Lack of occupation? Who? Indians? Us? Have you gone nuts? We have more jobs than we actually need. Even more than the land of opportunities US has. It’s just a sorry brand positioning of the country for no reason. We are forever occupied. Each one of us. Unemployment? Is that Hebrew? Our country gives us options to pick n choose occupations! We are the world’s busiest nation.
Our country is unimaginably united and linked. Anybody does anything in any corner, the arse of the entire nation gets tickled and we get busy. An asset painter of a rival faith is driven out of the country for doing his job. His country left no stone unturned to make sure he leaves his own country and settles in an alien one. He gives a damn! Shifts to another country, walks around barefoot and swipes his credit card to buy a Bentley! A well-deserved tight slap on the nation’s face.
We are immensely sensitive. The juvenile nation gets shaken by tweets. We feel good, we feel bad, we cry, we’re angry, we even dismiss, reject people on the basis of their tweets! So what if the person is a fresh breath of air within the rotten dungeons of the world’s largest democracy. What a wrong place you chose to be Mr. Tharoor. We are the young, rich, educated, emerging middle-class talking. We are the kings of trivialising and certainly don’t deserve you. We’ll forever be happy being led by corrupt, uneducated (literate but uneducated), have hidden sex genre of people. We have a mould for our leaders and expect you to fit in there.
And when life gets too bland in India, we of course have prime time, unscripted reality dramas in form of celebrity weddings. The golden girl of the country crosses borders to pick a husband, fake wife turns up, claims divorce, marriage happens, reception happens, who all make it to the invitee list, what do they wear to the event, what menu, what colour did the groom shit, everything. Courtesy- Our indispensable media. One full week of salacious gossyp for the hungry us. What more do we need to keep ourselves going. Patriotism, Indo-Pak bonhomie, everything takes a backseat.
An oversensitive country incurs humungous losses because of its attitude. We forget, a country of more than a billion hearts is also a country of more than a billion brains. And living with brains, instead of hearts, at times can prove to be of benefit for the mankind beyond measure. All this...still we are busy. And occupied afterall.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Simple Present
My last office was at the busiest crossing of the city. It came to a standstill atleast twice a day. Unfortunately it was the only way to the CMs house. Each time the he passed, business at the park circus crossing came to a standstill and atleast 10,000 people made way for that one man. The same man who kept shut all this while. Who couldn’t be found anywhere when 25 year olds had to either burn themselves or jump to death. I forgot they had a choice. Jumping cushions were left unused at the office barely 2kms from the point of massacre subject to a dispute over the payment to the manufacturing company. Most of the rescue equipments were ‘one’ in number. More could have obviously saved more common lives.
Probably no. For we all are used to use our moneys at the wrong places. To shop for things we don’t need, or we’ll never use, to ensure our ‘leaders’’ safety, prosperity and well-being, as bribes for construction of extra floors violating security norms and consequently, as compensations to the families of the dead. Who’s responsible? How long is the constant war between us on one side and the government on the other? How long is the callous most government in the world auction lump of meats of 25 year olds for a lac each? How long are we going to shell out our hard earned fat lollies for a few godforsaken individuals who can’t even guarantee us lives, leave alone a good lives.
48 hours later
It was close to business-as-usual at the Stephen Court crossing. The ever busy park street wore a veil of normalcy and peeped from inside, looked up to the blackened floors every 5 minutes. With scare, with gloom, with tears. Steps slowed, heart sank, a nauseating feeling swallowed me in as I walked towards the cursed icon. Had never imagined a police-barricaded Flury’s. No laughters gang of old friends meeting up, on the other side of the glass window. The patent Flury’s plain white tea cups didn’t tinkle today. Flury’s was closed. This was probably the first time when the city’s first-ever music world had its shutters down. The café coffee day outlet, where no one ever asked you to leave even if you spent the entire day there, couldn’t be seen because atleast 500 policemen gathered outside. And the institutional peter cat was just not there. I could feel someone taking away all my memories with that place. I gathered courage to look up. It felt like I tried to look into the eyes of the sun.
Windows and air-conditioning units burnt to ashes, the external walls gave a little idea of the loss within. Yes the loss was once again, within. What compensation a mother want who lost both her sons? Or probably the muslim husband who kept waiting with his daughter for his beloved hindu wife to celebrate her birthday. Yes the losses are always within. What’s visible might just give us an idea of its magnitude. And after 48 hours of the fire, bodies were still being recovered and kept on the pavements while reporters, cameramen, journalists and common men pounced on them. Yes the same pavement where they sell chocolates. Exactly eight steps away from the fancy and iconic ice cream parlour of the city.
Cars, taxis, bikes stopped at the red light. Innumerable pair of eyes looked up. Pedestrians, office goers, xaverians, non-xaverians, the rich, the middle-class, the poor, the beggars, the magazine sellers, everyone. Including me. The Gelato outside the Music World lowered a black flag and put a flex that read, “ We are sad, we are sorry we couldn’t save them.” The adjacent Flury’s wall had innumerable messages with candles and flowers on it. I felt a cramp in my stomach. A pain behind my eyes that gradually took over. I knew it was time for me to leave the spot. In the next 5 minutes I found myself at the entrance of Vardaan. Yes. I had to pick jewellery for my friend’s wedding.
2 weeks later
They had shifted Flury’s to the Park building and were operating from their ‘The Street’. I lowered my eyes as I entered the stretch and waited to look up till I reached Marco Polo. 2 weeks later, I found myself partying with friends in the adjacent pub to The Street. But I guess this is how life works. You have to pick up pieces and move on. As they say…It’s all a part of life. Oh ya, death indeed is!
My last office was at the busiest crossing of the city. It came to a standstill atleast twice a day. Unfortunately it was the only way to the CMs house. Each time the he passed, business at the park circus crossing came to a standstill and atleast 10,000 people made way for that one man. The same man who kept shut all this while. Who couldn’t be found anywhere when 25 year olds had to either burn themselves or jump to death. I forgot they had a choice. Jumping cushions were left unused at the office barely 2kms from the point of massacre subject to a dispute over the payment to the manufacturing company. Most of the rescue equipments were ‘one’ in number. More could have obviously saved more common lives.
Probably no. For we all are used to use our moneys at the wrong places. To shop for things we don’t need, or we’ll never use, to ensure our ‘leaders’’ safety, prosperity and well-being, as bribes for construction of extra floors violating security norms and consequently, as compensations to the families of the dead. Who’s responsible? How long is the constant war between us on one side and the government on the other? How long is the callous most government in the world auction lump of meats of 25 year olds for a lac each? How long are we going to shell out our hard earned fat lollies for a few godforsaken individuals who can’t even guarantee us lives, leave alone a good lives.
48 hours later
It was close to business-as-usual at the Stephen Court crossing. The ever busy park street wore a veil of normalcy and peeped from inside, looked up to the blackened floors every 5 minutes. With scare, with gloom, with tears. Steps slowed, heart sank, a nauseating feeling swallowed me in as I walked towards the cursed icon. Had never imagined a police-barricaded Flury’s. No laughters gang of old friends meeting up, on the other side of the glass window. The patent Flury’s plain white tea cups didn’t tinkle today. Flury’s was closed. This was probably the first time when the city’s first-ever music world had its shutters down. The café coffee day outlet, where no one ever asked you to leave even if you spent the entire day there, couldn’t be seen because atleast 500 policemen gathered outside. And the institutional peter cat was just not there. I could feel someone taking away all my memories with that place. I gathered courage to look up. It felt like I tried to look into the eyes of the sun.
Windows and air-conditioning units burnt to ashes, the external walls gave a little idea of the loss within. Yes the loss was once again, within. What compensation a mother want who lost both her sons? Or probably the muslim husband who kept waiting with his daughter for his beloved hindu wife to celebrate her birthday. Yes the losses are always within. What’s visible might just give us an idea of its magnitude. And after 48 hours of the fire, bodies were still being recovered and kept on the pavements while reporters, cameramen, journalists and common men pounced on them. Yes the same pavement where they sell chocolates. Exactly eight steps away from the fancy and iconic ice cream parlour of the city.
Cars, taxis, bikes stopped at the red light. Innumerable pair of eyes looked up. Pedestrians, office goers, xaverians, non-xaverians, the rich, the middle-class, the poor, the beggars, the magazine sellers, everyone. Including me. The Gelato outside the Music World lowered a black flag and put a flex that read, “ We are sad, we are sorry we couldn’t save them.” The adjacent Flury’s wall had innumerable messages with candles and flowers on it. I felt a cramp in my stomach. A pain behind my eyes that gradually took over. I knew it was time for me to leave the spot. In the next 5 minutes I found myself at the entrance of Vardaan. Yes. I had to pick jewellery for my friend’s wedding.
2 weeks later
They had shifted Flury’s to the Park building and were operating from their ‘The Street’. I lowered my eyes as I entered the stretch and waited to look up till I reached Marco Polo. 2 weeks later, I found myself partying with friends in the adjacent pub to The Street. But I guess this is how life works. You have to pick up pieces and move on. As they say…It’s all a part of life. Oh ya, death indeed is!
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