Face-on

My friend Tushar got me a special birthday gift when i turned 28 last year. He took my Facebook profile picture back then and created a t-shirt design out of it. With a kickass caption saying 'Wanted: Alive or Screwed', it was to go. The only issue being i wasn't very sure whether it was a good idea to wear something with my own face on it! I was already enough self-centered (and still am) to add tazzle to my narcissistic persona. The reason why people are narcissist is this way, they don't let others into their world, thus diminishing their chances of getting hurt. More on that in some other stupid blog post. As for now, let's go back to what Tushar said to convince me that it was an awesome gift (which it indeed was). How many of your friends have customized tees for you, huh? He simply said, "Agar tu apna t-shirt nahi pehnega toh kaun pehnega?" It was a straightforward question with only one answer possible. Since i'm not Messi or Federer to have kids wear my face on their torso, i'll have to make do with my own image. After all, the question is, if not me, then who else? 

Leading from the front

When Gandhiji decided to do something for the country—India, not South Africa—he analyzed the pertinent issues of the time by traveling far and wide. He experienced firsthand how Indians' root problems existed inside their head. Indians didn't have shackles around their limbs. They were psychologically defeated by the British thanks to the constant reminder that they were inferior to the Whites. Which is why Gandhiji took the necessary measures to reverse the situation at the grassroot level. So, for that to happen, he himself had to undergo certain changes. During that era, Britishers were dictating terms (not very different from how stupid politicians do today) by deciding how Indians were going to lead their lives and earn their livelihood. It was always about economics. Money, money and more money! The Britishers didn't care about religion (if they did, we'd be the world's largest Protestant country in the world today) but knew their politics very well. So Gandhiji got down to business by requesting Indians to stick to the truth and channel the nationalism in them towards a greater cause. He called it Swadeshi despite knowing we didn't really have a country back then. The idea was to create the idea of a nation. Youngsters today mercilessly dismiss his work by saying it took him decades to get us independence while some even argue that he didn't get us independence at all. Two factors to be noted here:

1. Both the parties don't know what the heck they're talking about.

2. To gain independence, you need to have a country first.

Physical independence was out of question anyway. Mental struggle was the way to go. So what did this lawyer from England cum freedom fighter from South Africa do? He got rid of every little thing from his personal life that reminded him of imperialism. He stopped wearing Western attire for beginners. No Saville Row suit please! He started producing his own garment. He didn't stop there. He even ditched something as basic as soap and went back to the traditional besan flour. These are little things that make a lot of difference especially when you are the leader—a soon-to-be country's first national leader, to be precise—of an impossible dream. Can you think of a greater leader than him before or after his era? And we are talking about a time when there was no Internet and his messages relied heavily on newspapers. A media that was censored heavily and read by those who could read. India didn't have a lot of literates. And yet, he managed to reach so many millions with his travels. You know why? Because Indians might have been emotional fools but they could see clearly a man who wasn't swindling. They could have easily rejected him on the ground of his foreignness but they couldn't. If 5000 people attended his speech, his messages reached 10,000. They were clear and to-the-point. Which is why he could attract talents like Jinnah and Netaji and Bhagat as his fanboys (before they decided to chart out their separate journeys). I'm not deifying Gandhiji here. Just pointing out the subtle measures needed to make a difference. And as the cliché goes, it begins with you. He might have been flawed but he wasn't afraid of flaws. Maybe that must make us understand why we don't really have leaders anymore. There are way too many followers nowadays. And the ones we call leaders are actually salespersons selling products under the guise of advancing humanity. It's all about the big P now. No, not penis. Profit. 

Tweet-ups and lows

There are many things i haven't done since 2010. Swimming 10 laps a day. Cycling 6km (to and fro office). Playing weekly football with adequate training and warmups. Turning vegetarian. Donating monthly to Wikipedia and Greenpeace. And on the online front, i haven't engaged in public conversations in over five years now. Similarly, i haven't been to tweetups either (more on that later). But i've gone to meet Twitter friends who duped me with their 'surprise' of calling fellow tweeps without asking me first. But i must admit i do miss indulging in timeline convos, especially when people take silence for granted and misuse it against you. I've attended the funerals of so many brilliant comebacks inside my head since '10 that it's not funny although the comebacks were. I've somehow managed to resist myself for so long now that it doesn't really matter. When you're silent, you see the clearer picture. You witness otherwise normal folks resorting to misinformation and blatant lies just because they know you're not going to clarify anything anyway. 

I stopped attending tweetup for following reasons: 

1. Tweeps who came across as aggressive (read: abusive) on the timeline were actually fuddus of the pitiable type. They just imagined themselves as Hulk while typing. In reality, they had a slouch and their elbows were almost at 90 degrees thanks to their phone in the middle.
2. Women with their photoshopped DPs and feministic fringes were generally the least admirable aspect of a tweetup. No, it had very little to do with the fact that they appeared far from attractive thanks to hitherto hidden obesity. All of a sudden, you thanked technology for keeping the DPs' mouths shut!
3. On the other hand, i found guys to be far more wonderful and engaging. There was no pretense in their persona. They were exactly the way they presented themselves on the timeline. I felt odd with them though because i never felt cool enough. 
4. Unlike on the timeline, there was no tweet-up fight ever happening. Twitter fights let you know who stood with whom and the overall equation between two conflicting ideologies. At a tweetup, nothing of that sort happened. Just forced conversations, no debate.
5. If a tweep was 120% entertaining on the timeline, his entertainment quotient dropped to 23% in a tweetup. Can't blame him/her because it's difficult to manage in the real world without the help of hashtags and trending topics. 
6. After a point, everybody was just seeking an excuse to leave the tweetup ASAP. Just that they didn't want to be the first one so they are waiting for somebody to make the grand move. (For the record, i used to shamelessly do the honour every single time!)
7. Bitching and gossiping were common features of tweetups. And that was irrespective of gender. 
8. Everybody exchanged number but nobody contacted nobody later. Or maybe it was just me.
9. Mouths opened wide and tongue rolled out as pink carpet when you told them you don't drink or smoke.
10. None of the tweetups ever end up in an orgy. 

I'm pretty sure (or at least i hope) things must have changed a lot since 2010. 

Identity crisis of the highest order

Is it just me or you also have those awkward moments when somebody is introduced to you and within 5 seconds, you forget their names? Following which, you are just trying hard to appear cool about your absentmindedness while figuring out ways to find out his/her name. Of course, there is always a way out: like you can ask for their surname hoping they will repeat their first name once again! Such instances are always stressful (while it's happening) as well as amusing (after it has happened). 

Imagine such a thing taking place while you're fast asleep. 

Last night, i met my friend/colleague Maithri in my dreams and for some reason, she had a 5-year-old son named Kayash. She informed me that two kids from his kindergarten were bullying him. She basically wanted me to straighten up these little rascals. So, i spent the rest of my dream walking around in this huge school that looked more like a college. In your dreams, you often do pointless things but in this dream, i was trying to make sense of what was going on. I was on my own sent on a mission to reprimand two kids whose name i didn't know or bothered to ask. To make matters worse, i was supposed to be looking for them but in my mind, i was wondering "How does Kayash look like?" without letting anyone else know. 

Please die!

• What doesn't kill you makes you wronger. 
• What doesn't kill you makes you spend time on Internet.
• What doesn't kill you makes you a reincarnated Hindu.  
• What doesn't kill you makes you wiser.
• What doesn't kill you makes you crib a bit longer than necessary.
• What doesn't kill you wants you to suffer a bit longer. 
• What doesn't kill you mocks. 
• What doesn't kill you makes you vocal about death penalty. 
• What doesn't kill you makes you tweet more.
• What doesn't kill you makes you suicidal. 

Read and right

Although i've been pro-Poor all my life, i am not really a victim of poverty. My parents were. I didn't grow up in an affluent setting, yes, but my parents ensured that my brother and i were taken care of. My dad worked 12+ hours a day while ma earned her bit from sewing. Their single-minded dedication towards getting us education from a kischan school made all the difference. And for that —among other things—i'll always remain grateful. I didn't pay them back by teaching them English even though they often expressed interest. I was way too shy to even correct their incorrect pronunciations. Now, when i look back, i wonder if it's even possible to repay someone who made you realize how promising life can be. I know the answer to that but still, every once in a while, i prefer visiting my past to dig deeper. Like, what were the factors that stopped my parents from sending us to a Marathi-medium school or a BMC school? They could have taken the easy way out. After all, they were in no position to pay higher school fees. But they did what they thought was best for their children.  How many parents manage to pull off such gambles? I'm quite sure it's an uphill task because i don't really see a lot of young students nowadays who appreciate the efforts their parents put in. Time is changing, no doubt, but it'd  be nicer to see more parents betting on their kids' future than their present. The power to learn isn't to be taken for granted. The fabled University of Life might have helped our case in the 19th century. Not anymore. Last century, Pink Floyd tried to fool us by going to school themselves and preaching that we don't need no education. Not happening in the 21st century.

Death by your faith

< one sentence of silence>

717 dead, 805 injured. What the media reports on the stampede in Mecca today. It's a tragedy. And like all tragedies, it could have been averted. Nonetheless, somebody or the other would be labelling this event as a will of God. And i wouldn't blame them either; neither the deads nor the alives. When it comes to holy places, a bit of sentimentality is granted. On 9/11 of this year, a construction crane in Mecca collapsed killing 107 people. The engineer went on record saying it was a will of God. It doesn't matter how much technology one employs, blaming the Creator can never go out of fashion. The company's recent findings further established that the crane was “technically faultless”. How can you argue with such formidable belief system? But then, when people die, questions are waiting to raise their head. Just that there's innocence in people crushing each other to death while praying. The in-built theory is that whoever dies during a pilgrimage receives automatic entry into heaven. But what about those who wish to delay this trip? When a person dies in a fire, the burning skin creates so much fume that it practically chokes him/her to death. Before the pain kills you, your lungs give up. Which is why it's worth wondering how hundreds of human bodies, with voices in them, play out the final act before calling it a day. On a second thought, isn't stampede something that comes close to dying for one's religion? Strapping oneself with bombs or brandishing swords or guns is fake. The real shit is to pass away with no hatred whatsoever in your heart.