Happy Women's Day (HWD)

It seems that while presenting the budget, Mr Chidambaram cut the ribbons on Women’s Day celebration a tad earlier. By announcing the launch of a 1,000 crore ‘by the women, for the women’ bank. Time will tell, whether this is turning economics on its head. But I guess the feminine power and touch will likely ensure this to be no-scam-high-governance bank!

Cut to 8th March. So when the HWD finally arrived, the mood seemed feisty. Happy Women’s Day! The greeting rent the air, and the din of the celebrations vaulted higher and texture of the ritual shone brighter, perhaps bordering on brash. The HWD was embarrassingly conspicuous and noticeably loud. You have to be brain dead to have missed it! Celebration hung all over. The air was pregnant with a certain feminine boisterousness and playfulness. The pink seemed to be topping the fashion charts, a la Valentine’s day.

With such celebration of and for the fairer sex, men could feel utterly left out. I unloaded my angsty feelings to my friend. Hearing my thoughts (interpreted sexist!), she suddenly hurled ‘you are such a sperm’ at me. That sounded like a full on expletive against me and the male gender. I retreated, cowed and cowered. It was clearly not the man’s day! He was suddenly irrelevant, inconsequential and insignificant!

***

On a serious note, it felt that the force of the ‘HWD’ has achieved the critical mass, and has lots going for it. It can achieve a very meaningful success, further multiplying the feminine force. But there is also an equally high chance of it becoming or descending into farcical, ritualistic, and symbolic. Rituals are essential, as they have a very reinforcing vitality. They send powerful visual imagery and words and slowly altering the soft layers of psychology and thoughts. But subtlety of elegance and meaningfulness is essential. It is essential to save it from becoming a race for symbolic celebration. It is necessary to guard against the might of the marketing machinery taking over the celebrations, and to be exploited by peddlers of the merchandise. It should not turn into a make-me-feel-good-pamper-me day. Too much celebratory joy and happiness will hang in the air, over a lost cause!

***

The reason in me made one last valiant attempt - without men, can there be Women? But ofcourse the reason reasoned back - without Women, can there be men? 

 

Ahh.. what does seem inevitable is for the man to wait and watch out for the artificial sperms to roll out off the assembly lines of genetic plants. He could then be happily banished to the gulags in cold Siberian desert. So much for the man but for whom, could there be a Y chromosome?

--La fin--

With Wishes, and Cheers,
mg
net.mail.in@gmail.com

All views are personal. Intellectual property rights reserved.

Revolution - It's here!

 

 

 

  

Prologue

Revolution is not something fixed in ideology, nor is it something fashioned to a particular decade. It is a perpetual process embedded in the human spirit

-Abbie Hoffman

 

Our evolution had always been littered with multitude of challenges including those of social and cultural variety. Equally numerous have been, and to this day continue to be, the struggles to banish such ills and evils that - to any sane person - should not find place in our current modern world. This is inspite of we having arrived in a modern world, and most of the nations having become independent!

The underlinings of the fabric of an otherwise even a visibly free society strains because of various ills that political, societal and cultural defects and upheavals bring. Bloodying and bruising the destinies and shaking the faith and trusts of many a citizenry. And there is a constant struggle against these. The struggles take various forms and shapes. It could be class struggle, poor vs rich, struggle against apartheid, dalits v upper class, struggle of women for equal rights, or just for the right to be educated, and many such.  At some point of time, the common struggles of many converge, sparking collective fury. This collective fury and angst has set off many a Revolution. Is it onset of a Revolution? A Renaissance? Is it a juggernaut in motion – the unstoppable juggernaut of Revolution?

 

1

The sadness of the women’s movement is that they don’t allow the necessity of love. See, I don’t personally trust any revolution where love is not allowed

-Maya Angelou

A few days back, rummaging through my mailbox, I clicked on the latest from my dear ‘overseas’ uncle, who seems to like following the big news and events of this country. It had a news article, long one actually. The 1st part dealt with the grave ills and challenges and crises facing the humanity, particularly of the social kind, in various forms and shapes, and ending on the excesses being committed by the men against the women. Particularly the incidents of rape and violations that have raised outcries in various parts of the world, including the recent one in India.

But it was the 2nd half of the article that caught my interest. Reportedly a billion people, from across the world, comprising of women, and men who love them, were planning to dance their day away on the Valentine’s Day, as part of raising awareness and protesting against the sexual assaults on women-kind.  Now we could not have imagined a protest of this kind. Novel method indeed! I was intrigued – here was a Revolution being shaped in such a ‘loving’, ‘moving’ form. I could even draw parallel with the very different non-ahimsa movement several decades back led by a man in a loin cloth, our Father of the Nation. And it led to revolutionary change!

2

I began revolution with 82 men. If I had to do it again, I do it with 10 or 15 and absolute faith. It does not matter how small you are if you have faith and plan of action

-Fidel Castro

 

Is the Humanity caught in the cross fires and overflowing gushes of Revolution? A concept that seemed quaint, arcane and belonging to a different era and from bygone centuries, is suddenly upon us and around us. Everywhere. Engulfing us. A series of Revolutions have suddenly been sparked and lit, like the myriad sounds and lights of Diwali fire crackers.

The Arab Spring or the Jasmine Revolution is something that instantly flashes in the mind. Back in August 2012, unimaginable events happened in the societies of the Middle East and Mediterranean countries. Totally incredible, that such events could occur in such places. The flares first erupted in tiny nation of Tunisia. Overnight, hundreds of thousands of people – people who felt repressed and stifled over the ages - descended on the streets, demanding better governance and new government, and a bundle of rights. Rights which form, or rather should form, the bedrock of human society – free speech and expression, democratic process, and the like. The tidal waves of Revolution then swept several neighboring and nearby countries, and they continue to lash against their establishments. It has become darker, bloodier, more intense in some. And the Revolution is claiming lives, as it always does.  But it is refusing to die down, as it does. It won’t be trampled and snuffed out. Till probably it has achieved what it wills to.

3

It is well enough that people of the nation do not understand our banking and monetary system, for if they did I believe there would be a revolution before tomorrow morning

-Henry Ford

But before the scent of Jasmine Spring started wafting through the bloodied streets and roads of those kingdoms and banana republics, another event proved to be the stones igniting the fire in the aftermath of Financial crisis. When the Capitalism almost tumbled deep into abyss, taking the World economy down on a tail spin. The sledge-hammer blow that Lehman and AIG inflicted. The weight of sub-prime that almost crushed the US economy. Spooked and shook the global financial system. It could have sunk the economies so deep that we would have returned to Stone Age of financial kind.

Revolution rose in the form of ‘Occupy Wall Street’, the 1st in the series of ‘Occupy’ing financial districts. Overnight huge swathes of people, the so called ‘we are 99%‘, arguably the victims of the Financial Crisis, rose in protest against the demi gods of capitalism, marquee financial services entities and investment bankers, and their allegedly greedy ways, corrupt practices, and last but not the least, fat wads of salaries and bonuses, earned selling – arguably - unsuitable and risky products. And, yet another fire kindled!

The OWS movement caught the imagination of populace across the middle and sub-middle class western world, and quickly spread across various other financial centres, within and outside of US of A. In London, it metamorphosed into ‘Occupy London’ under the banner of ‘The European Spring’. The incredible part seems that the citizens from beacons of democracy seem to be borrowing the idea of Revolution from the so un-democratic, Jasmine Revolution nations!

Is this another Revolution brewing here that is aiming to strike at the ‘abhorable’ practices of the capitalists?

4

For a successful revolution, it is not enough that there is discontent. What is required is a profound and thorough conviction of the justice, necessity and importance of political and social rights

-BR Ambedkar

Revolution hit our home shores last year like advancing forces of gale wind. In our own backyard, the issue of corruption came to acquire the centre stage with ferocity, suddenly out of nowhere. And how? A frail aged Gandhian, belonging to an era people hardly remember anymore, electrified and catalysed the entire nation, both India and Bharat, capturing the imagination of young and not-so-young-anymore. People from yester-generation, those with their greys, having grown up on a heavy corrosive diet of ‘chalta hai’ and having accepted corruption as perfectly legit, couldn’t have ever imagined witnessing making of history right in front of their eyes. The Cause struck the chord, and the Generation gaps bridged. Gen ‘no letter’ bonded with Gen ‘letter’. They infused and entwined into each other! At the altar of a Revolution!

The tidal wave of protests swept the country. It shook the political class. And rocked the establishment. They could have almost come-off unhinged. We suddenly became so much more sensitive of the cancer of corruption, and the way it is mauling the Nation. We badly want it eradicated. Like by yesterday. Unfortunately, the Revolution petered out, losing steam. The politicos and the establishment, who were almost engulfed in its Tsunami, went back to their business as usual. So much so that an anti-corruption law still seems moon miles away.

But I believe the Revolution has ignited enough thoughts and fires, and its flames could start leaping out again. I believe the embers are smoldering still, even if not visible. And it wont’t stop. Just won’t.

5

Those who make peaceful revolution impossible, will make violent revolution inevitable

-John F Kennedy

Revolution in other forms too is on our doors. Looking at the history of Revolutions, the oppressed, the exploited, the deprived, and the enslaved rose in unison. Against the rich, dictators, czars, feudal lords, ruling class and the powerful. They wrested their right - right to speak, to possess, to earn, to live. And the right to be free. Just free!

Unfortunately, billions of us are organized in a humongous ‘matrix’ way – by gender, class, caste, economic  status, social status, geography, and many more. Revolution of one such class or segment of population not necessarily makes the Revolution of or for the other. 

But this Revolution that hit us in the nearest past stood out – it pitted one half of the population of this nation against the other, cleaving it right down the middle. It’s the Revolution of Women against the men. Against atrocities towards them over aeons, exploitation of them in many ways, assault on them of various types - violating them, their feminity and their woman-ness, constantly chipping away at their dignity, shoving them deeper and deeper into the corner.

And it all seemingly culminated on that chilly Delhi night. It is unimaginable that that woman – christened by the media as Nirbhaya and Asmita – when she screamed against her violation, the scream was so intense that it coursed through the entire Nation, shaking up its administration and governance. Kick-starting a massive outpour of anger. Demonstrations made, protests registered, paths walked, candles lit. Shouted on, water-cannoned, caned, manhandled, shoved around, pushed around. But the revolutionary spirit did not flap and did not yield. None and nothing could dampen the frustration and fury that erupted volcanically. This Revolution has come to symbolize everything that the female gender wants. And what they are being denied.

6

This revolution, the information revolution, is a revolution of free energy, as well, but of another kind: free intellectual energy. It’s very crude today, yet our Macintosh computer take less power than a 100-watt bulb to run it and it can save you hours a day. What will it be able to do ten or 20 years from now, or 50 years from now?

-Steve Jobs

In the swansong of Revolutions, paying homage to Technology’s crucial and central role is essential…its like these massive jet engines strapped on to the fuselage propelling the plane ahead. Much in the same way, the Technology is propelling the Revolutions. It has become the causative force and fabricating force in some, binding force and driving force in some.  Organizing a demonstration, raising protest, registering your angst, venting your ire, spewing fire on any act of injustice – all those are just a click away. The digital devices, that first empowered us for incoming information highway, suddenly have also become the platform for our cathartic outwards communication.

The power of the bits and bytes are spraying high octane energy to the fires of the Revolutions. I guess we have still not understood, what has been unleashed in the form of breathtaking progress of Technology. It is seeding the germs of the Revolution wider and deeper. Aiding the expanding arc of Revolution’s progression.

Epilogue

In a revolution, as in a novel, the most difficult part to invent is the end

-Alexis de Tocqueville

The naissance and renaissance of Revolution keeps occurring at an un-regular regularity, without giving so much of a dash of hint that it is round the corner. It just erupts once the tectonic plates of emotions have clashed enough, releasing revolutionary energy radiating outwards.

At the heart of each of these Revolutions, the people seem to be still fighting for those same things that ignited and drove Revolutions upon Revolutions of the past – freedom of speech and expression, recognition of democratic rights of an individual, participation in political process, and, and recognizing the basic human right to itself, to things he owns, and to his freedom. In short, seek liberation of soul, mind and body. And allowing him to live. In a just social and equitable manner. With dignity. 

So wait and watch. We seem to have stepped through the inflexion point. And the Revolution is set on a fully strained catapult. It WILL fire!

--La fin--

mg
net.mail.in@gmail.com

All views are personal. Intellectual property rights reserved.

Guns N Roses – The Maximum City Concert.

 

 

 

 

Music is in the air. The Heavy Rock variety. Guns N Roses variety, to be more specific. The God of Rock is gonna perform in Maximum City - LIVE. IN THE FLESH. For an entire generation, it is like a concert 15 years in the making.

 

I arrive at the concert locality, hunt for the venue, go through the motions of parking, ticket shicket and what not. Since there is a larger noble purpose that I am on today, I am not going to be bothered by these petty inconveniences. 

 

I join a mile long queue to the admission gates. That’s when I let my body breathe easy. And I start to look around. You suddenly feel you have arrived on a different planet. You are seeing a different civilisation here, and all united in its 'Rock' solid objective. Goatees, black vests, shaved heads, waxed legs, gelled hair, tattooed bodies, pierced body parts, pony tails, mascara-ed eyes, and what nots. It's a heady cocktail of personas, fashion, weird and whacky. This Rock music fraternity could be sighted as far away as from Jupiter. The collective twinkle of their eyes could light up the city tonight. The only connect to Earth seems A 'tea stall on cycle'-wala who is hawking chai n kapee to these urban sophisticates.

 

As the beautiful ochre glow on the horizon starts to retreat behind a curtain of dust, I enter the venue. Find my prime piece of half square feet. A few feet away from the stage. I feel like I am in my temple of Zen from where I will get glimpse of the God and hear Him chant.

 

Giant column of speakers are clearly telling you of what is about to be unleashed. Earthquaking sounds! Giant screen panel on the stage with fast moving images. Psychedelic laser beams of mesmerising hues dancing and twirling all around us to the collective rise and fall of musical strains. Light pods beaming rows of cool white lasers in sky unto eternity.

 

The warm up Opening Act is now on. The mind is drifting fast to Rock Land. I am on auto drive. Foot tapping, body swinging, head shaking in sync with bass guitar, drums, thick metal vocals. The fans continue to fill all around, and behind. Their collective energy seeking a release. In nirvana of rock.

 

The Opening Act lead vocalist just ended a brilliantly performed number. And then he announces he wants to do a dance number! Now this seems to be a looney thought, as swear words immediately fill the air. Some devotees of Rock are ready to get into fist fights with him. I mean we are on serious heavy rock business, mister, and you are talking about dance number. No sacrilege please, we are rock fans. I don’t remember what Opening Act did, it wrapped up quickly after that.

 

There is a certain calm now. Because thunder is expected next. Stage is being given last minute finishing touches by the firang crew. Equipments are being put through final testing that is equal in rigour of next rocket undergoing NASA pre-launch checks.

 

The crowd continues to swell, everyone is surrounded by a sea of rock fans. Some want to ensure that they go through the ritual - of inhaling whatever they want. Columns of aromatic trance inducing smoke here and there is gently riding up on mild winter breeze. Sweet dense heady aromatic fume hits my nostrils. The secondary fume is itself potent enough to uplift me miles high above the ground.

 

While I am seeking fulfilment, at that very moment, the lightning struck, and the earth shook. The symphony of music roared. The blast of music arrived like a deluge sweeping everyone in its wake. The thunder of drums, heavy strains of bass guitar and Axl Rose's signature vocals filled the arena. My Life suddenly seemed to have achieved a higher purpose. Here. Tonight.

 

For the next 3 hours you are hit by wave after wave of pulsating oncoming pure unadulterated rock music, that keeps rising to Anthem-ic proportions. The crowd is in deep trance - punching their hands in the air, the shake of their heads punctuated by each bang of the drum. Bodies swinging as if possessed. It's the fanatical tribal like celebration of Rock music. Powerful color beams and bundles of streaks, kaleidoscopic, pulsating and throbbing, enveloping everyone, booming in unison with the music.

 

The band keeps whipping up the frenzy. Every few moments, crowd is enticed to do sing alongs. The collective pitch of vocals could make Richter scale hit highs. Amidst this, Axl Rose finds time to pronounce dedicating the concert to Mumbai, India and Freddie Mercury. Exactly in that order. More approving and applauding roar from the crowd!

 

I am particularly impressed by Richard Fortus's act on Rhythm Guitar. It is just God-esque. He seems the Adonis who learned to guitar. Red trousers, lithe body, 6 pack abs with layers of taut belly skin, sleeveless open leathers, plenty of tattoos, long hairs flowing on the face. He could move, swing, shake, brood, stare, walk, jump, all while strumming his stringed rig. He keeps hitting the high. His body arced backwards. Guitar thrust out. The left holding the guitar, the right doing things with the strings. The kind of things that sends the crowd roaring. Suddenly his hand will rise in the shape of speeding arc, hitting the strings. And then it falls as swiftly, again hitting the strings.

 

Then there is the animal spirit of drummer. His objective clearly is to hurl exploding sound waves. Fast. Rhythmic. Wild.  The Bass guitarist is producing the noisiest melody, pounding on your ear drums. And Axl Rose’s vocals riding on top of all these. The collective sound is taking us Sky high.

 

Watching these guys perform you now are left with the feeling that playing Guitar or being a Rock Star is the ONLY higher calling in a mortal's life, leaving you seriously questioning your existence. Anything else is just a lowly form of life.

 

By the end, I am drenched in the magic, mystique and music of GNR. Sweet Child of Mine, November Rain, Knocking on Heaven’s Door, Paradise City, Don't Cry and the many many more that were belted out, they were sweet as smell of Roses, and as booming as victory Guns. Insanely fabulous, as someone said! And when the show concluded with the thick columns of paper confetti showered on us, we felt truly blessed.

 

PS: We missed Slash, ex-GNR, his signature hat, black glasses, curly hair. But I am told he is coming to India in February. Now that will be another episode to write about.

 

Cheers,
mg

 

net.mail.in@gmail.com

thoughtsrandomlyorganised.blogspot.in
All views are personal. Intellectual property rights reserved.

The Body. The Mind.

 

 

 

 

Early Morning!

 

It is difficult to point out that exact moment when a distant fuzzy bother starts prodding the Mind, like wanting to prise it open. Like the calm surface of water suddenly un-stilled by a driven wind dancing on its surface. The layers of unconsciousness starts melting rapidly, even as Mind starts to don consciousness.

 

And now it needs the tangible Body. It starts to transmit the contagion of action, bother and stress into the already tired, bothered and stressed Body. The Body struggles, yearning more of sleep, lusting for some more rest. But the Mind won’t stop. It continues to breach the receding sleep. Cutting off the Body’s entire sense of peace and relaxation.

 

The Body knows this struggle panning out at each dawn. The Body utterly wanting to wrest the sleep, and the Mind knowing that it needs, by hook or crook, the crutch of the Body.

 

The Body knows it has to submit unto the supremacy of the Mind, even when it desperately wishes delaying that moment. It almost cries out, and demands stillness and peace, till it has completely bathed in restful freshness, and banished the last of the strands of tiring-ness. The Mind but continues its relentless tapping into its every neuron and synapse, and in turn commanding and summoning the Body parts into action.

 

Under the constant prick of Mind, the Body pulls out of the bed in act of final surrender. Though it knows it is withering under the constant pressure of round the clock, unceasing, high pace activity demanded of it – at social, moral, physical levels.

 

It is dreading the approaching day, that will throw it into the chaos – its ride into the day’s’ enterprise, loatheful, despised enterprise of routine and non-routine, of more rote and bit of novelty.

 

The Body knows it just does not want to take more of this frenzy of daily chaos and another long long day, by whose end will leave it utterly spent, its vitality further ravaged. But the Mind won’t stop. It continues to unleash the illusion at the Body of unrelenting hope, and infinite energy, thus enticing it into constant action.

 

The helpless Body, tricked by its ‘own’, for now feels the illusionary gush of energy. It's mesmerised hearing ‘its a brand new day’, ‘rise and shine’, and some such delusionary but constantly repeated messages.

 

Guess the morning is finally here. The surrender of a tired Body, rudely awoken, is complete to the pillage by the Mind in the mesmerising name of possible accomplishment achievement and ambition.

 

Through the day, the Body slaves to each will, desire and instruction of the Mind.

 

And now when the day has ended, the Body is tired. Very tired. More tired than it ever was. It ever could be. But the Mind continues to be zestful. And filled with raw energy. It was a successful another day, exploiting the Body, accomplishing some more.

 

The Body knows, this struggle will continue. Each day! It has to surrender to the will of the Mind. Each day! But it also knows, that the Win will be eventually its. In its final shutdown! And then the Mind will not be able to shake it into any further action. That will be the final submission. Of the Mind. Unto the Body.

 

Till then, the Body dreams. To just survive. The living.



Cheers,

mg

net.mail.in@gmail.com

 

PS: All views are personal. Intellectual property rights reserved.

 

 

Happie Diwalie

Happie Diwalie! - Those 2 words uttered or heard a zillion times by us.

Beginning a few weeks before Diwali, the contagion of Happie Diwalie just hangs there in the air – along with the thick wintry smog. Ready to descend, and infect. It starts its climb down pretty innocuously. The early wave of Happie Diwalie-s are a music to the ear. They ring a magical mystique, like the enveloping winter around us. You start looking forward to the happiness of times, gifts (incoming, ofcourse), holidays and break from office (and boss!). Magical mood. Glitzy lighting. Inviting malls. Relaxing moments.

But what goes up comes down. The magic starts wearing off faster than next rocket to the Moon. And then it starts getting heavy, it starts getting tiring. And at times…it starts also getting awkward. Some phone calls are exclusively dedicated to Happie Diwalie you. After 20 seconds spent in enthusiastic happie-Diwalie-ing, discussion suddenly becomes awkward, not knowing where to meander. How to now navigate the conversation or worse, how to end it?!

I end up so Happie-Diwalie-ed, that my mind is going ‘Happie Diwalie’ deaf. Happie Diwalie is raining from all directions. This is much much more of happiness than I can handle in my life time.
 

And in the midst of all this, the Happie Diwalie contagion of a different type starts spreading, pretty rapidly at that – everyone and anyone seeing you hits you with that. So much so that soon you feel abused exploited or fleeced, sometimes all 3, all in the name of Happie Diwalie. Naturally my body now squirms at any sound waves that even remotely sound Happie Diwalie.

The contagion leads to Happie Diwalie starting to morph into a monetary currency, stronger than any other currency of the world. Now this Happie Diwali Monetary Union – HDMU – starts happening just before Diwali, and continues till 2-3 days post Diwali. Lets see some of the examples in action.
 

My building watchman is generally in a slumped, unattentive, i care not shape most of the time. But you see that the Diwali contagion is infecting him. This drowsy guy is suddenly all attentive, crisply attired. I am walking out of the building Gate, when he – out of nowhere – thrusts a military grade salute in my direction, with a large beaming smile. Happie Diwalie sir. Having now been Happie Diwalie-ed, I am supposed to read the subtext and dole out monetary welfare.

Then there is this whole army of your solid support ecosystem – cook, dhobi, driver, bai. In this wonderful eco-system, one unit of Happie Diwalie is equivalent to a certain salary (read: bonus). So you gotta be ready to be Happie Diwalie-d by each one of them, and in turn, must dish out its monetary equivalent.

Happie Diwalie bombs could unexpectedly land at you from unsuspecting quarters – from this denizens of ‘I-don’t-know-you-but-still-Happy-Diwali-to-you’ part. My misfortune, that I had to visit a friend in the nearby building. I crossed the path of the building security guy. I guess my body odour put his olfactories on fire. He immediately sensed Happie Diwalie contagion in the air. Happie Diwalie, sir, landed the bomb on me. And then his eyes clearly challenged me – ‘Happie Diwalie bola na. Ab toh nikalo’!. The undertone of expectation was louder than the Happie Diwalie itself.

The significance of Happie Diwalie-ing with certain set of people lies in just verbally belching it out as a tool of extortion. Emotions be damned! I mean, money has no emotions –right? Or color for that matter! My car wash guy lands up at my door this morning. He is generally a quiet poker faced character. In most unenthusiastic tone, he demands my car keys. Today was no different in that sense. The moment I opened the door, there he was, promptly Happie Diwalie-ing me. In his usual dry, wry and humourless tone. It was demanding, bordering on extortion. Yes boss, I understand. Happie Diwalie = your bonus. Amen!

I hear India’s economy has pre-dominantly become a Service economy. Believe me, Happie Diwalie has a sizzling future in this. Any service laced with Happie Diwalie is tinged with slightly better quality. Keeping the bagful of provisions in my car (vs dumped all the time), it was impossible to not be hit by Happie Diwalie contagion of the shop helper. I could arrest that contagion from infecting further only after a mini bakhsheesh.

I am convinced Happie Diwalie can add lot of zing to our financial and other systems. I expect following to emerge shortly:

• Service tax on each unit of Happie Diwalie. And so, why should Income Tax be left behind? However, if you can prove that you received less than 20 units of Happie Diwalie, you are entitled to tax relief (I mean you seem to ‘’Below Happie Diwalie Line’).
• New horns for vehicles are under testing for introduction next year, to be obtained via a live USB update. Once enabled, when you honk, it actually will say Happie Diwalie, followed by a simulated cracker burst. This is expected to directly help in reducing road rage incidents, by Happie Diwalie-ing everyone.
• Govt is working on a GHDP (Gross Happie Diwalie Product) metric, on the lines of GDP. GHDP is expected to more closely tell the health of economy, and is likely to become the pre-dominant indicator of economy’s health. Stock exchanges are likely to introduce derivatives and other products linked to GHDP.
• To celebrate the fact that Indians are one of the largest Facebook fan, Facebook is planning to introduce ‘Appy-Dwali’ buttons. No need to type. Happie Diwalie anyone by just a click. Anyone getting Happie Diwalie-ed 10,000 times or more, gets a dinner with Mrs and Mr Zuckerberg, and ‘Angry Happie Diwalie Birds’ pack free.
• Bhai calling to wish you Happie Diwalie!

Possibilities are immense.

By the way, did I tell you? Happie Diwalie!

Cheers,

Manish

net.mail.in@gmail.com

 

PS: All views are personal. Intellectual property rights reserved.

 

Silence. Action.

It’s a different day today! So different! I feel that in my pulse, and I feel that in the absence of the activity around me. As far as I see, there is a blue expanse of sky but that appears dull. The air around me seems still. I see few souls, scattered, few and far between. Some probably venturing out only because the task they have set out to do cannot be postponed. 

The stillness and ceasing can sometime signify liberation. But is this a feeling of liberation for me? My usual life is characterised by the constant hum of activity all around me. My psyche is deeply etched with seeing the constancy of action and motion, pivoted on me and around me. During all the sun lit hours, and most of the hours dark. Day after day, each day.

Today I am suddenly emptied of all the movement and sound, which defines my ambient silhouette. The void has descended on me all around. The high pitch action that goes around me un-stoppably has suddenly vanished. I have been stripped of the chaos, my arteries and veins emptied of the vitality. The inactivity around is deafening.

I am not used to seeing the fires of the industry in me ever put out or its intensity ever lowered, not for the highest and not for the mightiest, not for time and not for tide.

But today is a different day. I am shrouded in the silence of the mourning of my beloved for whom I was beloved. Let me mourn, and let me reminisce. I am not in hurry to go back to the routine. I wish to be still. Go through this catharsis. Heal my bruised spirit. But I know this is the transient me. For tomorrow, I have to stand back on my feet again. And I will. I can stop for a while, but I cannot sleep. For I have to carry the hopes, dreams and enterprise of my citizenry. Of the Alive and the Living. The motor of business will be re-kindled soon. For that is my nature. For that is just me – Mumbai.

 

 

[This article was written when Mumbai went silent, following death of Mr Balasaheb Thakeray.]

mg

net.mail.in@gmail.com

PS: All views are personal. Intellectual property rights reserved.