Some have it good

                It was hard to believe that the answer was so obvious, that it had been staring us in the face all this while, and we never once thought about it. The answer to crime against women is chowmein. Or rather, abstaining from it. If you still don't get it, you're obviously not matching the intellectual standards of our Khap panchayats, they've finally figured out the relation between rape and ramen.

                It's amazing, the things that the peoples representatives say and often get away with. Obviously, Bush and bushisms are worth a mention, only the President of the United States can get away with being "misunderestimated". A bit closer to home, however, our leaders haven't disappointed, from "painted" women who take part in protests to the Mumbai blasts being blamed on migrants. They have literally said it all. 
            
                Think about it, a job that doesn't require you to necessarily be at office, and when you are at the office you get to throw the stationary/furniture of your choice at the people you don't like! And then after a long day of throwing chairs and sore arms, you get to back home with EVERYONE except you being stuck in traffic jams. Need to take a break from all that tiresome procrastination? Say that you are outraged with the behavior of your opposition, and stage a walk out, and go home while causing the aforementioned traffic jam.
         
               Now that you know what you're missing by not being one of the guiding lights of our nation, I guess we can move on to what we need to achieve to be in their hallowed company. As far as education is concerned, nothing really. A lot of the sitting members of state and national assemblies have just their basic degrees, if that. What you need is the ability to talk a lot while simultaneously saying very little. If you have a loud and deep voice, even better and of course, a sure aim and some throwing power always gets you by those torrid parliamentary sessions.
             
                  SO, a fat paycheck(not necessarily from your employers), all the comforts you could need courtesy of the government, traffic-free travel, flexible work hours and the freedom to say whatever you like whenever you want. Sounds like the dream, no? Wonder what parents were thinking about while trying to push kids into being engineers and doctors. The cushy job is obviously the one being a 'servant' to the public. Oh, the irony.
           

Train of thought

                               

As I was struggling with the IRCTC website trying to book my tickets (unsuccessfully) I realized how the railway is such an iconic symbol, close to the hearts of so many Indians.

                Traveling seemed like such an adventure growing up. It still does, of course, although it doesn’t seem as grand now as it once did. From the maddening inefficiency of the railway staff to the charming stories of the porters and caterers, trains always inspire memories in a way nothing else can. It could’ve been a glimpse out of your window to see some breathtaking scenery, or the breath-stopping stench of something you’d rather not know about.

                The memory strongest in my mind was the sound of an approaching train. As a child it always inspired a sense of doom, maybe it was the result of watching too many Penelope Pittstop episodes, back when cartoon network wasn’t absolute crap. Growing up hasn’t changed me much in that respect, my fears weren’t completely baseless. The less than perfect safety record of the train has made everyone a little wary, I think.

                Obviously none of that is going to stop anyone from boarding the next train they have to take, a point proved by the people of Mumbai who showed that they could take just about anything in their stride. A fact that was, in equal parts, worrying and awe-inspiring.

                You’ve not had a complete Indian childhood till you’ve had your “train experience”. A bustling, crowded station. A site of so much ordered chaos that it boggles your mind. Haggling for luggage space with other people in your compartment, opening the coach door and sitting on the edge watching the landscape pass by. I know it doesn’t sound like a dream, but it’s one of those things that you HAVE to do.  Just like foot-boarding on a bus, or bribing a policeman or riding a cycle without touching the handlebars.

                If you haven’t gone on a train yet, shame on you. Book a ticket and get on and hope it doesn’t derail. And watch out for approaching trains, they’re scary.

Baby steps

                                          Ustad Sheikh Spear

“Kaun hota uney?” asked a friend of mine while we were sitting in a big circle during our post English class lunch break. All I could recall of the given sheikh was a particularly daring sense of fashion [baggy breeches are so 1500s] and a pointy chin beard that I aspired to grow one day, and probably tweak with two fingers while expounding on my theories about life, the universe, and everything. Coming back to the discussion at hand however, we had just finished reading a short story summarizing the Merchant Of Venice, and we were still trying to live down the fact that a man could have actually have to pay through his nose, or rather, pay with his nose for money borrowed over the trivial matter of a girl. Seemed rather fantastic to me then, but since I now knew too much for my own good, I decided to get to the bottom of this Sheikh character and pass condescending remarks over his fanciful stories with a little more knowledge about him. This led me to talk to my sister, a voracious reader of Perry Mason books (at that point of time) and she gave me her text book, opened to a scene from Julius Caesar. The first thing I noticed was that the English was outrageous. Spellings that would have made my English teacher howl in pain and righteous indignation. It was alright though, considering this poor Arab man never had Mrs. Francis (aforementioned English teacher) with knowledge just as ample as her waistline. The second thing I noticed that he wasn’t actually an Arab, his name was William, which frankly, would be a horrible name for an Arab. More guidance from my sister showed me that perhaps good William wasn’t dyslexic after all.

That started a wonderful foray into the world of literature that started with Tinkle Comics, and have tried to reach the high pedestal of Ayn Rand and her golden ilk. The by-product of reading is the ability to be more expressive, be it verbal or written. You can always find verbal release by having stimulating conversations or rap battles (I kid, dawg!). But writing is so much tougher than speaking! Things that you might have missed. Points that you might not have fully explained. Connections that might not have been apparent in the way you put your words forward. A wonderful platform for addressing that very problem, would be a blog Or writing elaborate rants on websites. Since I’m not frustrated enough to do the latter, this, my first post, is an attempt to do the former.