Chp 88. Little hut on the brae

As she stood on the peak of the tall lush green hill, she could see smoke rising from the Village in the horizon. Most of the houses were on fire and long lines of thick dark smoke seemed to invade the idyllic surroundings of Mother Nature as if by brute force. With one frail hand she held on to a tall and slender pine for support while she clutched her woven shawl tightly with the other. The wind was strong at the top of the hill and an old woman of her age could easily be blown away.

Her eyesight was not as good as it once used to be, but she could still make out the burning huts and houses. The Village was perched on the slope of a hill that was just two peaks away from her hut. An able bodied man could make the trip from the Village to her small hut and back again in half a day. But for an old woman like her, it would take an entire day just to reach the Village, if she could make the trip that is.

She had been leading an isolated life for such a long time now that she could no longer remember when was the last time she had ever been in that Village. There were hazy memories of happier times, and also blurred images of the time she was the most beautiful woman in the Village. There was also another vision she wanted to forget. It was the reason why she left the Village and never turned back after that.

Many years ago, she was once a part of that Village. Everybody knew her. She was the envy of every other virgin in the Village, until she got married. Her husband was Thanga, the Village Chief’s son and the most eligible bachelor in the Village then. Not just brave and righteous, but handsome too. It was the perfect match. Together they had three adoring sons. She used to lead the life that befitted a Princess. She was a good wife and mother. She helped out other mothers and Village damsels with all their problems.

This wonderful life went on until the day her youngest son got his first pubic hair and was considered old enough to take part in the Village raids. She was around 32 years old then, still beautiful and still the envy of many other women. Her brother-in-law became their next Village Chief after her father-in-law stepped down due to a ripening age. After a long discussion with the Village Council, her brother-in-law decided to conduct a raid at Tawia’s Village. It was a risky decision which nobody undertook before, but if they succeeded, it could pay off very well. So on that fateful day, she said goodbye to her husband and three sons, not knowing that it would be the last time she would ever see them again.

Five suns and moons later, the loud Village gong woke up everybody, signaling the return of the warriors. It was around dawn and there was still a sea of mist surrounding the plush hill-side on where their Village was situated. She rushed out of her room to welcome back the raiding party. She had spent five sleepless nights, worried about the lives of her husband and three sons. Finally, the moment she dreaded the most had arrived. Would she see them again or would she be haunted with those nightmares for the rest of her life?

She saw the warriors entering the village one by one. None of them were happy; none of them rejoiced; none of them even smiled on seeing their family again. Slowly everything started spinning and becoming hazy for her. With trembling hands she counted the Village warriors who returned. More than a 100 of them had left for the raid, now she counted just thirty returning. She fell on the floor as she could not find her husband or any of her three sons in the group. Even before one of the warriors who slowly approached her spoke, she already knew what he was going to say. She looked up at him and all she could see were his lips move. Nothing was audible. Everything around her had become more and more blurry until darkness completely embraced her.

She woke up on her bed surrounded by a few of the Village women and elders. Once again, she realized her nightmare had come true. The pain of losing her husband and three sons was so hard that she could not even cry. She just stared into blank space as the other women tried to console her and prevent her from slipping into insanity. She could not even feel their sympathies.

That night, she packed all her belongings quietly and left the Village. It was a dead Village. Nobody sang songs like other nights. The sounds of insects chirping seemed to flood the entire Village. She didn’t look back even once as she left the place where she was once so happy. The only people who saw her leave that night were the two Village lookouts, who didn’t know what to say to her. Nothing they said could have ever made things right for her. She had just lost her all. They just let her walk because anything they said would make things harder for her.

Under the pale light of the moon, she kept on walking mindlessly. Through thick overgrown forests and thorny slopes. Past one hill. Past another. Finally she reached her destination. It was a small hut that she and her husband had built a long time ago. It was the hut where they had spent their first night as a married couple. It was only when she reached the hut that she finally cried. She cried her heart out. She cried for the next two days.

Some of the Village youth who were looking for her, came to her hut relieved to find her there and asked her to come back. She said no. The next day, the Village priest came with the same youths and told her she must perform the three months long ritual for her dead husband. She couldn’t care less. With that, she was ex-communicated from the Village community and she was now truly on her own.

Eventually, she recovered from her shock after a couple of days. She had not eaten at all and her face, which was once beautiful, was now just a shade of boney cheekbones and pale white skin. She made spears from the pines around the hut to protect herself from any danger. She lived on roots and vegetables growing nearby. She fetched water from a nearby mountain creek. She started setting traps for wild animals around her home. Slowly, she started getting used to the life there at the little hut on the brae. Once a month, some of the people from the Village would take a day off from their work in the Village and visit her, bringing her fruits, rice, clothes and shawls. But when they asked her to come back, nothing could change her mind. Very soon, her visitors stopped asking and visited her just to bring her new supplies. And after sometime, the frequency in which people would visit her started reducing, until they stopped.

To her, this was her World now. Hardly a year after she started living a solitude life, warriors from the neighboring Village raided her Village. It was not just a raid but an invasion, because they knew that the Village was not as strong as it used to be after that disaster at Tawia’s Village. The few remaining survivors of that invasion became slaves for the new Chief, who was the youngest son of the neighboring Village’s Chief. From the slaves, he had heard stories about the woman who lived alone in a hut two hills away from the Village. A week after he overtook the Village, the new Chief went with his warriors to see the woman.

He was impressed at her courage to live all alone in the wilderness and at the same time filled with sympathy for her enormous loss. He asked her to come back to the Village with him, even promising her that she would not be treated as a slave under his Chieftainship. She looked at him and cried. Her oldest son would have been exactly his age if he was alive. Calling him her son, she told him that she would not be able to bear the pain of being reminded of all the wonderful memory she once had in that Village. The new Chief understood and persuaded her no further. Soon he left her as she was, with five spears and his own personal dagger for her to use incase the need ever arose. He even promised that he would send someone to her hut once every full moon just to check up with her.

Life went on for her. Years went by, and soon she became a legend. Her fame traveled near and far. She was now approaching 80. Her body started to hurt more easily and there was a deep strange pain within her chest. But still she did her daily rituals with the same ease and intensity. She now had hens and chickens, a small farm the size of her hut where she grew vegetables like cabbages and lady’s fingers, and a cow. Every month, a small sack of rice was sent from the Village to her hut. People stopped talking to her because she never spoke to them. The Village volunteers usually leave the sack of rice at her doorstep without even acknowledging if she was there or not.

Nobody ever talked to her, until two days ago, when a warrior from the Village came to inform her that warriors from Tawia’s village were coming to this side of the land with the biggest raiding party people had ever seen, around a thousand young warriors. It was obvious that they were planning to raid atleast ten villages with that strength. He asked her to kindly come back to the Village for protection as Tawia was known for not showing any mercy to anyone.

She only shook her head, knowing that her time was going to come soon anyway and that she was not afraid of death, just like the way she never was ever since she left that Village. The warrior shook his head and went back to the village with a look of pity in his eyes.

Now, as she stood on the top of the hill all alone watching the massacre in the Village, she felt a deep pain within her. It was not just an emotional pain. Her chest was starting to hurt badly again. She fell on the ground clutching her chest. Somehow she managed to crawl back to her hut with all her remaining strength and got into bed. She could feel life slowly being squeezed out of her. Yet she was not afraid of dying. She smiled and welcomed death with open arms. Outside her hut, there was a commotion. The sounds of warriors ready to kill anything that came in their way. From the sound of it, there were many of them outside. With one last attempt, she opened her eyes to make out the blurry figure of a man entering her hut, a sword in one hand and a spear in the other. She laughed. And with that she breathed her last.

The warrior who had just entered the hut was the Commander of the large raiding party from Tawia’s village. He had heard tales about the brave old woman who lived all alone by herself because of something she had lost. He wanted to see the woman with his own eyes and maybe persuade her to come back to his Village where she would be treated with the highest honors. But fortune be damned, she was already dead when he saw her. He was certain she was still alive as he entered her hut, but the body infront of him was now a lifeless one.

He pitied her for living the life of an outcast. He understood how it was like to be an outcast. He too was an outcast once. He was captured during a failed raid at Tawia’s Village, which took place such a long time ago that he could barely remember anything. But later, he proved his loyalty and bravery to Chief Tawia inspite of the fact that he was not one of Tawia’s people. Soon, he became the apple of Tawia’s eyes and he was promoted to lead his own raiding party. He really wanted to bring back this old lady back to Tawia’s village because he knew how it was like to lose someone. He had watched his own father and two elder brothers die infront of him on his very first raid that lead to his capture, and later he learnt from his captors that his mother back at his Village was killed from a raid by the neighboring village Chief’s son. He missed his family a lot especially his mother, and now looking at the lifeless body of the old woman who lived all alone at the little hut on the brae, he suddenly felt a great closeness to her. He cried.

Chp 87. Independence Day. Woohoo!!!

Nothing can beat the feeling of being a free citizen while laying back on my bean bag enjoying that feeling and watching the Independence Day function on Doordarshan.

I switched on the TV around 11am. I had just returned from the ground floor of our Apartment, where there was a short Flag hoisting ceremony held. It was a great feeling to be there, standing in attention as our National flag was hoisted and the National anthem was played. At first I was a bit reluctant to go down alone because of a tad wee shyness as I was still pretty much new here in our Mumbai Apartment. But I saw so many familiar faces once I was there: phone booth uncle, milk shop uncle, barber uncle, internet uncle, cigarette shop uncle, and there were many other residents whose face I recognized too. We wished each other a Happy Independence day and then there were sweets distributed. Children of our Apartment who scored above 70% in the recent 10th std exams were awarded. T’was a great feeling indeed.

The Independence Day Parade on TV was just about to start when I reached my flat. The commentary was in English. Correct me if I am wrong, but I think it used to be only in Hindi some time ago right? Anyway, the commentaries were well executed. I think I caught a glimpse of one of the commentator and also from his voice, I am sure it was none other than NDTV’s Srinivasan. He rocks!

There were two commentators. One sucked. Srini seemed to be trying his best to bail him out every time the other guy stuttered or couldn’t find the words to complete his sentences. Sometimes, it sounded like those MBA entrance Group Discussion, where people tried to butt in while the other person spoke, just for the sake of speaking, and eventually when that person managed to butt in and silence the other guy, he realized there was nothing constructive or relevant to the topic that he could talk about .

Anyway, I never realized this before, but the 21 gun salute executed by the Artillery division while the National Anthem played was in sync with the beat of the song! Amazing. It was not just some random 21 blasts from the canons. Every shot fired synchronized with a drum beat of the National Anthem! Very well timed precision triggering indeed.

The personal Body guards of the PM. Man, these guys looked really freaking fit. I’m sure they can run from my Apartment at Andheri East to Bandra and back again in less than half an hour. Dressed in black suits and dark glasses, I was just wondering whether these guys were trying to copy the way the Secret Service Agents of USA guarding the President dressed like. Because I remembered when Mr.Vajpayee was the PM, one of his personal bodyguards was of a mongoloid origin. I don’t know if he’s from Nepal or the Northeast, but that dude was there at the background in most of Vajpayee’s pictures. Tall, fair, bald at the front (yay!), lean and medium built, I’ve never seen him wear dark glasses. He was always alert and looking everywhere while walking behind Vajpayee. He even sat in the same car with the ex-PM on his tours.

The PM’s speech lasted for around 45 minutes. It was in Hindi so I couldn’t understand most of it but I could make out it was pretty patriotic .

Finally, the moment I was fervently waiting for came. The Independence Day Parade. I love watching the Military Parade, where all the various Armed forces of India march in great unison, where all the latest and existing Tanks, Fighter jets and Rockets were displayed with great pride. And then there was also the Parade by all the States of India, each one displaying their unique cultural dances in traditional attire. The particular Parade was not just inspirational but also educational. Man, my heart was skipping a beat as that moment was approaching. But suddenly, the Independence Day Function was over, Doordarshan said thankyou and rolled out the credits. I was like “What the…???” .

I thought I must have missed that Parade while I was downstairs participating in the Flag hoisting ceremony. But then, there was no way I could have missed the entire Parade. And the PM Dr. Manmohan Singh was visiting all the Memorials of past PMs so the Parade couldn’t have been held in his absence. What the hell was going on???? I thought maybe the Parade was cancelled due to Terrorist threats.

And then my sister came home. When I told her about it, she looked at me and said “Idiot, what you’re talking about happens at the REPUBLIC DAY Parade”.

AH!!!!! Silly silly silly silly me. I got my Parades all mixed up. Yes, it was then that I remembered all those display of Arms and Might and Culture happens only at the Republic Day Parade, not the Independence Day Parade. Damn, I suck! Hehe. I should be imprisoned for this. I’ve been watching that Parade every Republic Day since I was a small boy. How did I ever get it all mixed up suddenly this year? As my friend Varasidhi would have said, I’ve just made a boo boo.

Anyway it feels great to know that the Independence Day functions all over India went off peacefully without any incidents inspite of the high alert warning sounded by the Government. India rox. Woohoo!!!

Here is a toast, my brothers and sisters, to all our Freedom Fighters, who had sacrificed their lives so unselfishly, so that we could be free citizens, free Individuals, free Indians, free you and I. Cheers.

Chp 86. What really happened in the IIMB Campus.

The Untold Story.

[ This post is about being honest with your friends and helping them before they ruin their life or career by telling them the truth even if you know they don’t want to hear the truth ]

We all know what goes on inside those hostel rooms of many Colleges, where the students have all the freedom to do anything that they want since they are far away from the prying eyes of the College or Hostel administration. Well, this is one such story….

The untold story that really took place during my short term at IIMB, Bangalore. The names had been changed for obvious reasons. It’s up to you to believe it or not, but I just wanted to tell everyone about this because of the consequences it could lead to if it went unchecked. Reader’s utmost discretion requested.

The place: My hostel room, Indian Institute of Management, Bangalore.
Music playing on my comp: Comfortably numb by Pink Floyd.
People in my room: Me, Mike and John.

Mike: Oh comon, you gotta drag faster than that!
Me: Mannnn shut up, I’m trying my best. I’m not as experienced as you are.
John: Here, pass it to me, I’ll show you how to drag.

(I passed on the device to John and with one sleight of his two trembling fingers, he executed the fastest drag I’ve ever seen. He took a deep breath and dragged the entire thing in less than 5 seconds!!!!)

Me: Wow! I’m impressed!
John: See, that is how you drag it. You’re too much of a pansy, dude.
Me: Hey it’s not my fault. You know I can’t drag that fast.
John: You gotta raise the bar dude. The faster you drag, the more kick you get out of it.
Mike: *cough cough* Open the windows Kim, it’s getting awfully stuffy in here.
Me: Fine. I just didn’t expect the two of you to drop by my room and do this stuff. Where did you buy this shit anyway?
John: You gotta have eyes for it man. Just go to Majestic near the bus stands and you will see many dealers out there ready selling this stuff.
Me: Man, sometimes you scare me dude. How illegal is this stuff?
Mike: Enough to land you in Jail.
John: *laughs* So Mike, when was the first time you ever dragged it?
Mike: I don’t exactly remember, but I sure am hooked to it now.

(All three of us laughed, but it was an uncomfortable laughter)

Me: Right on. It’s really addictive man.
Mike: Seriously. Now I cannot even concentrate on my studies anymore because of this.
Me: That’s what scares me. I’ve even stopped playing outdoor games. It’s taking a big toll on my fitness.

(There was a brief moment of silence. John was the first to break the awkward silence)

John: *Ahem* Anyway… have you guys ever tried dragging other stuff… you know…
Mike: You mean…
John: Yeah.
Mike: No way dude. I heard that’s too risky.
Me: I’m with Mike on this one. I’m never gonna mix and drag.
John: See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You guys never take any risk at all.
Mike: Dude. You wanna throw away your life? It’s not like we have nine lives you know.
Me: Exactly.
John: Well, I don’t know about you guys but I ain’t gonna live the rest of my life in dullsville. I like to gamble with my life and take chances.

(Mike looked at me I knew exactly what he was thinking. John was way into this stuff and he needed professional help)

Me: Listen, I don’t like to do this but… John, that’s enough of dragging. You gotta leave my room man. I’m so sorry.

(John turned around and looked at me disbelievingly. He knew very well that he couldn’t do that outside my room. Fortunately for me, Mike came to my rescue)

Mike: Dude, Kima is right. Look at yourself. Your eyes are already red. Other guys in the hostel are already starting to talk behind your back calling you an addict…
John: Screw them all. Like I care. It’s not my fault that they haven’t discovered such euphoria as this.
Me: It’s not about them John. It’s about you that we are worried.
Mike: Yes John. Listen to Kima. Atleast the two of us can control our urges and know when to stop.
Me: The other night I was coming back from a group study and when I passed your room at around 2 in the morning, I saw you still dragging away to glory…
John: So you guys are spying on me now?

(Oooh boy. Things were starting to get really out of hand)

Mike: Relax John. Sit down. We are trying to help here.
John: Screw you both. I can take care of myself.
Me: Yes we know you can John. You definitely can. We just wanted to say… you’re not the same John we used to know.
Mike: You have changed a lot John. The moment you first started dragging, you slowly started becoming a different person.
Me: Yes. And we want the old John back. The fun John. The John that used to love nature walk and playing basketball.

(John slowly sat down and thought for a minute. Then he looked up at us.)

John: You guys really think I’ve changed that much?
Me: Yes John. We hardly go out anymore. You’re always in your room or at one of our rooms dragging away. Look, your hands are even shaking.
Mike: Comon John, lets go to CCD and I’ll treat you to a nice cup of hot steaming coffee. It will do you good.
Me: Yeah John. Listen to Mike. Stop this for now.
John: I guess you guys are right. I mean… I have realized what I have become because of this. My grades are starting to fall and I’ve stopped hanging out with other people. I just thought I’ll stop one day but…
Me: It’s ok John. We are there now. We will help you through this.
Mike: Come, the coffee awaits us. Kima, are you coming?
Me: No guys, I’m really sorry but I got an assignment to submit. You guys go ahead. I’ll join you all later.
Mike: Ok, take care then. Come John.
John: Bye Kima.
Me: Bye guys.
John: Uh… before I go, can I have just one last drag?
Mike: No John! No more drag. Come.

As I watched the two of them disappear from my hostel room, I felt relieved in a strange way. Finally we told John what we’ve been trying to tell him for the past few days. He was extremely hooked to it and he really needed to stop. It’s true, his grades were definitely affected. He used to be one of the toppers before, now he was in the bottom 20 of the class. Anyway, I lied to them about the assignment submission. I wanted to continue dragging. Hell, I’m not addicted to it like John was, but I just wanted to finish what we started.

I walked back into my room and contemplated on what had just happened in here the past 10 minutes. Just thinking about it bought a small smile upon my face. Man, some of the things John said were really crazy. How could anyone mix and drag? It was just too damn risky. Mike was right, we don’t have nine lives, we have only three.

So I sat infront of my computer again, this time trying to drag the “eggs” faster into the “nest”. It was a new pirated computer-game John bought recently and I really sucked at it. There were many different types of eggs and you just had to keep dragging one particular type into a nest before the time runs out. In between, if you dragged a different type of egg into the nest, you could lose a life. Ahh, that’s what happened once, during my time at IIMB.

Cheerios!

Chapter Interlude: “Mumbai Mirror” fattens :-)

Ever since I moved to Mumbai, I had been a regular reader of the “Mumbai Mirror”. Today, on the front page, the Mirror printed in large bold letters: “MIRROR JUST GOT FATTER”, boasting of the number of pages increasing to 60 from the usual 48. I was like, “Cool! More news and articles to read”. But then, as I turned the pages, I found out that the 12 additional pages were just “classified pages” which usually appear in the “Your Connect” supplement section of the usual Mumbai Mirror . Very misleading indeed.

Anyway, the theme of today’s news definitely seemed to be about racial slurs, profiling and stereotyping because of the recent racist remark made by commentator Dean Jones who called South African cricketer Hashim Amla a “terrorist” because he was a Muslim with a long beard. Various similar incidents that had happened before in the World of Sports were once again highlighted. And not just incidents in sports but also in the film Industries like comments by Mel Gibson, Bridgette Bardot and ofcourse our very own Rimi Sen who said “Rohit Shetty is amazing as a director, he can even make a Black African look pretty”. When this news first came into light a couple of weeks ago, we had a good discussion about it at Pickled Politics. The discussion is still going on even today, with one dude “R” blatantly supporting her saying that “it’s just a matter of personal opinion and that even he finds all “black people” ugly and this is not about racism” lolz. Some of his comments were so absurd that I decided not to waste my time replying to it. Because other commenters had already replied to his previous comments, but the dude just kept coming back with more and more ridiculous theory of his own. I really pity what goes on in that small mind of his.

One news in the Sports section that really made my day. Manchester United Premier Cup, the biggest Under-15 tournament in the World, just saw India’s Mohun Bagan, which included a couple of talented young Mizos like Malsawmzuala and Lalrozama in its squad, lose to the home team. But not without scoring first blood. Mohan Bagan scored the first goal, silencing and shocking the entire Stadium. Hahaha. The goal scorer was another Mizo, David Lalrinmuana, who scored in the first minute of game time! But unfortunately he had to leave the game before half-time due to an injury. Although Mohun Bagan lost, it was indeed nice to see my arch nemesis Manchester United concede a goal to an Indian, a Mizo. Muah ha ha ha. Being an Indian and a Mizo, I just felt as if I personally scored that goal . Anyway, it’s good to see India slowly rising to the level of top International Football Clubs. Very soon, there will come a day when I can cheer for my own Country at the FIFA World Cup. Go India!

“I have a dream, that one day…”

Chp 85. A "new" discotheque called "Poison"

Déjà vu of good ol Bangalore.

It’s 3 in the morning here in Mumbai. Sunday morning. We just came back from a Disc. We were having an awesome time there, when the DJ suddenly stopped the music, announced on the mike that the cops were there, and with that, everything stopped.

Just like Bangalore!

Ah!

The only reason why I stopped clubbing while I was at Bangalore was because of the 11:30pm diktat declared by the cops (and cultural police). So we shifted to rave parties conducted on the outskirt of Bangalore city. But driving all the way back to the city early in the morning completely exhausted from the dance floor grinding and sleepy like hell could definitely make someone think twice about partying again.

So after moving to Mumbai, I expected a different scenario. After all, one of the most memorable parties I ever had was at Avalon, Bawa International, which went on till 5 in the morning.

Anyway, after being in Mumbai for nearly two months now, I’ve been to only drinking Pubs and dancing Pubs (As my friend P would elegantly put it, there’s a big difference between “drinking Pubs” and “dancing Pubs” . According to him, girls at “dancing Pubs” are genuinely hot, while girls at “drinking Pubs” become hot only after a couple of drinks. Lolz.)

Finally, last night, we went to a night club. The place was called “Poison”, owned by DJ Aqeel and Dilip Joshi, the same disc that Sanjay Dutt was rumoured to be interested in buying, which was closed down due to licensing problems. It recently reopened, just a couple of weeks ago. We called up the Management in advance to ask if collar-less tee-shirts were allowed. They said yes.

( Ps. Never make the mistake of going blindly to a particular night-club for the first time, wearing tees, even if it is a really expensive designer T-shirt, because many of these Clubs have a very strict dress code. Happened to me once in Cal. Went to CCFC, and “T” and I were wearing tee shirts. They didn’t let us in because of that. And because of the two of us, the rest of the gang, all 10 of us, had to forgo the party plan)

There were 7 of us last night. Three couples and a lone stag. Yes, that was me. The stag. Anyway, I didn’t mind being the stag. Nothing new in my department .

The place “Poison” was amazing. Situated at Bandra, waterfield road, it was 1000 bucks per stag and 1500 per couple, complete cover charge! We actually had to stand in a long queue to get in, just like those night clubs you see at “Sex and the city”. Lots of bouncers with headsets, and the women everywhere were dead on hot. (Ps. Guys! Don’t wear a black shirt - black pants combination to this place unless you want to me mistaken as a bouncer or a waiter).

The actual place was at the basement. As the management stamped a seal on our hands, an usher lead us down a long spiral neon lights decorated staircase. The dance floor was huge. Lots of fancy disco lights and smoke special effects. As I walked around the place, my masculine mind made a quick involuntary survey: Male to female ratio, 1:2. Cool!

As all of us moved from one place to the other, “warming up”, I was disappointed though. There were no UV lights . An awesome place like this, especially since it was an “underground” club, had no UV lights. To me, UV lights really give that underground effect and theme. Why am I making such a big fuss about UV lights? Because last night, I finally got to put on my “Brylcream UV Gel” I applied the gel on the tip of my spikey hair and wanted to know how it would look under UV lights. I even wore my white tee-shirt (for more UV effect) with a single word “MIZO” displayed at the back . But alas, no such UV…

But later, our group went to the more private section of the Club and never stepped out from there again throughout the rest of the night. The music playing on the main dance floor was mainly Bollywood and commercial, which definitely did not strike a chord with me.

At the private section, there was a different DJ. He played only Hiphop. The sound system in that enclosure was equally amazing. There I was “leaning back” to Terror Squad and “Shaking that” to Eminem and Nate Dogg. Some of the ladies made sure their “Hips don’t lie” to Shakira, and boy that was not a metaphor I just used. I “rompe rompe” to Daddy Yankee while clutching my fourth or fifth pint of beer.

And then at 1am, the DJ suddenly switched the music from Hiphop to House. So after that, I just sat down, quite tipsy from the drinks and still enjoying the night. I mean, I love dancing to Hiphop, but when it comes to Trance and House, I enjoy more just sitting down on the comfortable “vibrating” sofa and moving my body to the rhythm. Space Buddha and Royal Gigolos don’t exactly see an eye to eye with my dancing shoes .

After sometime, I thought, what the heck, it’s been such a long time since I partied like this. So I got up, went to the dance floor and moved my chinky white ass to the beat of Global Deejays and Avancada. At around 2am, the music suddenly stopped. DJ announced on the mike that the cops were there and that everything must close immediately. Just like that. Atleast in Bangalore we used to get a warning, and then the DJ played the last song. Here, everything just abruptly ended . Bummer…

There were indeed a lot of F words from the crowd. But the DJ just smiled, being used to this kind of reception from an angry frustrated inebriate crowd, and from then onwards, it was just lights everywhere. Bright white lights. Suddenly you could see each other’s faces clearly. They smiled. I smiled back. Made an Internationally recognized gesture with my hands and lips that meant “great dance, you” and then walked back to my table, making sure they could read the “MIZO” written at the back of my tee shirt .

Back at our table, all of us were trying to use up our remaining coupons. We didn’t care what drinks we got, we just wanted to finish the damn coupons. My friends told me the place usually close down around 4-5’ish, so I was earnestly trying my best to plan out the rate at which I was spending my coupons. But when they suddenly announced that they had to close at 2am, I still had a freaking 300 bucks worth of coupon left. S had 650, D had 700 and J had 500 (Remember these guys had 1.5G worth of coupon each while I had 1G). I went to the Bar with the total 2150 bucks worth of coupon and told the bar tender to give me anything for that amount. Lolz. Now that is something I won’t be saying again in a very very long time . Damn…

I don’t even remember what the drinks I bought back to our table were. All of them were “parceled” i.e. drinks served in paper cups so that we could carry them outside as it was closing time. The place outside the Club was swarming with party people. Black was clearly the main colour theme most of the Ladies were wearing. There were definitely more than 400 people that night. We formed a “human train” as we walked outside through the crowd as it was very easy to get lost in that sea. Finally we all hugged each other goodnight and went our respective ways.

Thinking back now, I really did have an amazing time at “Poison”. Too bad it had to close down early, but I think it was definitely worth the monetary value (and trouble of applying UV gel carefully on the tip of my spikes even though that did not pay off ).

Inspite of the occasional floods and other disasters/tragedies that are prone to the city, here’s to Mumbai’s high spirit of a great night life. Cheers.

- Mizo(hic!)an

Ps: For all the party goers out there who likes to search the Net first to read about the review of a particular place they are planning to go to, feel free to use my post as a review for “Poison”, but I must warn you that 70% of the time, I was inside the Hiphop/House enclosure and have nothing much to say about the main dance-floor section outside. My ratings to that particular Hiphop section: 4.5 4.0 / 5.0 (There weren’t that much of a disco light effect inside compared to outside, and the floor was not slippery at all, hence I couldn’t do my occasional moon-walks after suddenly getting carried away with the music ). And oh, the cost of a pint of beer: Rs.150/- which is ok I guess.

Cheers again.

Chp 84. Mizos: The Lost Tribe of Israel or just a Lost Tribe?

Once again, Mizo Jews are on the news. Two days ago, TOI reported on it’s Front-page about Mizo Jews in Israel ready to fight the Hezbollah, right under the headline that screamed out “Israel kills 34 children by mistake”.

“Mannn, not again” was the first thought that came to my mind. Once again, Mizoram came under the limelight. Once again, the “Lost Tribe of Israel” theory resurfaced. Once again, we come across familiar names like Bnei Menashe and the children of Manasseh.

It was around 6-7 years ago during my Engineering College in Coimbatore that this news about Mizos being the Lost Tribe of Israel first made headlines all over India. Ofcourse many Mizos were already aware of this theory by then but it was only when Israel stepped in that the Indian media finally considered it worthy enough to print on their newspapers.

It was at that moment that every Mizo studying outside Mizoram who had non-Mizo friends became the laughing stock of their entire circle. I was the butt of all jokes for almost a month or two. The harshest of them all were my Christian friends, who never spared me for a single moment.

Like for instance, we were all eating together at a restaurant, and they would ask me to say Grace since I was now much closer to God than them. And when it was time to split the bill, my friends would pay for my share and when I protested, they put on a very serious face and say “Oh comon, how can we make you pay? After all, you’re the lost tribe of Israel.” And then they would all burst out laughing after that.

Sometimes when I went over to their room in our hostel to hang out, as soon as they saw me coming, they would all bow down mockingly, even addressing me as “Your Holiness”. And when I get more marks than I deserve at a particular paper, my friends would sarcastically say “It’s not a fluke that you got extra marks. It’s because of Divine Intervention. After all, your great grand father is Abraham himself.” And once again they would all laugh their asses off. Sometimes when I order my favorite dish, pork, at a restaurant, my friends would all put on this theatrical surprise facial expression which deserves an Oscar award and they would all exclaim in great unison “Kima!! Pork!!! Lost Tribe of Israel!!!! Blasphemy!!!!!” Aaaaargh…

Ofcourse all those jokes were in good fun, after all, we were the closest of all friends. But deep down inside, I used to hate those Mizos who claimed to be the “Lost Tribe of Israel” with all my heart. How could they embarrass me? How could they not realize how stupid this whole theory is?

Because back then, our thoughts were very limited. The only reason why my friends and I found this theory extremely preposterous was the fact that we Mizos were of a Mongoloid origin. And we had never heard of a Mongoloid Jew then. To our much limited minds, we couldn’t just imagine a “yellow man” with “slit-eyes” skilled in martial arts to be a Jew. (Jew-jit-su? )

But it was only after my graduation and many researches later (read: Googling) that I found out one’s race or religion has got nothing to do with one’s origin. When people migrated from one place to the other thousands of years ago, years and years of different settlements, civilizations, inter-cultural marriages and environmental adaptations could indeed change one’s facial and physical appearances. It was then that I came across terms like Sephardic Jews (Jews from the Mediterranean regions of Europe, Africa, and the Middle east), Mizrachi Jews (Jews of Central Asian or Middle Eastern origin or descent) etc. Black African Jews like the Lembas carry “The Cohen Modal Haplotype” marker in their genes. It was indeed possible for a person of Mongoloid origin to carry the Y-chromosomal Aaron (the supposed chromosome that all descendants of Aaron should share).

Around 5000 Mizo Jews in Mizoram and Manipur claimed to be the Lost Tribe of Israel. Mizoram, with around 90% of it’s population Christians, often referred to as the Last Bastion of Christianity, where the Church is more powerful than Politics or the Government, where the word of the Church is the final word, where a large portion of a person’s income goes to the Church, where not a single shop or recreation establishment is open on a Sunday, where hundreds of Mizo missionaries are sent out all over the World to strengthen the Word of God, had definitely opposed to this claim.

On one extreme end are the likes of Dr. Biaksiama, ex-Finance Officer in the Central Govt who is now a notable researcher in Christianity, who exclaimed that this revelation about the Lost Tribe theory is the work of the Devil and that all Christians are put to a test. Quote Pu Biaksiama: “We need to deal with this seriously, with earnest prayers to God. This is an instrument of our greatest enemy, Satan, to burst asunder Mizo society and its religion. Christianity is at stake here and we should never take what is happening now lightly”.

And on the other extreme end are Organizations like the “Chhinlung Israel People’s Convention” who vehemently believe in this theory and even invite Rabbis from Israel to come to Mizoram to mass-convert the people. Fortunately for the Christians, the Govt Of India has disallowed this from taking place, putting its “Anti-Conversion” Bill into effect.

And in between these two extremes are the likes of Pi Zaithanchhungi, a respected researcher in Mizo History, who said “Since the history of the Mizos is shrouded in mystery, as they had no written form of their language before the Missionaries came, it is very difficult to trace their origin. However, the oral traditions that had been handed down from father to son gave many clues as sayings and rituals pointed to many similarities that are practiced by the Jews”. She further said that, the Mizos, as the tribe of Manashe, wandered towards China where they settled for many centuries. Escaping from the yoke of the Chinese monarchy, they wandered down towards Burma, and from there they settled in present Mizoram around the 15th century AD. She stressed the fact that being one of the Lost tribe is not about religion but rather about knowing our origin, and that one does not need to migrate to Israel or change one’s religion because of it.

And then there is the Media involved too. These people play a great role in influencing the opinion of the rest of India. Every now and then, a journalist would go to Mizoram to “investigate” this claim. They always write about the interview excerpts they had with the Mizos there. It’s funny that the ones they interview always happen to be someone who supports this claim. I have many friends and a huge family network back in Mizoram and know for sure that there are many many Mizos out there who don’t believe in this. Yet they never interview this majority. The ones they happen to interview are always Mizos proponent of this theory. After all, I don’t blame the Media as their main intention is to dig up stories regarding this and sometimes hype up things a bit, but atleast can they also please point out that it is not in the mindset of every Mizo to believe that he or she belongs to the Lost Tribe of Israel?

Before the Welsh Protestant Missionaries came to Mizoram around 1894, we never had a written form of language. Everything was passed on orally from father to son, from Village Chief to his subjects. We were head-hunters then, much feared by the other tribes around us. There were many inter-clan rivalries too resulting in frequent raids and wars. A hundred years later, the place has developed at a rate that surprised everybody. Mizoram is now the second highest in literacy, where Education is one of the top most priority within the State. With education came the power to reason, and soon, many people started questioning their origin. With almost everybody well versed in the contents of the Holy Bible, they started finding similarities between the customs followed in the Old Testament (practiced by the Jews today) and their old Mizo customs. Similarities such as the circumcision of new born males, levirate marriages, strict laws regarding menstruation, building of altars, the sacrifice of animals, burial customs, marriage and divorce procedures, a belief in an all-powerful deity and the symbolic presence of the number seven in many festivities. Hence this lead to many people believing that they belong to the Lost Tribe of Israel.

But enough of this for now. For once let us stop debating whether this claim is actually true or not. Let us look to the future and try to discuss the various possible consequences. A recent test conducted by notable researchers including the late Isaac L.Hmar at the Dept of History, Manipur University, said the test results were negative and no evidences were found that would indicate a Middle-Eastern origin. So what if there is another DNA test done and the results this time actually say we are indeed the Lost Tribe of Israel?

Will I suddenly denounce my belief and faith in Christianity and convert to Judaism? No! Will I migrate to Israel? No! Will I denounce my Indian citizenship and become an Israeli National? No! Will I voluntarily join the Israeli Army in its mission to protect Zion’s interest, bombing and killing hundreds of innocent people in the process? No, never! Will I suddenly stop eating pork? No bloody way! (Kima sings: “Pork-ing till I die” )

No offence intended to my Jewish brothers, but Christianity and India is what made me what I am today. Suppose you are a small boy with loving parents that means the World to you. Your parents had shown you all the love and affection they possibly could, protecting you and nurturing you as they prepared you to face the World alone. They taught you everything from what is right and wrong to compassion, love, forgiveness, sharing and caring, and family values. And then years later when you are all grown up and still following the principles that your parents had imbibed within you, you suddenly discovered that you were adopted, or that your father was not your real biological father. Does that make them any less of a parent? Do you suddenly hate them or stop practicing what they taught you? No. To you, everything they had taught you still matters. To you, your dad is still your dad, even if he’s not your real dad.

Similarly, I have too deep a connection with Christianity and India to ever denounce them. All the wonderful memories I had at various places in India with my Indian friends will never be erased from my mind. I will forever cherish them by continuing to be what I am today: An Indian Mizo Christian. But although I don’t believe in this theory and used to find it ridiculous, now I have a much different opinion (after all, opinions change from time to time). It would be nice to know that our ancestors indeed did descend from the lines of the Bnei Menashe tribe. This has nothing to do with Israel or being a Jew. The fact is, it really sucks to not know where you came from or what your ancestors were like. It’s as if we were created in a Laboratory somewhere around the year 1400-1500AD and multiplied from then onwards. We’ve got nothing much to inscribe in our history books, except for folklores and folk tales. Doesn’t matter if we are the descendents of Manasseh or Genghiz Khan or Atilla the Hun. As long as there is hard evidence showing who our ancestors really were, I am a contented man.

Because a man without a past has got nothing much to cherish about. He got no past mistakes or experiences to learn from, hence his future becomes uncertain. It’s like driving a car blindfolded on an unfamiliar road; unlike other drivers around you who have been here before, you have no idea where the next speed-bump is because you’ve never been down this road before and nobody you know has ever been here. You just drive blindly through it, hoping not to run into any bumps. Although it scares you, deep down inside you know that your future generation can atleast benefit from this and learn where the bumps are from you. Better late than never. You become a Maverick Pioneer. You may not have a past but atleast you can be the past for your future generation. Just make sure it’s a bloody good past; don’t screw this up for the sake of your children and their children.

The bottom-line is, whether we Mizos are indeed the Lost Tribe of Israel or not, one thing is for sure: We are still pretty much lost on our origin . Maybe one day we will find out if our ancestor really is Manasseh, son of Joseph, son of Jacob, son of Isaac, son of Abraham.

Until then, this is me signing off.

- Kima, son of VL Rema, son of Zabanga, son of Zaneiha, son of Vanhlira.

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Some Interesting reads :
>> The above mentioned Bnei Menashe and Manasseh on Wikipedia.
>> Found: A Lost Tribe of Israel by Claude Mariottini, Professor of Old Testament, Northern Baptist Seminary.
>> The Lost Tribes of Israel A sequel to the above post by the same author.
>> An in-depth article on this topic by the late Isaac L.Hmar. RIP Bro.
>> The Blood of the Jews: Genetic connection.
>> One of the earlier news (1999) about “The Lost Tribe of Israel” I dug out from Google.
>> Long Lost Jews by Michael Freund, Jerusalem Post Magazine, March 2002.
>> Last year’s news entitled “Controversy over Mizo Israeli descendent”.
>> Glossary of Jewish terms including words like Sephardim and Mizrachi.

Chp 83. To Call Center or not to Call Center

Content :

• Shocking news
• My great misconceptions about Call Centers
• An independent zoman
• Beware of the Organization quicksand
• Changes implemented in Call Centers
• Some possible changes that might take place after the unfortunate Tania murder incident

Another Call Center employee murder incident making headlines across the Nation. TOI reported that she’s an Aviva employee while the Mumbai Mirror said she works for 24x7. Both are more or less correct actually as “Aviva 24x7” is some sort of a joint venture (Aviva contributes nearly 25% of 24x7 Customer’s revenue). But the name Aviva is definitely more popular among my IIMB friends, while the other name 24x7 is much more popular among my Call Center friends.

(Just a passing thought. My ex-roomie works at Convergys which handle calls for Microsoft, HSBC, JP Morgan, Sedex and Cisco to name a few. He’s in the Microsoft division. But he’s known as a Convergys employee, not a Microsoft employee. Was TOI wrong in saying the victim was an Aviva employee?)

My two roomies back in Bangalore work at Call Centers. Atleast 70% of the Bangaloreans I used to hang out with are all Call Center employees. And most of the people I got to know over the Net are also working in various Call Centers. Some of them don’t even handle calls, yet they all come under the Call Center umbrella (Many people still make the wrong assumption that all BPOs are Call Centers handling calls)

Thanx to my friends, I got to know a lot of Call Centre jargons, like incoming process, outgoing process, daylight savings, ACD, ASA, screen name etc. Sometimes they even use these in their daily vocabulary. Once, me and a couple of friends were sitting infront of the TV waiting for an EPL match to commence. It was 9:30 pm already and the match was supposed to start at 4pm in UK. That’s 9:30pm here in India as we are 5:30 hours ahead. But nothing was showing on the TV. Later we found out the delay was due to a light rain that formed a puddle in the field. But while we were waiting, one of my Call Center friends nonchalantly said the delay was due to Day light savings . And then there are my two Call Center roomies who would actually use “LOL” and “BRB” when they speak! (Before this, “FYI” was the only chat jargon I’ve ever heard people use while talking).

Six years ago, midway through my engineering college course, I knew a squat about Call Centers. Back then, my World was still very small. I thought people who work in Call Centers were those women who answered the phone when you dialed those 1-800 numbers. Lolz. Ok sorry but hey, it’s not my fault. I blame AJ’s bro who would come back from America with a suitcase full of Playboy and Penthouse magazines. Hey don’t give me that stare! Those magazines had pretty good articles about the Presidential Election . On those mags, there were a lot of advertisements, always with a see-through lingerie clad model in the background. The Ad usually goes like this “Wanna have a good time? I can satisfy your inner most desire and fantasy. Call me at 1-800-246-SLUT-67”.

Ok fine. So now you know where I got the inspiration for my Bangalore mobile phone number . I fought tooth and nail to get the particular number 9845554625. All because, when translated into the letters corresponding to your key pad, you get 9845-5-KIMA-5.

Anyway that’s what I thought Call Centers were all about. But when I started meeting the elder sisters and brothers of my College mates, they didn’t exactly seem like the dirty sex talk type. So I said to myself, “Kima you narrow minded perverted freak. Call Centers aren’t just about sex calls. A Call girl is given that name not because she works in a Call Center. They can also be those Suicide help-lines where people call if they are feeling depressed or have lost all hope”. I even thought Call Center employees were also those people who work in those outdated switch board machines, connecting pins here and there while answering all the calls with people on the other end of the line saying “Operator”.

Anyway, I finally got to know what Call Center employees really do towards the end of my Engineering course. But I never actually got to know anyone personally, until I moved my ass to Hyderabad after Engineering College. I met Ashley, an Anglo. Along with some other basketball mates, we soon formed a small gang like thingie. He was a voice trainer at a Call Center. When he first told me that he was a voice trainer, my first impression was, boy he must be a really good vocalist, probably playing for a cool rock band in the city. Hehe. How wrong was I. He told me his job was to train Call Center employees on how to improve their voice modulation, enunciation etc. Well, I still thought it was a pretty frivolous occupation then, but during a game of basketball when I had the ball and am surrounded by the opponents hustling and shuffling all around me, I usually blind-pass the ball to him as his “extremely modulated” shouts for “pass” was the most audible among my teammates

A year later, I was in Bangalore. Met a lot of new people, new friends, new brothers, new habits. Most of them were working at Call Centers. I even read “One night at a Call Center” by Chetan Bhagat. Finally got to know the real life of a Call Center employee, especially after dropping out from IIMB as these are the guys I started spending my entire time with. I love their lifestyle. So relaxing, except for the odd working hour timings. But then, there are also Day shift employees working during the daytime just like regular people. And then there are those who can actually choose anytime of the day to show up for work, just as long as they put in 8 hours of calls a day. And so many of them work in a non-voice process that does not involve a telephone. Boy what a misconception I initially had about Call Centers

They have monthly team outings, team parties, team road trips, and the salary they get is more than enough to make ends meet. They have incentives and appraisals of all sorts. Their network of friends through the various Call Centers is extremely wide too. After dropping out from IIMB, my friends told me to apply for a Call Center job. But I refused. It looks very inviting indeed and I can still have a good time in Bangalore without depending on my parents anymore. Finally I will be an “independent zoman” . But, something in me just couldn’t do it. I need to think of the long run. I always had this dream about joining an Organization at the middle management level. I know, I know, one must start from the bottom to reach the top. But life is short. I want to find the shortcuts before I am too old to do anything. Yes a wise sage once said there are no shortcuts in life. But the IIMs came and proved him wrong

The only thing that does not appeal to me about Call Centers is when it comes to climbing up the executive ladder. A year in IIMB has completely brainwashed me into being a complete target-oriented growth-committed position-motivated ambitious wannabe manager. My goal is to climb higher and higher, without ofcourse jeopardizing the Company’s interest or my own social career within the Organization.

In most Call Centers, one usually enters the Company as a Junior Agent. From there, they go up to a Senior Agent, a Team Leader and then a Supervisor. The terminology may differ from Company to Company. Another Company has a Junior Agent, Senior Agent, Focal, Assistant Manager (equivalent to a Team Leader), Operation Manager, Senior Opr Manager and so on. I just don’t see myself working as one of those designations for the rest of my life. I need a more stable, higher wage, daytime job once I start my own family. I’ve heard of many couples who hardly see each other because they both work at different Call Centers with different shift timings . Recently one such couple had a baby (my frens “N” and “G”). Can we call that a Process Result baby? Lolz. After all it was the result of N’s incoming that led to G’s outgoing. Haha. PJ!!!!

Anyway coming back to the topic, that’s not the future I want. Maybe as a part-time job, I don’t mind working in a Call Center for a short while. But I know so many guys who initially planned to work there for a short time, but are now so attached to the job that they just can’t seem to leave the Company.

Working for an Organization, especially after your Graduation, is like getting sucked into a Quicksand. Once you’re in, it’s mighty mighty difficult to come out. Unless you are completely dissatisfied with the salary or the working environment or the location or there are other job opportunities available etc you will remain shackled to that Company for the rest of your life. I once asked my friend “Dude, you’re an Engineer. Are you planning to work at a Call Center for the rest of your life?” and his reply was “Man, you have no idea how hard it is for me to leave. I am satisfied with my paycheck, my boss is a great man, I have made so many friends in the Company, and I lead an easy life. I know I can’t do this forever, but you gotta be in my shoes to know how hard it really is to leave.” Well, a definite 5 star rating to the Company’s Retention Policy, while my friend there sink, deeper and deeper, every passing day.

Being in Bangalore, I have seen with my own eyes the changes that have taken place. People once complained that Call Center Cabs drive too recklessly. Immediately there was a change and most Cabs now have a bumper sticker “If this driver is driving rashly, please call up this number to report this incident”. Ofcourse if the driver was driving that fast, there was no way we could have taken down the number, but it was indeed a good effort from the Call Center’s part to reduce the number of complains (I find it a bit funny and ironic that some outsourcing Companies actually rely on other outsourcing companies (Cabs) to pick up their employees). A close friend of mine, born and raised in Bangalore, even told me “Before it was fun. We used to drag race with these Cab drivers in the night. Boy they really throw a mean competition. But now, not one of them will take up your challenge for a race”. A part of me was extremely relieved. “D”, who never go below 140 while driving through Intermediate Ring road, will now have to drive like normal people. Phew.

And then came the ghastly news about the rape and murder of Pratibha, a Call Center employee. Immediately the Companies made serious changes in their policies, like the first pick-up and last drop cannot be a woman and if there is a change of Cab drivers, they must first confirm this with whoever is in charge of the Cabs etc. These Organizations cannot afford another scandal like this.

But now, with this latest unfortunate incident, once again, I’m sure there will be a flurry of changes again. I won’t be surprised if it will be made mandatory for all Call Center employees to use the Call Center Cabs unless they have their own transportation. They might not be allowed to come and leave as they like using taxis, autos or friends anymore. I know so many employees whose shift timing ends in the evenings and then they go directly to a Pub or disc if their break was the next day. And I know people who decide to stay over at their friend’s place for the night/day instead of returning home at the end of their shift.

If it is made compulsory to use the Cabs provided, then it won’t be possible to do all that anymore. You’ll have to be at your house during the pickup and have to return to your house after your shift ends. Then only can you go where you please from there, even if you had passed your destination on your way home. You will always have to be in time for your Cab (My roomies used to take an auto to their Office whenever they wake up late and miss their Cabs). You cannot make short stops on the way to have tea, coffee or buy cigarettes anymore.

Boy, this is definitely a Call Center employee’s nightmare. But seriously, this might happen one day, especially if the employees’ folks hold the Company liable for their son or daughter’s safety from the moment they leave for work until they return home safely walking through the door. In the current scenario, 24x7 might say they are not responsible for Tania’s murder as none of their Cabs and Cab drivers were involved in this (unlike the Pratibha rape and murder case where the bastard responsible for that was her own Cab driver). But if enough voice is raised by concerned parents, especially those who are out-stationed, there might be a possibility of implementing this draconian strict Cab rule where it is mandatory to be picked up and dropped by the official Call Center Cab.

Because this is not like a School/College or other day time offices. At those places, one ofcourse cannot expect the Institutions and Offices to provide transportation for the students and employees. But a night shift Call Center is different. During the day, even if your so called “friend or colleague” had picked you up or dropped you, there is a high chance that he won’t do anything else, like stab you 32 times. But under the cover of darkness, sometimes even someone who you trust with your life can be the very one who takes that away from you.

I shuddered a bit as I tried to imagine what Tania’s last thoughts were. She must have probably screamed out for help, but unfortunately the night had swallowed up anything that was remotely living. As Kishore continued stabbing her, she must have pleaded and begged for mercy, but all she could see were his bloodshot eyes, until she could see no more. She would have probably crossed over to the Otherside way before he stabbed her for the thirty second time. And all because she said no to his proposal? Jesus… And she was going to turn 32 soon. Was this his sick demented and psychotic way of wishing her a birthday? A stab for every year? Makes me sick man...

As for me, I’ve lost count on how many times I have picked up or dropped my friends from their respective Call Center Offices, most of the time usually somewhere between 2 and 4 in the morning. And ofcourse they completely trust me. Tania probably trust Kishore the way my friends trust me. And to know that he betrayed such a trust, leave alone kill her, is enough to make me pissed off like Hell. Son of a bitch.

I pray that an incident like this will not happen again. It may be just another brick on India’s wall of shame, which is already occupied by much bigger bricks like communal violence, bomb blasts, wife beating, rape, bribe, caste discrimination etc but the entire wall will be much easier to break if there are lesser bricks.

Chp 82. Tour de France : Tour d’ Inde ?

Finally, the Tour de France, the most famous and prestigious bicycle race in the World has come to an end. American Floyd Landis finished over all 1st with a mere 52s lead over Spaniard Oscar Pereiro who infact had a 30s lead over Landis in the 19th penultimate stage. I just love watching the Tour de France, which has been held every year (except during the two WWs) since 1903.

It’s not just about raw power or brute strength. There are a lot of techniques involved. It’s more like a game of chess, where riders try to anticipate their opponents’ moves. The other cyclists of a team also help out their team leader like the climbing specialist who clock him, another rider protect him from the wind, while the task of another cyclist can be fetching water for the team leader (Exactly what I used to do when I first joined the School Basketball team in 8th standard )

Only three Americans have won this tournament. Gerg Lemond (1986, 1989 and 1990), Floyd Landis this year, and the Legendary Lance Armstrong (1999 – 2005) who holds the record for the most number of wins with his 7 consecutive wins. (The second most number of wins is 5 times, held by four people).

As I sat watching the tournament on TV, I just wondered why such a similar beautiful tournament was not held in India. We have roads connecting the entire country and we also have lots of hilly areas to conduct the “King of the Mountain” stages. And then reasons after reasons bombarded my head and hence decided to come up with this post.

16 15 Reasons why there will never be a Tour d’ Inde :

1. At every starting point, the race will get delayed because that particular region’s local politicians and film stars will want to make their presence felt. They will also bring along a large number of party supporters, fans, security, P.A.s and media people concentrating more on them rather than the cyclists or the race. Sometimes they will even make long speeches that have nothing to do with the tournament or the bicycle Industry in India.
   
   
2. The actual race will stretch because half the time, the riders will be replacing their cycles with their spare ones as they are damaged from the potholes present everywhere on the race course. Very soon, like how Tour de France is known as the most prestigious and famous cycle race, Tour d’ Inde will be known as the most difficult and grueling cycle race in the World.
   
   
3. Apart from this, the riders will have to frequently stop cycling and wait on their track because they have to let one of these pass: a train; another train; a convoy of Ministers and small time VIPs; a couple of vehicles traveling the wrong way down the one-way street; yet another train.
   
   
4. A large number of cyclists will get injured from crashing into the many cows and buffaloes freely roaming on the race course here and there. The PR of the Tour d’ Inde might even state that the presence of these animals are obstacles which are a part of the race.
   
   
5. As the cyclists travel from one State to the other, at every State check point, the cyclists will have to dish out bribes to the cops so that they will not be checked and delayed unnecessarily. Hence they will have to carry many fifty rupee notes as they go about on their tour of India.
   
   
6. Atleast in France, as the cyclists travel from one Province to the other, the medium is usually French, which may be spoken with a different dialect here and there. In India, every State has its own language completely different from the other. The cyclists and their team cars will have a tough time carrying all the various language translation books and also trying to figure out which one to use at which place.
   
   
7. The cyclists will have to cycle with heavy army protection while traveling through Kashmir, the Northeast and the Naxal dominated areas of a few States. Hence the Army will have to start training its jawaans how to ride cycles while remaining in full battle gear. But later it might be revealed that the Army cycles provided by a certain manufacturing firm are largely defective, resulting in another investigation and political scandal about kick-backs.
   
   
8. Now and then the race will have to come to a halt because, up ahead some people are blocking the roads protesting about a dam demolition or a reservation policy or a defacement of a statue. The blockade can even be because of a large marriage procession.
   
   
9. Sometimes the cyclists will even have to wait a day or two in the middle of the race because of a bandh declared by various parties and factions. Some races can also be halted because of floods, while others are because of prank calls about a bomb hoax.
   
   
10. If an accidental collision among the cyclists occurs resulting in many injuries, a certain political party will immediately blame a certain minority community for the debacle, sparking off defamatory speeches and somehow trying to link this accident with various other terrorist attacks that had befallen India in the past.
    
    
11. The race will trigger a fresh round of Cola war in India as Pepsi and Coke will carry out a campaign to advertise as hard as possible. During the entire Tour d’ Inde, the only commercials we’ll see on the sports channels are boring redundant Cola ads that will appear every now and then featuring star studded film personalities that have nothing to do with the spirit of cycling.
    
    
12. Airtel and Hutch will once again start spamming their subscribers with hundreds of daily irritating “Sms this number to win exclusive prizes. Just answer a few questions about Tour d’ Inde” smses or “You could be the lucky winner standing and cheering at the finishing line as the race ends. Just sms this number at Rs.5/msg…” text messages.
    
    
13. The sale of Lance Armstrong’s “Livestrong” wristbands will quadruple in the Indian market, prompting many P3 celebrities who had never watched Tour de France before, admit to the media that they will be cheering for their favorite cyclist Lance Armstrong again, not knowing that he already retired from professional cycling at the end of 2005.
    
    
14. Some Bollywood directors will approach the cyclists, paying them to appear for an item number on their latest film while they go about with their race. Hence, these cyclists will be at the background cycling as the Hero himself is cycling and singing at the head of the race while chasing the heroine who is also on another cycle.
    
    
15. At the end of the final race, politicians will once again be there, ready to garland the winner, and then taking the entire credit for his victory. If none of the cyclists make it to the finish line, then the opposition will blame the party in power for a complete failure in law n order, foreign policy, infrastructure and tourism.
    
    
16. And last but not the least, we will see Mandira Bedi on our TV screens again, trying hard to talk about anything that has anything to do with cycling, this time wearing aerodynamic cycle head gear and dressed in skin-tight shirt and shorts. Wait a sec, did I say skin tight? Ok scratch this last point off. This belongs to the “Reasons why there should be a Tour d’ Inde” post .

Hence these are the 15 reasons why there will never be a Tour d’ Inde in India like the one in France. Disclaimer: All the comments I made about the various people involved in this post are done in light humor and I had no intention of maligning anybody, and I duly apologize if I had offended anyone (Please don’t ban my poor little blog).

Readers are most welcome to add any other points on why they feel Tour d’ Inde will never be held here. Thankyou. This is me, the friendly Mizo-next-door signing off. Cheers.

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Some helpful links:

Tour de France for Dummies
Some road rules of the Tour de France
A few dramatic Tour de France moments

Chp 81. Vaastu for Web: A Sham?

When it comes to Vaastu, I think there are three types of people: Those who firmly believe in it treating it as the Sacred Word of God itself, those who find it utterly ridiculous and mock those who believe in it, and those who don’t believe in it but respect the feelings of those who do. I think I fall in the third category.

But much as I try to have an open mind about it, when I read an article in the Mumbai Mirror a few days ago about Vaastu being applied to the internet and website designing, I tried my best to suppress a light snicker. What will they think of next?

Before I came up with this post, I just wanted to know the reaction of the blogging Nation about webVaastu. Since Vaastu is related to Hinduism, I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s sentiments (Just because none of my Hindu friends believe in Vaastu doesn’t give me the right to make fun of it). Patrix, Deep, Ian, Shivam and Vasanth had already written about this and I found their posts pretty mirthful, the way they talked about webVaastu.

According to wiki, Vaastu Shastra is “one of the traditional Hindu canons of town planning and architecture. Distinction of style exists due to each document’s place of origin. Vaastu Shastra deals with various aspects of designing and building living environments that are in harmony with the physical and metaphysical forces/energies of the cosmos such as the gravitational, electromagnetic and supernatural.”

Similarly, the dictionary definition for the Chinese version of Vaastu called Feng-shui, are rules in Chinese philosophy that govern spatial arrangement and orientation in relation to patterns of yin and yang and the flow of energy (qi); the favourable or unfavourable effects are taken into consideration in designing and placing buildings and graves and furniture. Just like Vaastu, Feng-shui also tries to harmonize the flow of energy (The Life force, known as “Prana” in Sanskrit Vaastu, is the “Qi” in Chinese Feng-shui).

At this point, a mind can easily get influenced. How can the two largest populations in the World with completely different religion and traditional backgrounds end up sharing the same belief? Surely this cannot be a coincidence.

Well, maybe this might have something to do with scholars of both Ancient Kingdoms visiting each other and sharing their scripture, who knows. As for me, superstition is a complete no no in my life. Sometimes I wonder how come I’ve never believed in Vaastu or Feng-shui. I’m a Mizo and Mizos ofcourse don’t believe in these two, but I’ve lived most of my life with non-Mizos. Thinking about it, none of my South-Indian and North-Indian friends ever believed in Vaastu. I’ve met their parents now and then, and boy some of them were hardcore superstitious. But the children of my generation however fail to share their parent’s enthusiasm. Growth of modernism?

Anyway, I have no objection with Vaastu as it goes way back to ancient Hindu beliefs, but webVaastu???? For a non-believer, the only word coming to my mind when I hear that term is “CON”.

I mean, take a look at India. A huge majority of Indians believe in Vaastu, and with the internet boom even reaching across rural India, what better ways to make easy money than by combining these two. To me, a webVaastu consultant is nothing but a con artist out to swindle your hard earned money. But then ofcourse, this is just my personal opinion.

According to webvastu.com, Vaastu comprises of five natural elements, Earth, Water, Fire, Air and Space. Each of the elements corresponds to a natural force that affects our lives. They are:

• Earth : Magnetic field of the earth
• Water : Gravitational force of the Earth
• Fire : Solar radiation
• Air : Wind energy
• Space : Cosmic radiation

I agree with the author. So far so good, because this is what Vaastu is all about. This is the Vaastu that was written down nearly 3000 years ago. But as the chapter progressed, things became more and more hilariously ridiculous, especially as the author of the book tried his best to link these five elements with the internet. He even had the audacity to point out which “natural forces” of a website these five elements correspond to! This is what he came up with:

• Earth : Layout of the webpage
• Water : Fonts and Graphics
• Fire : Colour scheme
• Air : HTML
• Space : Name of website

Damn! I’ve never laughed out that much in a long time. But I gotta hand it out to the author; he really deserves a couple of points for creativity! And to do it so convincingly with a straight face must be one of the hardest tasks to do.

What will people think of next? smsVaastu? Lol! Let me give it a shot!

“smsVaastu” by Kima.

Have you ever felt like nobody’s paying attention to you? That none of your friends are replying to your smses? Ever had that funny feeling they are trying to ignore you? Don’t worry, for this has nothing to do with you or your personality. It is only because the flow of energy within you is not harmonized. There are more negative forces around you than the positive ones. To obtain more positive forces, you need to consider the five natural elements and what they correspond to when it comes to sending an sms:

• Earth : Your mobile phone, which company, which model.
• Air : The network you’re using, post-paid or pre-paid, roaming etc
• Fire : Whether your phone display is in colour or black n white, camera/video/mp3 option etc.
• Water : Whether your mobile is water proof, dust proof, shock proof.
• Space : How sleek/small is your mobile phone and what’s the size of your memory card.

Once you buy my book “smsVaastu” for just Rs.750/- I assure you that you will get so many smses from people, you will not be able to handle it. And yes, I promise that, that cute girl in your computer course whose phone number you slyly obtained from the registration desk, will definitely reply to your “Hi, want to be my fraand?” sms, once you follow the instructions in my book.



See! How difficult was that? I guess anybody can become a tech related Vaastu consultant. Lolxxx…

Coming back to webVaastu, you don’t need a professional to tell you what to put and what not to put on your website, nor does it take a genius to figure out which layout is the best for your site. The most important “element” is the content. You get visitors for what is there in your site, and not for any flashy heavy graphics that takes ages to download. After content comes the layout. It must be appealing to the eye. No matter how good the content of your website is, nobody will feel like reading it if the rich colour contrasts hurt their eyes.

Unless ofcourse the author here is going deep into astrology and numerology trying to calculate which direction the webmaster must be facing while designing the website. Should he face East as he type? Or South? And where should the mouse be located? How far apart should the two speakers be from each other? What is the appropriate song to play while designing the site? Is it ok to keep the cabinet always open (like mine) or it should be screwed shut while designing? Should I use a 17 inch or 15 inch monitor? And did the Vaastu Shastra written thousands of years ago mentioned anything like whether I should specifically use only Microsoft Frontpage Editor for designing my website or I can any other Editors? Unless webVaastu is going into those, I see no reason why you cannot be a webVaastu consultant yourself.

Google on the net for tips on designing a good website, and you will get much better result than all the webVaastu consultants put together. Simple facts. Like, unless you are going for a Flash™ website, try to have a simple HTML layout sans flashy heavy flickering graphics, something that is appealing to your eye. But then, the term “appealing to one’s eye” cannot be generalized as one type, because one man’s meat is another man’s poison. For example, according to a Govinda fan, what is appealing to his eyes might be a bright orange fluorescent background with shiny green fluorescent fonts . And oh, try to avoid pornography on your website, especially if your website is about religion or an NGO organization . Hope I make a good webVaastu consultant! Feel free to call me anytime. I charge people by their level of Hotness. Lolz.

Chp 80. Birthday Boy Tommy

It wasn’t such a long time ago when I came up with my “Meet my friend Tommy” post for which I actually got a couple of commendation from many bloggers who don’t know Tommy.

Well today is his birthday and since he is thousands of miles away in small town London and since I am too stingy to make an ISD call (Relax, I ain’t that kanjoos. Tommy bhen chod hasn’t mailed me his London number till now.) I thought I’ll just write a post from India wishing him a happy birthday.

I already wished him at Orkut on Saturday nite. It was around 11:30pm and I was at M’s place online from her lappy (haha faith_no_more, wipe that dirty smirk off your face). I was trying to spice up this really happening Orkut community that I created “Worst Pick-up lines/Intro of Orkut”. As I logged into Orkut, my Orkut b’day reminder back then said “Tomorrow is Tommy’s b’day”. By tomorrow, I just assumed they meant Sunday as it was still a Saturday nite then, but I never knew Orkut was already on a Sunday. So there I was happily wishing him at his scrap book from M’s place when the clock struck 12 that Saturday nite, wondering why nobody else had wished him so far.

Then yesterday, Sunday, Amol called me up from Gurgaon.

“Yo today is Tommy’s birthday”
“Bastard, you wished him a day early at Orkut. His birthday is tomorrow.”
“What crap. It’s today. 17th July. Check Orkut.”
“What check Orkut? Check your freaking calendar!”

And there I was, oooops! 17th is Monday!

“Fuck. Stupid Orkut”
“What stupid Orkut? Stupid Kima!”
“ok ok… comon… I goofed up. I don’t wanna be the odd one here. Please wish him a happy birthday too! Today! Right now! On Orkut! Give me company dooood!”

Asshole Amol laughed so much he couldn’t even speak. And then we started making some really crazy plans like trying to convince him that Sunday was actually his Birthday, and that we’ll even call up Haridwar to inform his parents that it was their son’s birthday that day and not Monday. Lolz. Maybe if it was Muthu, we might actually be able to convince him (Muthu is a friend of ours who will fall for any crap I feed him, however far-fetched it may be. He’s a legend from our Batch. Maybe I’ll come up with a post about him later.)

So here I am, to make up for my blunder, a post specially dedicated to him. Happy birthday Tommy (Arnab Deb who?)

His birth name is Arnab Deb, but everybody calls him Tommy. And after our summer internships, whenever our gang went out for a movie/dinner/pub, when it was time to pay the bill, Tommy was no longer called Tommy. He was then suddenly known as Mister Morgan. All of us would look at him and shout out “Mor-gan Mor-gan Mor-gan” in synchronized unison, and for the umpteenth time he would reach for his wallet while saying “Bastards, I swear this is the last time man”. LoLz. Tommy was one of the few guys who did their summer internship in an I-Bank, literally minting cash. He got into JP Morgan for his summers, hence the name Mister Morgan. His stipend was atleast twice that of our entire gang’s put together.

But comparing his real name and his nom de guerre, one can’t help but smile at the aberrance. This kinda reminds me of Russel Peters who made fun of Indians who go to The US of A and introduce themselves with an American sounding name that is completely different from their Indian name (Quote Russel Peters: “Hi. My name is Rajendra, you may call me Steve” ). Arnab Deb – Tommy? Atleast if this has something to do with Tommy Hilfiger’s line of expensive boxers, I can understand. But no, it seems the reason his IIT friends started called him Tommy was because he looks like a Tommy! That’s what he told me. I asked him “Which Tommy? Tommy Lee Jones? Tommy Lee Pamela? Tommy Ramone? Tom(my) Jones? Tom(my) and Jerry?” And he replied with a grin “I don’t know. Some Tommy. A typical Tommy.”

So, ladies and gentlemen, if you ever want to know how a typical “Tommy” looks like, then I guess you should take a look at my friend Arnab Deb. Can you imagine what it would be like at a crime scene? The cop is busy taking notes from a distraught paranoid victim “The person who just tried to rape me… well… he is around 5’9… medium built… face description… somewhat like a Tommy.” I guess his photo will probably be there in our geography text books years from now. His full blown image will be in the “History of Human evolution” chapter, standing at the end of a line: Homo erectus… Homo neanderthals... Homo sapiens… Homo tommy.

After a stint at JP Morgan, he is now at Barclays, London. But in between these two Mints, he was still the same old stingy Tommy. We always had to wring him hard until he finally shelled out money to pay for the CCD Black Velvet coffee, which was just 3 bucks a cup. Ofcourse sometimes we made him pay for the Tequila bottle but… *Kima slyly points his finger to Monu and Amol* . I even had to literally drag him by the collar to the Reebok Showroom where he bought for me this amazing Iverson “Loyalty” tee-shirt as a treat for getting into Barclays. His last words to me before we parted ways were “Here Kima, take my 10 years old flickering fucked up permanently de-saturated computer monitor. Sell it and send me the cash”. I didn’t sell it. I donated it to the museum. That’s the fun part about Tommy. A lot of his things belong in the museum. His computer, his trademark fluorescent orange bag, his IIT days’ “Tommy” tee-shirt and his “Bank of Dad” tee-shirt. Barclays is definitely going to profit this fiscal year, after all, they’ve just recruited someone who will use the same office supplies throughout his entire career there . I won’t be surprised if Management Gurus use him as a living module example for an efficient Cost cutting method within an Organization.

He is the most fraud Bhong I’ve ever known. Doesn’t know any place in Kolkata and have never played or watched football in his entire life. Bastard doesn’t even like chaats or sweets!!!! Can you imagine that? I loooooove puchkas (Cal version of paani puri). I’ve even dedicated a post entirely to puchkas. Yet here I have as one of my closest friends, a Bhong, who can’t even stand the sight of any chaats or sweets. What a waste! And what a loser

He’s a big hit among the ladies. They drool over him. Although there was a brief scandal about him being a “silent killer” (read my previous post about him), most of the time he is completely clueless about the birds and the bees. He’s the type who would say “Thanx, I’ll call you if my Company’s on a recruitment drive” when a sexy voluptuous babe hands him her phone number on a napkin at a night club . He’s the type who would use “What’s your favorite subject?” as his opening pick-up line. And sometimes the girl makes the mistake of thinking this is some innovative pick-up line and reply “Biology” or “Chemistry” with a wink. That is when Tommy would talk non-stop for two hours giving gyaan to the girl that there is no future in Biology or Chemistry today and that she should do Finance and concentrate on Hedge funds and the Options market.

Sometimes we think he’s actually confused about his sexuality. Maybe it’s because some juniors in IIMB selected him as their mentor because of his “killer looks”, and a majority of these juniors were guys! Once, an old friend of mine from Engg College days, Paolo, came down to B’lore, so Tommy and I took him to a pub. We made the mistake of going to Bunkers on a non-rock music night. It was hip-hop nite and the place was filled with guys, a complete sausage fest. The DJ was playing “My Humps” and all the guys were dancing with each other to that song. Paolo and I were like “WTF!” and decided to leave immediately bottoms-uping our mug. We looked at Tommy and he was actually tapping his feet and nodding his head as his thought and trance were completely lost in the midst of all those guys dancing and rubbing against each other. We had to drag a protesting Tommy out of that place with all our might.

Ah… good ol Tommy. From all of us here in India, Amol, Monu, Kata, Momo, Ankita, Shubha and me, we wish you a happy happy birthday dude. We miss you (although we miss you footing our bill more ). Hope you have a blast there. And please, for once, just today, for the love of Almighty Lord, stop thinking or talking quantitatively and go to a nice Pub and get yourself a lap dance. It’s on us (we’ll send you the cheque later).

Happy Birthday once again bro.