

From then on she never forced him to say those words though their pact continued untouched. And from then on every time she heard those words, fake or meant, they made her happy; the first by the loving wait for the second, and the second by the existence of both.

For it was childhood that brought with it freedom that I could not even imagine for a while in my life, a sense of anything being possible and also a inherent want for something larger than life manifesting itself in various stories entwined with whatever I picked from my world around - my comics and my father’s bed time stories the prime culprits. Yes, I wanted to be a super hero, an innocent want to be special, to be larger than life, a common human want? But as time has passed I have been fed to believe that I am not special. But we are special aren’t we?

What is special but a word with a vague enough definition for people to satisfy the minimum criterion and enjoy the vicarious pleasures of the max. For me this flight of fancy has taken different forms from my want, no, need to be a superhero and then to my belief that I am a alien. And alien I truly am in some level of its definition but more so by my inabilities than by my abilities. But then the trees that tasted the edge of my sword were aliens themselves who were forced to become human and lead the least judged path.

Ah Yes..the least judged path , as our society has shown us is the path of least resistance and hence the right path. But isn’t this contradictory for a society extols the hard work & creativity and resistance to the path of least resistance, at least in its overt overtones?

As for me, I have and will remain an alien, abet one which has learnt to put the human mask as and when necessary

Few months ago my response would be “If I get my seat, I don’t care much about how the others get in” but then I realised that it was not me talking but the tension of being on 3 waiting lists and the prospect of a future so cloudy taking its toll on me. Now that its clear that, barring unforeseen circumstances, I will very much be spending the next two years of my life at Delhi University South Campus studying MBA(MS) from Faculty of Management Studies (FMS) Delhi, I have had time to reflect upon this issue more closely. Having been in both the camps at different times in my life, instead of justifying my current stand I would like to trace my relation with reservation.

My first tryst with reservation came when I was trying to get into first standard. Since my father was a transferable bank employee, it seemed a logical step for my family to try and get me into a “central” school or KV which followed a “central” syllabus so that changes in school would affect only the social-politic environment rather than the curriculum making the inevitable adjustment less difficult. You could say that I was at the “wrong end” of the reservation since I was neither a defence personnel’s ward nor a central govt employee’s ward, which constituted the first two levels of priority on the basis of which the admissions were granted in a KV. I was a level III person or in human understandable terms - “Ward of transferable employee under the state government”, which was pretty low considering that even that time KV’s usually used to get filled by the time the applications from the first two categories were done with. As luck would have it a new division started that year, the now notorious (in my mind and our batch-folklore for all the beating me and my friends got from the “D” people) “D” division. But anyway I was in the “C” division list and was able to get into KVCPT.

Thinking about its right now, even though it was reservation per say, it was a very logical system since it was in the order of people who were mostly likely to get transferred and in hindsight (and more importantly having got my seat ) , it does not make any sense for me to have any kind of grudge towards it.

My next recollect-able memory of reservation is from my 8th or 9th standard civics class where I learned that some constituencies are reserved for SC/ST. it is something that I believe that I don’t have enough knowledge to make a stand on right even now though I really hated the idea at that time, but it’s a memory none-the-less.

Then came the engineering entrance “nonsense”. ( I call it nonsense now because I find people attaching so much value to it that after having done engineering from one my the best colleges in my state, I still feel the hue and cry is a bit too much, ESPECIALLY for people to REPEAT year ( plz guys unless your would die for engineering and for you believe its your true calling, your time is better spent doing something else…something you like. This does not include repeating for the IIT’s cuz I don’t have enough input to take a stand on that yet)

This is the stage where it dawned upon me that if there are 100 seats in a college, I am eligible only for less that 50 seats and some people, who studied along with me, came to the same tuition class, got the same books, bunked the same classes (more or less); had a special inheritance to the seats. Looking at the sheer numbers (less than 300-400 good seats and more than 50k people writing) I was convinced that it was injustice and hence was a fierce anti reservation guy, ready to air my view anywhere with supreme conviction. But once I got into the college I drew solace from the fact that these people would not get any reservation at the placement time. But only time will tell me that these “Reserved” people walked away with some of the better paying jobs, for which I can hold no grudge as I felt they deserved it.

But during my four years, I interacted with many people including people who came thru reservation and one of my closest friends, Miss R, was the daughter of a daily wage labourer. She was the person from whom I and my best friend in class S used to copy all our notes from. She was in most of my practical lab groups owing to our close roll numbers and without her I don’t think I would have passed my engineering labs. (Special mention to Miss C &N who were the people who I am eternally indebted to, for proving me with the rest of the notes :P) I think she , Miss R, would be the first person to agree to the fact that she was not good in our class subject as some of us. But that did not deter her from working hard, and now after my engineering even though there are people who got in with a “merit” seat who haven’t cleared all their papers, she cleared all of them and is working in a good job earning for her family. I am not trying to say “ See she did it, other merit students didn’t do it…so reservation is justified” but what I am trying to question is a question whose answer that most people take for granted.

What is Merit?

Is it my marks in the different exams I have taken? Is it the percentile I get in a hugely random exam like CAT, which depends, much more than my liking, to the taker’s luck on that that day? Frankly to me that’s not merit, nor can I define merit. But of course one thing I accept is that we don’t have seats for everybody and hence some people need to be selected or in other words others need to be eliminated. So its more a process of elimination than selection and a good academic profile would mean that there are better chances of a person putting the opportunity to study at an IIM or an IIT or an FMS to better use, but we have to understand that the selection or elimination process is flawed, it is not ideal, but close enough to idea and close enough to practical for us to make do.

Now that’s one way to measure merit. But that’s not the only merit. In the case of Miss R, given the resources she had, her output efficiency was probably at least equal if not much better to many of us ours. Which means that she also, in this definition of merit “Deserves” the seat. Why I use the word “deserves” the seat is because I see lots of anti-reservation people say that “deserving” candidates are loosing seats. But to them the word deserving is a 1 dimensional word without any meaning beyond the percentile obtained in cat or marks obtained in IIT-JEE. I again point out, they are a good measure of merit, but they are not without flaws.

So if entrance exams are a practical approximation to selection and elimination so are reservations a practical approximation to social justice. Both are not without flaws, but close enough to the ideal to be implemented.

Having said that I do not say that reservation is the only solution or the main solution for social justice, on the contrary it is just a stop gap solution. The thing to be emphasised most in my opinion is primary education that is the mail solution to social justice in education. More should be done at the grass roots level, which will unfortunately take too much time for it to have relevance in a vote-bank dominated politics. But I guess that’s for NGO’s and similar organisations to take up. My previous company MindTree used to do some work in this area and is something other organisations can also cue up on. And reservation can be phased out, once primary level education standards are reached.

But also having quoted this example, it is only prudent that I let out another fact about my college. Some of the people who got in through reservation, where some of the richest guys in my college which does make a mockery of the system, but since I know that more than 1 deserving candidate got thru reservation, I think the system has worked. And the creamy layer, if implemented properly will go a long way in helping the system match the ideal curve.

It’s been over 60 years since the Union Jack was taken off and replaced by our Tricolour at Red Fort. But even with a history spanning more than thousands of years, the 200 odd years that the British ruled us left a huge impact on us, nothing more profound than the popularization of (British) English as a means of communication. 60 years is of course too close to call, but at the dawn of the information age, the English legacy can be said to have had a positive impact on our economy. The availability of so many employable English-speaking youth is the single most important factor that has helped us emerge from our slumber in this age where English is the sickle which is helping us reap as the knowledge industry sun shines brightly

But gone are the colonial days when the sun never set in the British Empire and now the US of A has taken over as the dominant economy of the world and with the end of the cold war, its position as the first among equals has only gotten more and more concrete. The fact that most countries hold their foreign reserves in American dollars is perhaps the best testament to the fact that they drive the world economy.

Now in this uni-polar world it’s only natural that a doubt arises in our mind as to whether we should tow the line of our former masters or cede our “English freedom” to the Americans. This is more relevant for us as we are a rapidly growing “developing economy” with services exports as one of the major propellants of our growth. America is an important market for the skills of millions of Indians and if you go by the cliché “any money is good money” it won’t be hard to predict how the winner of the British vs. American English tussle is. Not only is a large chunk of our exports going to the America, of that a good chunk of the business goes into transcription and voice/text based support where the subtle differences in the different avatars of English will stand out.

But in a recent study in India, for the book English in India: Loyalty and Attitudes by Hohenthal, Annika., we were still able to see the ghosts of our colonial past. In the study the majority of the respondents (70%) felt that RP (Received Pronunciation: BBC English; Standard English in Britain) would serve as the best model for Indian English, 10% thought General American English would be better, and 17% preferred the Indian variety of English. This is of course due to some important fallacies in our earlier analysis, the most important being the question of teaching resources. For a country that has a history of teaching a different flavor of English , which is now entranced in all its English teaching resources, both human and material, it can be a humongous task to chance and there is no switch button solution to move to American English and the as simple business rules go, the cost must be justified by the advantage.

Also its is not just a matter of teaching resources but also some of the words are so ingrained into our culture that a change would require a change in our social mindset. Think of confused driver having to put “gas” into their cars instead of petrol or of the devout vegetarian wife going aghast at the prospect of having to put ‘egg’plant ( brinjal) into the “otherwise” fully vegetarian dish or The disgust of the Indian who is happy when he can pay bills with bills, only to later find out the truth. And in a different view, this can be seen as an open invasion of our culture which we ourselves are promoting
Another important factor that must be given its due is the origin of the so called Indian English which comprises several dialects or varieties of English spoken primarily in India, and by first-generation members of the Indian Diaspora. This dialect evolved during and after the British colonial rule of India for nearly two hundred years. English is the co-official language of India, with about 100 million speakers. And looking at the activity in the Indian English Literature arena, which is only rising year by year, we can see that we taking our rightful place in the history of evolution of English by contributing to it, as much as, if not more than what we take from it.

At the end of the day if we are to move to American English , which, as we saw, warrants a lot of social and financial costs, it has to be justified by the advantages gained Also we must be convinced that such a path is the only path for us. But this is not the case as the success story of the our services industry in itself points to the fact that the differences between the various dialects of English are not very high and that they can be compensated by an intelligent mind or in the worst case scenario by a job specific “finishing” training.

To conclude I feel that for us to move to American would not only be a step backwards in social terms but also it would be a great insult to the English language itself, as we would be discounting its resilience and universality which made it popular in the first place. And as for the huge influence that British English already enjoys in our English, only time can tell whether this impact is good or bad. As Angus Wilson once said, contemporaries are too close to the event to be good judges. And contributing and developing our own Indian English would be the best step forward.