Kanchib's Korner

Vote of thanks - Ind vs Aus - Test Cricket

2012-01-30T09:45:00.002-05:00

In the end, it is not so much about the end score than it is about a conclusive end of an era, an era wherein the stars shone bright and the display thereof was dazzling. It had to come an end, one way or another, one time or another. And when the last of the fireworks dies out, and all that is left is the stoic silence in the stillness of the dark, the momentary sadness and disappointment would soon be replaced with a deep sense of gratitude for a job of enthralling so well done. Yes, it could have lasted a little longer, it, could have sparkled a little brighter, and yes, it could have a given a chance for one last hurrah. Even then, the fading out act wouldn't be a moment of merriment. The sorrow and gloom would still be there, but that's only for the affection for a career well served and well entertained. It is only sad that not everyone can ride into the sunset with honor held high. In the modern era of the game, it only happened with Gavaskar, Imran and Steve W. Out of hundreds, just three. The rest slipped away into the shadows, some on their own volition, and some, shown the way. In a career full of ups and down, the one last goal becomes one of choosing the moment to hang up the boots, not records and milestones. And who wouldn't wish for that high moment to bookend a lenghty career well lived? When sports persons eventually become the senior citizenry of their game and retirement awaits them around the corner, do what the Australian crowd does at every entrance and exit of Sachin, no matter the runs against his name that day - just stand up and applaud, and not rue at the last chances that were missed out or slipped away. In short, Thank you Dravid, Thank you VVS.

The one aspect that made an ocean of difference between the two sides was the ability to bowl consistently in the channel. Both teams had similar speeds, similar firepower and similar tricks in the bag. But only one team hurled along the imaginary dotted line a little away from the off stick more number of times and the results rewarded that discipline. Plain and simple. In that Bermuda Triangle in the corridor of uncertainty, many a batman met his ultimate demise, and till date, there was no technique invented counter the innocuous 'just outside the offs stump' delivery. Even for a team studded with marauders who plundered runs all around the globe tormenting every sort of bowler, the David-esque hurl that whizzes by carting a passing glance at the off stump is guaranteed to bring it to its knees. It didn't matter if the bowler had a reputation or not, as long as, as a team, they bowled with a dogged determination to hit the same line ball after ball, and as the results show, it merely took 20 balls hit at similar lines and lengths to hit paydirt. Again, this is not spreading those 20 good balls over a span of 200-250 overs as the Indians did, but tightening up with 70-100 overs to almost double the chances. There no magic balls here, no real unplayable ones that bowlers conjure up from who-knows-where once in a while, this is just coaching level cricket, where the overlords thunder at the minions to keep bowling in the same channel from dawn till dusk, In sticking to the basics, Aussies cashes in on their strong work ethic, and in trying to do too much in every single delivery, Indians provided more opportunities for the opposition to score freely than they created chances for themselves patiently waiting for that 'magic ball' to happen.

When does a simple warning bell become a siren blare indicating the impending doom? Guess, a struggle to tide over a weaker side (WI) on home soil should have peaked some ears, or the total annihilation in England should have given some administrator somewhere some sleepless nights and some serious heartburn. Now there is no escaping from the fact that the rot has turned truly systemic and the only way to stem it and start on the road to recovery quickly is by making the hard decision of excising the infected part and let the system adapt, even if slowly, to the new configuration. Decline or not, the administrators should have taken a decision to mix up the line up with old and new so as to allow the new to blossom under the watchful eyes of the old. That would have meant benching/rotating the players on a periodic basis which could have served the dual purpose of keeping the tired legs fresh for any call of duty and exposing the new brood to the harsh realities of the game. It is indeed mind boggling (and quite characteristic) that for a team suffering from a brittle backbone (middle order), the powers that be waited for last flicker to burn out in one final blaze of glory than plan the retirement of the geriatric greats in a phased out manner. Aging is natural, no matter the talent or the genius, and there is no point finding fault with the slowing down of instincts and reflexes. But the near sightedness of not noticing the bumpy ride up ahead and planning accordingly is what is criminal. Blame not the players, sack the planners.

When the game started looking elsewhere for inspiration in other sports for improving its own technique in, say, fielding, throwing or running, it should have picked up a tip or two in player management too. No other professional sport would bet this beg on a team that is a great has-been without preparing a second line of defense to back up the front line up at the first sign of trouble. Unfortunately, that was meant to be and the results are there to show conforming to the law of nature. Letting go is really hard, both for the players and the planners, but the least that the latter could do is at least give the players a chance for a fond and a fitting farewell. And that means, giving them an advance notice (even if it is behind closed doors), not an unceremonious boot, of the transition plan and let the players choose their moment of exits. If anything, the Australian debacle had served the purpose of making the inevitable choice a bit of easier on the seniors, and the Aussie bowlers have to be thanked for making the decision on behalf of the administrators, What they say is indeed true, every dark cloud has a silver lining.

సంక్రాంతి

2012-01-12T21:21:00.002-05:00

పల్లెపదాలు

పడిన శ్రమకు సాక్ష్యం నువ్వే ఎదురెండా
జారిన చెమటకు లెక్కలు గట్టు న్యాయంగా
నూర్చే వేళ నలకలు కళ్ళ సలుపవు చిత్రంగా
ఎత్తిన మోపుల బరువును పెదవులు పలకవు విడ్డూరంగా
బండెక్కి ఊరేగుదువు పద ఉత్సాహంగా
ఇంటచేరి కొలువుదీరుదువు వైభోగంగా

ముస్తాబు చేసిన పంటలక్ష్మిని
కొంత కూడ కొనిపోవు హరిదాసుని
అన్నమో రామచంద్ర పిలుపులతో
నేల తల్లి పిల్లను రప్పించు సూత్రధారిని
అన్నపూర్ణ ప్రసన్నతకి పరితపించు
జోగి భూషలో తిరుగాడు భిక్షుకీశుని
ఇలవేల్పులను ఇలా కలుప ప్రతి యేటా
పాటల పందిరి వేయు పురహితుడని

మెడను గంట గట్టి కాళ్ళ గజ్జె తొడిగి
మువ్వల నాదముల తైతక్కల తాళముల
నూత్న నాట్యవేదము రచియించు బసవన్నా
చిరుగు గుడ్డ గట్టి జీర్ణ చర్మము గప్పి
కర్మ భూమిలో తకధిముల తంతులో
పశుపతికి సరిజోడువే ఓరన్నా

విచ్చే నవ్వుకు చప్పట్లు
తిరిగే కాళ్ళకు తిరునాళ్ళు
పాడే నోటికి తాళాలు
వేసే మొగుడికి వే-కళ్ళు
సాగే వయసుల అల్లర్లు
మూగే పడుచుల గొబ్బిళ్ళు

దీపావళి

2011-10-25T00:59:00.006-04:00

Physics confirms the dual nature of light - one as a particle, and the other, as a wave. And the same applies even to its philosophical nature. Light has a very interesting character, it exhausts itself to spread itself. A look to the sky, and there it is, the blazing sun, the eternal source of light (at least for the next few billions of years), constantly consuming itself through every moment of its existence, spreading light in brightest and harshest way possible. As night descends, the same source takes on a different delivery mechanism, one of beautiful and a benign nature. Lessons are many to derive of this, and to each, his own.

ద్వంద్వము

అదిగో... ఆ ఎదురుగా...
ప్రతి ఉదయమూ అభ్రపధమ్మును శుభ్రపరచుకొని
ప్రాభాత ముహూర్తమున అరుణ తిలకమును దిద్దుకొని
అనంతమాలపించు మౌన మంత్రోచ్ఛాటనల నడుమ
ఆత్మావాహన చేసికొనుచూ ఆ దినకరుడు
అనాది వేదికన ఆది కార్యమును ఆరంభించును

ఇదిగో... ఈ కుదురుగా...
తెప్పరిల్లిన నింగిన తెల్లని వెలుగుని నింపి
తేటపడిన బాటన తారల తోరణములు గట్టి
సోలిపోయిన జగతికి సాంత్వనమును చేకూర్చి
సదా సేద తీర్చ నెంచు ఆ సుధాకరుడు
సృష్టి సౌహార్ద్రతకు ప్రతిరూపము

అదిగో... ఆ మింట...
కణకణమూ కార్చిచ్చుల చితుకులు రగిలించుకొని
అణువణువూ అగ్నిహోత్రునకు ఆజ్యముగ అందించుకొని
ఆత్మసమర్పణతో అనంతమును అర్చించు
హోమవకిటిన కొలువుదీరిన ఆ నిత్య సోమయాజి
కర్మఫలము ప్రపంచమునకే పంచు త్యాగజీవి

ఇదిగో... ఈ వంక...
గుండె నిండు మంటను గుట్టుగా దాచుకొని
ఒంటినంటు వేడిని ఒంటిగా ఓర్చుకుని
సెగల రగులు తాపమను శీతలముగా మార్చి
ప్రపంచముపై ప్రసరించు ప్రసవశరుడు
చీకాకులను చిరునవ్వుల గెలుచు నిత్య పరవశుడు

ఒకరి గుండె మంట
ఒకరి మనసు వెన్న
ఒకరి వీక్షణ తీక్షణ
ఒకరి చూపు చల్లన
ఒకరి పలుకు కరకు
ఒకరి మాట మైమరపు
వెలుగున మను ద్వంద్వమునకు ప్రతీకలు
తల్లిదండ్రుల బాధ్యతలు నెరుపు సూర్యచంద్రులు

The 'i'dea man

2011-10-11T09:39:00.003-04:00

Too soon man! Too soon!

Some lives are counted in years and some, in contributions. Steve Jobs belonged to the latter.

Did he cure cancer, invent a longer lasting light bulb, end world strife or hunger, or bring about world peace? May be not, but he certainly did change the mindset of an entire industry, in terms of what it thought devices should be and do. Big deal! how does that cure cancer? Charles Babbage, the inventor of the (concept of) computer, might not have directly worked on the NASA's missions to land man on the moon. But much later after his lifetime, did someone make use of the concepts he founded and made the impossible possible. The contributions of visionaries do not suffer from half-life decay; if not in material, their ideas enjoy exponential growth over the generations being put to use sometimes in letter and sometimes in spirit. As Newton once humbly submitted that he was but a small man standing on the tall shoulders of his predecessors, Jobs' efforts didn't rid the world of its maladies but they definitely made the world a much interesting space to operate in by changing the way modern technology related to everyday life. Jobs is no Edison, he didn't actually sit down and invent the digital music players or the tablet PCs. He just made them better, a whole lot better, in ways never thought before, both in applicability and in aesthetics. And that probably defines the life of the man, his single minded devotion to perfection, refusing to settle for nothing but the best. He made ordinary people, who till then were apprehensive to approach technology and so brushed it away as just a mindless indulgence for ones who had the luxury of time and obsession, actually care for it. He did turn around an industry, which till then perched itself on a condescending high ground and expected its consumers to approach it with reverence, to shed its 'complicated' garb and take on a more simplified stance, all without compromising on the quality. That is the 'what' of Jobs' life and legacy.

And now the 'how'. Truth be told, Jobs failed more times and at more things than he succeeded and was greatly rewarded for. In fact, in his short 56 years of lifespan, it was only during his last decade that his fame reached dizzying heights as he developed a Midas touch for end user products. During the rest of his career, all his victories were purely Pyrrhic, praised more for the effort than for the effect. Until his company, Apple, became the most valued and richest in the world, besting even the old oil boys in the process, Jobs reveled in his role as a rebel, an outsider, an outlaw, who never cared for the riches who had his own band of merry men, to constantly challenge, harass and mock the mainstream for its lack of imagination and inventiveness. That was the time when the world wasn't ready for him yet, when technology was still dictating terms to the needs and the requirements of the users, instead of other way around. The watershed moment in Jobs' resurrection as the second coming of Christ was in 1997, when, in some staunch loyalists' opinion, he made a Faustian deal with Microsoft to purchase some financial succor to his then ailing and failing company, on the verge of collapse, lacking both the direction and that drive that it was once famous for. The turnaround started with iMac, a brilliant and a gorgeous spin on the traditional desktop design. The usage of the prefix "i" for all its products post the revival, whether accidental or intentional, indicated the direction Apple, under Jobs, took, making the user the center of the technology universe, as against the prevalent configuration of having him somewhere on the periphery of the product experience. The shift was as revolutionary in the industry, as the geocentric to heliocentric shift once was in astronomy. That the change came to be known in the internet circles as 'Web 2.0', where user is the king and the content merely serves him, is an ample demonstration of how far ahead Jobs pulled away from the resident traditional thinking. That, in short, was the 'how', turning technology as the humble servant to the user.

There is a long standing 'chicken and egg' question in the business circles as to which comes first, the need or the deed. Conventional wisdom states that the need be placed in the front, with the deed following it, to fulfill it. Now, looking back at Apple's flagship products - iPod, iPhone and iPad, it is fairly obvious that Jobs turned that 'deed servicing the need' paradigm on its head and went ahead and sided with the action, and let the demand catch up with it. Before the arrival of the "i-" lineup, the world was just fine with the inferior alternatives, or in some cases, even the lack of them. But post the releases of each of those products, the world just couldn't live without them. That might his message to the business world - show the need and the world pays heed. They say, a man is known by his friends, which in business speak translates to, a man is known by his foes (competitors). Jobs' profile isn't complete without his bete noire - Bill Gates. Edison had Tesla to contend with, McEnroe had Borg, and Jobs had Gates. Similar backgrounds, similar drives, same age group, and almost similar rise to stardom, both of them relied on their marketing savvy and strong work ethic to reach where they did, but the roads they traveled couldn't be more divergent. Gates traded his wares on the functionality side and Jobs, on the possibilities. And the more Microsoft succeeded in the 90s, in great parts due to large captive market share, the stronger became Jobs' resolve in showing what the user community truly missed in design and innovation. Though the success that had been eluding him for better part of his life finally gave in to his charms only during his final laps, one look at his oeuvre, and it is clear as a day that the drive to be different had always been there, it is only now that it is being rewarded with general acceptance.

The mark of an innovator lies not in the end product, but in the initial idea that compelled him to chart a course of creation. What does an end user care about a bulky CPU in his PC, and the iMac was born with both the monitor and the CPU integrated within the same box; music is only data and therefore the question is one of designing a small enough portable hard drive, and thus ended the reign of CDs; why pay an entire music album for just one good song, and the idea of iTunes, a simple and an elegant distribution medium for music, saved the music industry at the time it was just about to close shop because of rampant piracy; and finally the iPad, the optimal PC for a casual end-user - why a bulky machine, if a majority of functions involved the internet. As seen, each idea challenged and changed the status quo. It is not about the need, it is about the drive of reducing a complex issue to its simplest size and providing a solution to it. Simplicity, as history shows, lies at the root of greatness - be it in men or material. One follows the other, as the life of Jobs has shown, who is reported to have left behind, besides his wife and children, a simple home with a cot, table and chair to his name.

Inventors have products, visionaries have ideas.

నవరాత్రి

2011-10-04T09:31:00.004-04:00

Is idealism in-born or inculcated? In other words, is perfection the end in itself or a means to an end? If perfection is indeed the end result, what is the purpose of avatars, as in Dasaavatharam or Navaraatri incarnations? Couldn't God just manifest himself in the same embodiment of perfection every time and achieve the balance - what is the reason for a fish, boar/pig, turtle, dwarf, half-man, half-lion, an aggressor, before eventually embracing the idealism in the Rama avatar? And He hadn't just stayed there, He went on portray other roles that were attuned to those times. Similarly, if the only reason why Goddess Durga took shape is to end Mahisha, why couldn't She have taken that all-powerful right on the first day and be done with it? Why go through the iterations of various avatars each with its own traits and characteristics?

Perhaps, evolution is inherent to the process of perfection, whether in human or Divine. The need to adapt with changing times, embracing what is relevant and extricating from the unnecessary, forms the basis of these several incarnations and various iterations of maintaining the balance and achieving harmony. And that is why a fish in one era assumes the same importance in the scheme of things as that of a wily and conniving avatar in a different, and that also appears to be the reason, why the Goddess starts off as an infant before turning into omnipotent.

సృష్ట్యాది మొదలు కల్పాంతముల వరకు
మనుగడ మంత్రమునకు మార్పు బీజాక్షరము
మంచిని ప్రేరేపించి చెడును పరిహరించి
సమతుల్య సాధనకై సమకూర్చుకొను సంపత్తిన
ఉచ్చిష్ఠమునకై ఉపకరించు ఉత్తిష్ఠానమున
మేనినైనగాని మేధనయినగాని
విషయవాసనలు దరిచేరలేని
విసర్జనా అవలంబనలే విధాయకము
ఆదిదేవునికైన ఆదిశక్తికి అయిన
అవతార క్రియలో పరిణామ ప్రక్రియే అనుసరణీయము

సృష్టి స్థితి లయలు కాల చక్రమునకు కమ్ములు కాగా
ధృతి స్థితి మతులు పరిపక్వతకు పట్టుగొమ్మలు
జీవితపు ప్రతి అడుగూ మెరుగు చెందుటకు యత్నము
అవతారపు ప్రతి మలుపూ పరమార్ధము చాటు ప్రయత్నము
దేవుడైన గాని జీవుడైన గాని
దాటిపోలేని బ్రతుకు సోపానమిది
దశావతారములు ఆవిష్కరించిన నరావతారమున
నారీతత్వము నిబిడీకృతమైన నవరాత్రి మహాత్మ్యమున
మనవాళికి మార్గదర్శకమైన మార్పు సూత్రమిదే
ప్రాణకోటిని ప్రగతిపధమున నడుపు వెలుగు బాట ఇదే

The ABCs of ABCs

2011-09-23T00:53:00.005-04:00

'Talent', 'Exceptional', 'Concept', 'Techno', 'Brilliant' - you will not even be in the vicinity of rightness if you suppose that these hyperbolic accolades are doled out by, what has now become a standard TV fixture worldwide, a three judge panel, during some talent show witnessing a routine act that was only marginally better than the others. No sir! you'll be seriously remiss! All the above are the in vogue terms in a totally unrelated arena - Education. You'll be have to scratch your head hard to make that connection between those words and 'school'. In the model of standardized education and standardized testing procedures, what do the terms 'Techno', 'Brilliant', and 'Concept' even mean? Jog your memory back to those days when the word 'convent' meant success and so automatically you found institutions like 'Sri Ramakrishna Convent High School', 'Gita Mandir Convent', that stuck out like a sore thumbs, like those low end banner ads that read 'Grammer taught here'. Convents, which are the resident quarters of the nuns in the Catholic domain, were bundled together with the educational institutions, so that the nuns could teach school in the morning and practice their faith for the rest of the day, all in the same premises. That Catholic schools, with its martinet mistresses and stiff upper lip staff, stood for the perfect mix of education and discipline, gained the well earned reputation that kids - talented and torrid - would do well under the watchful eyes and the gaze of the nuns, who had maddening obsession for keeping order. That was how 'convent' became to represent a strict and a successful school, which immediately found poor, cheap and idiot imitators trying to replicate the success merely by using the right words, conveniently forgetting that fundamental consideration that a convent is a faith based institution and not a successful teaching methodology. That malapropism certainly did stop scores of eager parents lining up before the fake and mangled 'convents' trying to get their kids 'convent education' for a fraction of original's price, and the free markets gladly obliged.

That was then, when schools came in only three kinds - elementary, primary and high. Now the choice, and with it the confusion, has grown manifold. Walk down through any thoroughfare, a back alley or even a bi-lane in any Indian city, and billboards, posters, stick-ons of all sizes and shapes guilt you into believing that your kid is going to be long left behind in the race to the top if he is not enrolled immediately in some combination of 'techno', 'bright', 'brilliant', 'concept' school. When did this leap into ultra-competitive, pure paranoiac mindset happen from a seemingly subdued situation in what is first of all a dull and a drab field - education? Has education, right from the Kindergarten level, been re-engineered and retro fitted to suit the marketplace demands.? When the job classifieds scour for live-wires and bleeding-edgers in daily newspapers, the phrases immediately find ground in the mission statements and the prospectuses of the school - Want your kid to turn into a live-wire and an out-lier? Why wait till it is too late? Join him in our 'Exceptionally Brilliant Techno Concept Pre-school', and allow us to transform him into the over-achiever you never were and you never imagined him to be. Seemingly, schools have taken the leap from being merely the providers of the primary platforms to becoming focused and targeted vocational and professional trainers. Wait, this is not an issue of the ever-changing standards of education, which always change with each generation. It is about the selling of the education. Extra-large, extra-powerful, supreme quality, unbelievable results and unmatched whiteness - Surf has been touting to be doing pretty much the same thing since my childhood - drop your dirties, pour in Surf, and Voila, witness the whiteness that would put even chalk to shame. The product has been the same, but the words around it changed, a la, education.

Education, along with health, has sadly become a fantastic business model that leapfrogged the rising living standards, preying avariciously on the fears, anxieties, and uncertainties about the future. The forking point, SSC, that once decided which path the student would progress along in search for his bright future, got moved at least 3-4 years earlier, owing to the manic urge of the parents to get a leg up above the rest, and with it a new business model rose up to cater to exactly that - getting the tots ready for the long run well before their support systems are fully developed. And once the business is birthed and blooded, it didn't need much to become a self-sustaining and an immensely thriving entity within no time, and the words 'brilliant', 'techno' and the like are just the manifestations of a rapidly evolving field trying to outdo itself with each iteration. Add to that the rapid globalization that has taken place in the past few years which further muddled the scene by rough stitching varied teaching methods and processes. The word 'international' is the new 'abracadabra' in the schooling business nowadays, playing up to the gullible customers' (parents) blind craving for anything foreign. The wild demand for foreign goods during the pre-liberalization days boiled over into the new entrant into the field - education. That the smart business folk are alert enough to capitalize on the age old trend ('India - poor, foreign - rich, India - bad, foreign - good, and therefore, anything domestic - worthless, anything international - priceless') is the prime reason why even old establishments started decades ago are rushing to wipe out the archaic 'elementary', 'primary' and 'high' from their names and falling head over heels to get the much profitable 'international' moniker in its title, chucking the well established teaching methods in favor of the untested 'international' standards and practices.

At the root of it all lies omnipresent population explosion issue. On top of it lies the unwavering stance of the elite institutions to not increase their enrollment proportionately to the growing numbers, for their own personal fear of dilution/diminution of their brand value. What is it but the first theory of economics - resources are limited, wants are limited - being demonstrated on the biggest ever sample possible. This serious lopsidedness between the numbers on either side of the demand and supply equation, created a space for the profiteers to exploit the worries of the parents of locking a secure future for their offsprings, even if it is at an exorbitant premium. And so if one school comes with a 'concept' of hurrying the kids through the learning process and getting them ready for the start gates at the long race, by simple rules of business, another school comes up with a different 'technology' of reorienting the kids' brain to operate at super-human level to get the right results. And the slippery slope continues with different 'theories', 'foundations', 'headstarts' and such. All the keywords that had once echoed in the halls of haloed business schools now find a new home in the academic corridors, with the fundamental and dire difference that, if a business fails it might only affect a few, but if the whole schooling system careens out of control, the whole society suffers. And the schooling system just keeps pushing itself to the precipice with each round of new census numbers, coming up with highly unsustainable and self-defeating models, trying to capture the attention of an already crowded market segment saturated with innovation. And beyond that precipice lies the domain where the only law that prevails is the one of diminishing returns. Sure, the schools churn out great academic ranks and results, but how many great scientists, innovators, thinkers, visionaries, philosophers and artists do these stellar results account for? And if the percent of translation is miniscule, what right do these decision makers (parents and educators) have sucking the childhood out of the kids with the promise of handing a bright future.

Let's turn our attention to the teaching processes themselves, which are undergoing a radical change with the advent of foreign tools and ideas. Broadly teaching methodologies are of two types - rote and reason. And each of these evolved a period of time and is a subject of the social conditions. Where numbers are pronounced, it was found that rote worked well and where teaching had the luxury of space and attention, reason worked well. These are empirical statements that have been proved time and again over a multitude of populations. In thickly populated countries, math and science, learned through rote reigned supreme and in sparsely populated ones where the curriculum stressed on reason, analysis and expression, arts and humanities flourished. Each system has its own merits and pitfalls (while rote created far few thinkers, reason failed to create a strong foundation), the processes thrived in their own spaces with their own reasons for their success. But globalization has started a dangerous trend of importing ideas into unfamiliar territories and applying them with no regard to the underlying social conditions. And so a primary school with a sizable student strength that had till then relied on rote suddenly switched over the new 'international' standards, where the major share of the academics is supplanted by the 'creative' curriculum. On paper the idea sounds like an ideal combination that would activate and energize both sides of the brain (the ones responsible for memory and analysis). What else could a parent hope for, a child who is strong in academics while being a creative thinker? But there is a paradoxical catch with this scenario. The main aim of public education is creating a common platform (a Least Common Denominator, of sorts) where majority, not just a few, are imparted with the basic/minimum skills that would allow them to move forward and upward. Because, truth be told, real genius thrives free of any models and it is for the rest that a strong system be put in place that would equip them with the ways and means to adapt and survive. And this is the reason, the strong foundation laid down on the 'rote' platform allowed Indians to survive and prosper in many lands in many fields.

It is a fact that not every one of those is a certified genius coming out of that system, yet the adaptability that was acquired which emphasized on the employment of memory more than free thinking, forms the basis of survival and success. And so, regardless of the social imperative that education is the gateway for employment for the masses, when, in the name of greed, schools start to change their models to stress less on the hard parts and glorify the lighter aspects, so that they could collect more fees in the name of including more creative aspects in their curriculum, everyone (who is not a prodigy) suffers - the kids, the parents and the society. Now go back to those billboards and count the number of 'international', 'talent', 'techno', 'concept', 'foundation', 'brilliant' schools ready to take over the schooling universe and think who opened the Pandora's box first - the parents, who yearn to raise their offspring as per the 'international' norms, or the businessmen who try to cash in on this obvious weakness.

An adage went 'those who can, do, and those who can't, teach'. Not necessarily, in this day and age.

వినాయక చవితి

2011-08-31T13:21:00.005-04:00

ఆదర్శం

శూరమ్ముతో శూలి నెదిరించు నాడు
వెన్నుచూపక నిలుచు వీరమ్మును నేర్పె
తలకు మించినదని తలపోసిన నాడు
మితులలో మెలుగు వినమ్రతను నేర్పె
దారులన్నీ మరుగై దిక్కుతోచని నాడు
భక్తితో బలపడు నమ్మకమును నేర్పె
వేగమ్ముతో వెతలను నెగ్గలేని నాడు
నిదానమున చక్కబెట్టు చాతుర్యమును నేర్పె
తమ్మునోడించి విజయము దక్కించుకొను నాడు
వ్యూహ రచన యందు బుద్ధి కౌశల్యమును నేర్పె
విఘ్నాధిపతిగా మన్నల నందుకొనిన నాడు
పరిస్థితులకు వెరవని పట్టుదలను నేర్పె

శ్రమతోటి సిద్ధిని సాధించుకున్న నిన్ను
చెమటోడ్పించకే చేర్చమని కోరను నేను
పని యందు ప్రాణమునే పణముగా పెట్టిన నిన్ను
ఆదరించి అందలము అందించమని అడగను నేను
దేవుడవయినా దైవత్వమునంద పాటుపడిన నిన్ను
దైనందినమున దారిచూపమంటూ వేడను నేను
కష్టించుటకు కండ తర్కించుటకు తెలివి
ఈ రెండు చాలు కృతఙ్ఞుడనై ఉండేను నేను
నీ స్ఫూర్తి చెంది నీ బాట నంటి
నిన్ను తెలుసుకోను ఇక నడవ గలవాడను నేను

The road to rebuild - India England - Test Series - 2011

2011-08-22T22:06:00.000-04:00

As far as dynasties go on to last, that was a short and sweet stay at the top for India. A quickie of sorts; a seat-warmer variety; a caretaker kind; in local parlance, a Gulzari Lal Nanda reign - in the record books for sure, but not long enough to leave any sort of impact. India, at the top of the heap in test cricket, wore a perpetual apologist's face for however long they lasted - not entirely sure how they found themselves up there and wary and worried that they would had to vacate the seat once the legitimate owner of the chair walked in through the door. That remains the central problem with these rankings, that they rely more on the weaknesses of the others than on the strengths of oneself. Aside from the patriotic squawkers in the commentary and the press boxes, the mention of 'India' and 'No.1' in the test arena hadn't been without a snicker or the roll of the eyes. And practically every series started with that cliffhanger question, whether this would be the one where India would step down from the throne and hand over the crown, and through some miraculous maneuvers in the last second managed to hang on to the title till the next bout. All along it was fairly apparent that it was never a question of 'whether' but just 'when'. Truth be told, they deserved to be in the top league (just not on the top) with their string of strong performances home and abroad in the past few years, and coupled with the end of Australian hegemony, suddenly finding themselves as the team to beat was just a happy coincidence. The press conferences of the opposing captains were always an interesting watch at the beginning of the series. Whenever the inevitable question of the legitimacy of India's title came up, there used to be an obvious bewildered exasperation in the replies, unable to explain how the team was being hailed as the best without any menacing force in its arsenal, and unwilling to subscribe to the pure accounting accreditation. Well, after this series, they no longer have to frown and scowl, they no longer have to be bad liars and good diplomats. Normal service has resumed, and all is well with the world now.

There have been bad series before for India, but never this bad, and more so, when the teams are so evenly matched man to man (at least, on paper). Granted a couple of injuries to the key people upset the balance of the team, but that only goes to show/confirm that India's good days rode almost exclusively on the backs of Sehwag's bat and Zaheer's ball. In failures as these, it is impossible to say what went wrong or where it all unravelled. There is no way to analyze the low points without having a few spikes to put them up against, and apart from Dravid's monumental, heruculean, and single handed determination, grit, tenacity, patience and temperament, the graph of the Indian performance just flatlined for the entire series. Too much cricket (before the start of this important series), too little cricket (to warm up to the local conditions), too large a gap (for the rested players), too little preparation (for virtually everybody, except the perennial workhorse Dravid) - the reasons oscillate between the extremes and the result conform. Batting has been the main reason why India climbed to the top with a solid opening partnership, a balanced middle-order and a swashbuckling tail that came in handy once in a while, and when that didn't turn up for the show, the results, however dismal, had to be expected. When a team that has prided itself with the most prized batting line up in the recent memory had its wellspring of good form shut off, the onus fell entirely on the (always) weaker bowling unit, which never had the luxury of pace, and of late, nor the guile of spin. Murphy could not have had a better illustration, when it came to explaining how bad things could go wrong, when they indeed decide to pack up and head south.

Or, wishfully thinking, this could all be a one-off post-triumph blip that usually afflicts World Cup Champions (hate to keep repeating, save Australia), that one needn't take to heart and lose sleep over. Or, realistically speaking, this could be the first warning shot for how the future would look like, once the middle order starts drawing its retirement benefits, unless the Board wakes up, shrugs off its complacency, identifies and quarantines a group of 6-10 rock solid defensive players, bar them from ever participating in the IPL (while rewarding them commensurately for their sacrifice) and make them concentrate entirely on the longer form of the game. The cupboard lays bare as far as future test batsmen are concerned, and if the recent drought for a 300 score that spanned over a couple of series is any indication, the current pool of ODI warriors and IPL plunderers don't even stand a chance of surviving an entire session, leave alone an entire day, against probing bowling on sporting surfaces. It has taken almost a decade's worth of close calls and hard chances, even with its greatest weapons at the disposal, before India was finally adjudged No.1 and now after their era, the waiting would stretch well past that, if the powers that be do not foresee the onset of the drought.

And as far as England in concerned, this win only confirmed what their Ashes win in Australia hinted at, that with solid batting, lethal bowling and sharp fielding, the game has found a new No.1, and this time, with the right bonafides.

Rewarding Rogue-ry - 2

2011-07-12T23:26:00.006-04:00

'Stick and carrot' approach has been the bread and butter to diplomacy when dealing with prickly nations since long. Toast their bread until they come to the talking table and then twist their arm at the right moment has been 'Negotiating 101', despite diplomacy having become a subject actually taught academically in professional colleges with tips and tricks and made to known to all and sundry. When a person sitting across the table can read the mind with the same ease as the one proposing the plan, why even do the dance, why the pretense that talking things through will help at the mutual understanding of the thorny issues, when all that each side is looking for is how to walk away from the table is yielding less and gaining more. Because that is what at the heart of diplomacy - how to gain an upperhand without actually showing one's hand, all over smiles and handshakes. When the idea of having a member of foreign government over for a cup of tea is mooted in the first place, it automatically means that in that discussion, there is an aggressor and there is an aggrieved. The platform can be anything - trade, bilateral relations, immigration, border...anything. And then starts the charade, the sleight of hand between two magicians, the mental upmanship between two psychologists. The goal of every session is the same - how to bring to a balance a lopsided deal. The aggressor knows the monetary worth (isn't that what it all boils down to) of what he has at hand and the bargain of how much the aggrieved is willing to pay for his peace of mind (which is again, what it ultimately is for the paying side) is the dance of diplomacy. None understood this better in the recent times than North Korea and no other nation paid up more than US, in its position as the world's sole gatekeeper in the quest for peace.

The fall of the Soviet Empire has done more harm to the US's interests than the perceived good, as it suddenly was thrust into the midst of every battling forum saddled with the responsibility of placating the sides, even it means paying the expenses out of its own pockets, for no immediate strategic benefit to show for its largesse. And North Korea exploited this to the hilt. Persuaded by a 6 nation group (US, UK, Russia, China, South Korea and Japan) to come to the talking table, North Korea fully took advantage of its position as a rogue state, which was all too willing to abandon its feverish pursuit of nuclear arms for a good price....a large price. And so, during the Clinton era, a deal was struck similar to the (much abused) Food-for-Oil program for post Gulf war Iraq, where North Korea was to suspend its hunt for weapons of mass annihilation for which it would receive substantial aid - cash and food, both of which it was in serious scarcity of. But how could this be? Why reward a rabid animal by throwing it a bone? Isn't it common sense and once it is done playing with the bone, it is going to resume its regular duties rabble rousing? Deal makers look at it in a different way. Though the press conferences post the deal making are peppered with phrases like 'long term strategic interests', 'greater good of the society', everyone knows walking into the conference rooms, that whatever deals struck and hands shook are strictly short term. Though all these terms 'long term', 'short term' are only relative, with no explicit expiration dates that come along with the deal, negotiators still want to go through the process, with the wide-eyed hope that things might turn for the better in that short period of lull - the aggressor might have a change of heart, or change of regime and thus might keep themselves away from this whole hara-kiri. In effect, while in short term the goal of diplomacy is to put out the immediate fires, long term goal is one that is based on optimism. And that is what keeps the US plunking down more than a fair share at the table, when dealing with the tyrants and the wretched.

There are two questions that arise out of this situation - why only US and what if the rogue nations reneges on the deal. While the Indian firefighting with its nagging neighbor is based on the former's economic interests, US's involvement in practically every conflict of the post industrial society is made with an eye on much longer term strategic interests. So what are these strategic interests - Oil, raw materials, markets, and the more recent and the most important need, national security. Though the Cold War era headbutts with the erstwhile USSR was more ideological (capitalism vs socialism, democracy vs communism) than it was strategic (NATO vs Warsaw Pact), the post Iron Curtain involvements have been targeted towards expanding the US's interests in whichever region it chose to pick a side with an eye on one of the agenda items above (Oil, minerals....). And that answers why it chose to turn a blind eye on the blatant involvement of Saudi Arabia in the rise of militant Islamic extremism, through its unabated funding to institutions that fostered the virulent strain of Islam (Wahabism). What is this, if not for an indirect endorsement of terrorism? While the 'Bush Doctrine' which promulgates the first strike rule against any nation that not just attacks, but even aids and abets activities that support and sponsor and terrorism against American interests, US chooses to look the other way - the way of the Saudi's vast oil fields, which turns the gears of America. In this case, interests trump ideology. Resources play a very rich part into the shaping of any country's foreign policy and US is no exception, in much the way as China, and even India. (China - which doesn't seem to lose sleep over dealing with the despotic dictators of the African continent for want of their precious raw materials to fund its bursting growth, and India which suffers no pangs of guilt or cries of conscience hobnobbing with the military junta of Myanmar, the worst human rights offender in the region, all to keep China at bay). So, when US becomes the largest trading partner with China (all the while denouncing its civil rights records and protectionist agendas) in the name of keeping its own economy afloat, when it keeps doling out billions of dollars in military, civilian and humanitarian aid to Pakistan, knowing fully well that the dog might turn against its master in no time, in the name of its national security, when it keeps trying every which way to bring Kim Jong Il back to the table, luring him with all sorts of goodies (and that means, yes, iPods and costly Mercedes car, and precious rugs and carpets) in the hope that he doesn't let his nuclear weapons/technology fall in the hands of its enemies, it is not about what is right or wrong, moral or unconscionable, legal or otherwise. It is about what can be achieved in the short term with little loss of blood, while giving enough berth for the tide to turn in the passage of time in the long term.

It was not so long ago every ill that ailed the US, internationally, had a solution in its military might. That, coupled with the CIA's penchant for fomenting trouble and ultimately deposing leaders of countries that didn't toe the line of US's interests (read, Latin America and Middle East), US was in an enviable place seated always at the head of the table and courted with all the deference reserved for might Empires. During that period, war was the cost to pay for the peace. All that changed with 9/11, when the enemy was no longer a regular nation with finite boundaries against which battle plans could be drawn nor a conventional military upon which its precision weaponry could be aimed at. Al-Qaeda is no more a military outfit than radical Islam, a conventional enemy. And this new scenario changed the game plan for wars and the very meaning of victory. This dawned a new realization among the thinking heads at Pentagon that the idea of radical Islam can never be decimated and buried through traditional means, as was evident in its too-proud-to-call-it-a-failure-too-dire-to-call-it-a-success campaign in Iraq, where a semblance of peace was finally restored in the tattered and battered nation only after bribing all the feuding war lords to lay down their arms and allow the will of the people to be heard, after having failed to bring the country under control with surging troops and hovering drones. This might not be what the then Defense Secretary of US, Don Rumsfeld, meant by 'winning the hearts and minds of the Iraqis'. So, the feuding sects were all brought to the table, offered hundreds of millions of dollars with the assurance of more to come their way when the oil fields of the country finally start pumping the black gold in full capacity, and made to promise that the democratically elected regime will be allowed to assert itself (but not too pronouncedly, of course).

How's that for teaching the miscreant a lesson? The more troublesome one is, the more he is rewarded. With a speck of sanity returning to Iraq, the focus is now turned to the ground zero in the war of terror - Afghanistan. And what is US's exit strategy on this one? After being proved that the war games have turned into a stalemate, with no sight of victory, and the amount of money spent on each troop reaching a million dollars a year (and there are about 300,000 US troops being stationed there, for the past 10 years), all in search of the elusive ideal of turning the region into a bastion of democracy (which hopefully will side with the US, when tensions flare again with another irksome Islamic nation - Iran). Well, details now emerge of US trying to broker a peace deal with the Taliban allowing it to share power with the existing puppet regime, only after taking a few assurances that the nation would not play host to American enemies as before, so that the troops can return home and the country can finally put up the altered banner - MISSION (SOMEWHAT) ACCOMPLISHED. In this era of tightly intertwined fates, futures and fortunes, war is not the cost of peace, reward is.

End.

Rewarding Rogue-ry - 1

2011-05-14T01:26:00.006-04:00

'Nip it in the bud', 'A stitch in time saves nine', 'catch 'em early, catch 'em young' are some of the aphorisms of traditional thinking, which talk about dealing with a situation before it becomes unmanageable. There is a simple commonsense logic to it, something that doesn't need an in depth analysis, that prevention is always better than cure. But politics, national to a certain extent, and international, to a greater degree, is an entirely different beast. A small example - whenever acts of terrorism are perpetrated by a group, based off, trained in and funded by a foreign land, the rules of the game are such that the victim country is well within its right to treat it as an act of war and take action accordingly, even when there is no explicit declaration of open hostilities by the country, hosting, aiding and abetting the terrorist group. To put it in context, the Mumbai attacks by Lashkar-E-Toiba. It is an open secret, at least from the Indian view point, the victim, and all other eye-in-the-sky witnesses (read, the US, with its great snooping capabilities), that the terrorist group has sympathies and sponsorship from the state military and intelligence institutions, if not an express letter of intent signed by the highest civilian body, the executive, to do what it did - commit a brazen act of cowardice, murdering innocent civilians, in a neighboring land. Didn't a world war just start on the premise? And here it is three years after that nightmare, India is trying in every which way possible to bring Pakistan to the talking table, trying to sort things out in amicable and peaceful manner, as though, wilfully turning a blind eye to the sacrifices of the fought men and fallen civilians. Does nipping in the bud mean taking a hard blow in the face, and yet try to muster up a smile and extend the hand in good will? Another example - it is well documented that almost all of the hijackers who rammed the planes into the Twin towers, Pentagon, and that open field in rural Pennsylvania, carried Saudi passports, born and bred there, before joining Al-Qaeda and getting trained for the mission in Pakistan. And, the US's response? Bomb Afghanistan and invade Iraq, leaving the two countries that served as the suppliers and the trainers in tact. In fact, Pakistan is even provided with billions of dollars of aid for both its military and civilian cooperation. To an average Indian, this is one of the most confounding policy decisions ever not just of U.S's but also by its own country refusing to tackle the menace of terrorism by its horns and instead trying to change the hearts of the perpetrators with mere words and more sops. Is this the punishment that fits the crime - coax, cajole and what it looks like, even bribe? Israel's example is often quoted by the Indian hardliners in the situation. More precarious than India's, Israel is surrounded by a bevy of bellicose nations itching to wage a war on the diminutive nation at the slightest provocation. And when the provocation does not come, instigation becomes the order of the day. Lob rockets into its land or launch suicide attacks in crowded civilian areas to trigger a retaliatory response. Israel's policy has been consistent in this matter when dealing with terrorism - zero tolerance. Whether it be one citizen or tens killed, their lives should be and will be avenged at any cost, even it means making daring raids on foreign soils, with the help of its elite squads capturing and killing the perpetrators and the masterminds of those ghastly attacks. Which brings to the question, when Israel ......why can't India or U.S?

The India dilemma - India's inability at this moment, in trying to mete out commensurate justice to the preachers and practitioners of terrorism, unfortunately and ironically lies in its new found prosperity. Caught between a rock and a hard place - China and Pakistan - India's resolute approach in refraining from launching a full scale military attack on its nefarious neighbor boils down to simple economics - can it afford foregoing its current status and position as an emerging economic powerhouse, one that has been painstakingly built over the last couple of decades and engage in a war that would greatly undermine, if not completely wipe out its future financial rewards. Yes, that is what the Indians have to contend with, whenever clamors of raiding into Pakistani soil reaches a fever pitch right after every significant terrorist attack. In simple terms India unwittingly became a victim of its own success. Had a similar scenario prevailed during the 70s or the 80s, the thinking heads - both in the administrative and the military sections - would not have thought twice escalating the issue to its end game within no time, immaterial of the men and materiel at hand. And now, with far advanced military tactics and enhanced weaponry, all that it could do is use them only in the ultimate doomsday scenario, when all options of peaceful rapprochement have been exhausted and the country is in imminent danger of complete annihilation. Short of that, India continues to take the body blows chin up, doing nothing more than sharpening the rhetoric and try its best, applying diplomatic pressure to, restrain Pakistan, at best, into taking its foot off the pedal routinely exporting terrorism. So, how far can the country be pushed before the advantages of the economic successes come into direct collision course with the national security interests? And India hopes in all its wishful thinking and deal making, that the question doesn't boil down to that, where it has to make a hard decision choosing between prosperity and security. In simplistic terms, setting the geo-political forces aside, prosperity of a nation breeds internal security. A society that is financially stable, economically viable, and fiduciarily solvent, finds no reason to engage in military conflicts, lest it upset its own applecart. And in this simple tenet lies the core of current Indian diplomacy, particularly when dealing with Pakistan, where one side has so much to lose and the other, so little (to lose/gain). This imbalance between the two neighboring nations is a precarious situation, both in bilateral trade and mutual security interests. Any stable nation cannot afford instability in its vicinity, for, it would only be a matter of time, before insecurity and paranoia launch themselves without being mindful of the consequences.

It is a fair assumption that the world has seen its last war between neighboring nations, in Iran and Iraq, and in this current climate of military upmanship of trigger happy security establishments, a war between neighboring nations, more so when they have been brandishing their nuclear credentials, with a fair glee, would only end in setting them at least decades, if not centuries, back, recovering from their respective nuclear fall-outs. This doomsday deterrence presents an interesting opportunity for setting up the table for dialogue, discussions and simple commonsense. In short, India has to give Pakistan a reason to live, proper, make progress and wish for a bright future, because, better future is the reasons nations fight or make friends. India should facilitate creating an environment in Pakistan where it has to think twice before taking a step forward in full military gear and that can only be possible economically and never militarily. Fear of the neighbor, of its might, can only last for so long, before the other side, either steps up to match the might (like the India-Pak situation) or lose all hope and acts in desperation (like Israel-Palestine scenario). Both of which do not bode well for each player involved in the warring game. Hope is the reason nations build, trade and operate; take out hope of better tomorrow, nations or men lose the primary reason to exist and from this desperate cornered states, the minds try to get in sync with whatever philosophy/religion/-ism/demagoguery offers better life, if not in the current one, at least in the afterlife. And it is no wonder that majority of the suicide bombers believe that 72 virgins await them in the afterlife and the sooner they end the current one (even better, when it is for a noble cause of revolting against the oppressor/infidel, according to their handlers), the faster that they can start reaping the benefits and comforts in heaven.

In a very distorted way, even in this situation, hope is offered as an incentive (even if it is to die and end the current life). Be it men or nations, hope is what should be instilled, promoted and made to look forward to. A blow for a blow might sound fair and better and satiate the ego and senses, but only temporarily. When it comes to redressing the wounds, the future generations will not pardon/absolve the present ones of their bravado-laced, chivalry-filled war excesses. So, whether India likes it or not, its only option is to drag Pakistan, even if by the ear, to the discussion table, and talk shop, improve relations, establish trade, develop the country's infrastructure, offer its citizens a chance for a better living. And that is the only way out, for both India and Pakistan. And that is what it means, when some wise person said, if you can't beat them, befriend them.

Cont'd

శ్రీ రామ నవమి

2011-04-11T09:18:00.001-04:00

వన వాసం

కోమల కరములపై కంకణములై అమరె కనకాంబరములు
ఎండకు ఎరుపుదేలిన వంటికి చలువ చేర్చు చెలులుగా
కురుల కొలనులో కలువలై విరిసె తెల్ల మల్లెలు
నింగి చెక్కిళ్ళపై తళుకుమను వేగుచుక్కూలుగా
మిసిమి మెడను వదలకుండగ పట్టె పొగడ దండలు
తల్లి ఒడిని వడిసిపట్టుకున్న ముద్దు పాపలుగా
చెవి చాటున దాగె సిగ్గు మొగ్గల సంపెంగలు
చిటారు కొమ్మన కలకల్ములు చేయు కోకిలమ్మలుగా
విరులే భూషణములై విరి తావులే వాని జిలుగులయి
పచ్చని ప్రకృతి నడుమ పర్ణశాలన వెలసె వసంత లక్ష్మి
తన తల్లిచే తొలిసారిగా సింగారింపబడిన సీతా మాలక్ష్మి

నాడు అసుర సంహారమున మెరుపు మెరికైన కోదండము
నేడు పూలు పండ్లు తెంచు పొడుగు కర్రగ మిగిలె
నాడు యాగ రక్షణలో కండ దిరిగిన బాహువులు
నేడు విరుల సం రక్షణలో నునుపు దేలె
నాడు కదనమున పావులను కదప నేర్చిన యుద్ధ తంత్రము
నేడు నీటి బాటను పాదుల వెంట నడప ఉపయుక్తమాయె
నాడు వీరతనుమ సాధించి తెచ్చిన విజయ సిరి
నేడు తన సతి అలకల గెలుపుల ముందు వెలవెలబోయె
విల్లంబులను సారించిన చేతులతో విరిబూతలను సవరించి
ప్రకృతి పరిరక్షణలో వ్యస్థుడాయె వసంత రాయుడు
తన అత్తగారి ఆతిధ్యమును తొలిసారిగా అందుకున్న అయోధ్యా రాముడు

World Cup '11 - A bittersweet story

2011-04-04T13:43:00.007-04:00

Every story needs an arc, as much as it needs a beginning and an end. In simple terms, arc is nothing but the evolution of a/the character - from bad to good, timid to courageous and any such. Good stories are ones that have strong character arcs, starting off at one place, and wrought by the circumstances, end up at a totally different place. Gandhiji needed a visit to the indigo fields in Champaran to crystallize upon the idea of independence struggle. Swami Vivekananda need a personal tête–à–tête with Ramakrishna Paramahamsa to realize his potential and set upon the course of awakening the country and a generation. When history finally settles down on the Indian story of World Cup 2011, how far does it go back in time to settle on the beginning, given its now famous win? Was it the humiliating and shocking campaign of 2007 that had the players go 'never again'? Was it bitter squabble between the coach and the captain, following by an unceremonious ouster of the both, followed by a return to the sanity with stable and cooler heads helming the affairs? Was it the consistent overseas victories in hostile conditions that gave the team the confidence and belief of performing well against any opposition at any place? Or (from the far left field) Was it IPL that kicked off this chain reaction? The interesting aspect is, siting the story at each of those points would give a completely different meaning to the final victory. Set it at the point of 2007 debacle, the win is about an amazing resurgence of the down and the fallen; at the point of the coach X captain mind games, it is about returning to the roots and developing a sense of professionalism; at the overseas victories, self-belief raises its hand. Eventually, how long was the 2011 win in the making?

Take a stock of the situation just before the commencement of the cup. Flush off a great test series and a credible performance in the ODIs, and that too in the bastions of pace and backyards and bounce in South Africa, Indians were tipped as (one of the) strong favorites of winning the title, playing in familiar conditions at home. And it felt right. The home team had a stellar one day record against the entire world at home, with only the Proteas putting up any resistance in the prior visits here. Australia was humbled, Sri Lanka mauled, New Zealand humiliated, and any fears against England, West Indies and the rest were comfortably put to rest. The only unknowns remained the consistent South Africa and the mercurial Pakistan. Granted history hadn't looked upon kindly on the host nations, but that alone couldn't be a reason to hold the hopes of the country down. And then the World Cup commenced. Whatever high aspirations the pundits and the plebs had for the team came crashing quickly to the ground following the England fixture, where the team, all but gave up defending a score of 300+, until some last minute efforts pulled back the result into the neutral zone. All the strong votaries, at home and abroad, who were championing the cause of the home team, suddenly found themselves second guessing their predictions. The opening contest against Bangladesh showed first strains in the weakness of the attack, when the Bangladeshis put up a good show against an almost insurmountable target. And the fears were confirmed in the very next game with England, and the doubts grew with each passing match about how much the batting department can cover for the weak and toothless bowling and the poor and shoddy fielding. After all, was this the mark of a champion?

History showed that there were two ways of attaining the final holy grail. One, the merciless Aussies way - destroy everything in target with ruthless efficiency and lay legitimate claim on the final prize; the other, path of eternal struggle - strive for every win, big or small, against every opposition, strong or weak, with the same skin of the teeth and clinging of the finger nails. In the second approach, at no point does the team exude any self belief, instill even a tiniest measure of confidence, appearing as though, it is waiting on meeting its eventual doom head on. In such a condition, every move appears stupid, self-defeating and suicidal (which, on a win, would later be transformed as intelligent, instinctive and inspired). Remember, Pakistan, 1992? It was a short and a quick ride from the top for the Indians, just a few games into the campaign, and the fears were pried wide open after it couldn't defend a decent score against the Proteas. If 'choke' held its vice grip over the South Africans, 'collapse' became the order of the day for middle order for the home team. The top order could put up a top performance, but there was no guarantee that the middle and the lower order would build upon it, and the bowling unit could deliver the decisive blow. In almost every occasion, lucky breaks appeared as divine intervention, and wins felt gifted more than earned. In spite of the wins (and the lone loss) in the group stage, the team entered the knock outs losing out all the steam and the support that it built up prior to the cup. The start of the knock outs can be marked as the decisive check point from when India showed for the first time, what it had been short on for more than a month's time - character.

They say, character is built best when conditions are at their worst. After making sure that the expectations have been reset completely, the team set and defended scores in the knock outs with the kind of confidence and consistency that had till then been either completely missing or found largely wanting. The contest against Australia was the key match in the whole tournament for India, for, after its bowlers set the match up nicely, it was the batsmen who accepted the gauntlet and eminently rose to the challenge, chasing a sizable score with the last recognized batting pair under very trying conditions. It was full bore blood and sweat win. Indians worked for each run, approached the final total in incremental targets, realizing fully well the dangers lurking behind each step, and carefully inching towards the pot of gold at the end of the distant rainbow. The subjugation of Aussies breathed a second wind into the flailing and flagging campaign and gave a hope to the team that history could be negated and conventional wisdom could be trumped. And in regard to the finals - how can 275 be chased in a World Cup final, under lights, at home? Simple, in the same way as the 275 was set - small and level headed partnerships, sans grand gestures and heroics. In the end, application was what that won the cup for India - the ability to stay in the moment and dealing with it and moving on to the next, only after properly disposing the present. Stand out performances, there were few, as partnerships ruled the roost. Individualism gave way for institutionalism. If 1983 is a certified fluke, 2011 is a bonafide certainty. They may lose a few from here, but they certainly know now how to comeback and win from anywhere. History needn't look far for a suitable arc to tie this story. The start and end of the Indian campaign would in itself make a nice bookend to an amazing success story.

యుగాది

2011-04-03T01:57:00.005-04:00

Is time cyclical? Sure, the periodic nature of calendar events - days and nights, the seasons - all attest to the fact that time is cyclical. Is time linear? Sure, the progression of life more than confirms that fact, that a second passed would never return. The duality in the nature of time serves both as an inspirational, when cyclical, and a cautionary, when linear, tale; The cyclical concept assures life of second chances, while the linear model serves a stern warning to make the best of what is at hand. Each one equally important and each message just as valuable.

ద్వైతము

కాలమునకు ఆది వార్నిధికి తుది ఏది?
కట్టు తెంచుకుని చుట్ట విప్పుకుని
కదలి పోవు కాలపు దారపు ఉండ
దొరలు దారి వర్తులమా? సరళ మార్గమా?
విధిని వశపరచుకోను వ్యవధిని వీలుగా విభజించి
నేడు దాటిపోయిన దానిని రేపటి వలలో దక్కించుకోను
ఊరట కొరకు మనసు కాలమును నడిపిన దారి వర్తులము
కదలిపోయిన క్షణము వెనుదిరిగి చూడదన్న కరకు నిజము
గాలమున జారిపోయిన ఘడియ ఇక చేజిక్కదన్న చేదు వాస్తవమును
హెచ్చరిక జూపి బుద్ధి సమయమును తరిమిన బాట సరళ మార్గము

సాలుకొకమారు బారసాల సంబరాన యేటి పాపాయికి నామకరణము జేసి
కాలగతులను తేటపరచి లోకరీతులను తెలుసుకోను జగతిలోనికి పంపి
బ్రతుకు పండిన ఆరు పదుల పిదప తిరిగి వాటిని అక్కున జేర్చుకొని
నేర్చుకున్న విషయములను వాటితో కూడి నెమరువేసుకొను వింత వేడుక ఇది
ఆరు ఋతువుల కాలచక్రము బోధించు ఆశవాద సూత్రమూ
ఆరు రుచుల సమాహారమందించు జీవన సమతుల్య సందేశమూ
రాశి చక్రాల ఎగుడుదిగుళ్ళు ప్రతిబింబించు బ్రతుకు నాట ఎత్తుపల్లాలూ
రాజపూజ్యాల వంది వివరాలు అందించు ఆత్మవిశ్వాసాలకు ఆశ్వాసాలూ
మితవాద ఆశావాదాల నడుమ ఊగిసలాడు ఉగాది ఉపాఖ్యానము
సరళ రేఖలో సాగిపోవు వర్తులాకార కాల వర్తనము

శివరాత్రి

2011-03-01T00:19:00.004-05:00

Devotion (bhakti) and knowledge (gnaanamu) are often considered as the prime routes to salvation. But what is devotion? Is it just an unwavering allegiance to a form or an idea, or is it more a means to an end, a way to achieve the recognition of one-ness with the world, where the devotee finds himself in everything, and everything in himself? So 'bhakti' in the purest form would lead to enlightenment, love, a realization, or in short, knowledge (gnaanamu). And what is knowledge? Where does the process of understanding more and more about the world, about oneself, lead to? The downside with approaching salvation (which is again a variant of understanding) strictly from knowledge perspective is the realization of its inherent limitation of how much the physical senses can make sense out of the creation. At some point, knowledge merges with faith to complement its understanding. Thus, both devotion and knowledge complete each other and one could not exist in substitution of the other, reflecting the 'adwaita' philosophy of one-ness.

అద్వైతము

జన్మ సంస్కారముతో అంకురించిన నమ్మకమే నారుగా
జగతి సావాసముతో వృద్ధిచెందిన విశ్వాసమే వేరుగా
ఇంద్రియములకు అందని అలౌకిక భావమునకు ఆలంబనగ
మనసు భావన చేసిన శాఖోపశాఖల విస్త్రుతి
కొమ్మ కొమ్మనా చిగురేసిన అరాధనా సుమమే భక్తి
నమ్మకముతో నాంది పలికి అరాధనతో ఎదిగిన భక్తి
విషయవాంచలుగ గాక విశ్వజనీన ప్రేమగా వికసించి
వివిధ రూపముల తత్వమున ఏకత్వమును గుర్తించి
తను పర నుండి వేరుకాని ఎరుకగా పెరిగి
మదిలోన వెలిగించు అఖండ అవగాహనా జ్యోతి

ప్రాపంచికమున పారదర్శకత వ్యాప్తి చేయు యత్నమునకు
సమాధానమునకు సంచరించెడు సందేహమే బీజము
విడివడని చిక్కులతో చీకాకు చెందక
వివరణల వెదుకులాటే వేడుకగా వర్తించి
జగతిని జాగృతమును జేయు జిజ్ఞాసే జ్ఞానము
తలపులను తొలుచుకుని సాగు శోధన
తేట పరచిన కొలదీ తరగని వేదన
మేధ పరిధి దాటి ఆవల నిలిచిన వాటిని
అవగాహనతో అందుకోను ఆరాటపడు ఆర్తి
తుదకు శోధనను విడిచి సాధనకు మరలి
ఊహకందని విస్త్రుతికి తలవంచుంటే భక్తి

భక్తి జ్ఞానమునకు ప్రేరకము
జ్ఞానము భక్తికి ప్రోత్సాహకము
తెలిసిపోయిన భావన భక్తికాగ
తెలిసికోవలెనన్న తపన జ్ఞానము
అనంతమను అర్ధము చేసికొను సాధనా క్రియలో
విషయమును విశదపరచు అభేదమే అద్వైతము

World Cup '11 - The I's and the T's

2011-02-17T09:20:00.001-05:00

Was the preparation too much, too little or just enough? Were all the bases covered with nothing left to chance or choice? Are the confidence levels just enough or found wanting? Add a couple more questions that are plucked right out of any competitive exam's preparation guide to create enough doubts even in the minds of the well prepared and that might probably describe the mindsets of every team - mighty and minnows - going into the Cup. The reading of the performances that precede the World Cup almost always end up throwing up more questions than they put to rest the doubting minds. If the run up to the cup has been splendid, then did the team peak too early, and therefore wouldn't have enough in the engine when the law of averages catch up? Well then, if the record is wretched, marked with spotty performances, then would the team have enough confidence built up when the moment of truth arrives? There is no winning here, with every answer throwing up even more questions. With exception to the first three World Cups that had clear favorites, the rest had seen enough spanners thrown into the wheels right before the D-day to upset the applecarts of even the well settled. So what would make more sense for the teams to get into the right mindset - accentuate the positives or keep tinkering with the negatives? The problem with all the various approaches - positive, negative, realistic, confident, cautious and many such - is there are as many examples rooting for one approach as there are contradicting it. Past might be a prologue in other fields, but here, it is only the present that counts. Records and readings amount to nothing once the team takes to the field, it is only the preparations that matter.

India - What's the difference between the sides in '96 and now playing on the same soil, apart from the personnel? Self-awareness, in the current outfit. Their ability to remain rooted to the situation without getting carried away by unrealistic expectations, both in winning and losing, and the ability to honestly evaluate their position without giving in to bravado and braggadocio, thanks in large part to the think-tank of the team, could be why the current captain refuses to entertain ideas of looking past single game at a time. Compare this to the situation in '96 (and '87) where winning the cup was only destiny that just needed to be fulfilled before the first ball was even bowled. Emphasis on the processes, regardless of the conditions and the results, leads one to believe the 'how's matter more than the 'why's. That preparation is paramount and result is only incidental appears to be the only home-grown condition that the team intends to exploit. Oh! and that they don't have to worry about the short ball as much would indeed sit well with the team.

South Africa - Ever since their induction into the World Cup in '92, it has been their cup to lose every single time, and true to the statement, they have found ways to deny themselves of the holy grail every single time. All the talk about the team having no Plan B when the panic button is pushed (as though other teams come prepared with the contingency plans and fail safe switches) is just a nicer way of saying, no one knows any solid reason/area why SA loses every single time, that the team can improve upon in later editions. With nothing of any significance or consequence that can be marked against them, SA main opponent, like always, is themselves. If self-awareness is the new found strength for the Indian team, self-doubt continues to plague this immensely talented side. And like it has been in the previous outings, this Cup also arrives with SA's name imprinted on it in the top bracket, and it remains to be seen whether SA does everything in its power to let it be or let history take over and decide its fate once again.

Australia - How far the champs fell? After remaining the perennial favorites and the 'team to hate' for well over a decade, Aussies would find out for the first time what it feels to enter the arena with uncertainties and unanswered questions. Though it would be foolish to rule the side out completely, the team need not be as feared as before as they have (graciously) reduced themselves to be on par with the other sides. The end of the Aussie era has brought balance to the once heavily lopsided contests and foregone conclusions. Alike the antiquated quote 'What is good for GM is good the country', 'What is worse for the Aussies is better for the rest of the world'. And that is a compliment!

England - For the first time in a long long time, England find themselves in serious contention to the top prize, as against their consistent position of remaining the bridesmaid and never the bride. The lethal bowling arsenal, that has been the main strength of champion sides, is the most potent force in English armory, rivaling or even besting SA in the process. The perfect blend of speed, medium pace and spin, that was on ample display in the recent Ashes series, has enough legs to carry along their brittle/inconsistent batting performances. England enter the fray as the erstwhile Pakistanis - credible batting and penetrating bowling, and with the added flavor of spectacular fielding. If anything, the eventual winner would have to go through England to lay claim on the Cup.

Pakistan - An honest evaluation of Pakistan's chances reads like a psychiatric report - a whole lot of conjecture and not enough certainties. It may win the Cup, it may crash midway, the bowling may explode, the batting might implode; they find themselves time and again in no-win situations, yet they might come out with flying colors at the end of it all. With Pakistan, there are no right or wrong answers, just the possibilities and potentiality.

Sri Lanka - No other side, including India, is as dependent on the home conditions as Sri Lanka. Sri Lanka at home is a different beast altogether. Swing, sling and spin - their bowling has it all. And just like England, they need their batting to come to the table with their fare share of sweat at the right moments to find themselves in the medal winners list.

And with the rest of also-rans quite capable of throwing a pleasant/shocking surprise once in a while, World Cup '11, the most democratic outing in a long while, starts off with no clear-cut winners and no outright losers. Let the vagaries commence!

Ad-worse-tising

2011-02-11T09:51:00.003-05:00

I hate Osama Bin Laden from the core of my heart, and for entirely personal reasons. Yeah, he brought about radical change in the mindsets of Muslim youth setting the Middle Eastern dogmatic ideology in direct collision course with the Western way of life, but my revulsion for him has little to do with wars, cultures and mind controls. I loathe him for what he did to the real estate of my television frame. Right until Sep. 11, 2001, the frame was full size with a little transparent corporate branding at some corner of the screen, letting my attention entirely undivided and focussed on the proceedings on the raster. Content was the king and all the distractions had to make do with their special slots interlaced at every 15 min interval for about 5 minutes, and the world was fine with the arrangement. And innovators (or, the impatients) who couldn't even put up with the minor break away invented devices where one could watch the program almost uninterrupted, albeit recorded, leap-frogging over the annoying ad-breaks. Lawsuits followed immediately from major advertising companies accusing the makers of these digital video recorders that they were denying their customers of their right to watch the ads in their entirety so as to make a conscious and a calculated decision based on them. Enough to say, common sense prevailed over crocodile tears and the courts threw out with the ridiculous cases and sided with the customers. And once the customer got used to the DVR, a whole new world, sans subliminal, intrusive and even obstructionist advertising, opened up for him. He made choices and bought products based on his preferences and his liking than on some catchy jingle on some picture perfect model that refused to be dislodged from the brain, thanks to the incessant exposure to the widespread advertising. Consequently ad-revenues fell for the broadcasters, and obscure, but better products rose to prominence through sheer word of the mouth, and the consumer benefited from this, in every which way possible. Seething in anger, the advertisers and the broadcasters bided their time, as help arrived from a completely unexpected direction. As the date turned to Sep. 11, 2001, the world was never the same again, including the realm of television broadcasting.

It is quite ironic that Osama Bin Laden, whose tirade, among other things, was against the wanton nature and the excessiveness of the Western culture, inadvertently came to the aid of down-and-out promoters of consumerist culture and leased them a fresh breath of life. It all started quite innocuously, (just like any other social malady that started out small and quickly consumed everything in its sight) with a little scroll bar at the bottom of the screen on Sep. 11, 2001 providing the desperate populace more information about the tragedy unfolding on the screen. Since the incident of that magnitude spread out its tentacles of impact on several spheres - social, economic, medical, welfare, national security and many such - and since the prime time anchors were entrusted the unenviable job of breaking the bad news that piled up with each passing hour with the right amount of compassion and professionalism, there just wasn't enough time to push through all the news that was pouring in through the anchor in the traditional fashion. And some news producer got the brain wave of inventing the round the clock TV scroll at the bottom of the screen that could provide more information about the tragedy as and when it arrived and the public lapped it up with eager arms and thus was born the phenomenon. That was 10 years ago. I was flipping through the channels and stopped at the entertainment channel, which, of course, had its scrolling bar at the bottom of the screen "breaking" news about the happenings in the tinsel town with all the seriousness as a regular news channel. See what you have done, Bin Laden? You helped promote the same licentiousness and profligacy of human culture that reportedly drove you into caves and pick up the arms. Happy now?

To think this dumping of data by staking a permanent place on the prime real estate of TV is all Western ingenuity and innovation, is to once again undermine the contributions of the Eastern thinkers who made great strides in this direction, before the Westerners were even familiar with this in-your-face advertising. In the mid-80s Robert Zemeckis, the Hollywood director, made the now famous "Who framed Roger Rabbit" combining for the first time on the silver screen animation elements with live action characters. And it didn't take long for a no-frills inventor from Gurgaon to take the idea one step forward and devise what was probably for the first time the amalgamation of content and advertising on the television screens. This idea was tested out, not on the widely watched (for lack of choice) only TV channel, Doordarshan, but on an even more popular platform that had just as enough reach across far flung areas of the country as Doordarshan - Video Cassettes. Conventional wisdom states that broadcasters need ad-revenue to support their programming, particularly when it is distributed for free over the air, like DD. But video cassette advertising flouted every norm, logic and convention of advertising by exploiting a glaring loop hole in the trade - captive audience. (which loosely means, if the content is captivating enough, the audience will put up with ANYTHING). Mind you, this was in the late 80s, and the propounder of this theory was no Ivy-league business school graduate, but just some low level marketing employee working for a mildly reputed video cassette distributor. And here is the idea - instead of separating the content and the ads, how about overlaying the ads across the bottom portion of the screen OVER THE CONTENT! And before long, millions of cassettes distributed around the country had ads dancing across the screen, blocking out at least 25-30% of the content, for the entire length of the movies. And even more unbelievable is the fact, that the consumer was in fact paying for this (torturous) movie viewing experience, where only action that was relegated about the waist height translated well, and anything under got drowned in the sea of ads. It had gotten so bad that watching the movie in a theater, with all the expenses, travel and trouble, seemed a better option than this low cost freak theater. Sanity prevailed after about a decade, when competition in that cut throat industry eventually started to cater to quality and decency rendering on screen ads a slow and a painful death. And if I had thought then that I saw the last of this kind of blatant insult and assault on the intelligence, sensibilities and helplessness of the hapless public, I didn't have to wait long.

Truth be told, even with all their faults, Western advertisers (and the product makers they promote) are at least image sensitive/conscious, worried about the mood swings of even a small minority of their customers. An offending ad is immediately apologized for, an offending statement is immediately retracted, and an offender, quickly shown the door out. They respond to the customer complaints, campaigns, drives, and have their ears close to the battlegrounds as to notice even the slightest tremors with the mode or message of the ad and take corrective action before the whole thing snowballed into a major controversy. Move a few time zones away to the subcontinental airspace, where publicity doesn't need to be prefixed with a "good" or "bad", as long as people notice it. As an example, switch to any "news" channel. The whole idea of scrolling information has been taken to ugly heights and blown out to grotesque proportions. Not content with just a single band of useless information, a second band propped right on top of it, provides even more worthless drivel. And some savvy TV marketing executives started selling this second band as ad space. After all how much news can happen all the time that warrants 2 separate scrolling bands. And this improvisation didn't just stop with the news. Cricket broadcasts, which garners the largest captive audience trumping even the news, have been reduced advertising playgrounds. Just like peace is termed as respite between two wars, a cricket over is reduced to playtime between two ad slots. With plenty of overlaying space for ads across the vast cricket field making them almost indistinguishable for the real painted ads on the ground, with exploding ads which blast out of the ground and completely occupy the screen, the L-shape technique which minimizes the action to a tiny square filling up the rest of the space with ads, all this, IN ADDITION to the regular ads slots that duly interrupt the ending of regulation over, here is the re-emergence of the audience-annoyance experience from its decrepit crypt from the 80s, in a totally new, but equally ugly garb. How much more bombardment, with utter contempt to the ethics and disregard to the standard practices, can the captive audience take? In a country that routinely brushes aside gripes and grievances, how does the audience make their voices heard to the tone deaf advertisers and the greedy broadcasters, who have their heads buried deep in ad-revenue, that these practices are unethical and insulting to the sanities and sensibilities of the common viewer?

I had to start somewhere. I made a list of all the brands that support these ad blasts and made it a point to find and buy only their rival brands (Run, instead of Rin, Varma, instead of Nirma, Roost, instead of Boost and many such. I was pleasantly surprised at the number of store brand alternatives). Granted, my pittance doesn't go a long way into shaking the foundations of these ad revenue models, and my revolt is more symbolic than anything else, but I cannot, in my conscience, allow this gross violation of human right (to ad-free enjoyment, or even less-ad experience) to continue unabated. The next time I see statements like illegal internet feeds eating into broadcasting revenues, or even piracy eating away the industries, I am not going going to be as worked up as before, because in this current culture, subversion has become the only mode of dissent. With the cynical part of my mind sincerely wishing for a global financial meltdown that leaves no nation untouched, where people don't have enough to buy and therefore manufacturers (and advertisers) cannot peddle their wares, I look forward to the bleak future where ad companies are out of business and broadcasters return to the roots of catering to the simple pleasures of their audiences with content alone. I might be out of a job, I might have no money, but with no ads on my TV, I'll at least have a little peace of mind, and that counts for a lot.

Someone said, I'd rather be rich and unhappy than poor and happy. Think again.

Means and Extremes - Ind - SA - One Dayers - 2010

2011-01-25T11:19:00.003-05:00

So, what stings more - a complete rout or a photo-finish? The end results reading the same (win/loss), the manner in which they have been arrived at, in both the instances, causes much heartburn. In all the previous occasions that India toured the Protean land, an abject surrender with a token resistance was what was expected of the team (in the limited over format) and the Indians obliged in kind living up to that reputation by notching up a whole of 3 victories in a span of couple of decades. But that was before the side turned into a professional unit, less dependent on lone warriors for its survival, and became capable of snagging improbable victories right from the jaws of hopeless situations. No tall score remained safe enough to be left alone, no low score wasn't worth defending. In between, the team touched its zenith becoming the top-ranked side in the world (this time rightly so, unlike its ratings in the longer format) felling mighty teams in their own backyards....except South Africa. This time, the conditions were right, the composition was right and the will and the urge to set right a wretched record was right in place. Which is why, it begs to be asked, which read-out hurts bad - an expected 0-5 trouncing (or a 1-4, with the usual consolation crumbs thrown by the way of loyal visitors) or a hard-fought loss of 2-3? Despite the chills, scares, and frights, despite the plight of nail-less fingers, hair-less foreheads and stressed out hearts, and other tolls on the physical bodies and mental psyches, players and watchers would rather endure the serious heart-burn ensuing from a close loss than the heavy burden of an ignominious defeat.

This has been one strange series for the Indians, having lost the bulwark of batting forces to injuries, and yet competed tooth and nail with depleted reserves against formidable opponents right until the last session of the final game. The top order showing its fragility and frailty and some inspired bowling and awe-inspiring fielding, it is the lower order that put up its hand up both with the ball and the bat, showing how it is done to their reputation-rich brethren. The post-series statement by Dhoni said it all - no score is secure in the last 10 overs, even with its tail wagging. Though it was disappointing that the young brigade of future prospects couldn't make best use of the chances and conditions, save for a performance here and there, Indians can take heart in the fact that their lower order is more than capable of pulling down double shifts on either side of the session, come the need. That they have been putting up consistent performances with the bat bodes well for upcoming grand gala event. Just as a wicket-keeper can no longer be just that, and has to contribute with the bat, the series has certainly raised the bar on the qualifications of front-line bowlers. If anything, this series is a testament to the tenacity of the fringe players, who have come a long way from being mere tag-alongs and appendages, when it came to batting. Though they are far from being labeled all-rounders, they certainly worked for and deserve more important titles, game-changers and match-winners. Hail the peripherals!

South Africans have always been an enigma, when it came to the limited over engagement, whose results consistently belied the enormous potential the team possessed both in its batting and bowling ranks. Even after being blessed with an eternal spring of fearsome pacers and imposing batsmen, the side seems to suffer with a self-doubt that prevents it from imposing its will ruthlessly on teams that had no answer to its pace and bounce nor its free-flowing stroke-making. And this weakness was in full display yet again in this series, when it crashed and crumbled, wilted and bundled even under benign conditions. The final 3-2 records speaks less of the Indian fight back than it does about South African throw away. Still continuing with the traditional composition of specialist batsmen and specialist bowlers (held together by a lone all-rounder), in this current age of bits and pieces utility players, the conventional wisdom of stacking the side with specialists is called into question, whenever one unit (batting/bowling) has an off-day. The over reliance on the specialist kind puts enormous pressure on the top order to perform and the lower order to deliver on every single occasion, and when things don't pan out as per the script, collapses such as 6/30, 5/20, 6/19 become commonplaces. The same balance that seems to pay rich dividends to the team in test cricket, appears to holding them off from reaching the great heights that team is indeed capable of.

Traditionalism might have scraped by new-age thinking this time around, but only barely. The extremes might not have prevailed over the traditional means, but it certainly gave them a mighty scare.

సంక్రాంతి

2011-01-13T05:24:00.005-05:00

ఆది దంపతులు

చండ్ర నిప్పులు చిమ్ము వెలుగు పండును సిగను గట్టి
ధరకు ధార గట్టిన స్వేదగంగను జటను జుట్టి
బక్క చిక్కిన బసవడికి ముక్కు పగ్గము వేసి
రాలు కరగించు చేతితో ములుగు దండంబు బట్టి
ఎముక దేలిన గూడును పూస దండగ గూర్చి
బూది అంటిన వంటికి జీర్ణ వస్త్రమును కప్పి
గుటక పడని నిజములను గుండెజారక నిలిపి
బీటలేసిన భూమిలో జోగి భూషలో తిరుగాడు
కాల చక్రమును నమ్ముకున్న కర్మ యోగి వాడు
ఆ-కలి పిశాచ మూకల విశృంఖల నృత్యాలను
చిద్విలాసమున తిలకించు భూత వైద్యుడు వాడు
చేయి చాచిన జగతికి సర్వమూ దోపెట్టి
చేత చిప్ప మిగిలిన పిచ్చి బిచ్చగాడు

మింట మండు భానుడి ప్రచండ తీక్షణకు
దీటుగా వెలిగె ఎర్ర బారిన మోముపై పొద్దు గుంకని బొట్టు
కండ కరింగించు మగని మెడమోపు నాగలికి
జోడుగా మెరిసె బండ బారిన చేతులో పదును తేలిన కొడవలి
దున్ను వేళ దన్నుగా నాట్లలో పాట్లుగా పంటలో జంటగా
తోడుగా నిలిచె అన్ని పనులలో అందిపుచ్చుకున్న అర్ధనారీశ్వరి
ప్రకృతి ప్రతి పూత పతికి కూడా అద్దించుకుని
పశుపతి ప్రసన్నతకై పరితపించెడు అపర్ణలా
చేతికంది వచ్చినదంత తన చేతి చలువగా ఎంచు
కాశికేసుకుని సైతం కనికరించు అపర అన్నపూర్ణలా
నాగరికతను ప్రగతిపధాన నడిపించు జగన్నాధ రధ చక్రాలు
ప్రపంచమునకు తమ శ్రమతో ప్రాణభిక్ష పెట్టు ఆది దంపతులు

Blow for Blow - Ind - SA - Test Cricket - 2010

2011-01-10T00:57:00.003-05:00

Legitimacy is the most important consideration when conferring crowns and titles. In the media saturated world titles are dispensed with such a haste, conveniently sidestepping the requisite credentials if only to trigger a conversation in the newsprint and air space, that legitimacy often becomes the victim of the impetuousness. 'The final frontier', they dubbed this series between Indians and Proteas. That would mean, theoretically and technically, that India had conquered the rest of the world and only the African nation remains the lone bastion standing between India and the New World Order. Agreed, that India laid siege at many, if not all, foreign turfs over the past few years, where test victories, leave alone series wins, eluded them for decades altogether. England was humbled, New Zealand, conquered, Pakistan, captured and West Indies, usurped. But Sri Lanka resisted, while Australia repelled (the Sydney saga aside, denting Indian claims as a world conqueror. Which is why it comes as a surprise when the phrase 'The final frontier' is coined, obviously to whip up frenzy and interest in the clash between the purported 'World No. 1' and 'World No. 2' (The 'World' titles are as legitimate and apt as the phrase 'world championships' that American media so nonchalantly dubs its intra-national sporting events as). The ratings and the rankings, which don't reflect the true nature of the team's ability of winning games of varying pitches, are the last resort of media pundits (along the lines of, patriotism being one for scoundrels), and so the superlatives - 'greatest', 'best', 'final', 'all time' - should always be taken with fists of salt. 'The pre-penultimate frontier' might have reflected the ground realities of India's away record, but if the ring of that convoluted phrase appears to rob the immediacy of the contest, then a more realistic 'One small step' [in the right direction] would have served right for a team which is constantly looking forward to improving its away record.

India-South Africa series have been Even-Stevens during the past few years with neither of them able to deliver the coup de grace to decisively knock its opponent over (like how the Australians accomplished against virtually every test playing nation for about a decade and half), and that seems right about the contest between two teams, which are about on par, both on paper and on pitch. What Indians lacked in brute pace, they scored in spin, and with batting prowesses being just about the same, the tied series in the last two outings, including the current one, irrespective of home ground advantages, give a clear idea of how close the teams are. The just concluded series saw the usual suspects putting their hands up and delivering what was expected of them, save an exception here and there. If thriving is the name of the name on the sub-continental pitches, it is surviving, on the South African surfaces, both for the home team and the visitors. And apart from the batting exploits of the Colossuses on either side (Tendulkar and Kallis), the series showed the way for the future of Test cricket - fearsome bowlers exploiting the lively pitches. The prodiguous (banana) swing of Steyn, the uncomfortable pace and steep bounce of Morkel, the guile of Zaheer, and the wily spin of Singh, with the accuracy of Tsotsobe and the wild variations (of control and consistency) of Sreesanth - the test series witnessed Test cricket of the highest order - batsmen eking out against bowlers' relentless assaults. That the rubber hung in balance right until the last session of the last day of the last game in the series is the kind of stuff that advocates of the longer version of the game salivate about. With the only disappointment that this would be the closest that Indians would come to closing out a series in SA till the near future, until it settles on a different middle order that is at least decent, consistent and a dependable one, if not as famed and formidable as the current lot, they certainly have performed admirably in alien hostile conditions. And that is a sign of an emerging champion, if not an established, entrenched one.

India's tussle with Pakistan is often dubbed as 'arch-rivalry', no matter the quality of the sides, their duels with Australia, the 'new Ashes', and if history is anything to go by, the match up with SA can rightfully be dubbed as 'Unbreakable' series, with the point of interest being, who would blink first, who would wilt first, who would land the first sucker punch. In the battle of equals, stalemate is still an admirable outcome, something that both sides can be proud of.

In God We Trust

2010-12-01T12:31:00.004-05:00

Different names, different sizes and different denominations, but the word 'money' denotes purchasing power. Sure, the value of a denomination may keep fluctuating over a period of time due to variety of causes - inflation, deflation, adjustments, corrections, and more importantly, the importing needs and the exporting capacity - but the bartering tradition of money (money for goods and vice versa) has pretty remained the same all over ever since its introduction into the economic domain. As long as context remains local, the value of money doesn't mean much. A Rs 10 back in 1900s is still a Rs 10 note, in the current age, though the purchasing power of it has changed vastly. The terms 'value' and 'purchasing power' appear synonymous at face value, and to certain extent, they are. But context is what that differentiates their true meanings. Applied locally (to transactions confined to the borders of the state), the term value is used interchangeably with the 'purchasing power' of the money and what determines the strength of it, is among other factors, inflation, chiefly. In broad terms, inflation is a situation of more money chasing fewer goods. Demand for the goods remaining the same, inflation has a twisted way of creating artificial scarcity. While elemental economics states that the demand and supply are what that drive prices, there is also that hidden component, money, whose widespread availability or the scarcity, can have a direct impact on the prices of the goods, demand and supply remaining constant. But why would there be more money in the market all of a sudden, hunting for its suitor? On the brighter side of the argument, more money is a result of a healthy economy, with more people being employed with better salaries going after commodities that are being produced at a healthy rate by the manufacturing sector. Though more of anything is a bad thing, inflation in moderation is a desirable side-effect of a burgoening economy. But what about the flip side to this scenario? One look around the stagnantion in the current climate, particularly in the Western hemisphere, inflation brought out by enormous public spending to jump start the sluggish financial proceedings, is the last thing one needs in these economies that have already been brought to their knees, by their indiscretionary spending ways, in both the public and private realms. But what has inflation got to do with the value of the money?

At this level where global fates and economies are intertwined more than ever before, the value of one's money is not upto one's policies alone, but heavily dependent on the mercy of others' whims, like a limp puppet dancing to the tunes of an unseen master. While the concept of money is pretty straightforward at the regional level, the picture gets murky when the stage shifts international, where it is traded just like any other commodity, and is subjected to the associated protectionist agendas and miscreant malpractices, all under a new moniker 'currency'. Consider the scenario right after a country has taken its first breath in the league of sovereign nations and introduced its currency to the international markets for the very first time. Now, is the decision to size up its currency against other established currencies purely arbitary, a parity value that is pulled out of a magician's hat? Well, it cannot be. Though the rate at which a currency fares against others is still determined by a federal bank, which governs its monetary policy, it has to be based upon the country's financial soundness, measured in terms of GDP, growth rate, foreign exchange and gold reserves and the like. Take the very recent example of the introduction of the Euro, which when flagged off, traded almost on par with the American dollar (a Euro for a dollar), and the rest of the international markets accepted it as a fair trade, taken into consideration the inherent financial strength of the Euro-bloc. It doesn't really matter what the value of the currency is at the beginning of the race, as it never is a sprint to the finish lane, but an unending marathon of ups and downs. Eventually every currency will settle down commensurate to its trading potential, which is a direct reflection of the country's growth and developmental outlook. But setting the value of currency is not so black and white, particularly when there are politics involved, and as is evident in the latest currency wars waged against the Chinese Yuan by the Western powers, what you see is not what you get, more so when money is involved.

A big factor that plays into the potential value of any currency is the country's Export Import (ExIm, in short) policy, playing to its strength either on its export driven measures, like China's, or on its import dependent practices, like US's. If it is the former, it wishes its currency be traded cheaper, as there would be more demand for its products in the international arena on account of its cheaper prices. If it is the latter, the currency would rather be strong, as it would fetch more goods for its money. Obviously, a currency cannot be both strong and weak at the same time to help both its exports and imports. It has to pick a side, determine whether its benefit lies in keeping its currency strong and help its importers or pare it down and help its exporters. Conventional wisdom states that a currency that is traditionally weak gives rise to inflation, as there is more money in circulation in the domestic market, driving the prices up. So usually when the economic indicators point that the inflation is on the rise, the federal bank uses its standard weapon of choice, the interest rate, the raising of which pulls the extra money out of market into the banks, creating an artificial scarcity for the currency to combat the rampant availability. And it is a sign of a good heart beat that this see-saw, of raising and lowering interest rates, happens every once in a while, assuring both the domestic and the international investors that the currency is viable and the economy vibrant. And truth be told, India is doing a good job of maintaining a healthy profile, visa vis its currency, letting the market forces rule on its value, than artificially forcing it one way or the other, which is exactly what is being accused of its neighboring nation, China.

A strange equation has emerged in last decade or so between US and China, where the seemingly have-nots (China) started dictating terms to the purported haves (US). An economy almost entirely built upon cheap manufacturing costs, China has risen to the level of becoming a global lender, propping up the economies of its customers, by snapping up their currencies. To start, trade between two nations is never an even one, exchanging goods in exactly the same values. While US consumes more of China's cheaper products (practically every small to medium household item), it doesn't export much of its high end items (cars, planes, heavy equipment and other hi-tech wares) to China , creating a lopsided balance in payments called trade deficit. As an example, say US imports a billion dollars more (though the actual figure is much much more) than it exports to China every single year, and before the turn of the decade, rings up a tab of ten billion dollars. Now, how does US propose to clear its bill? Surely, it cannot just print extra paper money, all ten billion dollars of it, and simply hand it over to China and call it even, as that measure would devalue the dollar to irreparable levels and destroy the creditworthiness of the country for a long long time. Clearly, this is an undesirable situation to not just the borrower, but the lender as well. There are only 2 options avaialable with US, neither of which are pleasant - 1. Build value in its currency over a period of time, by a combination of short term spending cuts (of money-sucking social programs and top-heavy bureaucracy) and long term modest fiscal policy 2. default on its payments in the hope of settling with its creditors and restructuring its debt. The first option, untenable, as long as there are elections, and the second, unimaginable, more to the creditor than to the borrower. China cannot have US cut down on its consumption, lest its own manufacturing sector collapse, for want of demand. So what it does completely belies the basic rules of lending, and that is, encourage the near-bankrupt borrower spend even more, by extending a greater line of credit. But what has all this lending and spending got to do with currency? On paper, what China is doing right now is bankrolling US's credit, should have happy faces on both sides of the lending equation. But why, of all countries, US is crying foul on this deal accusing China of rigging the game? And this is where currency comes back into play.

Ideally, what would happen with happening economies is, global players would rush and try to be a part of the success story so as to quickly multiply their investments. And the influx of all that foreign direct and institutional investments would automatically strengthen the country's economy, which in turn would appreciate the value of its currency, thereby making its imports cheaper and exports costlier. But an export dependent economy like China couldn't let that happen. So how does it keep its currency down, despite its stellar economic scene littered with strong global and domestic players? A three-pronged approach is how - 1. using its forex reserves' deep pockets built up over enormous trade deficits with its trading partners, to buy up the bonds and bills of its borrowers, thereby footing the bill of their exports and keeping the borrower's currency artificially inflated. 2. print more money domestically and stir up some artificial inflation floating more of its money in its own markets 3. shut down the door on its imports, or at least, make it extremely hard for other nations to export goods to China by imposing extraordinary tariffs and putting up other restrictive obstacles in the way. And more, when Western economies are trying to claw their way out of the recession by manufacturing more at home and export them to healthy states, this kind of currency manipulation ensuring that there be only one supplier in the global market, has the rest of the world up in arms. It is a dangerous game that China is engaging in, hoping for the dark clouds of recession to quickly blow over and the stagnant economies recover quickly back to their voracious consuming ways, all this before China runs out of the long credit rope that it currently is extending to its partners. And when that happens, economists have to invent a new word to describe the economic black hole that would be created, when China can no longer lend and its debtors can no longer consume, essentially collapsing every economy that matters. And getting out of such deep economic craters would require a complete change in trading and counting practices, not little relief measures and stimulus schemes. To think that all this would happen without firing a single shot or without countries waging wars (which was how it was envisioned by the doomsayers) is plain mind boggling. And at the nucleus of it all, is the currency, delicately balanced by the positive and the negative forces.

Size does matter

2010-11-16T04:57:00.006-05:00

The temptation was too hard to resist as it was right there for the taking. They say, exercises as these, involving vanity, should never be started at all, as the pursuit for purported perfection is akin to chasing a mirage on a sweltering hot day, but an illusion. Supermodels, yeah the ones that command seven digit remunerations in the highest valued currency, with insecurities about their looks, body builders, who pump a little more or injest a little more for that extra bump of their muscle or strain of their veins, athletes, who dance a little closer to the edge of their tolerances, all attest to the fact that in the game of physicality, there is no such thing as a win and striving a little more pushes one into the zone of diminishing returns. They say, for ordinary mortals, like the rest of us, whose share of striking physicality has been compensated elsewhere, contentment/satisfaction is the key of happiness. Because, once we sign up for the race, there are two results possible, and none of them involve winning - giving up or self destruction. The one obvious WSD (Weapon of Self Destruction) is the weighing scale. Oh yeah, everyone has his own share of horror stories trying to chase that mythical ideal weight, all involving the same key words - carbs, fats, proteins, muscles, and when all fail, diets. And the invention of the weighing scale spawned a billion dollar industry for supplements, shakes, pills and the ubiquitous gyms, not to mention, great employment opportunities for the chiseled men, who have been short changed in the smarts category. And the propaganda machine of advertising creating the false hope among slouches that physics (work-outs) and chemistry (injestions) can always trump genetics, given enough motivation and application (and a whole lot of fine print). But it is not the weighing scale that I am talking about, for, I had been on that road before for as long as I could, and nothing but bruises and scars to show for, as against the toned shape and ripped abs that I was promised by Christie Brinkley, Chuck Norris, Arnold Schwarzenegger and all the androgynous men and amazon women, who still make a a great living off the weak's miseries. I am talking about that other partner in crime, the silent killer, the measuring tape.

I should have never started with it at all in the first place, as it led me through this rabbit hole of misconceptions, deceits and yes, corporate cover up, showing me the other ugly side of the vanity game, that involves sizing up people, laterally and gravitationally. I came into looks-conscious world as a 32, snug, light and a slim waist 32. I prided myself in that number and made it a point to let the world know of it, that I fitted quite comfortably into a 32, and with a few millimeters to spare, by always buying slacks and jeans that printed the size and the inseam dimensions on the back pocket, and making sure that I tucked in nicely even on a hot summer afternoon. But isn't that real purpose of that back pocket real estate - bragging rights? And whenever I shopped in clothes stores, and particularly when they are cuties (of the opposite gender, of course) hovering around, I rather loudly asked for my 32's, even when they are right there in front in plain sight and in broad artificially enhanced lights. I could almost feel the darts of admiration and envy coming my way, whenever I used to walk towards the 'boys' section, unable to find anything that fit me in the 'men's' department. But that was all, a decade ago. With age, I matured into a 34, which is where I was, on that day.

A little indulgence here, a little glut out there, I knew right from the start, that I could not forever remain a 32 for the rest of my able life, before I eventually switched over to stretch/elastics pants in my twilight years, and that accounted for that extra 2 inch give away. And I was still within the acceptable zones of envy, if not the outright green variety, somewhere within the pastel range. I might have moved out completely shopping in the 'boys' section, but as long as it was right in the first rack of the 'men's' department, it was still fine. In the company of the let-go's, I was relatively lissome. And that was why it came as a rude shock to me, when on that fateful day when I had nothing to do and I saw a measuring tape lying near by and I got the strong urge of turning it around my waist and measuring myself, and it showed a merciless 37 INCHES!! That snapped me into full attention. I didn't believe what I was seeing for a second, and immediately let the tape go, as though wishing away the last few seconds from my waking memory. 37? 37! 37!!! There were no splurges, no binges, no eat-fests in the recent past. My 34s still come up fine up without any blockades from the occasional abdominal speed-bumps. There was that flight of stairs test, 3 in all, that I was still able to complete with only minor exhaustion just as before. So where did this come from all of a sudden? I got up from the reclining chair, stood straight, made sure of no zero error on the tape (which always came in handy during trouble times on the weighing scale curving off a few pounds to make it to the pass grade), even sucked the gut a little and measured carefully this time around. Well, the suck in took out a couple of centimeters, but the starting tip of the tape remained resolutely on 37.

My first thoughts were, whom could I blame this bulge on. My homemaker, who coaxed me into extra servings of rarefied butter? My weekend party hosts, who always topped the evening festivities with extra dollops of cream treats? Or my metabolism, which was finally easing its foot on the digestive engines? Just to be sure, I compared the results with a couple more tapes lying around the house, lest the original tape was that party prank trinket with missing numbers that I bought a while ago at the comedy store to spook the unwitting users. Nope, they were all there in their designated ordinal positions standing up right. The other tapes pretty much confirmed the original findings. A categorical, unequivocal, merciless 37. I slouched back into the recliner, defeated and hurt. Was I another statistic in the epidemic of bulging waistlines that experts refer to in their pie-charts and bar graphs? Were the newscasters referring to me too , when they say the high salt, high sugar, high fat processed foods - all pals of the paunch - has got the Gen-Z in its talon grip? Was it this side-effect that the naturalists were warning us about consuming abnormal shaped and unsavory tasting genetically modified vegetables? Was my 37 the end of the days? I let angst, anxiety, emotion and pure terror wash over me for a little while, before reason returned to the fold. And that got me thinking. If I was indeed a bloater and a bulger, how could I squeeze myself into a 34, with least discomfort, one that has been machine washed quite a few times and so could had undergone significant shrinkage? That was when I got the wind of the worldwide corporate conspiracy of unseen proportions, quite literally.

I brought out all of my daily usage trousers, looked at the little synthetic flaps stitched inside (all of them printed 34), and measured them against the tape. It confirmed my worst fears. None of them measured up to 34 and ranged between 36 and 37 on the tape. But why would Calvin Klein, Lee, Levis, Dockers, Tommy Hilfiger, Gap, and even the local brands, Haggar and Wal-mart lie to me? Why would they indulge in collective prevarication and obvious obfuscation? But I needed more proof than was at hand. I immediately drove to the near by shopping mall, went to each prominent garment outlet, casually picked up a few trousers to the trial room, and performed my tape test on each of them. I felt like a Jeffrey Wigand (who exposed the tobacco industry), Erin Brokovich (who exposed the polluters) and others of the whistle-blower ilk, though my findings wouldn't save lives, per se. It was quite hard to believe that in a country as litigious as the US of A, where there are more lawyers than there are lawsuits, both inside and outside the courts combined, not one out of work attorney got a whiff of this false campaign and turned it into a class action lawsuit, that could have easily rivaled the tobacco company take-downs, in size and scale. Why weren't there any grand jury indictments, any subpoenas served to the head honchos, why wasn't somebody dragged to the courts, or importantly, if millions of dollars could change hands in scalding coffee lawsuits, why weren't billions helped out of the coffers of these trouser manufacturers (taking the phrase 'sue the pants off somebody' to a whole new level) in punitive damages claiming mental anguish and psychological manipulation?

If coffee makers/servers, pill manufacturers/distributors, doctors and other health dispensers can be sued for misrepresenting their positions, why couldn't these garment makers be brought to justice for willful misleading and mindful manipulation? There could be no other reason but to believe that they have all the people in important positions and power in their pockets, touting their abhorrent practices as welfare measures done with nothing but the good intentions and greater good of the people in their minds. If they spin their stance something along the lines of, what you don't know can't hurt you, or more, even benefit you, making you feel good about yourself at all times, how can people in power enact any policies willing that feel-good factor away, particularly if they harbor any interests of getting re-elected? And those smart pant-stitchers caught everyone in this sweet spot. This is the present day update of 'Emperors clothes' fable. Yeah, the Emperor has his pants on alright, but the sizes printed on the back pockets labels greatly belie his physical dimensions? Same as before, but who has the audacity to point it out? The lies may change over time, but the lying never does.

If numbers on this scale can be fudged at that level, what more skeletons lay in the closet waiting to be discovered - Weight Scales? Blood Pressure Machines? Calorie Counters? IQ indicators? Is, 1, 1?, 0, 0? Do numbers mean anything anymore, if they can be changed to suit our benefit, comfort and liking? This whole exercise has thrown me into an existential tizzy, making me deeply distrustful of anything that involves numbers. Nowadays, I only trade in generalities and relativities. And more importantly, my pants say only either Medium or Large, and that suited me just fine.

Mathematics, they say, is the science of absolutes, and as my experience stands, that statement cannot be further from the truth.

దీపావళి

2010-11-03T08:25:00.004-04:00

Leave the mythological aspects of the festival for a second here. Some customs seem strange on the face value. Why is that the rest of the festivals are celebrated during the day and only Deepavali during the night? If it was merely a celebration of the slaying of Narakasura, it could as well been be done during the day. Why was it that the darkest night of the season chosen for the occasion; and what could be the significance of the fireworks? Again, almost all the festivals are celebrated commemorating the felling of of one demon or the other, and why no fireworks for the rest and why only for Deepavali? It is here that it has to be believed (or can be proved categorically) that a deeper social relevance exists/created for all the types of customs and modes of celebrations that had been put in place for each festival, behooving future generations to find the(ir own) meanings and applications to the original intentions.

వెలుగు రేఖలు

వెలుగు కీర్తిని వేనోళ్ళ చాటుటకు
సర్వము తేటతెల్లము జేయు తెల్లవారులుండగ
కంటి చూపానని కటిక రాత్రిని ఎన్నుకున్నదెందుకో

ఏనాడో చదల వాడలో వెలిగించిపోయిన దీప శిఖ
సాధననావసరము లేని కాలగమనము చేత
విషయ మర్మములు విశదము చేయ
ప్రకృతి పేరిట ప్రతి పూట వేసిపోవును వెలుగు భిక్ష
నలు వైపులకు నలుపు రంగులద్దు కారు చీకట్లలో
చిరు దివ్వె అలుపు ఎరుగని ప్రయత్నమునకు ప్రతీక
చీకట్లపై పోరి సాధించుకున్న అఖండ శక్తి
అయాచితముగ దక్కగ అది ఇవ్వలేదు ఎటువంటి తృప్తి
చెమట చెమ్మ చలువ శ్రమయందే కలుగును
వేకువ వెలుగు విలువ చీకటిననే తెలియును

నాదామృతముతో జగతిని జాగృతముచేయటకు
చెవులు చవులూరు వేదమంత్రములుండగ
రణగొణ ధ్వనుల చిటపటల నెంచుకున్నదెందుకో

వేదమునకు నాదము ప్రధానము
నాదమునకు శబ్దము బీజము
శబ్దమునకు ధ్వని అంకురము
ధ్వనికి అలికిడి అవసరము
అలికిడికి కదలిక కారణభూతము
కదలికకు ప్రాణము ప్రామాణికము
ప్రాణమునకు చైతన్యము మూలస్థంబము
ఆ చైతన్యము మనుగడకు ఓంకారము
చితుకులందు చిందు చిటుకుచిటుకు లయలు
వేనవేల రాగాల కువకువల గీతికలు
కడలి హోరులో వినిపించు నిశ్చల తత్వాలు
గగన ఘోషలో రవళించు సృష్టి నిగూఢాలు
వివిధ ధ్వనుల సమ్మేళనమే నిగమాగమములకు భాష్యము
ఆ ధ్వనుల చైతన్యమే చిటపటల యందు చేయు ఆనంద తాండవము

నవరాత్రి

2010-10-16T00:38:00.005-04:00

It is hard to believe that powerful weapons - Vishnu's Sudarsana, Siva'a trident, Indra's Vajrayudha etc - were what that separated the gods and the demons, handing victory to the former every single time. Divinity is more than that, and power should be more than the sum total of their arsenal. Navarathri serves as a perfect allegory of what defeated evil. Sure, the weapons helped, but the lethal combination of knowledge, devotion and persistence is what that ultimately paid off in the battle with animal instincts. Mythology or otherwise, the moral is unmistakable. And representing each branch of power, the holy trinity - Goddess Saraswati heading knowlege, Goddess Parvati accounting for persistence and Goddess Lakshmi representing devotion.

త్రిశక్తి

విచక్షణ వాగ్దేవి విపంచికా మూర్ఛనము
వివేచన వివిధ వేదరాసుల సమ్హితామృతము
సాలోచన ఆ యమ్మ భావనా వీచికల లహరి
సంభాషణ భూషిత హస్తము జాలువార్చు రసఝరి
సుజ్ఞానము ఇన మయూఖ తీక్షణా కటాక్ష వీక్షణ
సువిద్య బీజాక్షర మంత్రపూత పలుకుల సంప్రోక్షణ

జన్మ వేరు చేసినా జంగముని చేరు దీక్ష
కష్టతమమైననూ లెక్క చేయని కాంక్ష
బేసి కన్నుల మౌని తో తులతూగ ఈ బేల
పర్ణములను సైతము త్యజించిన వేళ
గరళ కంఠుని నోట గాంధారాలను పలికించి
ఊది పూతలలో పరిమళాలు పూయించి
మిన్నకున్న రాలలో రాగాలు శృతిచేసి
మోడువారిన గుండెలో చిగురుటాశలు రేపి
చిచ్చుకంటి వంటిలో వలపు మంట వెలిగించి
వసంతునికి తిరిగి ఉసురుపోసెను పార్వతి

పురుష సింగమును ప్రసన్ను చేసుకున్న చెంచులక్ష్మి ప్రీతి
కానరాకున్నా కూడరాదన్నా ధవుని చేరవలెనన్న వైదేహి ఆర్తి
వీలుకాదన్న వైరి తమకన్నా మాధవుని కోరుకున్న వైదర్భి భక్తి
అంశ వేరయినా గుర్తురాకున్నా వెంకడిని వెంటాడిన అలివేలు స్ఫూర్తి
వేల్పులకు సైతము తప్పని వియోగ బాధ
విడివడిన ప్రతి ఘటన అదొక ఆరాధనా గాధ
విధి వంచినా తల వంచని శక్తి
గతి మారినా వల్లమాలిన భక్తి

యుక్తి శక్తి భక్తులే పశు ప్రవృత్తికి నివృత్తి
మహిషత్వమును బాపి మానవత్వమును పెంచునీ జాగృతి

Dark Ages

2010-10-01T20:15:00.003-04:00

It is nothing new - fundamentalism, fanaticism and ignorance taking turns plaguing the world; arts, music and literature, the cornerstones of human achievement, extricating itself from the current conditions, fear and uncertainty gripping humanity with no relief or respite in sight; occupations and invasions dominating the news; progress standing still while human race sorted out its differences, excising itself of all the sepsis built over bitter times. As said, it is nothing new, it has happened before, many many times. This cycle of developemnt giving way to doom and doom paving the path for renewed hope, perpetuated itself with varying periodicity. The historians called it the 'Dark Ages' - not just because of the fact that not much was known about it in recorded history, but chiefly because of negative improvement recorded in regard to the human condition. In astronomical speak, whenever a star exhausts all its supply of hydrogen to fuse into helium, decay begins to set in ultimately causing the massive star to collapse in itself and creating a Black Hole, the effect of which causes everything around it to be sucked in, by its gigantic gravitational field. The universe is replete with such Black Holes, just as history is peppered with Dark Ages. Dark Ages might be the historical equivalent of Black Holes, that occur when might empires collapse under the weight of their own unsustainable conditions. This phenomenon was first recorded in history at the turn of first millennium after the fall of the Roman empire, again during the 12th - 14th centuries when Islam and Christianity clashed violently in the name of Crusades, and more recently, just before the world jumped on the bandwagon of industrial revolution. It exhibited similar traits during all these eras - high unemployment, great dissatisfaction, massive unrest, simmering anger, and growing intolerance, all leading to clashes between different walks and ways of life. Sound familiar - the symptoms and the conditions? Does it seem that the Dark Ages are making a strong comeback all over again, even in this day and age of (purported) enlightenment and (perfunctory) embracing of all values humanistic?

At the root of every unrest lies a failed economic system. The unfair taxation that triggered the American revolution, the class differences that fomented the French uprising, the economic disparities (or the excesses of the Czars) that paved the way for communism and various other social upheavals attest to the fact that economic imbalances form the breeding ground of various malaises that fester and eventually rot the system out. Call it imperialism (British), autocracy (Czars), hegemony of the monarchy (France) or dictatorship (Latin America), it is ultimately a chosen few, in whatever shape or form, ruling over a lot of have-not's, clamping down restrictions so as to fiercely protect their own self interests - power and money (depending on the era, one always begot the other). Now, with the benefit of hindsight, one would assume humanity had learned a lesson or two, about how exploitation by the ruling class would always go against those same self interests that they so savagely try to safeguard. But stretching everything till its breaking point seems to be the only way humanity learns about its blunders, and the cycle repeats with a new cast of characters, new theory to espouse, and a new brand of fascism to impose. The dawn of the new millennium has a new master - capitalism.

Who would have thought that model that is supposed to have been founded on democratic principles and meant to foster innovation through a perfect mixture of competition and motivation would turn anything but for different peoples in different pockets of the world. And the reason for the revulsion is not petty envy or just jealousy as the votaries of capitalism would have the naysayers believe. At a theoretical level no economic model - capitalism or socialism - can be faulted with, as the fundamentals and guiding principles are mainly aimed at ameliorating the status quo of the practitioners. Socialism, with public enterprise shouldering the majority of the burden by devising and implementing plans with welfare of the citizenry at its center, soon fell on the wayside, as lack of ownership failed to spark the embers of innovation and motivation, which primarily fuel progress. Sure, socialism did a whole lot of to a segment of population subsisting on meager means, by helping them move a rung up in the social ladder. That it did it merely by providing the fruits of someone else's labor, instead of making the masses work and earn the benefits, worked to its own detriment, as the economic model soon created a welfare state, where rights trumped responsibilities, and entitlements trounced entrepreneur spirit. It became only a matter of time, before the bastions of socialism - USSR, China, India, and some lesser known states from the European Eastern Block and Latin American world, shunned the idea of group welfare for good and whole-heartedly/reluctantly embraced the idea of individual ownership to keep their states from slipping into economic oblivion and becoming social pariahs. And so it was the turn of capitalism this time around, with appealing terms like individuality, enterprise, free spirit and free markets thrown around with gay abandon, to come to the rescue of the woeful world plagued with economic ills. After all, it only seemed natural that if the state caring for the individual (to a fault) didn't work for the society, then the individual looking out for himself should be the (b)right idea to save the society, at least by the converse principles of mathematics. And so the society has setup the right platform for the individual to flourish, prosper and do good for himself, in general, in the hope that what is good for one, at the individual level, should be good for all, at the collective level.

But of course, no one predicted the devastating effects of the greedy instincts in the individual, when singing paeans for capitalism. Motivation, the lack of which is what was said to have failed socialism, ran amuck in the garb of greed, under capitalism, either unwilling to slow down for its own good, or unable to shield itself from the constant clamor for the impossible growth and the resulting profits. The idea of individualism, which was supposed to be at the heart of capitalism, slowly morphed into institutionalism, better known as corporatization. The whole scenario became utterly paradoxical, when individual did not matter in the corporate setup, as long as the results were delivered, and the situation was even dire, when the results didn't meet the expectations. So the individual who deserted one system for the wont of motivation, got passed over by a new system, whose motivations for growth grew beyond, and sometimes in opposition, to the individual's interests. The economists came up with a bunch of theories, whenever the model failed (and it failed as many times as socialism) that shook and shocked the system, leaving behind deep scars and casualty scores - bubbles, market corrections, cyclical growths, bad blood and many such. If governments were ridiculed as grumpy old men, who hated change and therefore held up innovation, when criticizing socialism, corporations should equally be castigated as ravenous and animalistic in a suave appearance with lot of smooth talk, when devouring the cause of common good, as capitalism proved, time and again, to be just another master preying and enslaving the weak and the weary. Sadly, the fallouts of failed economic models have serious ramifications - revolutions, civil wars, even terrorism.

Any movement, legal or otherwise, social or otherwise, is often viewed as an effect, when it should be treated as a symptom to more a grave issue. Religious fundamentalism, presenting itself as terrorism, is the issue du jour of practically every nation in the world, wrongly dubbed by the experts as the clash of the cultures and civilizations, making it sound as though anyone who is opposed to the western liberal school of thought is fundamentally opposed to the idea of liberty and free will, conveniently ignoring that terrorism is a more radical manifestation of economic ills, that surfaces when every single avenue for reasonable protest is shut down, when every single voice rising against the establishment is squelched mercilessly. Opposition spouts out in the form of armed resistance, compelling the establishment to sit up, notice and address the same economic issues of the grieving public that they could have handled much earlier, sans the bloodshed and the heart aches. Pick up any story of armed resistance - from Palestine to Kashmir, from Basque separatists (Spain) to Uighur muslims (China), from FARC militia (Columbia) to the drug cartels (Mexico). While the upper echelon of these struggles cling on to the movement, only to retain say and sway over the masses, the foot soldiers sacrificing themselves at the altars suit up, only to bring to the fore the economic iniquities and injustices, by incentivizing their lives for the sake ideologies. As the world grows more and more competitive, by the ways of governments and corporations fighting for every inch of rich and fertile lands and resources, displacing the downtrodden from their lands, lives and livelihoods, so would be the intensity of armed resistances, the last resort of the desperate, that grows in direct proportion to the expansionist policies. Pick any resource rich country in the African continent and the number of nations that wisely use their natural gifts for the welfare of its subjects, does not exceed the number of digits on one hand. With corporations and foreign governments luring the local governance with sops and trinkets actively encouraging rampant corruption, the prosperity and progress that the explorations and excavations of the resources were supposed to bring dwarfed in comparison to disillusionment that is brewing, simmering and boiling over among the local populace.

Progress cannot be for a chosen few and prosperity can't be hogged by those who can. Devoid of them both, struggle becomes the purpose of the suppressed. Once this purpose is set in stone, no amount of talks, compromises and middle ground ideas can bring them back on the path of least resistance. And this is exactly what is happening around the world. With media, another corporate entity craving for constant profits, hand in glove with the establishment, turning away from its responsibility of portraying the right picture of the prevailing conditions, for the fear of reprisals by the influential, the words 'truth', 'fairness' and 'justice' are held hostage by vested interests. In effect, what should have been an enriching economic model soon improverished an already distraught class, what should have been a free and fair media, thanks to the technological revolutions, became anything but, following the footsteps of the establishment faithfully like a house dog, in the pursuit of profits. And the dark clouds on the future does not seem to be floating away anytime soon. What has been a two-class struggle, between the have's and the have-not's, in the previous collapses of mighty empires, turned into a tug of war, this time around, with the middle class struggling to choose between the have's and have-not's, caught in the middle, trying to gain a foot hold in the upper class, while clinging on to its position in the have-not's. And the onset of the next Dark Age is determined by how soon the middle class gets disillusioned and ultimately defeated (an inevitability) in its purpose of becoming a part of the ruling club, and throws itself back with the lower strata, revolting for a better system, fairer standards and equal treatment.

Thus would start the search for the next -ism, and next -cracy. It has happened before, many times over. And with all the signs pointing in the right condition, there is no reason why it wouldn't happen again. It is time for the historians to add a new chapter to the ongoing saga of 'Dark Ages', with the title reading - 'Greedy times'.

వినాయక చవితి

2010-09-10T03:02:00.003-04:00

Probably no other God exhibits as much vulnerability as Lord Ganesha, beating his father quite handily in the process. After a life-altering battle with Lord Siva right after his taking his first breath, he is left with disproportionate figure quite incongruent with his body. And a mouse to move around, to boot. He runs through the whole gamut of emotions in his very short life span before being left for dead, only to be revived later, all this in spite of being the son of the Supreme. Despite all these handicaps and setbacks, he claws his way to becoming the leader of the 'Ganas' (the action force of the Gods), proving that ultimately will prevails over everything.

నవరస నటపతి

తప్పటడుగులనాడే తండ్రితో తంపులు తెచ్చుకుని
తండ్రి అడుగులననే తుదకు తలకు తెచ్చుకునే
చిట్టి తండ్రుల తోడుకాచే బాల బేలపతి

ఊయలూపవలసిన వేళలలో ఉగ్గడగించు ఊపుతో
నిప్పులురిమే కన్నులతో ఎదుటనిలిచిన నిటాలాక్షుని
విప్పారిన కన్నులతో గన్న భయవిహ్వల మూర్తి

అంతనే...
సతిని బాసిన శివుడు రగిలిపోయిన పోలికలో
తల్లిమాటను శిరసావహించు తనయుడి కర్తవ్యముతో
పోరి వచ్చిన ప్రమధులను పరిమార్చు రుద్ర స్ఫూర్తి

బాలుని కబళించ కదిలిన ప్రళయ కాలుని సేనను
ఎదిరించి వణకించి ద్రుంచి హరించి
కడకు విరూపాక్షునే బరిలోకి దించిన వీరత్వము

ఈసునితో
వైరముతొ కాదు వరముతో నెగ్గవలెనన్న కిటుకు
ఈ సుతునికి
భీభత్స యుద్ధావసానమున త్రిశూలమునకు తెగివడిన తల
విడి వడిన మొండెమునకు తెలిపిన బాధాకర సత్యము

కపర్ది అపరీక్షిత శూరత్వ కారిత్వము
మాతృ మనోక్లేశ విదారక దృశ్య కారకము
సమయానుకూలముగ గజాసుర వర వృత్తాంతము
కలసి జరిపె భిన్న రాసుల సం యోజనాద్భుతము

ప్రాణ ప్రతిష్టయందు మాతృత్వమంద తొందరలో
జీవన రేఖ దిద్ద మరచిన ప్రాణాంతక పొరపాటును
విధాత ఈ పరి సరిచేసి ఉసురు పోసి
పార్వతి కందించె స్వస్థ సుందర శాంత రూపము

కరి వదనము కురచ కాయము
చిట్టిపొట్టకు చుట్టుబిగిసిన నాగబంధము
ఓపలేని బరువును మోయలేని వాహనము
విరియించిన నవ్వులను నిలబెట్టు వేడుకైన విగ్రహము

నటరాజు తత్వము పుణికి పుచ్చుకున్న నాట్యపతి
లయధరుని లాస్యమును వంట పట్టించుకున్న లీలాగతి
వెరసి వరలె సమ్మోహన నవరస నటపతి గణపతి

Faraway Vision(ary)

2010-08-20T04:27:00.004-04:00

It comes as a surprise to no one that the news that Doordarshan has finished its 50th lap in the service of the nation a little while ago, went totally unnoticed, quite in tune with the dwindling viewership of the struggling channel. But what a journey it has been to the has-been master broadcaster, which always had the first dibs on anything and everything that transpired anywhere till not so long ago. The first 30 years has seen it emerge as the default victor, by virtue of non-existent competition and the last 20, finding it dead last in every heat, courtesy all its dead weight, bureaucracy, the fat that it couldn't seem to shake off to remain at least competitive, leave alone among the winners, in the open race. If one were to chart Doordarshan's ascendancy, and its subsequent fall from grace and out of the race, it would resemble a plain inverted 'V', with no variations in between. Just as it was 'THE ONE', literally and figuratively, during its days of supremacy, and total hegemony, it quickly became 'THAT OTHER ONE', once the playing field has been leveled. Sure, it is still active in some quarters, particularly when broadcasting sports held in the country, which it wrested through some administrative arm twisting antics, but in the rest, it is fair to say that Doordarshan has seen its fruit-bearing days and the future appears bleak, if not totally lost or hopeless.

Well, it brought all this upon itself, grudgingly say many, with its ham-handed way of dealing both with its administration and its programming, and therefore doesn't deserve even the slightest sympathy when things do not seem to go well for the state-run television. The issue is not with it being a public sector undertaking (which of late seem to have lost the shine and sheen in the current capitalist marketplace) as that other state run enterprise from UK, the BBC, seem to be doing pretty fine for itself, remaining lean, mean and hungry for the current age of overloaded bandwidths and information asphyxiations. So, is it just ours, the duck that laid golden eggs, that was strangled with greed and avarice rendering it barren, inconsequential and useless? Yes, would be too simplistic a reply, but the real answer lies somewhere between faulty management, outdated programming and changing standards of the society. What is now touted as fair play, a level playing field, for private enterprises to finally have the approval and the wherewithal to compete with Doordarshan, on closer inspection, isn't fair at all on any measured standard. But then it is too late to cry 'foul play' on part of Doordarshan, with its unfair trade practices and monopolistic strange-hold that it once exerted on the airwaves, before the era of liberalization. But that's on the business end of things. On the creative side, the story was completely different.

To make a fair comparison, how many programs on the countless channels today can measure up to Doordarshan's offerings of high quality, informative, educational, entertaining programming of yester years - Bharat Ek Khoj, Chanakya, Tamas, Surabhi, Buniyaad and many such - that weren't just mindless fodder for the lazy mind? To put it differently, how many private channels of today's world can boast of being socially relavant, as Doordarshan was during its heyday? And it is just not for lack of other avenues that such programs of substance invariably found their home at Doordarshan. Social responsibility was a necessary burden that state run media had to shoulder no matter the cost, and it is a luxury that the private enterprise can conveniently choose to ignore. After all, it is the government's duty to care for its citizens, isn't it? And this is the prime reason, more than the mismanagement, that saw Doordarshan fall out of step with the current entertainment driven generation's mindset. It is much easier to provoke than to exercise restraint, much profitable to promote profligacy than to preach judiciousness, much 'too cool' to turn anti-establishment than to stick to values. And the loss of Doordarshan's is not just of its own, but of the very social fabric of the country.

It is not merely a subjective opinion nor is it a fond longing for the long lost times to say that the programming on Doordarshan was far superior in content, if not on the presentation, even by the present day standards. That it had to achieve this without ruffling the sensibilities and sensitivities of a wide diaspora of diverse cultures that extended through the lengths and breadths of a vast nation was no mean feat. Its hard stance on airing the controversial series 'Tamas' against the protests of fundamental elements in the country, its news division's sensitive handling of the Babri Masjid demolition and its aftermath, its steadfast loyalty towards preserving and promoting harmony - religious and cultural - of the land, would put to shame what passes off as television nowadays. Constraints, by ways of sensitivities, and restraints, by being the mouthpiece of the motherland, forced it to find a middleground, where news was simply handed down to the public without coloring it with a broad opinionated brush first. News, back then, meant what just happened, and never what it meant. And it is not just with the news that Doordarshan would stand head above shoulders over its current competition.

Agriculture, art and culture, the three cornerstones of any civilization figured prominently in its program lineup. What was then ridiculed as substandard programming concentrating on trivial aspects of agriculture and animal husbandry, now finds a greater resonance in the calamitous news of global food shortage, environment taking a hit with improper agricultural practices or the extinction of certain bird species altogether owing to lack of understanding of ecological balances. And all of a sudden proper raising procedures of piglets do not sound ridiculous anymore, now, does it? And not enough can be said for the yeoman service that Doordarshan did to the cause of arts and culture, promoting them at every given opportunity. With the recent UNESCO report that everyday a language and a culture are losing their way and way of life adopting the ways and means of 'mainstream', Doordarshan's efforts to turn the spotlight on the cultures of the far-flung regions and the arts of deserted peoples, was not just laudable but indeed noble. Granted the programs didn't have the glitz and glamor of the tinsel-town chaff, granted they never enjoyed the patronage of corporate sponsors, granted it was, at times, difficult to sit through the amateurish presentations, but the efforts of the staff - the producers, the researchers, the promoters - who have gone to great lengths crisscrossing the country, unearthing such hidden gems and gave them a platform to perform, deserve all the praise and applause. And this job of covering the arts and culture was much more than mere discharging the daily duties and obligation of the job, it calls for patience, perseverance, and more, passion - the three aspects that is virtually nonexistent in the current profit motivated private enterprise. All the above rendered Doordarshan for a little more than three decades an important seat at the table of relevancy, as people heard, discussed and listened to what Doordarshan had to say about. And with all this, it couldn't have asked for more.

From there, the curse of being casted into oblivion was as much the result of changing trends as much as it was self-inflicted. Being saddled with the responsibility of shilling for the party in power, the credibility of Doordarshan was always called in question and the clamor for relaxing the rules for private enterprise to compete with the official media on an even keel grew with every election cycle. And so in the 90's along with the liberalization measures initiated by the government to bring the foreign investments in to ease the burden on the public sector, and to kick start growth on the private side. The advent of the private media saw a sharp turn in the quality of the programming offered not just by them, but also of Doordarshan's. And the coining of the word 'infotainment' as though the bitter pill of information has to be sweet coated with easily digestible entertainment for public consumption, spelled doom for everything that stood for quality, credibility, integrity and intelligence. News has been reduced to opinions and perspectives quickly replaced partisanship, and the Goebbels' mantra that the public would come to believe even a blatant lie, if repeated over and over, became the founding principle of the private news media. Add to that the unholy alliance of the corporate world and news media, each badly needing the other for survival, slammed the final nail in the coffin of objective news reporting. And the impossibility of the task for Doordarshan to suddenly shift from being an unperturbed balanced observer of the proceedings to becoming an active participating, partisan and passionate party to the politics, proved too much for its taste. The shrieking and the shouting matches of the talking and bobbing heads brought news down to a new low standard that Doordarshan was neither equipped nor willing to go under. And that ended the age of fair play on news day.

And the less said about entertainment, the better. Despite the ample coverage on arts and culture, Doordarshan had always had a healthy dose of entertainment programming on a weekly basis, that was moderate, satisfying and just enough. Having made a conscious choice of ignoring the indigenous culture of the land, the private media quickly settled on movie based, movie related and movie coated morass to account for much of the broadcasting time. With far much easier production standards to meet, and with far less production costs, movie based programming became the savior of private media, one that beat the arts and culture programming of Doordarshan handily and by a large margin, thanks to the changing tastes of a lazy audience. Of course a film based program is easily consumable compared to dance recital or a vocal rendition, and the chances that more people would be drawn to the former are far more, and with more people watching cometh more advertising money into play, and thus was born the vicious cycle of rating-programming, with merit or quality of the program no where in play. Caught between societal obligations of having to cater to the diversity by promoting the flavor of the land, and the business diktats of the market to reinvent itselt alongside the 'dirty cheap and quick' channels, Doordarshan now stands at the crossroads held hostage to changing times and growing pressures. And there is no magic bullet no where in sight as it now stands too old to adapt and too rigid to change . All it could probably do is keep doing what it has been known for, and hope for the jaded audience overdosed on excess, to return to their roots. Short of that, it could always take comfort in the fact that it truly stood by its motto - Satyam Sivam Sundaram - for however long it could stand for, with its head held high...and for 30 years, to boot.

Re-Kindle

2010-05-04T00:26:00.002-04:00

...and thus started a new era where books are chopped up into bits and bytes and traded and distributed electronically. One can always count on Apple to reinvent the wheel, redesign it better and repackage it as the 'must have gadget' of the season. Now that there are enough players in the field to constitute a quorum, an 'open season' has been declared on books. And the nature of the game is what the marketing suits would always love to pronounce it - a paradigm shift. True, the tectonic plates that have held the worlds of printing and publishing together for all these centuries are slowly but surely shifting. What has essentially remained the same from the days of the parchments down to today's world of recycled paper, is undergoing a radical shift in the delivery process, to do away with the hassles of chopping up the trees, crushing them into pulp, processing the pulp into fine grade paper, and instead deal in nothing but ether. With practically every other computer and publishing company jumping in the fray and contribute their might into 'killing' paper (aah! the irony!), in the process boasting their credentials as an environmental friendly green company, it is fairly apparent that books, as we know them, are soon going to be buried, epitaph prepared, and eulogy already written. And before long, electronic readers are going to be as ubiquitous as miniature music players that are currently firmly plugged into the ear buds of the world. Well, what's not to like about them - they are compact, portable and even good looking, making them utterly utilitarian and quite a fashion statement at the same time, a feat that is rarely achieved. There is no inconvenience of turning the page, folding the dog ears, breaking the spine, and more importantly, stowing away the book in some remote corner of the shelf after being done with. There is also, and this is for the possessive yet shy kind, no hassle of lending the book and then worry eternally about its return to the rightful owner. And in case of publications of risque kind, there is no going to extra lengths of trying to be secretive of hiding the book in secret nooks of the bookshelf, which automatically takes care of the privacy concerns in one click. So what's not to like about them - ease of use, storage and disposal, convenience of sharing, with the added benefit of secrecy. The same reasons that had made digital media so popular in the music business would apply equally to the publishing world, or does it?

Though economic reasons for this new delivery method can be hard to argue against and the environmental gains tough to brush away, it is not a fair comparison of the music business to the print world, in it, they cater to different senses and sensibilities altogether. In music distribution, the art work and the little liner notes that enveloped the LP/tape/CD might have been a fair trade off, as the primary focus was all on music, and these great add-ons were merely the icing. And so, the transition from a medium based delivery to a formless and stateless method didn't involve a great change of habit and lifestyle (though hardcore music fans would like to say otherwise). But books are an entirely different beast. Whereas music didn't involve the sensory input of touch, a book engages not just the eyes, but sense of feel to satisfactorily accomplish the act of reading. The feel of the book, the rumple of the sheets, the cracking of the paper add up the to much needed aural affirmation, that a click of the mouse, the sleight of the hand against a glossy screen can never hope to achieve. Reading a book is not merely about taking in the contents of the presentation. There is a special challenge and accomplishment that come up with leafing through a book that is outside of grasping the essence of it. Back in the (hey)day of the internet boom, everyone thought of ways of replacing every aspect around living with digital counterparts. Have a grocery list? - worry not, just punch in the list in a website and it would be delivered at the doorstep, looking for furniture? - a click and mortar site is as good as any brick and mortar showroom for a fraction of the cost, need dog food? - check, and in some extreme cases, even assisted suicide - check. Mankind was so hellbent on saving a few extra bucks on storage and delivery that, for a while there, to every problem that plagued mankind, there was a website and delivery was electronic. And luckily for every one idea that clicked (Amazon), there are hundred others that failed miserably (furniture.com, beautyspot.com) and the commonality in the ones the failed involved the much needed look, touch and feel. So with that posing as a major impediment for the electronic consumption of books, would history play a spoil sport again and reassert itself ruling that certain things are off-limits to bits and bytes no matter the savings, or would technology find a way to overcome this issue and design and deliver an experience replete with the crumpling and the soiled effects that comes close to reading a book?

Apart from the touchy aspects of reading a book in its intended form, there are certain tertiary elements that could never be replicated in scrolling through a hand-held device, and that is the sense of anticipation that comes with the cracking open the book for the first time, and the sense of elation upon finishing the last word on the last page and waiting for a few seconds letting the sense of accomplishment sweep over, before shutting it close and marking the territory as conquered. No matter how much the marketing people trumpet the benefits of the E-Reader, unless there is some technology in the works that can recreate the effects of weight, the fad of browsing a hardcover or a paperback would soon die down in the tedium of never-changing, unimaginative and boring interface. Since each book has its own unique design - tall, short, dense, thin - there is a different satisfaction index that is coupled tightly to each రేading experience. Reading a tall, near square paperback TinTin printed on a glossy sheet, wherein sometimes a single frame would take up an entire single-side sheet laid out in exquisite detail, would tower over the equivalent electronic exercise of scrolling up and down, left and right, and the experience, at the least, is incomparable. At the end of the day, one would remember a book, not just by its contents, but also by its cover, howevermuch the proverb tries to impress upon the contrary. And to think all these sizes, shapes, designs, artwork, detailing, and yes even the smell (of a used book, particularly) would lie waste in the digital battlefields losing out to the pricing juggernaut, is a future that is strictly skeletal stripped off the flesh and blood, and in case of picture books, even the soul.

While some publications - newspapers, magazines and other throwaway periodicals - which have very short shelf life would make sense to exist only as their electronic avatars, books, the measure of progress of a culture or a civilization, should never be encouraged to leap frog into an ultimately self-defeating and a self-destructive distributive medium. After all, if one can't distinguish one book from the other and the act of recollection entails a lot of confusion since the brain has only raw text to go with and nothing else to go by, what good is it if one hasn't gone through the scroll-ful books in the first place at all. Because our storage mechanism works entirely different to a machine's, in that, we store memories not as raw data but, in fact, as a composite of data, images, touch, smell, feel, and (unbelievable as it may sound) even exact page contexts (ever had that nagging feeling that you can picture a particular line at the beginning/end of the page, even when you quite can't recollect the contents?). And until we invent something down the line that would trigger the same parts in the brain as reading a physical book does, all that an electronic reader can offer at this point of time is mere bragging rights. And that is just not worth losing/tossing a book over....yet.

శ్రీ రామ నవమి

2010-03-23T11:28:00.003-04:00

వనమాలి

తండ్రి మాటను గౌరవించి రాజ్యమును త్యజించిన
పితృవాక్య నిబద్ధుడు దశరధ రాముడు
అన్న అర్హతను గ్రహించి రాచరికము తృణీకరించిన
ఉచితేంగితఙ్ఞుడు తమ్ముడు భరతుడు
సహధర్మమును పాటించి
అన్న మాటన కానలకు నడిచె తన సుదతి
ఋజువర్తనమునెరిగి
అన్న బాట బట్టిరి సర్వమూ పరిత్యాజించి తోబుట్టు సమితి
ప్రాణములు తృణములు జేసి తన కీర్తి నినుమడింపజేయు
ఈ త్యాగధనులను పొందుటకు రాముడెంతటి పుణ్యమ్ము జేసెనో

తప్త హృదయులు బారులు తీరిన రాచబాటలతో
భగ్న మనసులు పరివేష్టితమైన రాచకొలువులో
మాట తప్పని బాటకు పట్టమును గట్టి
పాదుకలకే పట్టాభిషేకము జేసి
రామరాజ్యమునకు భరతుడాయె రాజ ముద్ర
పొంగి పొరలు గుండె దిటవు చేసుకున్న శోక సముద్ర

పూల పరివారము బారులు తీరిన రాచబాటలతో
వన్య పరిజనము పరివేష్టితమైన రాచకొలువులో
కువకువల కిలకిలల వేదమంత్రాల నడుమ
వృక్షజాతుల వందిమాగధ కీర్తనల గరిమన
రామరాజ్యమారంభమాయె చిత్రకూట వనవాసమున
రాచరికము నెరిపె తాపసికులు వింత వేషభూషలన

యుగాది

2010-03-15T05:25:00.001-04:00

కళ్యాణ పత్రిక

పూదావి గంధాలు నలుమూలలా అద్ది
పూదేనె పలుకులతో ఒడలెల్లా దిద్ది
పుప్పొళ్ళ అక్షతలతో పునీతము జేసి
పిల్ల గాలులతో పంపు పెండ్లి పిలుపు ఇది

విరబూసిన పువ్వుల విప్పారిన నేత్ర
ముద్దబంతి మోముతో ముద్దులొలుకు ముఖపత్ర
మత్తకోకిల సుస్వరాల సుమధుర గాత్ర
సర్వ వర్ణాలు రంగారు శుభ్ర వస్త్ర
వెరసి నిత్య నూతన కళత్ర మా వధువు

చెరుకు చాపము చేత ధరించి
కాల చక్రముల రుతురధమును అధిరోహించి
శిశిరముతో సమరమున సర్వజితుడై
పరాక్రమమున ప్రకృతుని దక్కించుకున్న
చూడ చక్కని చెలికాడు మా వరుడు

మోడువోయిన చెట్లు చిగురు వేసిన సుముహూర్తాన
మూగవోయిన లతలు మారాకు తొడిగిన మంచి లగ్నాన
పరచి పోయినట్ట్లున పచ్చని వేదికన జరుగు
వాసంతీ వసంతుల వివాహ వేడుక ఇది

యేటేటా జరుగు మనువుకు జగమెల్ల పులకించు పండుగ ఇది
ప్రకృతీ పురుషుల సమాగమమునకు నాంది పలుకు ఉత్సవమీ ఉగాది

Sivaraatri

2010-02-11T12:43:00.005-05:00

విరాగి

చేతనాచేతనల మాయా జగతికి మూలపురుషుడైన నీవు
కార్యాకారణముల కర్తృత్వ కర్తవ్యమును నెరిపేటి నీవు
సృష్టి తత్వమగు త్రికాల జ్ఞానమును తేటపరచుకున్న నీవు
ధ్యాన ముద్ర లోన మరి దేనిని తెలుసుకోగోరేవు పరేశా?
అస్థిత్వమునకే అతీతమైన నీకు తెలియనిది ఏది?
ఏ స్థాయిన ప్రాణమంతరించి పోయి భావమే మనునో
ఏ స్థితిన భగవంతమంతమై భక్తియే మిగులునో
ఏ భౄమధ్యమున జ్ఞానజ్యోతి అఖండమై వెలుగునో
ఆ అలౌకికమును అర్ధ నిమీలితనమున దర్శింతువా నిటాలాక్షా

కన్న బిడ్డల మురిపెమును తీర్చు పిచ్చి తండ్రి వలె
వేడిన తడవునే కొంగు బంగారమై నిలుచు వరదాయీ
జీర్ణ వస్త్రమును దాల్చి కపాల పాత్రను పట్టి
భిక్షుక భూష లోన దేనినాశించేవు సదా శివా?
కాంక్షను కార్చిచ్చున రగిల్చిన నీకు కావల్సినది ఏది?
ఏ విభూతి లేపనముతో వాసనల తడి దరి చేరదో
ఏ అర్ధాన్వేషణమున సత్యావిష్కారమున కాస్కారముండునో
ఏ క్రియావిశేషమున తామసాహములు పారద్రోలబడునో
ఆ తిరుపరి వేషమున కామ్యరాహిత్యమును కోరుకుందువా కపర్దీ

నిర్వికల్ప యోగము నీ యోచనా బలము
నిస్సంగత్వ గుణము నీ యాచనా ఫలము

Media(o)cr(e)acy - news business - electronic

2010-01-26T17:00:00.004-05:00

Newspapers had it made for more than half a century, before the marketplace madness started to corrode their credibility. The smoke filled board rooms and dust filled store rooms would speak volumes of all the actions that made up real news reporting - gathering, filtering, judging, deciding and finally printing. The number of levels that were put in place between gathering and printing made sure that only such news items that bubbled its way up the thinking heads' ladder earned its right to occupy the finite real estate in the fourth estate. Two things worked majorly newspapers during their halcyon days - premium on space and lack of immediacy. And it is in this second arena, immediacy, that the newspapers are getting clobbered by its brash brother, the latest entrant to the game, the 24 hrs news coverage on the TV, and ultimately would redefine the way newspapers think about news reporting. The point when all news reporting started to climb down the credibility hill can be traced back to the exact moment when CNN announced the world's first 24 hr news channel - ALL NEWS ALL THE TIME, and suddenly both the handicaps that newspapers had to contend with, space and time, turned in the TV's favor, with its seemingly unlimited bandwidth (talk time) to devote to issues, and all that, while the events were unfolding in front of the eyes. Like it is always with the inventions started off with good intentions that somehow can't seem to shake off unwanted side effects (dynamite, splitting of the atom), not many could foresee the damaging effects of the 24 hrs news, beyond the space and time advantages. And the kind of reporting received even more impetus, when for the first time in the history of human civilization, a war was beamed live (if you can discount Sanajaya's running commentary on the Kuruskhetra war to Drutharashtra), together with the commercial interruptions, to millions of households first during the Gulf war in 1991 when US drove Iraq out of Kuwait. It was hailed as the greatest moment in television broadcast history, beating out Neil Armstrong's baby steps on the moon. What more could be proud moment for a country, when the entire world turned up as an audience to American mighty military histrionics, enacted on the global stage, broadcasted by an American network, with reporters on the ground and commentators in the studio, playing diligently the role of the stage hands. Hail the American spectacle!

The 24hr news cycle couldn't hope for a better advertisement - all's well that started well. And it really thrived when it had something substantial to report on - the 9/11 tragedy, the natural disasters round the globe, and the like. But what about the off-days, the one that White House fondly dubs as the "Taking out the trash days", when there is nothing important to report on, no pressing issue to talk about, nothing of any consequence on the horizon to spin yarns about. It is with this issue that the 24hrs news cycle turned on itself, diminishing its own role, undercutting its own importance. The problem was it never knew how/when to shut itself up, and its own advantage over the newspaper became its own undoing. There is a childhood story that comes to mind which applies quite aptly to this predicament. Vexed up with the tirades and the offensives launched by the wife for not sharing his part of the duties and the responsibilities, a magician husband conjures up a workaholic genie and gifts it to his wife on her birthday. The genie would patiently patiently perform any and every task assigned to it without any grouse, and the wife couldn't be any happier of her husband's thoughtful gift. There's however a catch (isnt' there always?) though - the genie has to have something assigned to it to keep it engaged, and that means, all 24 hours, 7 days, 365 days. Otherwise it would turn on its own masters. Clean the entire house - blink of an eye, do all the chores - snap of a finger, till the arable land - without breaking the sweat. Every few minutes the genie would return to the wife with a 'now what' expression, and even before the end of the first day with her new toy, the wife realizes that the gift of the genie was more than what she bargained for. (Catching on to the similarity here?) Like the Eagles' 'Hotel California' song, 'you can always check in, you can never check out', the 24hr news became an unwitting, unwanted, unwelcomed guest in every household that no one can seem to uninvite anymore. At least the magician in the parable above was smart enough to think on his feet and assign the genie the task of straightening his dog's crooked tail, thus getting rid of the problem for good. Is there even such a reset button to the shut off this (dis)information spew, or has it sailed past the fail safe point? But what has the news cycle done to become the most reviled innovation from being the most revered just a little more than a decade ago?

To answer that question, let's stick to the basic rule of any investigation - follow the money - and that automatically would lead to the motivation. Fair enough. Imagine the scenario of a rich entrepreneur willing to start a new 24hr news channel (like the umpteen that mushroomed all over the cable space in the past few years). Rather than try to second guess the motives and reverse engineer the machinations of the existing media houses, a clearer understanding of the practices of fledgling news network to eke out a living in the current marketplace would help grasp the key reasons behind the contribution of the electronic media to the downfall of news reporting. So the moneybags are in place to bankroll a new channel. Before plunking down the first penny, the powers that be usually decide upon a mission statement. No, this is not that mission statement that is released to the press, as to how it would uphold the values and ethics of journalism and work steadfastly on the side of the people in the constant pursuit of the truth. This mission statemetn is more the promise that it makes to the insiders, particularly its investors. What is it that the founder of the network precisely promises his investors - that no matter the cost or consequence, the network would always place the news above the business, even it means going against the vested interests of its own investors? Or would it be fair to assume that the founder promises the investors to have their investment recouped in no time, and more, get paid top dividend from time to time, just like any other business would promise to its investors? After all, who would want to see their investments employed for losing/charitable causes, unless explicitly expressed so. So, news organization or otherwise, the investors are in the game for the returns (monetary or political). And before anyone knew, the network is in the market fighting for survival, elbowing and edging out of the competition like in any other business, except here, quality does not always come out on the top, as the consumer is in the market for an altogether different commodity, when shopping for news - entertainment, and not mere information. And the race is one of how best to mix entertainment and information, in a way that is seductive and addictive, and whoever has the right formula wins the game.

Why and how did it come down to this, is a different argument for another day. Obviously, the first network that did this, becoming wildly successful in the process, opened the Pandora's box forcing the other networks to follow suit. The name of the game became how to sugar coat the bitter pill of even the most boring news with a wistful taste of entertainment, so as to appeal to the end audience better. Take any news program on any news network and observe if the aim of the program is to entertain or to inform. The motivation of the network is pretty simple. The more people tune in, the greater the popularity; the greater the popularity, the madder is the rush of the companies to book the advertising slots, and thereby, more revenue. There are no hidden angles here to see through the game. If the news dissemination operation is indeed a business enterprise, then none of what the channels resort to, to attract more viewers, would seem as unfair, unholy or unjust. After all, the same practices are widespread in other sectors - propaganda, falsification, exaggeration, over-simplification and many such. How many businesses in the world have thrived on honesty and integrity alone without ever walking on the wrong side of the road even once? So why all this venom towards news organizations alone? What is exceptional business acumen, to increase revenue and profits in other sectors, is pandering and fear-mongering in the news business? Why this double standard? The answer is simple. News reporting is not and should never be treated on par with any other regular business in the first place. News is public property in the public domain and should not be profited upon. News enterprises should be always non-profit in nature like any other philanthropic or charitable organization, equipped with only enough revenue to cover the operating costs, as clearly there seems to be a conflict of interests between profits and news, profits and public welfare.

This discrimination between news business and the rest is primarily because of the former's far reaching influence and the effect that it has on its consumers, well beyond what is normally applicable and accepted to any other business. As an example, consider the news story that made rounds a few years ago that a certain soft drink had traceable amounts of pesticides in it, and therefore harmful for consumption. Had this been played outside of the television arena, the company would have quickly recalled its product, sent it for lab analysis, published the findings that disproved the false allegations, set the PR wheels in motion and went about its way. And what about the recent case of another wild accusation hurled at another corporate house of orchestrating the death of sitting chief minister, where the news channels went overboard amping up the decibel level on this incredulous story picked up from a tabloid site. In both the cases, losses to the tune of the millions were incurred by the companies below the flames were contained. It needs to be argued, in what other line of business can such inflammable statements be made and stories be concocted with impunity and with all the credibility of the accuser in tact at the end of it all. Which makes it even stronger a case to regulate the news business and bring it under the non-profit umbrella.

Sensationalism became a short cut to success, when dealing with the news stories. The tags 'explosive', 'breaking news', 'investigative', 'hidden camera' became synonymous for sensationalism as the news is angled more to titillate the viewers than to educate. Inciting, infuriating and inflaming became the standard tools (tricks) of the trade leaving sensitivity, restraint and objectivity long behind. The objective of the game became how best to polarize the audience by taking the extreme stand points, pitting people on both sides of the fence against each other, one to defend and the other to attack. And lost in all the verbal jousts and shout fests packaged in the form of opinions and reports that surreptitiously push through the agendas of the corporate backers, is the original noble intention of the news, which is to inform and ultimately educate the viewer of the issue. Amid all the cacophony, what becomes of the naive, nascent, young, gullible and impressionable viewer who starts getting his share of the social ways and political plays of the world through the only source of news known to him - the TV? The situation looks bleak with no signs of any improvement, and worse, there seems to be nothing around to stop him from turning either into a cynic who is completely disillusioned with the system or a rabid ideologue who can view the world only through the monochromatic lens of good/bad, right/wrong, with nothing in between. Both these situations are equally undesirable, particularly at this time when today's youth have already turned their backs on anything that is remotely connected to politics. Can't this vicious cycle of self-perpetuating half-truths and hard opinions be broken and things be returned to more moderate middle ground? The solution is quite simple, and all that it needs is the discipline to stick with it. The viewer, on whom majority of the onus resides, has to own up to his own viewing habits and attack the channels where it hurts most - their money purses. Turn off/away from the networks that constantly practice polarization and remain fixated on wedge issues, just to aggravate the viewer, without offering any kind of workable solution to what they perceive as an issue. The reason why the networks turned into propagandists, money, should be the same reason why they should bring back sanity to their mad cap proceedings. In the current crowded marketplace of constantly warring opinions, the viewer has to seek out other sources of objective, non-opinionated, balanced news reporting which are not influenced by the unholy nexus of corporate agendas and profit motives. Evolution, in the social and corporate world, has proved time and again that mighty empires have met their doom unable to sustain the success built on canards and propaganda. And in the sincere wish that the end is near, objectivity lies patiently waiting in the wings, willing to be rediscovered all over again.

Sankraanti

2010-01-10T11:00:00.005-05:00

క్రొత్త కాంతి

నులి వెచ్చని ఎండల మెత్తని పిలుపులతో జత కలసిన
చల్లగాలి చక్కిలిగింతల పులకరింతల పలకరింపులకు
బద్ధకపు బరువున వాలిన వరికంకులు లయబద్ధముగ తలలూచు
పచ్చని దుప్పట్లు పరచిపోయినట్లున్న పంట చేలలో
వడ్ల గింజల విందులతో కౌజు పిట్టల అతిధులకు ...

చాలు...చాలు....
ఈ ఊహాలోకాల భావనా విహారాలు ఇక చాలు
రగులుతున్న వర్తమానము మీద నివురుగప్పుతున్న
ఈ కాల్పనిక కవిత్వాల నిస్సారపు నుసి ఇక చాలు
కళ్ళెదుట కదలాడు చేదు నిజాల చద్ది కరుళ్ళు జీర్ణించుకోలేక
అతి తేలికగ అరిగే ఈ అవాస్తవాల పరమాన్నాలకై అర్రులు ఇక చాలు
సమస్యల ముల్లు కర్రతో కర్తవ్యమును గుర్తు చేయ పొద్దుటే తట్టిలేపే
బాధ్యతల తీవ్రతను చూడలేక కళ్ళ మీదకు లాక్కునే నిరాశక్తపు ముసుగులు ఇక చాలు
ప్రబలుతున్న విష సంస్కృతిని ఎలుగెత్తి నిరసించే ధైర్యము చాలక
చాటు గదులలో చేరి ప్రాకృతిక శోభల ఉబుసుపోక ఊక దంపుళ్ళు ఇక చాలు

చితి మంటలతో చలి మంటలను రాజేసుకుని
రక్తపుటేర్లతో రంగవల్లులని తీర్చిదిద్దుకుని
తలలొంచుకుని నడిచిపోవు గంగిరెద్దు జనుల జీవితాలలో
హాహాకార సంకీర్తనలతో దద్దిరిల్లుతున్న ఈ పవిత్ర భూమిలో
ప్రతి పూటా నిత్య సంక్రాంతే ప్రతి నాటా దహన సంస్కృతే

గంజి నీళ్ళకు సైతం ఆనకట్టలు కట్టి
పబ్బం గడుపుకునే అరాజకీయానికి అడ్డుకట్ట వేయాలి
బీటలేసిన నేలనందు కూడ ముళ్ళ కంచెలు జుట్టి
ఆత్మీయతల నడుమ నిలిపిన అడ్డుగోడలను పునాదుల కూడ పెకలించి వేయాలి
పంచభూతాల పందేరాలు చేయ ప్రాంతీయతా విద్వేషాలు వెలిగ్రక్కు
వైష్యమ్యాల విలయతాండవమునకు చరమ గీతము పాడాలి
స్వార్ధ ప్రయోజనాల గర్భ కుహరాల నుండి బయల్వడి
పరుల బాగుననే స్వప్రయోజనముందన్న వెలుగులోకి రావాలి
భవిత మీద ప్రసరించు వర్తమానపు విలువల మెరుపులు
భావి తరాలకు కోటి కాంతుల సంక్రాంతులీనాలి

Media(o)cr(e)acy - news business - print

2009-12-08T15:29:00.005-05:00

What exciting times these are, standing at the doorstep of the great technological leap. There is no other time in recorded history, where people are this aware of what is happening to/with one another, right at the moment of the transpiring of the event. They called it NEWS, before technology took over and reshaped the word as INFORMATION. Ask any grade-school kid, what NEWS stands for and pat would come the reply - NORTH, EAST, WEST, SOUTH. The acronym worked well in the B.T (Before Technology) era. Because of the dearth and demand of the newsprint, only what was deemed fit to print as decided by a group of wise men sequestered in smoke filled rooms, eventually made it to the newspapers; thereby, whatever made the final cut after much deliberations, considerations and much scrutiny, bore the official stamp NEWS. Most of the times, whatever was published in newspapers was accepted on its face value, and arguments and opinions were expressed after the fact, after the NEWS was published. If the INDIAN EXPRESS (and its brethren from the fourth estate) decided and published that the imposing of Emergency in 1975 by Indira Gandhi was unconstitutional and even evil , there never were any questions as to who made that judgment call and how that conclusion was arrived at, nor were aspersions casted against the editorial boards by the general public accusing them of rabble rousing, simply because the people running the paper were at odds ideologically with the government. The integrity of the information was never a casualty of petty perspectives. The aftermath of the Watergate scandal during the second term of Richard Nixon's presidency (mid 1970s) revealed the role of editorial boards of the newspaper which broke the story first, as to how much discretion and restraint they observed, when tying a few low level operatives, who broke in the Democratic headquarters in Watergate hotel, to the White House and the eventually the President himself. Until there was a solid proof, not speculative, not circumstantial, not hearsay, but solid verifiable and corroborative proof, that caught the President's hand in the cookie-jar, the board flatly refused to publish anything against the President, however much sensational (and eventually profitable) the story would had been to the newspaper (Washington Post).

Just three decades later, when the technological revolution has swept through the entire world, the term NEWS no longer applied to whatever important happend, but instead got modified to whatever happened. While on end of the spectrum stood quintessential journalism (the Woodwards, the Bernsteins, the N.Rams, the Chitra Subramaniams and such honorable lot), the other side is packed with instigators, flame-throwers, gossip-mongers and rabble rousers, turning journalism into sleaze. And no, this is not the kind of yellow/tabloid journalism, that whets the voyeuristic appetite concerning celebrity gossip. At least there is a certain amount of honesty in that kind of flesh trade. People know what they are buying, and what they are buying for. Sleaze is the much more dangerous form, opinionated journalism, masking itself as NEWS. But doesn't NEWS (not the traditional reporting of facts variety, but the editorializing kind) always come bearing an opinion, a perspective? Yes and No. Depending on the facts and merits of the case, just as a judge in the court of the law presiding over a case decides what is right/wrong, the editor is entrusted with the grave responsibility of deciding it for the masses, whether a piece of NEWS is indeed beneficial to the society, and therefore worth writing about, or would send out the wrong signals, and therefore worth withholding. Call it self-censorship or self-restraint, but the practice has been in place, since the advent of the newspapers, and the primary intention behind it being, the greater good. That is the duty of the editor, to provide the information, a proper place in the grand scheme of things, as the objective of NEWS, is not only to just inform, but also educate, and thereby improving the status quo. As an example, consider the piece of irrefutable NEWS that global warming is harmful for the planet in the long run. But the pressure applied by the developed nations on other developing nations to cut down on the emissions, at the cost of the productivity and the growth of the latter, is the perspective that throws a completely different light on the same piece of information, educating its readers of the unforseen dimensions in the said NEWS.

But sadly editors are humans too, with emotions, beliefs, convictions, and worse, prejudices and biases, empowered to skew the information at their disposal to suit their persuasion. And that is exactly what is happening with the current print media. Editorializing has given way to proselytizing. Instead of informing and educating the people, there is a growing alarming trend nowadays to force the agenda of the publishers on the gullible public. When, why and how did this change come about all of sudden - from being the upholders of values, to becoming peddlers of sleaze? The roots of this degeneration can be traced back to when technology opened the floodgates for uninhibited and unrestrained communication, in the form of satellites and internet, that made the creation of the NEWS and the consumption of the same into some sort of a vicious cycle, that constantly feeds on one another - why sensationalism and sleaze, because there is a market for it, why read it, because that is the only thing out there. A recent study indicated that India has the largest population of newspaper readers and thereby, a growth in newspapers as never seen anywhere in the world. What technology has done by ways of facilitating rapid and instant flow of information, is inadvertently pit the publishers against each other, vying for the same segment of the market, forcing the mature and the balanced to fold up, and the sensational and sordid to rise up. In this battle for survival, the term 'fittest' no longer meant stronger and mature, but one who is slippery and silly. And the great responsibility that was entrusted to editors and publishing houses of filtering out the vile, provocative and inflammatory aspects out of the information, and spinning a sensible, balanced and nuanced wrapper around the data, fell on the wayside in the rat race to riches. Sensational journalism existed ever since newspapers came into being, but it is now, more than at any other time, that it has found place on the front pages of major publications, as against being relegated to the ignominious corners. And the reason being, survival, in the short run, and profitability, in the long run.

In short, newspapers have made a Faustian deal with the establishment, vouching to look after its interests and the interests of its masters first, putting its self-preservation before the community's interests. Take a good look at the local newsstand, and notice how easy it is to spot the ones with hidden/overt agendas, and how hard it is to find a publication that has nary a motive. Conservative, liberal, for the government, against the government, for this, against that - amid all this was lost the original motive for the founding of the newspaper, which was to provide a voice for the people, to represent the people, ask what the people themselves cannot ask, write what the people themselves cannot petition. Media, ideally and ideologically, should always be anti-establishment, no matter who is in power. This noble principle however got buried under the collective collpase of objectivity and integrity, the two pillars on which the word NEWS resides on. When one outlet started peddling sensationalism, gaining popularity, publicity and profitability in the process, it became hard for the rest of the players in the fray to remain neutral, watching themselves decimated by the cut-throat competition. If one outlet took a stance towards pro-establishment, endearing itself to one segment of the population, the lure to quickly jump to the other side to grab the remaining share of the anti-establishment segment was too great to ignore. And thus it is easy to see, how one drop of poison polluted the whole pond, forcing even the honest and the just to choose sides, lest they perish.

What now, of the people? Well, what of them? One school of thought is, they brought it upon themselves, this mess, being lazy and lackadaisical, refusing to involve themselves in the process of demanding quality, accepting, encouraging and even egging the mud-slinging matches transpiring on public fora, deluding themselves that justice, however crude and uncivilized, is being meted out to the unjust. And now, when they are saddled with nothing but sleaze all around, they cry foul and look around for a savior, who would never come. But is it fair to lay the total blame at the doorstep of the people who patronized the peddler into producing more of the easily digestible garbage? It is in the nature itself, not just of human beings, but animals and even the elements of nature, to rush out for easy options taking the path least resistance. Place two gratifications side by side, and tell them that one is instant and the other delayed, that they don't have to work at all for the instant one, and for the latter they have to work doubly hard. Chances are that 9 out of 10 times (or even, all the 10 times), the majority would choose the easier option. And they cannot be blamed for that. The responsibility falls squarely on the shoulders of the wiser heads to not bite the bait of profit and bail out on the foundation principles of the newspapers. What is Hippocratic oath to the medical profession, integrity and objectivity are the same to the journalistic profession. It is a tough job, it is hard task to remain neutral, but such is the nature of the game.

But now that Pandora's box has been opened, and there is no turning back to the traditional reporting, and now that profit making has become the sole objective of the fourth estate, the only glimmer of hope for the discerning minority comes from the same technology the created this Frankenstein in the first place. Since it is the motive of profit that led to the downfall of traditional reporting, how about separating the concept of business from the ideology of NEWS? Decentralize the single source from where the NEWS is disseminated and split it up into tiny broadcasting sources, each independent in its own right, at which level the sustaining costs are simple, the drive for profits is minimal, and ultimately, the NEWS is free of sensation, prejudice and bias. But how can a single provider of information be split up into tiny entities, without losing its core values (if there are any remaining, even)? And the answer, Franchises. What McDonalds or a Pizza Hut is to food business, a New York Times or a Hindu should be to local franchises, in essence, the parent company acts only as the aggregator and disseminator of information, while the majority of leg work, the gathering of the NEWS, is done by local individual franchises. This is where the internet comes in. Since technology has made communication faster, for a far cheaper price, wisdom lies in shifting the operation from traditional newsprint to bits and bytes, where the chances to remain fair and balanced, without succumbing to pressures and expectations of the marketplace, are much more, since the self-defeating need for greed is not as pronounced in this form. When the costs are less and profits are negligible, the business virus would automatically detach itself from the NEWS host, allowing it to return to where it all started - being a platform for sensibility and sensitivity, serving up a view of the world that is fair and just.

దీపావళి

2009-10-15T15:00:00.003-04:00

ప్రమిద

వేకువను వెక్కిరించు చీకటి
పరచిపోయిన చిక్కటి దుప్పటిపైన
నీరవము నిరంకుశముగా రాజ్యమేలు
వెలుతురింకిపోయిన గుబులు వేళలలో
వెలుగు నేత నేసిన పత్తి బట్టజుట్టి
పసుపు పాదాలకు పసిడి గజ్జెలుగట్టి
గాలి గిలిగింతలతో తనువూగిపోవు నాట్యరాణి
చెదిరిపోని ఆశకు చెరిగిపోని చిహ్నమా
మొక్కవోని ధైర్యమునకు మరపురాని మారుపేరా
సడలిపోని పట్టుదలకు సమసిపోని పట్టుకొమ్మా

తుంటరితనమున పడదోసి పోవు తెమ్మెరల అల్లరిని
అలవాటుగ తలవాలుగ తట్టుకుని నిలిచి
గొంతు నులిమి పోవు గాలి గద్దింపున ఊపిరిని
వత్తు చివరగా వడిసి చిక్కబట్టుకుని
రెపరెపలాడి పోవు కురచ కాయమును
నిలకడ మంత్రమును చదివి కుదుట పరచుకుని
నలు దెసలా మొహరించు పెంజీకట్లపై
ఊపిరున్నంత వరకు ఒంటరి పోరు సలిపి
పరాక్రమమునకు ప్రమాణము ప్రామాణము కాదను దీప కళిక
ఎదురీతలలో ఎదురొడ్డు వీరతనమునకు ప్రతీక

పరుల ప్రాపుకై ప్రాకులాడక
అస్థిత్వమునకు అహర్నిశమూ శ్రమించి
కడ వరకు స్వేచ్చ గాలులు పీల్చు కడు స్వతంత్ర జీవి
చేయూతనందించు చేతికి
నులి వెచ్చని కరచాలనమందించి
ఆత్మీయతా రుణమునకు చేబదులు చెల్లించు స్నేహశీలి
బ్రతుకన్న తీపి వదలి బ్రతికున్న వరకు
తన తనువునే సమిధ చేసి తిమిరమును తరిమి
ప్రాణమే పణము పెట్టి వెలుగులను వెదజల్లు ప్రమిద
తన జీవితమునే సార్ధకము చేసికొను త్యాగధన

నవరాత్రి

2009-09-23T17:23:00.004-04:00

త్రిమూర్తి

రుధిర సమిధల జ్యోతిలో మెరవనున్నదా
చిలిపితనము చిందాడు ఈ చిన్నారి మోము
కదన రంగమున ప్రళయ తాండవమాడనున్నదా
తప్పటడుగుల తడబడు ఈ పసి పాదాలు
రక్త తర్పణల రుచి మరగనున్నదా
మురిపాల చారలెండని ఈ పాల నోరు
మహిషు నమానుషమును పెకలించనున్నదా
కేరింతల కేళిలో అలసిన ఈ చిట్టి చేతులు
వేల్పులకే ఇలవేలుపై ఎదగనున్నదా
పుట్టగతులెరుగని ఈ వింత శిశువు

కన్న రుణమెరుగని కాంత ఏడ నేర్చెనోకదా
తల్లితనమును తలపించెడు లాలిత్యమును
లేత పూతల ప్రకృతి పోత పోసెనోకదా
లతల జతలు మరపించెడు లావణ్యమును
ఓంకార ఝుంకారాల బీజాక్షరాల భాషలో
తేనెలూరు మాటలలో తెలియాడు మాధుర్యము
అందమన్న పదమునకు నూత్న నిర్వచనము కాదా
సృష్టించనలవి కాని సాటి లేని సౌందర్యము
ఈ కరుణ శాంత అద్భుత రస మిశ్రమము
కాదా భీభత్స భీతావహ భయోత్పాత కారకము

నేల జారిన కాముకుల నెత్తురు
నుదుట కుంకుమ తిలకమై చిందగా
మతులు చెడిన ముష్కరుల తలలు
మెడలొ పూసల హారమై అమరగా
మదపు బరువున కూలిన మొండెములు
అమ్మ అడుగులకు మడుగులొత్తగా
దిక్కులు పిక్కటిల్లు హాహాకారములు
శక్తిని శ్లాఘించు రుక్కులవగా
సంతులనను సాధించెనా నాతి
జగతిన పునఃస్తాపించి నియతి

Shutterbug

2009-09-23T10:56:00.002-04:00

It occurred to me as I wading through the sea of thumbnails of countless images, spanning more than 5 page downs on my computer, from a recently concluded tourist trip - where is the narrative in this all? The plethora of pictures made for a good visual feast, but where is the fodder for the mind? Where are all those hidden images and missing links that the mind conjures up to fill in the blanks, in the process of making the album a noteworthy memory. No, I am not ruing about the missing photographs, rather I am craving for them. I am desperately searching for the blank spots that the camera might have missed, or the unworthy images that it might have rolled its eyes over and passed up. In front of me was my entire itinerary graphically illustrated, with each waking second laid out neatly in a square inch thumbnail space. Landmarks - check, roadways - check, hotel - check, restaurants - check, novelties - check, routines - check and everything between all the above - check. If, at any point of time in the distant future, I get bogged down by a simple question as to what I was doing on the 10th hour 18th minute and the 53rd second of the 2nd day of my trip, I don't have to rack my brains or curse Alzheimer's anymore. I just go to the idiot box, boot it up, bring up the image cataloging software and punch in the date and time on the specific album, and lo and behold, there I would be picking sitting on a park bench, wondering what I would be doing at that exact time in the future - an image, somebody thought was click-worthy, as they went trigger-happy with the little contraption, they call, the Digital Camera.

Back in the day, the bottling companies in India came up with an innovative way of pushing their product to a cricket starved nation. Collect enough bottle caps (meaning, drink up enough colas) and win a flicker of your favorite cricketer in action. Flicker - a little book that would fit nicely inside the palm, that employed the famous technique invented by Mr. Edison of moving static images at a rapid rate to create the illusion of motion, like a bowler running up and bowling full pace or a batsman opening his blade and sending the cherry on goose hunt. Somehow the current digital repositories remind me of those Flickers. Grab a bunch of these thumbnails and move them at 24 frames per second, and there is the past, right in the present, without a single second lost. Sadly, in the flickering seconds, all the moments seem to have been permanently lost. Technology has certainly given a new lease of life to our dreams, but it has certainly taken the soul out of it all.

Till not so long ago, when photographic equipment was still at more than an arm's distance away from the reach of the common man, photos meant something. They had a life, they had a voice, they had a story to tell. And the narrative covered the before, during and the aftermath of the click. Each one necessarily carried a commentary, because photos were snapped only when there was a moment to commemorate. When a camera was handed down to someone, it came with a great sense of responsibility in which the handler implicitly took an oath, a pledge to honor and respect the gravity of the moment. Consequently, though the pictures were few and far between, the little many of them told a whole lot about it. Added to the fact that since everything about the camera - the rolls, the batteries, the processing fees and the camera itself, came at a such dear price, economics greatly drove the aesthetics, and the latter was greatly motivated by the former, or the lack of it. If you look back at the old albums, particularly the black and white kind, it is not just because of the longing sentimental feeling, a yearning for the forgotten past or because of the ever endearing nostalgia, that those pictures seems to cast a greater effect on you. Particularly when you view a series of those pictures, there is a lot of hidden space left among those, waiting to be infused with the emotions that well up during that particular moment. Each picture would spawn a series of its own, only because it had enough room on either side, giving it the much needed berth and breath to exist on its own.

The eagerness to capture a moment - the prime motivation behind the invention - has taken an ugly turn in the recent times, only because the technology has made it cheap, real cheap - the process and the effect. Nowadays, the key moments are viewed through the view finders, missing the real fun right in front in its raw form, only to have them re-lived, cleaned up, polished, and projected on a bigger artificial medium. Moments are not measured in terms of the memory cells they usually occupy, but in terms of square pixels that are casually expended.

We humans are moving through our lives like tourists with cameras hanging around the necks, greedily looking for the next wonderful moment to capture, ignoring the simplicity that is passing us by. Instead of trusting the natural recorder equipped with perfect shutters (the brain and the eyes), we instead choose to rely and repose our faith in our own clunky creations, that could only capture the picture, but never the moment. Be it a for a great one or just for an ordinary occasion, the digital camera, and its partner in crime, the video camera arrive in time, sizing up the sight and taking hostage of the situation. As we carefully draw the camera to our eye, or pull the viewfinder closer to the face, the action that happens on the fringes, on the borders of the camera, goes wholly un-noticed. What is this blinding urge, if you can pardon the irony, of us to record every moment of our life, capture every frame of every event, that we voluntarily give up the chance of experiencing the happening live, so that we could catch it later on the rebound, and try to recreate our familiarity and affection for it. As an exercise of observing our own insanity from close quarters, go to a school auditorium, take the farthest seat away from the stage and wait till the curtains are drawn up. Like the presenting of arms during an army march past, all the camera are drawn out in unison at just about the same time the lights come up, and keep pointed to the stage for the remainder of the night. If you hear carefully enough, you can even hear the loud whispers of a poor parent stage directing his kid, afraid that the performance will reflect badly in the recording and therefore taking all the pains to rectify the situation. Almost every member in there would be engrossed on the action on a 2X2 panel as life goes by on a bigger stage just a few feet yonder. And the less said about the birthday parties, the better.

Have we come to the end of line this soon? Barely has the digital revolution even begun, we have successfully managed to drain out all the excitement and the enthusiasm that should accompany such a technological marvel. So where to from here? As the innumerable video tapes and the countless DVD discs, not to mention the tera bytes of photographs lie waste in digital dumpsters and plastic waste bags, is it time to take a step back and re-evaluate our photographic needs a little? Is there really a need to recreate the past and re-live it during every waking moment of our present? All the enthusiasm that we exhibit while capturing, what we think is the most important thing at that stage of our lives, wanes away over a period of time, as we hardly even glance in the general direction of those tapes and albums, forget, dusting them up and popping them in digital players. The perverse pervasive consumerism that has taken over all facets of our lives seeped into this most important attribute of human existence - memory - and degraded it to its lowest form, by demaning more, more and more. Go to any marriage hall and you can witness all the gluttony at its worst manifestation. The still photographer running around in all directions just to get the right angle, only to be crossing swords and paths with the videographer equipped with heavier and more sophisticated equipment, only to be outwitted by the swarms of amateurs, snapping away their tiny cameras pointed at the hapless blissfull couple on stage. This redundancy of the information would put mighty data centers of top computer firms, fail safe mechanisms of the Federal Bureaus, and the recovery techniques of the Treasury Department collectively to great shame.

In this digital age, usage barely matches wastage. The worthiness of the picture is determined right on the spot, the next moment it has been snapped. Even a little deviation from the expectation causes it to be relegated to the never ever land of the recycle bins, barely before it has even taken its first breath. A picture spoke thousand words, said someone ignorantly who had no idea even in his wildest imagination, than in this day and age, a picture, in fact, chokes a thousand words. The avarice and the apathy of the current bit and byte world completely usurped the thoughts and the actions behind each picture, reducing them to dummy lifeless cardboard cutouts.

As I remained motionless in front of the legion of thumbnails that lay in front of me, I vowed that the next time someone gets in front of me with a digital contraption and cries out "Say Cheese", I am going to get out of the frame, politely excusing myself with a "No, please". I'd rather have the memory of the picture snapped by the camera that never runs out of anything till I take my last breath, than wonder and worry how much more memory the stick stuck in the camera has. I am pretty sure that picture, the one in the mind, can speak a lot more than a thousand words.

వినాయక చవితి

2009-08-22T09:04:00.004-04:00

నివేదన

చిన్ననాటి అక్షరాభ్యాసము మొదలు
ఉన్నత విద్యాభ్యాసముల వరకు
వయసుకు మించిన బరువులు తలకెత్తుకున్న మొదలు
పుస్తకమును హస్తభూషణముగా నిలుపు వరకు
పాఠ్య గ్రంధాలను పసుపు విజ్ఞాపనలు చేసి
నీ కృపకై క్రమము తప్పక వచ్చు కాళ్ళ బేరమ్మిది
సందేహాల సాగరాల ఆవల గల సాఫల్య ఫల మందుకోను
చేయు ఎదురీతలో ఎదురౌ బాలారిష్టాల బారి నుండి
చేయూత నందించమని చేతులెత్తి మ్రొక్కేము

అడ్డాల నాట తడబడు నడకల నుండి
గడ్డాల నాటి ఒడిదుడుకుల నడతల వరకు
సాగు పధములన్నిటా విఘ్నములను తొలగించి
వేయు ప్రతి పదములో వెన్నoటి నిలిచినందుకు
కూడ వచ్చిన బదులు గుంజిళ్ళతో తీర్చేము
లేత వయసుల తేట మనసుల మొదలు
చింత వయసుల చీకాకు మనసుల వరకు
ఎదురదెబ్బలతో తలబొప్పి కట్టకుండని
బుద్ధినందివమ్మని బుద్ధి బుద్ధీ యనుచు
మొట్టికాయల ఫలహారములు ప్రేమతో పెట్టేము

బ్రతుకు నాట సాగు బాటలలో
పూల పరిమళాలతో పాటు గడ్డి గరగరల ఊసు
నీ పాదముల పత్రి సమర్పించుచూ
మరవక మా మనమున మననము చేసుకునేము
పసందు విందులకు స్థోమత లేని స్థితిన
భక్ష్యములలో భేషజములకు తావీయక
రాలను హరించుకొని సరిపెట్టుకొను స్ఫూర్తి
ఉండరాలను నీ చేత ఉంచి నేర్చుకునేము

విమల చిత్తమున సరళ చింతనము సాగు నీ రీతి
అందిచమను మా వినతి ఈ చవితిన అందుకోమా గణపతి

Grey Gracefully

2009-08-19T11:35:00.001-04:00

The signs were all there. I knew its arrival was imminent, and it was all just a matter a time. In spite of all the foreknowledge and the fore-warnings, when I saw it for the first time, out in the open announcing its grand entrance, I was still taken aback and a little shell shocked, for, it was not often that someone reminds me, without masking it with the necessary platitudes, that I was in fact turning (not growing, but turning) old, and yes, even as we speak. And the sign wasn't the cracking of the joints whenever I got up or sat down, which I ob(li)viously attribute to the workout routines, or the occasional spams and sprains in the back, which I conveniently pass the buck on to the improper seating and sleeping postures, or the fading and flickering memory, that I consciously remember to blame it on the all useless information that had already staked its claim on the gray matter (want an example? Quick, in whose bowling did Gavaskar score his ten thousandth run, and where, or who was Kapil Dev's 432nd, the then record breaking, victim? Just why should I still let that inconsequential piece of tripe take up the much valuable cranial space, that I could otherwise use to remember some life saving information, like the female form's date of birth, is beyond me. Anyway, the answers are, 1. Ijaz Fakih (Pak), Ahmedabad 2. Hashan Tilakaratne. See, this was what I was saying). Anyway, it wasn't all those aforementioned that were openly challenging my mortality and masculinity, on that fateful morning, when I slipped into the washroom to do the needful. It was that tiny shred of irrefutable evidence that threw in the gauntlet - "So now, on whom are you going to lay this on?".

It was a tiny white hair, standing proudly among its dark brethren, openly mocking me, from my reflection in the mirror. And the worst part was, it was absolutely correct, there was nobody I could peg this on. For someone suffering from an acute case of the Peter Pan Complex, it was hard to digest the fact that twilight was just around the corner (ok, if hyperbole is not your cup of tea, in a few decades, for sure), when it seemed only a little while ago that the actual fun started. Before I turned to mythology and took comfort in the concept of reincarnation, wherein the end is only the beginning (God Bless, the circular logicians), I had to deal first with the issue at hand (or, on the head) - the follicle that was formenting the trouble. I had to crush the mutiny ruthlessly lest the rebellion spread all around.

The easiest option was nipping it in the bud, literally, but that would still leave a shard of evidence behind, which might ultimately come back and exact its revenge when I am old and weak. Also, there was always that outside chance of someone taller than me standing behind to notice the little fella cut in size, and make a public announcement that Mr.Grey had finally caught with me. So scissors were ruled out. I also considered to treat that only hair as a one time aberration, and just pluck it right out of its existence. No evidence, no mess, case closed, and I could go back fooling the world with my pretend enthusiasm and apocryphal zest for life. That's when I remembered the horror story that was spoken in hushed tones in the company of men struggling with their mid life crises, and I was the only odd man out who was still dark upstairs - pluck a white hair and it would spout out an invisible lava like liquid that would spread quickly to contaminate and de-colorize any black sample that it touches, in effect, rendering square inches of area together, white, within no time. And before you know you were going to look like Rabindranath Tagore, except without the grace, the talent or the Nobel Prize. Hollow threats and dire warnings as those were easy to brush off back when black was my friend. "Come on, invisible liquid? volcanic lava? what is this? your head or Mount Fujiyama?". But now that I was face to face with the devil, those warnings didn't sound all that ridiculous anymore. What if there was some iota of truth behind it? If not like a spewing invisible lava, would it at least settle like a warm visible magma? May be, it might not spread like wildfire, but could it take an entire square block even if it was over a period of a week? The question grew to Hamlet proportion - to snip or to pluck, now that is the question!

After the initial wave of pure panic passed on, a wave of reason came over. So what was so bad about white hair after all? (I still find the euphemism "grey hair" amusing, it is like calling the Permanent Resident Card, the Green Card, when it is actually Pink in color. I could understand the homophobic tendencies in the nomenclature there, but here, why? Let's call a spade a spade). Sure, the 'youth' tag would be ripped off my chest, and I'd have to contend with long romantic walks in the lazing sun with the female form indulging in all sorts of fluff talk, as against diving in adrenaline pumping activities, like bungee jumping, bird watching or many other manly hairy activities. I guess, the white rug on the head comes with the slow turf under the feet. Even if I wanted to act young, energetic and youthful, people (particularly the younger variety) would be able to see through the veneer quite easily, and it wouldn't be long before I would be booted out of the cliques, or worse, retained purely on an honorary basis (the 'youthus emeritus' kind), and that was all because of that lousy white hair. It was time for action. Well, there was a time when I used to leaf past the hair growing and the hair revitalization advertisements in the publications without so much as wasting a glance at them. The reason was pretty simple - and it was the same when dealing with the rest of the natural and man made disasters - IT WAS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN TO ME, that I was somehow impervious to all these trivial troubles that had been plaguing mankind since time immemorial (well, not immemorial, per se, but ever since, the neighborhood caveman or the igloo guy rubbed the nearby shrub or herb that made his hair go black again, much to the delight of his wife and contempt of the neighbor's wife). So, now what? Just like the millions of 'white tops' out there, I was going to sneak into the personal hygenie section of the near by departmental store and start hunting for the latest and the greatest hair rejuvenation product? Had it finally come down to this, when I was going to PhotoShop the imperfection, smooth over the trouble spots, and make myself look like a walking equivalent of an air brushed center spread of a glossy women's magazine? What next then? Botox? Liposcution? Implants at strategic spots so as to defy gravity and not allow it gain a foot hold on my terra firma (or, should it be firm terra?)

They say, there are usually five stages in the grieving process - Denial, Anger, Bargain, Depression and finally, Acceptance. After running through all the gamut of options above, I finally settle in the Acceptance floor. What was it that Bernard Shaw said, when something was inevitable, comb back and enjoy it? It was amazing how all these greats rattled out quotable quotes one after another, only when they reached their greying years. I certainly have not heard a Twain, a Shaw, or any other Greek, French or English philosopher spout something even remotely profound in their youthful years. All their wit and wisdom seemed to favor from when they started sporting bald pates and grey beards. So may be, that's the reward - what one loses in the way of looks, appeal and overall appearance, he gains everything back, and a little more, in the manner of wisdom, experience and intellect. Not a bad bargain, I would say. Moreover, there is a certain charm in a little dab of whiteness around the sideburns, a little in the rolling tuft, and even a touch in the mustache. Look at Sean Connery, the man oozes charm and confidence now, than when he was playing OO7, and that, in my view, was in no small measure because of his predominantly white beard, and even his grey eye-brows. Psychologically speaking, the theory has certainly some merit. If we once let go of the serious urge to impress by means of looks, it opens up a wide vista of opportunities of engaging others through more amusing means - the ones that the fairer sex dies for, "it is not about me honey, it is all about you". I know I was rationalizing, but between the options of snip, pluck, color and stay, I found the last one to be more logical, painless, and yes, natural. In growing years, I know the urge would be stronger to side with the chemicals and the paint brush, but as long as I keep remembering the smiling saintly visages of Tagore, Shaw, and even Sean Connery, I should refrain from itch to touch up, even if it is just a bit.

And that's when I decided, I was going to keep my baby - "Worry not little whitey, you are more than welcome in my playground. And in case you get lonely and bored, invite your friends over.... one at a time, of course!". Talk about a little silver lining on an otherwise dark cloud, if you can relate to that metaphorical symbolic irony.

Losing it

2009-07-16T11:21:00.000-04:00

I was standing right in the middle of the room staring blankly in the general direction of the bookshelf. I don't know for how long I was standing there, trying hard to recollect why I was looking at it in the first place, until a voice from behind (not an apparition, just a regular human) thundered, how long I was planning on spinning the windmills of lost thought. There was no denying that I simply forgot why I walked into the room, leave alone, remembering what I planned to do with the bookshelf. Ah, that old mate, memory, one that had been steadfastly loyal through the majority of my productive life, has called in with a demand for casual leave which it planned to use during for the rest of my life at intermittent intervals. Its argument - the vacation was long overdue (and thoroughly deserved, I might add). Memory was the last link that tied my redolent past to my routine present, and that was precisely the reason why I didn't want to let it go, for, I wanted to remember how I felt about the same things, through the different (st)ages of my life. Over the past few decades, I knew I abused my memory like a red-headed step-child, making it remember everything from the most extra-ordinary down to outright obscure and unnecessary. What kind of acid in a car battery? Who holds the world record in men's Pole Vault jumping? Who tossed the first stone into the sea to build the "Rama Setu" in Ramayana (and its corollary, and why?)? What is the architecture of Chip 8255? Thanks to my down and (almost) out memory, I reshuffled the little cranial space constantly, over all these years, to accommodate all sorts of crap. No wonder, the gray cells have regrouped and declared mutiny. (In case you are wondering the answers to the above, 1. diluted sulfuric acid 2. Sergei Bubka (Russia) 3. Neela (he had a curse like boon from his mother during his childhood, that anything he threw in water floated and never sunk, fed up with his childhood monkey pranks of throwing all his household items into water). And as far as the last one is concerned, send me a personal email, and I'll be glad to show off). Had my memory been a human being, who took all this abuse over all this time, either of the things would had certainly happened - either it would had shot itself down, or it would had turn the barrerls against me. Talk about a disgruntled worker.

Though I understood and patiently heard all my memory's grievances, I was in no mood to let go of my best worker. After all, its existence depended on my welfare, and my welfare, in turn, depended on its ability to summon facts and artifacts, at speed unimaginable. If I lent it a sympathetic ear and a crying shoulder and allowed it take off at regular intervals, I cannot even begin to think of the ramifications of missing dates like female form's birthdays, the boss' anniversary, and list of my debtors and creditors, and other trivia and minutiae, that I had been carefully/carelessly using to desperately stand out in a group. Well, sorry to say Mr. Memory, the one upstairs had signed a bond of indentured labor, when handing you over to my constitutional custody, and however much I empathize with your hiring and working conditions, all that I can say is, I don't make the rules, I only play by them. And that was the time, the battle lines were drawn in the sand between the revolting memory and my oppressive mind. Sometimes, I won, and some other times, my opponent. And that moment, at the beginning of this piece, was one such. Memory - 1, Me - 0. I can say with some sort of certainty (hey, I already told you, the CPU may still be on my side, but both the hard disk and the RAM have declared a lockout. So, though the narrator's intentions are noble, the details may be little tainted), that the battle was not completely one-sided. I was doing all that I could, to counter the memory's guerrilla warfare, and part of those efforts included, and please note this irony, working it even more. You heard it right, whoever said an eye for eye, wasn't braying for blood. In fact, the only way to counter the non-cooperative tactics of the memory was to put it to work round the clock and ensure that it gets no rest whatsoever. I have had my share of strange things in nature (parents succumbing to diminutive kid's atrocious whims/wishes/behaviors, the functioning of the administrative machinery in a quasi-democratic state like India, the reason for Indian cricket team's average performances, boasting of world-record holders from top to bottom, and many such), but this one topped it all - to prevent the failure of a functioning unit, work it even more.

I was subjecting my memory to a third degree treatment (like, memorizing verses from age old texts), waterboarding techniques (memorizing raw texts from dry paragraphs of daily newspapers), and other such intrusive, interrogative procedures, commonly employed in Nazi labor camps, Russians Gulags, or even the more recent, Guantanamo Bay detention centers. Every waking moment was spent recollecting, remembering, reminiscing and ruminating, and the other times...well, incessant uninterrupted feeding. Extreme behaviors breed extreme (and sometimes, even unexpected) results. No matter what they say about the seemingly infinite storage capacity of the human mind, they failed to mention anything about the impact on the retrieval mechanisms. The mind might be willing, but the flesh became weak. The sprints and the dashes that the retrieval mechanisms ran every micro and nano second, from the storage side of the mind, to the side that had to arrange the jumble/puzzle and make sense of it, became ragged and harangued. It became amply clear that I could not continue waging a war against my own faculties, and that was when, an implicit truce was declared, and a bi-lateral agreement was reached. The terms made it clear, that I was not to subject the memory to crimes against nature, and allow it to take leave of absence, once in a little while, while the memory would keep its end of the bargain, by trying all it can, when and while on duty. It comes and goes, and when it goes, I reason that, may be, it was out on a social call, and when it comes back, I act that I was more than glad to have its company. It even gave me a pretext, an entity with seemingly no voice of its own to blame it all on - age. As age was already taking the blame for my lethargy, perpetual sleepiness, and inability to concentrate, it might as well take the blame for memory too. I was fine with the judgment. After all, when titans collide, the little guys always get trounced. My memory and I were back on talking terms again. All that I had to do.....all that I had to......hmmmm......all that I had to.......looks like I lost my train of thought. What was I trying to say again? Please hang on for a second or two... my memory would return momentarily. I might be on a little coffee break. I apologize for the inconvenience and promise to return promptly as and when, the train is back on its tracks.

The curious case of capitalism

2009-06-17T16:06:00.002-04:00

'It's hard out here for a pimp' goes a very infectious Academy award winning rap lyric from an equally gritty and charming movie - Hustle & Flow - from a few years ago. It is about how the good times have fallen on the way side in the oldest profession known to mankind and how the days of easy money are a thing of the past. Replace the word 'pimp' with a 'capitalist' and every word of that profane lyric rings true with everybody on the street, Wall Street that is, to everyone in every plush board room. The kind of economic setup that was hailed by many as the true representation of free will and individual liberty has been taking quite a bad beating, not to mention an even worse p.r. since most of the past decade. The terms prosperity and wealth are no longer free floating terms that exist in their own individual worlds. They have been dragged into the real world with a lasso of personal responsibility and corporate regulation. Amid the howls of pure capitalists that the bedrock of capitalism is being broken up with the sledgehammer of socialism, and the seeds of collective spirit are being sown in the hallowed grounds of individualism, the question remains to be answered, in the ever-changing dynamic of global interaction, can any financial theory/form/practice remain in its truest and purest shape without getting mixed up with or influenced by other -isms lurking around? In other words is the capitalism of today ( as practiced by the US) the socialism of tomorrow, or the socialism of yesterday (China, Russia, Cuba) the capitalism of tomorrow? Who would have guessed in less than a couple of decades, China would become the capitalists haven and US would take its first baby steps towards socialism? All it took was the phenomenon of globalization to take root, and a jolt or two to global economies to shake up the foundations of capitalism. It is not just globalization, the population explosion or the financial sector implosion that caused the experts and otherwise to sit up and take notice of the tectonic shift that is reshaping the economic landscape.

Every -ism, on its face value, sounds genuine and seems to have been designed with all the good intentions at heart. And the statement can be applied to practically any theory proposed by man that intended to serve a greater good - from capitalism to communism, and yes, even from naxalism to terrorism. The Al-Qaeda mission statement most certainly would not read 'we hate people, let's kill them all'. It most probably would go along the lines of 'To protect the cause of the muslims and serve the will of Allah by resisting oppression and tyranny of any kind, even if it means self sacrifice'. Which, on its face value, sounds logical. After all, who would want a different culture dictating terms to his, in terms of his ways and means of living? But how they go about accomplishing it is a different matter altogether. Same is the case with naxalism, communism or any other humanism. Lofty ideals, but most of the times, lousy execution. This is not to say that capitalism is comparable or should even be mentioned in the same breath as terrorism, but the relevance is more to how ideas can never remain the same in the face of ever-changing variables in the equation. True, capitalism at its best reflects the human pursuit of freedom and happiness. If one were to work hard and smart, luck willing, he should be entitled to benefit from the fruits of his labor. There is not one contentious word in that statement. If I work hard, I reap the rewards. If I put the capital, take all the risk, I should stand to profit from it. Sounds valid and deserving. Then why this bad rap of late on a philosophy that is single-mindedly devoted to the creation of wealth and thereby sustained prosperity? There are 2 ways of attempting to answer that question - 1. from an individualistic sense 2. from an institutional stand point

1. Individual - in this scenario, capitalism makes perfect sense. Have a great idea for a longer lasting light bulb or a longer running car for the same amount of fuel? Great. Have the wherewithal to translate the idea into a workable solution? Perfect. Then technically, you should be rewarded for your ingenuity. The society should step out of your way, even clear all the obstacles in your path and should help you realize your dream, as it also gets benefited in the due process. It becomes a true win-win situation which several successful individual entrepreneurs would attest to, patting the society for allowing them what they did best and stepped in only when they need an extra hand. There is no argument here. The point of contention, however, is with institutional capitalism. I have a great idea for setting up a solar cell manufacturing plant in the current context of environmental consciousness. I approach my local state government, submit all the paperwork, show them how many jobs it is going to generate in the local economy and elaborate on my plans of further expansion in different parts of the state, should this unit take off as I planned. The government welcomes my idea and reciprocates my gesture of job generation for my state, by offering subsidies in my power consumption, selling me government land for far less than the market price and promising me tax holidays for the first few years. My unit takes off well, starts making profit for me and my investors, creates enough jobs to jump start a satellite economy around the area. The theory of non-interfering state works perfectly until here. It is only when the first signs of trouble surface - slowing down of the economy, or a better product surfacing somewhere else, or worse, a cheaper product of similar quality luring my customers away - that the original capitalist mission statement begs for a revision. The original theory states that any floundering business should be left alone to fail under its own weight. No exceptions. But since my business has served a community for a substantial period of time, raising the general standards of living for a generation or two, not to mention, an ancillary economy subsisting on my survival, should I be left alone without a helping hand from my government in my time of need, even if it means flouting the principal tenets of capitalism?

The reasons for my failure might not be of my making alone. My competitor might be making a similar product by manufacturing it where the costs are low, labor is cheap and the oversight on general standards are amiss, each of which is costing money at my current place. Since the playing field is not leveled between the two of us, with my competitor enjoying an unfair advantage over me, which the capitalism precept didn't accommodate for, does the government's intervention into the matter, either by means of levying extra duty on my competitor's product or by directly taking a stake in my company to provide me a steady stream of investment money to see me through my tough times, constitute a fundamental abandonment of the capitalist principles? The above scenario is what is currently happening with the economies - capitalist and socialist alike - the world over. The theories that held steadfast for a good 50 years found to be wanting amidst increasing globalization. If the basic tenet of capitalism is generation of profit for an invested capital, conventional wisdom dictates that a manufacturer should be allowed to make his product where the labor costs are low, regardless of the prevailing working conditions at the place of production. Consequently, China with its dirt cheap labor, and lax standards in working conditions would become the de-facto destination for manufacturing firms all over. But here is where capitalism fails to address the repercussions of such gross disparities in trans-continental trade practices. It always assumed that all things being equal, the players in the field would slug it out with invention, innovation and imagination to emerge on the top. It never came across the current situation that trade practices can be unfair and playing field to be seriously lopsided. Sure, I too can shift my unit to another labor rich, standards insensitive, dirt poor country and gain an upper hand over my competitor. But what becomes of the people, the economy and revenue to my state that went beyond its call of duty to accommodate me in the fair agreement, that I would keep my firm's root firmly entrenched in my place of domicile.

At the root of it all, the purpose of any -ism is to improve the current conditions in the promise of a better tomorrow. While capitalism does it in a top-down approach, wherein, the wealth generated by thriving businesses would trickle down into the society whereby everyone benefits, socialism takes a more bottoms-up approach, with a strong working class shaping a strong economy. What capitalism has created in the latter half of the last millennium is a voracious consumer class, whose appetite sustained solely on credit. In a bid to sustain everlasting profits, it wiped out an entire generation of working class by shifting out the hard labor jobs, that is very much needed for the sustenance of the economy, and replaced it with a couch potato consumer strata. But then, if there is no real wealth being generated within a system, where does it find the means to even consume? Enter the highly addictive world of borrowing. Easy money, by the way of credit cards for everyday people, and foreign credit for everyday government, has become the modus operandi of everyday life. What is interesting here is how both ends of the supply chain - production and consumption - are facilitated by the same creditors. China, which has become the sole manufacturer for the entire world, whets the credit appetite of capitalism by buying into the countries' future (Treasury bonds and securities). How far can this cycle of 'take credit and purchase from the same' perpetuate, is a nightmarish question that keeps the expert awake during the night.

At this current juncture, when global recession has put an end to the ever consuming disorder, the production cycles have taken a hit too unable to find buyers for its products. And the big question looms, who should take the initiative to kick start the stagnant economy and clear out the tightly coupled deadlocks? While the rules of capitalism cry hoarse that it is the ultimately the market forces that dictate and resolve its inherent inconsistencies, and not government intervention, it has been proved beyond doubt that the profit motive can only take the economy so far and that it can never a be-all-and-end-all magic elixir that can cure-all. So, when economies from the far east to out west are being defibrillated with trillions of dollars of government investment into massive infrastructure projects, the scale of which can never be undertaken by private enterprises, the equations of capitalism are being rewritten with the introduction of a constant (government investment, regulation and oversight) this time around, so as to even out the unruliness that might creep up in the future from unforeseen quarters. Call it capito-socialism or socio-capitalism, one thing is certain, the capitalism of yester years is gone forever.

Media matters: ---->you are here<-----

2009-05-27T17:16:00.002-04:00

The term 'perfect storm' is used to describe one of those rare occurrences, when a combination of calamitous forces come together and create a devastation on a scale that was unheard of. Singly taken, each of those forces isn't much to reckon with, but the timing, the context and the combination create such a chain reaction, that one feeds off the best of (or, the worst of) the other, gaining strength to strength along the way. The events in the past few months in the social, economic and political arenas all over the world warrant the use of that term 'perfect storm'. Election races are quite common, stock market upheavals are dime a dozen, political uncertainties and wars of all kinds - political, territorial and religious - are not new to the mankind. But never, in the memory of history, have these 'acts of man' brought about such a consternation among all classes of people, affecting each and everyone in all far corners of the globe. Perhaps for the first time, the world is witnessing what is a true global event (even if it is a turmoil), and the recent collapse of the stock markets is only a footnote to what has been brewing up over the last few years and finally boiled over. The talk about the hundred years war between England and France, the facts about the plagues that had wiped out millions of people, the pogroms and genocides that erased civilizations and cultures without a trace, if viewed on the actual time line, happened over a protracted period, leaving enough time for humanity to recover from one cataclysmic event and brace for the next. Some of those events of the past, even the World wars included, left a few countries and continents completely untouched, unlike how it is right now, and the distinct divide between the two is the concept of globalization.

What was once thought about as just an innovative economic principle, globalization has reshaped social, economic, cultural and political landscapes in every corner of the globe, a fallout that even the most intelligent minds couldn't have foreseen. A butterfly flaps its wings in Taiwan which would bring about a hurricane off the United States sea coast isn't just a theoretical assumption anymore. It is, fortunately and unfortunately, a tangible reality. Just to demonstrate the power of that perception, consider this. Oil jumped to record high prices a year ago, driven entirely by speculators, predicting that the demand for oil in US, would only go in one direction, up, with China and India close on the heels steaming up their red hot economies. This speculation brought about untold billions of dollars of fresh funds, for the same quantity of oil being pumped out of the ground, to countries like Iran, which has been testing the political waters with its nuclear overtures. The extra funds in its coffers bolstered its confidence of taking on the world single-handedly, which then threatened to play with the oil production and supply numbers to the market, creating enough uncertainty to further drive the prices. The US, no longer in a position to dictate terms in the Middle East, played its bluff and threatened with economic sanctions and military action, doing nothing more than inch up the prices even more. The spiraling prices raised the costs on practically every commodity that required shipment, which included food. This, coupled with the global shortage of food items because of the loss of key crops in the producing countries due to droughts, caused a global scramble, something that no one would have imagined of in this day and age. In India, the oil prices took a different route of increasing the prices of the construction material - cement and steel, the brick and mortar of real estate development, which pushed an already inflated market out of the stratosphere. The perception became pronounced that real estate is the way to go for foreign investment in the BRIC (Brazil, Russia, India and China) economies, making it even lucrative than the traditional investment in gold. Forex reserves flowed in from all the prominent brokerage firms in US, building up the a pack of cards to unprecedented heights. The degrees of separation from oil in Iran to real estate in India have become fewer and fewer, and all that it needed for the pack of cards in India to come crashing down, is a little sneeze somewhere in the Middle East. 'May you live in the interesting times' goes a Chinese saying. Little do people know, that it is in fact meant as a curse. Another Sanskrit saying comes to mind, "prusTa taaDanaath danta bhangaha" (A swift kick in the behind would let loose a few teeth)

This intertwining of fates of every breathing entity in the world is the first of its kind. This interactivity and correlation didn't come about just with bilateral relations, trade agreements or even military aggressions, as all these have been happening from time immemorial, but not with this kind of global impact. Though it is never accorded its due credit, the one singular entity that brought about this global revolution is the advancements in communications. Back in the 15th century when Gutenberg invented the first printing press and spread the word around with relative ease, no one, including Nostradamus, could have predicted how much the world would come closer by the mere sharing of ideas, much more than trading goods. The open skies have opened up infinite possibilities for people to come together, in real and virtual ways alike, exchange and get better off (and worse off, too) because of the facilities. The influence that this seamless exchange casts on the cultures and mindsets of peoples is unimaginable. Back during the days of the Second World war, when the only eyes and ears on the evil Nazi regime, were of the journalists belonging to the print kind, the world reacted at leisure to the barbarity perpetrated on the human kind. Move a few years down to the 90s, the world caught a glimpse of that brave student activist, in Tiananmen Square, first hand, who stood up to a tank and dared to mow him down. This time the printed word was no match to the television signal. In this day and age, political battles are not waged on the turfs of the fourth estates, or in the television realms. Cyber world is the new battle ground and electrons are the new weapons of mass destruction. It is never more evident that in the propaganda launched by the Islamic extremists in the cyber world, to counter the conventional warfare and convert and recruit new followers.

Communication's impact over a culture and its consumption plays a very direct and important role in the economic and political say of a country. No longer does one country need to wage a war on another to usurp power, dictate terms, and ultimately benefit economically (which ultimately, is the purpose of any war). The Americanization of the world that has happened in a little over just a decade and half is primarily brought about, not by politicians or policy makers, but by simple minded media barons, who beamed their mindless programs all over the world in thoughtless fashion. Satellite TV and internet have become probably the most potent mouthpieces of anyone with an agenda, more than battle tanks or nuclear heads. No other country has wielded (and still does) this much of a cultural impact in this short a time, and the tide doesn't seem to be ebbing anytime sooner. The surprising aspect is, the only resistance to this quiet cultural takeover comes in the form of radicalization reforms proposed by extremists, like the Talibans or other culture zealots, automatically turning off a majority of moderates, helping the cause of consumerism implicitly. If a clap/slap at one end of the world is heard immediately at the other end with sound traveling at the speed of light, as the entire world is tethered to the same string, causing it to rise and fall with the same wave, it is enough to say that the world has become a much smaller place, a lot smaller than everyone thinks it is. And the units of distances aren't miles or kilometers anymore. It is micro- and nanoseconds.

Once the ground is fertile enough for the global activity, even before economics started laying down the ground rules, political decisions pitched up the tents and began affecting the world around in a profound way. No longer are problems in the Middle East its alone, no longer is Russian aggression on its sister republics an internal security matter, no longer are political speeches delivered during rallies and campaigns just election rhetoric. Every move is observed, every tactic is watched, and every word is dissected more than ever. More than the financial pundits assessments and assertions on the state of the economy that set the markets on wild swings, political speeches (often inflammatory) started to play on and stay in the public minds to affect their judgments and sentiments indirectly affecting the markets. In 2000, the then leader of the right wing Likud party in Israel, Ariel Sharon undertook the controversial trip to the Temple of Mount, a disputed site for all the three religions (Judaism, Islam and Christianity), to shore up his base in the upcoming elections. (mirroring Advani's Radh Yatra to Ram Janmabhoomi in Ayodhya before the country's parliamentary elections). Nobody, including himself, would have predicted the violent repercussions of that politically motivated move in a volatile region that was just beginning to get on the road of reconciliation. All the ground work done by leaders like Clinton, Arafat and Yitzak Rabin in trying to solve the Palestinian problem through amicable means was destroyed in one swoop and the embers of the Second Intifadah (uprising) are still raging even to this day, the reverberations of which are felt in the Muslim community from as far as Indonesia to practically every Muslim nation in North Africa. The term universal brotherhood took a different meaning in an entirely different dimension. Just as it has become a standard protocol for suicide bombers with releasing taped messages in their last hours alive, which will then be used as recruitment material by the extremist organizations, it has become a standard practice with the extremist muslims to heed to those messages, cross the countries' boundaries and fight for what they feel is a common cause in lands that are not theirs to being with. Several reports suggest that most of the fighters warring against the American forces in Afghanistan, Iraq and other vulnerable points the world over, are seldom the sons of the soil themselves. The forces have become multi-ethnic and multi-racial.

Countries specifically in the European continent are bearing the brunt of the forcible fusion of the cultures. Till a few decades ago, Europeans, predominantly white, mingled within their own race and religion, to such an extent that it was hypocritical of them when they talked about the cultural imbalances in the African and Asian societies, and how far behind they were, in social progress and economic advancement. Now, when Europe is overrun with major influxes from the same Asian and African populations, the chickens have come home to roost. How would advanced societies come to terms when coming face to face with what they consider an uncouth bunch - fiercely protect their own turf and force their way of life on the immigrants or allow the visitors with open arms and embrace the idea of having their culture amalgamated with the others? India went through this painful process a few hundred years ago with the Muslim invasions, and is going through a different culture war with the Christian missionaries currently. Now it is Europe's turn and in a few more years, the Americas'. The concept of globalization turned out to be not as romantic in reality as it started out to be. Which culture would willingly allow to be taken over by a foreign one, remains at the center of clash of cultures. And taking major part in it, are activists from all over the world, and not just from one place alone. If at the end of it all, there emerges just one victor, remember that you were here in these last few years, and the trigger that set off the change is in the invisible airwaves in the sky.

Turning (in) the tide

2009-05-06T15:07:00.003-04:00

The year was 1997, when the whole world was emptying its eyes and noses in kerchiefs and tissues, choked up with emotion, watching two fictional characters bidding their farewells in James Cameron's epic chick-flick 'Titanic'. The world couldn't get enough of the tale of the doomed ocean liner and the sob story of the star crossed lovers so much so that the box office witnessed its first ever billion dollar return on investment. Not to be outdone by the fast talking, gum chewing and 'like' word obsessed teenage crowd, I too contributed my mite towards the cause with no less than 3 paid visits to the auditorium. 'It was to observe the craft', I cheated myself, sounding just as ridiculous as someone making the 'reading Playboy for its articles' argument. Now that the statute of limitations have passed on the terms of embarrassment, I can wholeheartedly agree that I watched the movie as much for the love story as for its stunning technical achievements (watching the stern of the ship rise above the surface of the water to reveal its gigantic propellers on a 70mm screen was alone worth the price of the admission). Familiarity may breed contempt, as per the adage, but it also uncovers a lot of hidden facets in the subject in question that one can turn to his advantage. The realization didn't come to me during the first two viewings, as Rose was delicately balancing herself on some drift wood in the middle of the freezing ocean on a dark wintry night, and Jack was trying to hold on to her waging a losing battle on hypothermia, and talking to her through her distress. And when I was watching the same sequence the third time around, a couple of thoughts distracted me from the action on the screen. First, why in the world couldn't Jack find another piece of furniture floating around and climb on it, instead of soaking in the freezing water and trying to die a photogenic hero's death. It was more a rhetorical thought, I knew, for there would be no movie(s) if characters acted wisely, responsibly and logically, as in real life. But it was the second thought that troubled me the most. WWID?

What Would I Do, given the same situation - a scuttling ocean liner, a damsel in distress, who also happens to be very comely, very single, and importantly, very much attracted to me (I tried substituting the damsel with my own female form, but the thought lacked the necessary sense of danger and excitement. So if it was a hypothetical situation anyway, why dump the domestic elements into a fantasy fraught with fright?). Back to WWID. Take the route of self-preservation or die a noble heroic death, both of which needed something that I was most ignorant of and least bit adept at - knowledge of swimming. Born and raised in the concrete jungles, I had neither the opportunity nor the facilities to master the skill, that some call it even art, and now when I needed it the most, all I could do was pray and hope that the mermaid myth was true after all. It is amazing how most of us are least bit prepared for this eventuality, and even more astounding that a tiny body of water that is only a foot deeper than our heights can potentially end our lives. If I were to be a Jack someday, I better do something than wildly flail my arms, gulp mouthfuls of water and sink faster than that leviathan. The movie, the third time around, sounded a warning and served as the right wake up call. I couldn't waste any more time. I enrolled myself in a nearby aquatic center and tried to take the bull by its horns. Rose, here I come. Little did I realize that in swimming, like in golf, the biggest and the strongest opponent that you have in the field is YOU.

The first day at the pool was, expectedly, very exciting. I guess it had something to with the natural affinity that the human body, loaded with water, has to any bigger body of water. Our instructor first separated us into two groups - those that sank like a stone immediately upon contact with water and ones that took a couple of seconds more for the same desired effect - and led us stones to a springboard to teach us a bit or two about overcoming the scare of H2O first. The pool was only about 4 feet at its deepest end where most of us wouldn't sink even if we wanted to. He asked us to get to the end of the board, use the spring and drop gently into the pool that was just a few feet down. At this point I want to remind that though 'danger' is not my middle name, I am not risk averse either, considering the occasional running of the red light driving through thoroughfares. But the mere thought of jumping from about 4 feet high into the pool down below made me go extremely weak in knees, letting a few butterflies out of their gastro-intestinal nets, however much the instructor goaded on from the sidelines. That was when I realized that I couldn't do some things in my life however much I wanted to - caress a leather ball through the covers like Sourav Ganguly, sing like the heavens beckoned like S.P.Balasubramanyam, or jump off any surface, however tall/short, into water. In short, I had fear of water, well, fear of drowning, to be precise. The possibility of the sinking scared me straight than the plausibility of such occurrence, even in such a highly controlled environment. If you are afraid of something, you have to do exactly the same, goes a motivational self-hypnotic technique. Fear of heights? Ride a roller coaster. Fear of public speaking? Take the dais more often, even if you fail a couple of times. Similarly, fear of water? Deep dive into a pool from a mile high platform. It was only then I realized the futility (in fact, lack of practicality) in the 'doing the opposite' approach to get over a phobia. Easier said.

Walking gingerly along the perimeter of the pool, I finally managed to find a spot that was only a little more than knee-deep and took my first steps towards a formal education in the art of graceful swimming ('A small step for the beginners, a giant leap for the Kanchibhotla kind'). As luck would have it, our instructor was a hard boiled variety, one who had seen too many Hollywood movies (specially the ones with the strict drill instructors imparting discipline in the wayward cadets during the basic training in military) and somehow came to the conclusion that scaring the hell out of the beginners straight away was the best way to rid their fears. Unfortunately, life isn't a montage sequence, where people turn out to be experts, starting off as stupids, at the end of one inspirational song. 'If you want to learn swimming, prepare to drown' growled the instructor as he walked up and down looking straight into our eyes. I resisted the temptation to break it to him that all I wanted was to learn swimming and not join the Navy SEALs. The first few days of our training involved taking a deep breath and getting under the surface of the water, and staying there for however long we could hold our breaths. If one could see past the pain and the panic of the cadets at the moment, it offered a pretty funny sight. A total of 10-15 heads dropped down at around the same instant, and just like that, they kept popping up randomly all over , like in that whack-a-mole game. Turned out, my lung capacity was worse than a 2 year old's. The moment I ducked under the surface, the thought of some unknown hand dunking me in and keeping my head down rushed in from all quarters in a flash, and it was almost always my mind that gave away first/fast than my breath. And our Hollywood drill sergeant wasn't letting anyone cut this exercise short and rush to the other side of the pool, where real swimming, the moving arms and the kicking feet kind, was going on. Day after day, it was the same dreary exercise - breathe in, duck, breathe out, get out. Any lesson can only be as good as its teacher. Needless to say, I gave up after the first few days, vowing never to return again (which also suited me well, phobia-cally speaking) grading the instructor with a spiteful 'F'. Rose would had to wait for a few more years.

It is amusing to note how much movies contributed to the shaping of my survival skills. If it was 'Titanic', back in the day, that spurned me to brave the cold waters of an indoor pool, it was another Hollywood production 'Open Water' that scared me straight into confronting my old nemesis - water - all over again. The premise of the movie was quite simple (and worse, very plausible as it was a true story to boot). A couple gets accidentally left behind in an open sea by their scuba team, and the movie is about their harrowing experience bobbing like buoys in the seas trying to survive in the infested waters. Rescuing Rose was a luxury that I could afford to forgo. But when it came to saving my own skin, swimming (well, learning it first) became an absolute necessity all over again. And the kind of global/domestic travel that almost every other job in the present day work place warrants and mandates, finding oneself stranded in the middle of waters didn't require too much of suspension of disbelief. What if your plane crashes in the middle of an ocean, and you are sole life-jacket wearing survivor left alive (only because you were attentive enough during the safety precautions demonstration by the cabin crew, and the rest were plainly ignoring the hapless demonstrators, treating them like a little more than mild irritants)? What if the bus you were in drove off a bridge and plunged into a raging river down below because the driver dozed off in the middle of the night, and here too, you were the sole survivor (only because you were wise enough to grease the palms of the driver and get yourself a seat next to the emergency exit)?...and so on and so forth with a variety of vehicles and similar such scary scenarios where you can find yourself in the middle of an open water, holding on to your dear life, with little more than your shirt on the back, and a prayer in the heart.

This time around with a new instructor in a new pool at a new place, I spelled out my goals quite clearly to the instructor. It was very simple - plain survival. I didn't care about the beautiful butterfly strokes or the bare knuckle freestyle bouts. I wanted my head above the water at all times, and more importantly, I should be able to breathe with least amount of interruptions. I had neither the will nor the skill to swim open seas or collect Olympic gold medals. If I could just manage out there until help arrived, my time and energy (and money) at the pool were more than well spent. This time the instructor was a fellow countryman who understood the mindset and the modest ambition. He asked me to get into the pool (no breathing, no holding, no prerequisites whatsoever) and lay on my stomach face full in the water, limbs stretched out. And before I came out gasping for breath, he flipped me on my back, like some pancake, and instructed me to bring the limbs together, stare at the ceiling, and start flapping the legs up and down right away ever so gently. Lo and behold! I was floating, ladies and gentlemen, and even moving a bit here and there. Granted, I would have no sense of direction floating on the back, in an open sea, but then again, how would it help knowing my exact bearings (latitude and longitude) in the middle of an ocean even if I were an expert swimmer anyway? Thanks to my revised targets, for all practical purposes, I was a swimmer and not a sinker.

The situation reminded of a childhood joke about a country bumpkin who got a chance of touring England and visiting the Queen, equipped only with enough English to know the meaning of 'come here'. When asked by a fellow yokel as what he would do if he had say 'go there', our wise sage thought for a second and replied, 'I would go to the other side and say 'come here''. Same went with my swimming.

Now all I had to do to save my Rose is lie still on my back, order her to do the same, gently kick the legs exerting/expending as little effort as possible, all the while grabbing her by her hair, and holding on to it for dear life (for the both of us). That would do for now (and then)!

Friendly skies

2009-04-24T12:42:00.001-04:00

It does not matter how many times you are up there or how experienced you are at these things. Holding the overhead horizontal bar across the door that has just been opened and leering into 13,000 feet of deep abyss is just as unnerving as the 100th as it is the first time. It is just like the experience on a brand new roller-coaster. Even for the coaster enthusiasts (or coaster nuts, for some) the moment, when the coaster makes all the way on the lugging rail to its highest point and perches there for a second, before it screams into a dizzying fall at rushing speeds, is something that is always fresh, new and exciting. If you really want to up the ante, if the few hundreds of feet that even the tallest coaster in the world dashes to the ground from doesn't satiate your sense and appetite for extreme entertainment and intense rush, then the moment described above is just the right prescription. Hold the bar as tightly as you could, allow yourself to be rocked back and forth a couple of times by the tandem master strapped to your back, bring on the goggles attached to your head cap to cover your eyes, feel the force of the gushing wind intimidate you to the maximum, take a deep breath, and allow yourself to be pushed into tizzy spin of free fall. It doesn't get any better (or any worse) than that!

The actual act of jumping out of the single propeller airplane accounts for less than half the fun. The events and the moments that build up to the act make up for the most of it. First, the paperwork. You would be pretty certain, looking at the thicket of legalese that has been handed down to you in a clipboard, that you are indeed waiving all your rights and willfully cooperating in the study of "Euthanasia - its impact on the Medulla Oblangata" and not just waiving your right to put the para-jumping company out of business. It is quite understandable when the guys who want to take you up in the skies, drop you down from there, with the aid of a parachute that has been packed, prepared and sealed by them, do not want any part of the lawsuit that your kith and kin might be interested in, courtesy the pro-bono attorneys who just salivate at cases as these, if things do not turn up the way they were intended to, and you turn up on a ground as a ragged bag of bones. So you practically sign everything, but your living will, acknowledging that you are indeed amazingly out of your mind, incredibly idiotic, astonishingly asinine, that it is (and it is yours alone) waking conscious choice of jumping out a good airplane, and that the people, who help you in making come true this nightmare of a dream, would not, in any remote possible way, be held responsible for any malfunction of any moving working part of the paraphernalia involved in the entire operation from the airplane to the parachute. (The legalese is so complex and wordy that it would serve as a perfect setup for a Grisham thriller, a Hitchcock mystery, when the tandem master executes the perfect murder by asphyxiating you with tethers of the parachute, blames it on the equipment malfunction, waves the clipboard in front of the eager attorneys, gets away with it, and recedes into the sun-baked beaches of Cayman islands. There is a Hollywood movie begging to be made there!)

After the much needed "don't blame me for your stupidity" charade is done away with, you are treated to the first serious fare of "training". Hollywood movies play the spoil sports in most of these "training" situations. At the mere mention of training, the mind conjures up the following images, from all the various recent Hollywood movies you have seen of late, in random order - you would be crawling through the trenches with grease paint photogenically applied over your face, run up to a 10 foot wall, make a one jump extension to the top of it and climb down the other side of it, swing by a rope over murky puddle of water, run downhill quite quickly on a very inclined slope, before you come crashing down, gasping for air, while the Drill Sargent looks at you in a sense of general approval - all this while the background music is blaring through the Dolby Digital DTS speakers. The actual training was nothing like that. The tandem master just shows you how to stretch your limbs while you are falling, and how you should NEVER EVER kick him in the groin, while flailing your limbs wildly in excitement, once you are in a free fall. That was it. Just a literal one minute instructions run down - no trenches, no walls, no puddles, no Sargent, no music. That would be the first time you are really going to dread for your life, only because, it feels that the tandem master (instructor) left out lot more life-saving instructions out of lethargy. And moreover there would no question-answer session after the instruction dispensing. Now how is one to know how to pull the chord of the parachute, if the tandem master is dead, succumbing to a heart stroke, midway through the fall? Lucky, for us Hindus, that we believe in something called destiny and fate!

Soon after the one minute instruction recap, you find yourself in the bowels of the twin engine airplane, sitting next to few more eager jumpers, looking eqaully worried. You try to recollect what the instructor rambled on non-stop in a rapid fire fashion just a while ago. Was it fetal position that you have to get to immediately after jumping, or was it spread eagle position that you have to be in, and what was it that should never ever be done in any situation no matter what, was it kicking wildly or holding your breath? The questions attack the cerebrum from all the corners of the cortex at the same time and you try to ward them splicing your time and fighting each of them valiantly. In all the excitement, in all the worry, you forget all that "do"s and the "don't"s of it. And there isn't time to get back on the ground and go through the steps all over again. These tandem masters are cruel and sadistic that way. They read your face and know exactly what is going through your mind. When you look at them worried, they flash a sadistic smile, as though saying 'wait until we get to the door and you hold on to the horizontal bar overhead'. A few minutes later appears the moment of truth dancing in front of your eyes. You slowly get up and get to the door, one look down below, and all that has been masquerading/disguising as bravery till then slowly transforms into pure horror. Before you let out a last moment franatic "wait", the tandem master flashes his familiar sadistic smile once again, and a few moments later you are tumbling down in a free fall, yelling at the top of your lungs at the female form, waiting next in the line, to back off from all this!

A T-shirt back at the operation hut read - "Why jump out of a good functioning airplane?". And the answer was just as zen - "Because the door was open"

Locks' lament

2009-04-13T12:10:00.003-04:00

కేశ విలాపము

నేనొక క్షురకశాల లోనికి జని కురిచీన జారగిలబడి
జుత్తునందీయనంతలోన కురులన్నియు జాలిగ నోళ్ళువిప్పి
మా ప్రాణము తీతువామంచు బావురుమన్నవి కృంగిపోతి
నా తలపండునందేదో తళుకుమన్నది పుషవిలాపమునకు పేరడియై

పుట్టినాట నుండి
దువ్వెన వలలతో వేటాడి
కత్తెర మొనలతో హింసించి
సంస్కార క్రియల అంతమొందిచ జూతువే
మేము నీకు ఏమి అపకారము జేసితిమోయీ

పురిటిలో నవమాసాలు నిండకనే
పుట్టువెంట్రుకల వేడుక జేసి
బోసి గుండుపై అలరారు బాల వెంట్రుకలను
నలుగురిలోన నిర్లజ్జగా నిర్జించి
భ్రూణ హత్యకు ఓడిగడితివో తలారీ

ఆత్మీయతన అల్లుకున్న
మా తోబుట్టువుల పొదరిళ్ళను
చిక్కు ముళ్ళ పేరిట
చిందర వందర జేసి
మా భగ్న హృదయాల మీద
నీ భస్మ సింహాసనము
నిలుపుకొను నిర్దాక్షిణ్య చక్రవర్తీ
మా మూగ బాధ నీకు వినిపించదే

చమురు కాసరములో ఎదురీది
కుంకుళ్ళ కార్పణ్యమునకు ఎదురొడ్డి
సాంబ్రాణి పొగమంటలో మసిబారి
కడకు రిబ్బన్ల ఉరుల మా తలలు సోలిపోయె
పారాడు వయసు నుండి ఈ క్రౌర్యమునకు మారాడక
మీ చెరలో అనుభవించు నరక బాధల నుండి
ఈ జన్మకు మాకు విముక్తి లేదే

వింత రీతులోయీ మీ మనుజులది
మీ సౌందర్యమునుకు పాటుపడు
మా సహృదయతను కాదనుకుని
ఉన్న దానిని జారవిడుచుకొను
చింత జీవులు మీరు
ఉన్నది పుష్టి మానవులకన్న
కృష్ణ మూర్తి సూక్తి వినలేదుటోయీ

ఉంగరములు తిరిగి మీ వన్నెకు నగిషీలు దిద్దువారము
ముంగురులుగ రేగి మీ కంటికి అహ్లాదమందించెదము మేము
రింగులగ మారి నటభూషులకు శొభనిత్తుము
చెంగుమంటు ఉరికి మీ జడపాయలకు నడకలు నేర్పెదము
స్వేచ్చ మతులము మేము తాళుము తెగనరుకబోకుము

మొట్టికాయల నొప్పి బొప్పి కలిగించకుండా
కొమ్ము కాచునది మేము
కొలిమి ఎండ వేడి గుండును మాడనివ్వకుండా
అడ్డు పడునది మేము
సర్వాకాల సర్వావస్థలలో మీ తలనంటి ఉండు
సుందర శిరస్త్రాణములు మేము
సహజ శిరోభూషణములము మేము

వయసు జోరులో మీ కౌమార కళలు చాటి
మింట జయ కేతనమును ఎగురవేయు మేము
ముదిమి మీద పడినంతనే వివేకమునెంచి
ధవళ వల్కలము గట్టి మీ వెంటే సాధుచిత్తులగుదుము
మా ఆయువు తీరినంతనే మీకు ఇక భారవమక
నిశ్శబ్దములో నేల రాలిపోవుదుము

ఓయీ మానవుడా!

సత్యసాయి భూమిలోన పుట్టినావు
కురులపై కరుణ నీలోన చచ్చినేమి
మా కుత్తుకలుత్తరించు హంతకుండా
మైలపడి పోయెనోయి నీ మనుజ జన్మ

అలా... ఆ విధముగా...

కురుల క్షోభను విన్న నాకు మనసు రాక
డబ్బు క్షురకు జేతిలో పెట్టి వికలమనస్కుడనై
దుబ్బు జుత్తుతో మరలిపోయిన నా అమంగలమును గాంచి
ఇల్లాలు వడ్డించి వెళ్ళిన ముక్కు చీవాటలకు తలవాచి
తిరిగి క్షురకశాలలో చేరి తలను వంచిన నా అశక్తతను మన్నించి
మరు జన్మకు పుట్టు ఖర్వాటు రూపము ప్రసాదించు ప్రభూ....

Driving Ms.Daisy

2009-04-10T11:05:00.000-04:00

Males are driven primarily by ego. Knowledge, education, capabilities, all take a step back when ego jumps into action and starts taking charge of the situation. Seldom does it happen when ego triumphs in the end trumping conventional wisdom; and in the rest of the cases, it is a sad sight seeing ego fall flat on its face, while the rest of the faculties sadly look on, trying hard not to gloat over their victory. So, what is it that instigates ego and lets rational thought and judgment go to the docks? I'll be damned if the answer to that question was straightforward, for, it would have certainly prevented a lot of wars from happening in the first place, avoid losses to the humankind, and in this particular context, ended the eternal battles of one-upmanship between the two sexes - which is where my introspection about my bloodied and wounded ego began a few days ago. Like everything in time, that has to fall into its place, like good education, gainful employment, marriage and the fruits of that union shortly thereafter, there comes a time in every man's life, when he comes face to face with the uphill task of teaching his female form, the graceful and the delightful art form of automobile driving, the 4-wheel variety. Never did I realize that this seemingly simple task of driving straight on the road, braking when required and accelerating when needed, would take such a (painful) stock of a relationship, subjecting it to every kind of strain, stress, push and pull test, ever known to the humankind.

Instead of using silly games like "how much do you know about your partner", "NewlyWeds game" (where couples are given questionnaires about each other that are to be filled out separately and then compared at the end to see how much they about the other partner and how much they understand each other''s feelings), strap them together in an automobile, and allow the female form to take control of the steering wheel. If you want to really tighten the screws, make it a training session, preferably the first one; and if you really want it to be cruel, make it the first time that the female form has driven any kind of motorized vehicle, let alone a car, ever. It would make break a relationship, with true colors coming out in all splendors for the whole world to see.

Quoting Pandit Nehru's famous phrase, my "tryst with destiny" happened a few days ago, when I took the co-driver's seat (on second thought, why do they even call this a navigator's seat, because, as I later found out (quite painfully), I could neither assist in the driving, nor was I able (allowed) to navigate properly) and let the female form completely in charge of my fate, fortune and my lifeline (in that exact order), as I held out the driver's side door, in a gesture of great elegance, and let her take the seat, the wheel and the charge. Prior to this event, the female form had been coached for a couple of days, in ways of driving on the roads without causing to be a detrimental factor to the concept of the Driver's Honor Code ("Drive and let Drive"), by a nearby driving school instructor. The fact alone had been an object of great comfort to me, that I would not be her first guinea pig and neither would be the fellow pedestrians and co-users of the roadways. In that little excitement, my mind failed to register the obvious, that driving alongside an instructor is much different from flying solo, as different as the sun and moon, as the instructor would have a second set of controls (particularly, the life-saving brake), with which, he can at least, among other things, save lives, when the dire need arises. In the euphoria of watching the female form demonstrate whatever she had learned at the school (at the cost of quite a top dime), I completely overlooked that most important detail and gladly strapped on my seat belt. It is only a few minutes, when the female form reversed the car out of the parking lot, did I come to this painful realization, that with the female kind, whom are they driving with is more important than the fact that they are driving at all.

When the driving instructor signed off on her evaluation sheet after the instruction course, he rated her as a good learner, who could adapt to the situations fairly quickly and adjust to the conditions accordingly. Little did I know, that that certificate amounted to nothing more than the conduct certificate issued, at the time of the passing out of educational institutions, where everybody's character and the conduct is at least very good, if not excellent.

Walk a mile in others shoes before you start judging them, goes a paraphrased quote from the Old Testament. I tried, I really tried. I tried to jog my memory back to those days, when I learned to drive the car in a straight line, as I sat through watching in pure horror, as the car I am sitting in, careened off casually from one lane to another, without so much as a blinker, or any visual indication to the following that there was a change of mind and hence a change of lane. Was I this bad? Was I this terrifying? Did everyone around on the round went around with bull's eyes painted on their backs when I was driving? I sincerely relied on my memory to provide me a valid feedback, and on getting nothing, I let out one of my first shrieks (masquerading as manly shouts), terrified at the prospect of getting killed, sandwiched between 2 18-wheelers whizzing by, or killing someone, who had the misfortune of trusting people behind steering wheels blindly. My blood pressure shot up, my heart was pumping faster than usual, my temples were throbbing inside as though with a huge gong, my mouth became dry in an instant and I was having difficulty to come up with intelligible responses, other than a yip here and a yap there... I was a wreck, if you can excuse the pun. I couldn't believe that the high-priced instructor's lessons translated to this. It was a moment when frustrated poked at irritation and irritation paid it back in kind in the same coin. As all that was transpiring as the action was happening right in the middle of the road, I could neither ask (shout was more like it) her to pull over and switch places, nor could I close my eyes unable to bring myself to witness the inevitable carnage that was to take place, if things went unchecked as they were.

The helplessness of the moment exacerbated the situation even more. The more I yelled at her doing things right, the worse it got. The female form was welling up by the moment, obviously, from never hearing somebody yell that close to the ear at that high a pitch. The sight of her crying irritated me even more. It wasn't that I wasn't sympathetic to her situation and I certainly wasn't showing her tough love, but the rational part of me kept thinking that the layers of tears forming inside her eyes were definitely going to impair her judgment even more, as she was too tensed up to wipe them off, lest she took her hands off the wheel and cause some accident thereby.

Adversity builds character, I tried to comfort myself. This was necessary. You cannot twist or bend an iron piece until you slam on it, when it is red hot. It was a tricky situation. How can you teach somebody an instinct? Instincts can only be developed over a period of time, and driving is definitely an instinct, particularly, when it comes to responding to a situation on a reflex. But the sad part is, there is no other way of drilling that instinct in, than through hard training (with the operative adjective being hard). Add to that, the trainee is not a kid, who could be bent at will to any desired degree, and importantly a kid who would forget things quite easily to come back to you and play with you, without holding any grudges from before. The trainee is a full blown person, who already has developed a set ways of doing thing - shouting doesn't help, peace works, calm scores and such. But the situation was such that I couldn't help myself get aggravated at the ways things were unfolding before my eyes. By the time the car was pulled back into the parking lot (but not before hearing an earful and not without getting tearful), a cold chill came over and blew strongly between us, and I can say this with all certainty, that the outside freezing temperatures had nothing to do with it. Bilateral exchanges dropped down to minimal utilitarian levels. Monosyllables (that too, a lot more of "no"s than "yes"s) ruled the roost. This became one of those situations when context played a spoil sport than the unwitting players. I didn't know whether I had to apologize or just stay put. After all, I didn't even find a valid reason to apologize. What would I apologize for - for caring about my life and the lives of the innocents out there? I couldn't stay put too and let things thaw on their own, as it somehow felt that the automatic thawing wasn't going to happen either. And that was only the first day...

There was a story about Tenali Ramakrishna, about how trained a cat to hate (more like, get frightened at) the sight of milk, by constantly feeding it boiled milk day after day to scald its tongue, so that when the day arrived to demonstrate to the king a milk-hating cat, all that he had to do was bring a bowl of cold milk in front of his cat, as the cat did the rest, by jumping out of his hand and run of the court fearing for its life. I was somehow reminded of this story, when I handed the car keys to the female form during the subsequent days. (all that was left was waiting to see, if she would run away from her the car, or run away from me?). The charade went on exactly as anticipated, I couldn't control myself, she couldn't help herself - the shrieks, the shrills, the shouts, the sobs. The experience certainly introduced my darker side to myself. It felt as though we need to drive to couples' counseling office, the day she got her driver's license, as I see no other way of saving this marriage, after this fiasco. Providence, is what the staunch believers attest to. During one of the dreadful jaunts, I happened to receive a call on my cell phone that I had to attend to, even if it meant taking my eyes and my mind off the female form's next move. Que Sera Sera - whatever happens, happens - even the Spanish have thrown up their hands in the air, once in a while, in situations that cannot be helped (Now I am pretty sure that the phrase was coined by a man, teaching his woman how to draw the horse-carriage in a proper manner). I attended the call, turned my face away from the road (unable to confront the uncontrollable) and immersed myself in the conversation for the next few minutes. Miracles happen, and they happen when you are always not noticing. All of a sudden, the car adjusted its direction automatically, proceeding in an arrow like straight path along the lanes, braking itself giving enough buffer distance, changed the lanes in the manner prescribed by the department of transportation, and overall, started to enjoy the ride. (HINT HINT: KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND LET HER DO THE JOB). The realization drilled in me, as though with a sledge-hammer. I kept silent for the rest of the ride, enjoying for the first time, the view from the passenger's seat, in my own car.

Tailpiece: I made amends with the female form a few days later, willing to make up for my sins. The penance - I have to learn proper cooking from her for the number of days as she learned driving from me and I was to take all the insults, humiliations, rejections and belittlings in my stride, without as much as raising a brow, word or a finger. Nowadays, I hide my tears behind onion-chopping related discharges.

Sri Rama Navami

2009-04-02T10:45:00.003-04:00

Following the banishment to the woods, Rama, along with Lakshmana and Sita, and a few of his followers from Ayodhya reach the banks of Ganga, and wait to be transported to ther other shore, to continue on their southward journey. Guha, the chieftain of the tribe of the nearby Sarayu forest, comes to hear of Rama's arrival to his place and offers his services to paddle the boat. Up until this time in Ramayana, ethics, morals, values and other principles had always been impressed upon Rama by an elderly person, be it Viswamitra, Vasista, Dasaradha etc, and it wasn't until Aranya Kanda did Rama really start putting to use all that he had learned from the above. And no where is it indicated who actually taught him how to treat his wife and brother, both of whom went above and beyond their calling, in accompanying Rama to the forest, sacrificing their own comforts in the process. The following is a fictionalized account of how Rama received this instructional appeal, through Guha, in regard to conducting himself as a good husband and a better brother.

గుహ ధర్మము

ఆగు తండ్రీ ఆగు..

రాతిని నాతిని చేసి సద్గతినిచ్చిన నీవు
ఈ పడవను పడతిని చేసిన నా గతి ఏమి గాను?

రోజు తెడ్డులేసి జనులను ఒడ్డుజేర్చు వానిని
ఈ బ్రతుకుటేరున వడిదుడుకుల వలన
అనుభవపు జడితో వయసు తడిసిపోయె
నా మతిమీరిన మాటలకు చీకాకు చెందక
ఆ దరి చేరువరకు చెవులార ఇనుకో

కట్టుకున్న పున్నేనికి నారచీరలు కట్టించి
కానలకు కొనిపోవు కరకు పెనిమిటివే అయినా...

పుట్టినాట నుండి మెట్టినింట వరకు
కష్టమంటకుండ కదిలిన కాంతకు
కదలు బాటలోన కంటకములు తొలగించి
నీ అడగులెమ్మడిగ నెమ్మదిగ నడిపించుకో

జనకునింటి నుండి చెరగని చిరునవ్వును
సారెగా తెచ్చుకున్న మరుమల్లె తీగకు
ప్రేమ పాదు చేసి అనురాగమొలికించి
క్రమము తప్పక నవ్వు పువ్వులను
నిత్యమూ నువ్వు పూయించుకో

తోడబుట్టిన బాగ్గేనికి తోలుబట్టలు తొడిగించి
తమ్ముడిని కూడా నడిపించు కరుడు గుండెవే అయినా...

ఉరుకు వయసు హోరుకు అడ్డుకట్ట గట్టి
రేగు తరుణ తలపులను ఆవలకు నెట్టి
తండ్రి మాటను మన్నించు అన్న బాటను బట్టి
నిగ్రహమునకు నిలువెత్తు విగ్రహముగ
నీ నీడనంటి నిలిచున్న సంగతి
కలలోనైన నీవు ఎన్నడూ మరువబోకు

ఏకాంత సీమలో నీ కాంత సన్నిధిలో
లోకమును మరపించు కాలమును కరిగించు
సుదూర తీరలలో మైమరచిన మాటున
పతి పొందెడబాసి పదునాలుగేండ్లు
పడిగాపులు పడుతూ పడియున్న పడతి
ఉలుకు పలుకులేక వేరున్నదన్న ఊసు
నిముషమైన నీవు విస్మరించబోకు

తండ్రి మాటను మన్నించు కొడుకుగా
నీ దీక్ష ఎంతగానైనా మెచ్చదగినా
సేవ ధర్మమును పాటించి వెంట నడిచిన
వీరి త్యాగ నిరతిని వేనోళ్ళనైనా ఎన్న తరమా?

అన్ని తెలిసినవానికి కూడ
ఎన్నో తెలియచెప్పవలెనన్న ఆరాటము
తరతమములు తెలియక ఏదో పలికించినది
చిన్న వానివైన పెద్ద మనసుని చేసుకు
తప్పులున్నా ఎన్నక మన్నించిపో

బరువెక్కిన గుండెతో ఇక బ్రతుకు తెరువు కొరకు
నీవు లేని ఆ దరికి మరల నేను పోలేను
గుండెమంటతో కంటిప్రమిదలు చిదిమి
రెప్పవాల్చక నీ రాకవరకు
నీ తమ్మునాలికి తోడుగా ఈడనే ఉంటాను

Yugaadi

2009-03-26T10:17:00.006-04:00

The phrase 'warrior poet' isn't a silly concoction of mismatched/misplaced functions. After all, how can one be involved in a bloody act and then be poetic about it? The term however rises about the seemingly earthly duties of waging wars. It is about understanding the nature of change and necessitating it through knowledge. A war is never about the winning. It is about changing the status quo. It is this change that the sweet lark portends and brings it about with its war cry on time. It is the bearer of good news and the harbinger of a better tomorrow.

వసంత కోకిల

ముసురేసిన శిశిరములో రాజ్యమేలు నిశ్శబ్దమును
చిగురేసిన వసంతములో పనిగట్టుకుని పారద్రోలు
సద్దుమణిగిన గాలితో స్థబ్దమైన ప్రకృతికి
ఉత్తేజము నందిచ తన గొంతునూతము సేయు
చేతనమును కట్టివేసిన కాలపు నిరంకుశమును
దిక్కులను కూడగట్టి ఎలుగెత్తి ఎదురించు
సమరము సమసి వెల్లివిరియు విజయమును
వరసలు గట్టి వేనోళ్ళ కీర్తించు
ఓయని పిలిచే ఆమని పలకరింపును
ఓహోయని బదులిచ్చు ఆత్మీయతకు ఆనవాలు

ఇంత స్ఫూర్తినందించు ఆ చైతన్య మూర్తి ఎవరనిన...

పిడికెడంత తనువులో పిసరంత ప్రాణమున్న
కురచ కాయమును కప్పిపుచ్చుకోను
చిటారు కొమ్మల చిగురుటాకుల
చీర చెరగుల చాటు చూసుకొను
సిగ్గు మొగ్గలు వేసిన వింత విరిబోణి

లేత మామిడి పూతల వగరు రుచులు గొని
తీయ తేనియలూర మధుర బాణీలు కూర్చి
సుగంధాల గ్రంధాల భావాలు జతజేసి
పుప్పొళ్ళ పల్లకిలో పిల్ల గాలుల బోయీలతో
నవవసంత సందేశము నలువైపులా చాటు
అవనిపై వెలసిన ఆకాశవాణి

కుహు కుహూల జంట స్వరాలతో
రస తరంగాలలో ఊయలూగించు
సహజముగ అబ్బిన సంగీత ఙ్ఞానమునుతో
క్రమము తప్పక కాల ఙ్ఞానమును బోధించు
ఋతు శోభల సాంప్రదాయ కృతులతో
ప్రకృతి వేదికపై అనాది రాగము ఆలపించు
వీనులకు విందుచేయు సొంపైన సంగతులతో
వసంతుని స్వర బహుపరాక్కుల స్వాగతించు
వింత ధ్వనులు పొదువుకున్న చిన్న స్వర పేటికతో
పిట్ట కొంచెము కూత ఘనమన్న కీర్తి గడించు

Show me the money - 2

2009-03-23T17:45:00.000-04:00

Leave the finger pointing, the who did what and the blame games asides for a second. It doesn't matter how the collective greed brewed this financial mess. The issue is pretty simple. People who could afford mortgage payments on their homes, walked away from them for a variety of reasons - loss of employment, sudden increase in the monthly payments (following the end of their adjustable rate term), or for something as cold and calculated as, better business sense (money already poured into the house by means of down payment and monthly installments not adding up to the equity built on it, because of the real estate collapse, at which time it becomes a negative investment, like, investing $100 to get a $50 return). This collective abnegation of financial responsibilities by a small percentage of home owners (as per the reports last year, as less as 8%) held the whole system all over the world at ransom. That means, no monthly payments coming in on the loans made out by the banks (causing them to foreclose the loan and assume the responsibility of selling it in the future, and till then incur maintenance expenses), no dividends going out on the investments made by the public (and other institutions) who bought those loans that are packaged are securities, and no payments by the insurance companies who insured those securities (meaning, if the loan is defaulted by the borrower, the insurance company would make the payments, just like any other policy). The crisis successfully managed to create an economic gridlock - nothing coming in, nothing going out, and the active players staying put, either because of fear, or just playing the wait game. The net result is capital crunch. All the imaginary wealth created during the real estate bubble vanished in the valuation magic trick, and the ones (banks) that have real money (cash) refuse to lend it out, lest it too disappears in the financial black hole. So, there, that, in short, is where it stands, as the whole world is crying in unison SHOW ME THE MONEY!

The issue, though fostered and fanned by them, is beyond even the far reach of the banks. It is time for the Big Brother, the government, to step in and try to stem the hemorrhage first and infuse some life in the moribund system. It is a common misconception that the government 'owns' the money in its coffers and it is its to spend any which way it likes. Like any other institution (well, any other non-profit institution), it receives money and it spends money. The annual budget lays out in great detail the ways and means of its spending. So in a crisis like this, how can the government intervene when it has a fixed revenue (assuming no new taxes) and fixed costs? Like it is with everyone else looking for some extra cash at the end of the month to meet the obligations, government depends on borrowing - from its own citizens and from the international community - by issuing what are known as treasury securities. To put it simply, people loan the government a certain amount of money (for which the government writes a promissory note, of sorts), which it repays after an agreed upon term with interest. Treasury bills, bonds and securities are the most popular ways governments all over the world raise cash to fund their projects (war efforts, infrastructure improvement etc). Obviously credit worthiness of the borrower pays a major role. After all, why would anyone want to lend a known defaulter/bad borrower who doesn't keep his promises and his end of the payment deal? It is here that the solidity of the economy (the capitalist fundamentals of the economy) and the stability of the political setup are looked at, and for countries like US with virtually no political turmoil and non-existent security threats, investors don't even bat an eyelid before lapping up the government bonds.

But these are unusual times, and this is no ordinary crisis. For the kind of massive infusion that the government is looking for to defibrillate the economy to its senses, a few wealthy individuals with a few millions to spare buying up the treasuries alone, isn't just enough. The issue has gotten way too big for the millions and billions. Only trillions can come to the rescue. And who, not individuals, not foreign governments, would have that kind of spare cash lying around? As a matter of fact, no one, not even the usually uber-wealthy states in the oil rich lands, would have (and want to loan) those kinds of numbers. Enter the Federal Reserve (the institution that, among other things, is entrusted with keeping an eye on the cash flow in the country) steps in and PRINTS those trillions of dollars in paper money. It then uses that money to buy up those treasuries, which has the same effect of handing the government the cash its needs. The government then pumps that money into the economy through a variety of ways - taking up infrastructure projects (which is the fastest way to create jobs), taking the bad debts off the banks' books by buying those toxic mortgages, tax cuts to the people and the companies etc. However this new infusion into the system is not without any serious ramifications.

Inflation. In its simplest definition, inflation is a situation where there is more money chasing fewer goods. If at one point of time, there are $100 in the market, say with 2 people $50 a piece, trying to buy a TV, and after the tax cut, 4 more got $50 a piece, trying to buy the same TV, the demand and supply law states that the price of the TV shoot up. The immediate fall out of more money in the system in the reactionary rise in the prices. Everyone has more money for the same amount of goods. But since the market is suffering with the 'cash-strap' bacteria, the antidote of infusion would first get the economy on its legs. Inflation, at this stage is a welcome headache, but in fact is another battle for another day. But there is also an unwanted side-effect with more cash in the system - devaluation of the currency.

Currency, in the international markets, is traded just like any other commodity. And the value of it (usually with respect to other standard currencies as Euro, British Pounds, Swiss Francs etc) is backed by the vitality of the country's economy, meaning, if the US economy is sound stable and humming along nicely, people would like to stock up on the dollars, since the purchasing power of the dollar is more. But if the flood of the currency causes the prices to go up, it simply means it takes more money now, than it had before, to purchase the same commodity, which in turn spurns the prices of the imports, which again impacts the prices of the commodities, and the situation would soon spiral to its eventual doom (much like how the system in Zimbabwe has been decimated by thoughtless and mindless printing of more currency (it even has a billion dollar note)). So the tight rope walk of the government (and the Federal Reserve) remains deciding when to pull back all the extra cash in the system, without triggering another cash collapse. Since the first order of duty is to get the economy humming, let's restrict our scope to pre-inflation measures.

OK. So the government has got its trillions in its coffers handed down by the Federal Reserve. Now what? There are varying schools of thought here as to what constitutes the fastest way of jump starting the troubled economy. 1. the simplest - hand out an equal share of the total amount to each resident of the country and let them pour it back in the economy (in the process, by paying off some of their debt) and unleashing the collective purchasing power of colossal proportions. 2. the most convoluted - buy all the toxic mortgages from the banks, that locked up the system, by plunking down the cash, thus making the cash readily available to the banks to start lending once again, greasing up the system and resuscitating it back to life, in a top-down approach. And all the bad mortgages that the government bought would be sold back to the banks at a later point of time (hopefully for a tidy profit), when the economy turns around, and the values of the homes are back to decent levels. And if everything works as per the plan, the government pays back the Federal Reserve, effectively pulling back all that printed cash out of circulation, staving off inflation and devaluation at just the right time. In short, the immediate financial future of the country (and the world) hinges on that one conditional - IF everything works as per the plan.

To Krishna Devaraya's court came 3 brothers one day with a unique problem in their inheritance will. Their father decreed that the 17 elephants in their heirloom be divided in such a way that the elder gets half of the total, the middle gets a third and the last, a third of the second's. Obviously the individual fractions do not add up 1, and the animals were not to be sliced up (and killed) as per the will. A tough problem. Enter Tenali Ramakrishna with his inimitable wit. He adds another elephant from the king's stable to the equation, making it 18 in all. The first one's share - 1/2 = 9, the second one's - 1/3 - 6, and the third's - 1/3rd of the second - 2. 17 divided though not evenly, but humanely, and the king's elephant goes back to the stable. Problem solved. Hopefully, same is expected with the Federal Reserve and its trillions. Cash comes out, solves the crises, and cash goes back in.

That is the funny and frustrating part with the economy. As much as the experts try to force their theories as next to salvation, the truth is, NOBODY KNOWS - no one knows whether it would work, or wouldn't, and if doesn't work, what next? There are way too many moving parts in this complex global financial machine, that probability and predictability of an outcome is near impossibility. Just as the experts don't know why something didn't work, despite everything going for it, they don't have a slightest clue why something worked, when it worked. Every situation, meltdown, crisis, has its set of variables, conditions and platforms, that trying to learn from it in order to predict/avoid a future collapse is an exercise in futility. It is like that philosopher's saying - you can't take a dip in the same river twice, meaning at every unit of time, a new variable is introduced into the system changing some/whole complexion of the game. No two crises are (will ever be) the same, and consequently, the lessons learned from them, as history showed over and over again, are purely for academic purposes. The current financial experts quote the example of the Great Depression of 1929, when the Federal government simply stood aside and did nothing, as the unregulated market and the banking industry went down in flames, and it took a good 6 years to recover from it. Now, with the government so deeply involved in the mess and committed to turning the tide around, only history will decide if this indeed the cure for such ills, not just the dressing/treatment. As they say, peace is just a brief respite between two wars. May be, prosperity too might be a passing phase between two meltdowns. Like everyone and everything, who knows?

End.

Show me the money

2009-03-13T16:38:00.003-04:00

The case of the missing money remains an intriguing one to every one, from the uninitiated to omniscient. First, the puzzle. 3 people went to a restaurant and ordered something to ring up the register to $30, $10 a piece. Taking into account the group's frequency of visit, the owner of the place discounts the bill by $5 and orders his server to split it up evenly among the three. Not known for his modular division skills, the server could not figure out a way to evenly distribute the 5 note among the 3, and so pockets $2 and gives back 3, amounting to $1 a piece. And now the question, if the patrons paid 9 each (with the discount) and the server pocketed 2, where did the $1 go, from the $30 that they initially shelled down? The question is not so much about problem solving skills as it is about teaching perspective. The original problem lies in trying to solve the problem from both the ends, the payer and the paid. At the owner level, he received $30, kept $25 and returned $5. At the server level, he kept $2 and returned $3. From that paid end, owner received 25, server got 2 and the group got 3. From the payer's side, they paid 27 (with the discount), server got 2 and the owner got 25. Call it Creative Accounting 101. If only things were this simple in the real world, particularly in the current economic context, where simple mathematics is making absolutely no sense, and economics, pandits and analysts are trying to balance an equation where the LHS and the RHS appear to be loggerheads and at each others throats. First of all, I am not an economist and don't claim to be any sort of an expert on matters relating to economics, accounting practices and balance sheets, not to mention, trade imbalances, stock markets and market corrections. I am just an average person trying to wrap my mind around the current economic quicksand, that is just sucking in/out the steam in the financial system.

First, the broad statement. X BILLION DOLLARS HAVE VANISHED FROM THE MARKET. This was the statement that had me digging the rabbit hole in the first place. Does that mean that in addition to whatever amounted to economy, the hard cash in circulation in the whole world, an extra X billion dollars are missing from the market? Where did they go? Or the other fundamental question, how did those extra dollars come into being? In a simple transaction involving 2 people, if one sells the other a product at a value greater/lesser to what he got, he is said to have made a profit/loss. So A bought something for $10 and sold it for $11. The profit is clear as a daylight. And A has with him the $1 to show for (the Tax Man). And same goes for a loss transaction. Now when a newspaper report claims that the market sustained X billions in loss, the common sense question would immediately be, who profited by just that much standing on the other side of the transaction equation. There has to be someone balancing the equation out, else the natural laws governing the universe, not just the economics, are at fault, and everybody from Archimedes, with his water displacement theory, and Einstein, with his conservation principle, had it all wrong all this while. So, where did the money go, the billions and trillions all over the world? It is here that the missing dollar puzzle above hits us on the head, reminding that current crisis, like the puzzle, is never about the numbers, it is all about perspective. So, let's look at the question again - where did all the money go - from a different angle, the bank's, the ground zero of the implosion. Banks' operational philosophy is quite simple. Start with a certain capital, lend it out, earn the interest, subtract the costs, and announce the profit/loss for a given financial year. So if a bank A lends $10, from its working capital of $100, to B to buy a house, and as long as B keeps servicing the loan with the prompt payments, at the end of the term, the bank stands to gain on its investment. There are no tricks here, no illusions, no rabbits out of the hat. The working capital is real, the payments are real, and the profit is real. If the loan is defaulted, the bank has $10 of house in its possession to make up to its initial $100 capital. So, technically, if all the banks have in their assets column all the foreclosed homes, adding up to the loans they have disbursed, why are the banks striking out the game left and right? Don't they still have all their capital (assets + currency) in tact? Well, not quite. Because of a little thing called valuation.

That seems to the difference between a tangible value like currency's and a surreal one, like valuation's. Say, a new home was bought for $100. That means, $100 have changed hands between the builder and the buyer. As long as the home never changes hands again, ever, it becomes immaterial what the value of the home, very much like how people buy gold more as an ornamental addition, than as an investment opportunity. The real trouble starts when reality gives way to apparent, perceived and purported "value". Say, the owner wants to take out a loan on his home and approaches the bank. The bank sends an assessor to the place, who valuates it for $200. This is creationism at its best, from here on. The apparent jump in the value from 100 - 200, attributed to several legitimate factors, like demand, growth and neighborhood, is still an apparition. Suddenly an extra $100 has breathed a new life. Say, the bank lends $100 on the $200 property, hoping that even if the loan is defaulted, the bank stands to gain an extra $100 on its investment. And if lent out 10 such loans of $100, depleting its reserves by $1000, waging on a bet that pays of $2000 in the worst case of a default or anything over a $1000 in interest accrued, the business plan sounds solid on paper. When the worst case is indeed realized on all those loans, the bank is now in possession of $2000 worth of assets. Or is it? When one (or the market forces) can decide that a property that was worth 100 before is now worth 200, then it can equally dictate that what was $200 once is 0 zero. So the investment of $100 on the part of the bank has disappeared, with no one to profit from that loss and balance out the equation on the other end. Until the property gets auctioned off at a later point of time for a higher (or, just any) value, the money is stuck in a limbo. So technically all those X billions made by the banks on foreclosed homes are in the twilight zone between the reality and apparentness.

This valuation system has always been the bane of financial industry, where the demarcation between money and wealth is drawn in the sand - clear at times and hazy at some other. In this system, nothing is created, there are no goods (or even services) to show for, just some one sticking their hand in the wind and bringing bastard wealth into circulation. The same thing happened during the internet bubble, when crazy ideas were (over-)valuated and rewarded with ridiculous money, and when the dust settled, there was nothing to show for, but empty promises and unrealized dreams. So how much money is actually in the system, in the wallets, changing hands, and in the bank vaults? Surprisingly far less than one might think. So what does it mean when the government is going to pump in a few trillion dollars into the system - print that much more money? operate on 'I owe you' credit? or creative accounting again? And the answer, a hidden one, is all of the above. So if the there are already $100 in the market, and the government promises to provide a stimulus for another $100, does that mean that there is more money circulating in the market, changing hands. And the mischievous smile on the lips of missing dollar puzzle creeps up again.

Cont'd.

Sivaraatri

2009-02-20T13:17:00.010-05:00

The cosmic dance of Nataraja signifies the life cycle - creation, sustenance and destruction. The Dhamaru in the right hand reflecting the beat of the heart, the dancing feet trampling the dwarf (Apasmara), the march of life crushing down ignorance/indifference and the fire in his left hand, the destructive force (which of course, clears the platform for rebirth/rejuvenation). While the traditional view of the duties from creation to cremation involve Brahma, Vishnu and Maheswara, the concept of Nataraja is an embodiment of all the above in one unifying model.

నాట్యరాజు

శ్వాసకు ఆశ్వాసనమునందించు
ఉఛ్ఛ్వాస నిశ్వాసల నిశ్శబ్దములో
ప్రాణమునకు ప్రామాణమై నిలిచిన
గుప్పెడు గుండె గుట్టుచప్పుళ్ళలో
అంతరంగాల తరంగాల
ఆటుపోటుల నిబద్దతలో
సదా ప్రతిధ్వనించును ప్రణవ నాదము
ఢమరులయల మార్మ్రోగిన జీవన వేదము

స్థబ్దమును స్ఫూర్థితో మేల్కొలిపి
ఊహలలకు ఆలోచనల అందెలు తొడిగి
బ్రతుకునాట నర్తనకు ఉపక్రమించె
చేతనమునకు ప్రతిరూపమైన పాదము
కామితపు కొలిమిలో రగిలి
ఆవేశపు బుసలను విడిచి
అఙ్ఞానమును కాలరాయు లక్ష్యమున కదిలె
చైతన్యమునకు ప్రతీకయైన నాట్యము

ప్రతి గమ్యము క్రొత్త గమనానికి మార్గదర్శకము
ప్రతి అంతము నూతన ఆరంభమనకు నాందీవాక్యము
ఊపిరిని ఇంధనము చేసి
జఠరము రగిలించు అగ్ని
ఆయువు తీరినంతనలోన
కళేబరమునకు సాక్షియై నిల్చు
నిత్యాగ్నిహోత్రముల హోమవేదికపై పరివేష్టితుడు
అరచేత చింతనిప్పులు ధరించిన అనంతలయుడు

విశ్వమును వేదిక జేసి
కాలముతో తాళమును వేసి
ప్రాణమును లయలో నిలిపి
యోగమును ముద్రలలో జూపి
విశృంఖలముగ నర్తించు నటరాజ రూపము
సృష్టి స్థితి లయలు మూర్ర్తీభవించిన త్రిమూర్తి తత్వము

Missing missing

2009-02-09T18:15:00.003-05:00

It was supposed to be a five day trip on some official business to a city near by, just a few driving hours away. I looked forward to it as a nice get away from the routine of the regular work day life that was made up of the same office, the same people, the same work, and (pretty much) the same talk about weather, weekends, sports and the stimulus package; and also from the all too familiar home setup that comprised of the same people, same chores, same issues, and (almost) the same topics during dinner table conversations. This was meant to be a break from all that, and I already warned the office folk well in advance to not bother me with anything (except with the news that I am also another statistic in the growing epidemic of (f)ailing economy's casualties). Same went with the home crowd too as I laid down specific definitions on what constituted 'emergency'. I packed my bags, along with a couple of books (that I had bought long back at the local bookstore but never gotten around to opening them, leave alone reading them; you know, the impulse buys), and was all set to unplug from the regular setting and plug into a new domain, with new people, fresh conversations and new surroundings. Just as the door closed behind me as I got out of the house, I heard the faint voice of the female form telling me something about letting her know about my safe arrival at the new place, the moment I got there. And before I pulled away from the drive way, I made sure that the cell phone was charged to the full, the phone charger was in place in the car. I plugged in the iPod and tuned to my favorite playlist (that I otherwise never get to play, following the family's iPod's code of conduct laws, where only universally agreeable items could be played, and that every member has the right to veto) and was already on the way, in mind, body and spirit, to lands far away from the daily beaten paths. It was only an hour into the journey when the cell phone woke up from its slumber and cried crankily. The caller id on the display glowed "Home". What could had happened in just an hour - the plumbing broke? the garbage disposer (which was acting up lately) finally called it quits? the internet service was down? or the power was out? The maintenance mode in me kicked in with a flurry of possibilities and as I answered the phone, the soft voice on the other side chimed in - 'hi, how are you, so, how's the journey so far?'

I hadn't even crossed the city limits yet, I was in the same postal code still and it was the still same album playing in the iPod since I left. The weather was gloomy, overcast and still the same. I wondered what changed. I communicated the same and the voice on the other side comforted me with a 'that's ok, just checking'. Ok, so, I wouldn't be caught dead in a ditch on some highway somewhere with the police writing up the accident as an unidentified motorist, after all. It looked like the phone was going to ring in equally spaced intervals inquiring about my well being, and any deviation from that would be escalated to the highest levels possible. And just as I thought, before I reached the place and checked into the hotel, I received a few more calls of well being just to make sure that a boy in his thirti..(er.. high 20s) was able to drive safely on straight unblemished roads and reach the destination without any untoward incident. I was thrilled with that great vote of confidence. And just as instructed, I promptly placed my call to the home base informing that all was well, and nothing had changed in the last 15 minutes since we talked. Though the new place was a good 4 hours from the home, I didn't quite feel that much removed mentally. After settling in, I kicked back and relaxed on the ultra-comfortable bed propped up by the soft cloud-like pillows against the headboard, opened up the lid of the laptop and basked in its warm glow for a while. As I was busy preparing for the meeting for the next day, in came the invitation for a video chat session from my lady love, replete with cute smileys and other cuddly emoticons. I had but to accept, otherwise, I felt Bill Gates would be woken up from his sleep at some ungodly hour and somehow would be held responsible for my refusal to chat. And so it started - 'Hi', 'hi', 'what are you doing', 'preparing for tomorrow', 'oh! how's the hotel', 'good', 'is it like the same fancy one we had at that other place', 'no', 'oh, how's the weather', 'good', 'eating out or ordering in?', 'probably, out', 'oh, yeah! where to? chinese, italian or indian?', 'haven't decided yet', 'by the way, the package came in the mail in the evening', 'oh, good', 'when is the meeting tomorrow', '9:30 am', 'till?', 'about 6 pm', 'ok', 'ok', 'ok, good night, love ya, miss ya', 'ok, love ya too, miss....' WHAT!!! It was her last statement that didn't ring right with me (not the 'love ya' part. Having been married long enough, I knew some phrases become instinctive and reflexive that people seldom mean them literally, very much like the word 'WOW'. 'Yesterday, I bought a pair of jeans at the mall', 'WOW', 'It didn't rain at all yesterday', 'WOW', 'My kid's front tooth has fallen off finally', 'WOW'. After the 'F...' word, 'WOW' might probably be the most misused word in English language). It was the 'miss ya' part that bothered me somehow.

How was I missed? In what shape, form or kind was I missed? In a span of 4-6 hours, I was paged, called, chatted, and webcam-ed. If science had indeed caught up with science-fiction, I would had even been hologrammed. I was there at my home, in mind and spirit, and present in body, through bits, all in spite of my physical presence 4 hours away from it. My ideas were shared, my thoughts were communicated and my plans, let known. I wondered, how could I ever be missed? Has 'miss ya' joined the other knee-jerk sweet nothings (like 'love ya') that simply have lost their literal meanings forever? For all the benefits the revolutionary advancements in modern technology have handed down to the mankind, it certainly has robbed of the same, the simple and great benefit of 'missing'. This is not about waxing nostalgic about the great golden olden times, nor is it a luddite's war cry on the dazzling accompaniments of the modern man. This is about that the rare gift bestowed upon the mankind to simply miss things, miss people...miss memories, in general. When do we miss something - when we can no longer recollect it, have access to it or summon it at will. The same goes with missing people - haven't talked to them in a while, haven't seen them in a long while, having only a vague remembrance of how they looked. Like, the dear friend in the fifth grade with whom we had a 'never ever part' pact, the favorite science teacher who made quite an impression at the young age etc. The thought of missing had to involve the act of missing. But thanks to the rapid strides made on the digital roads, it is tough ask nowadays to remain missed. Cell phones, web cams, websites, twitters, chatters, social networking, digital photographs, and the recent addition, VOIP (that gives (away) the ability to talk to anyone in the world at a fraction of the cost) have made the job of falling off the face of the earth that much harder. There used to be a time when the reason to not have contact with someone was as simple as having no access to a telephone. Now, there is just no reason why one wouldn't have a phone, and even in those rare cases, when someone says he doesn't own a telephone, it is certain that it is going to be misconstrued as reluctance of the asked to part with the number on one level, personal dislike towards the requested on another level. Anonymity is no longer an option. If one is to function as an active (or, inactive for that matter) member of the society, an email address and a phone number are the barest minimum standards by which he is judged. And once the two are out there in the free world, forget about missing. The world has got you! But what's all the fuss about 'missing'? Why should you miss something or be missed?

Quick, which ones do you keep thinking about more - the ones you got or the ones you missed? Quick, attend a party without your spouse, and the first statement directed at you is about your missing partner, not a hearty welcome to you. Quick, score a 99/100 in Maths and take the report to your parent, the first question is, why was that single mark missing? It is a natural law that space holds a direct proportionality to affection/attraction. All the eloquent poets' exquisite poetry stand testament to that unassailable fact. Perhaps this is what the philosopher meant when he said, 'if you truly love something, let it go'. So in not so many statements, separation anxiety is good for the soul. Just like necessity propels invention, separation fosters curiosity. Would you rather talk to someone whom you haven't seen in a long while or talk with somebody whom you deal with on a daily basis, all things being equal? Now that it is established that 'missing', along with low cholesterol, is good for the heart, how can one make sure that he both is missed and misses others? As much as technology has made it hard for this, a simple start to disconnect and unplug from the existing network would be a) by changing your phone number and refuse to part with it, no matter what b) decommissioning your old email address, and creating a new one, only if needed, and like above, refuse to part with it, no matter what. c) staying away from any sort of social networking that'll get you in touch with all sorts of 'lost + found' relationships, like reunion sites, old classmates pages, find my buddy and other such. These three acts would take you 90% out of the circulation, if not completely erase your digital traces in the cyber world. And I guarantee, this is going to make your life that much more interesting the next time you visit your friends. Though these couldn't be tried with the mandatory relationships in life, I guess that is the price to pay for clean sheets and hot food.

In all the five days I had been away, there wasn't much that happened in my world that the female form wasn't privy to, and that included, the meals I ate (and the items I liked and hated), the programs I watched on the TV, the items I bought for her at the local mall, and the periodic weather updates. I shared, and I shared like it was nobody's business in all modes possible. After I returned from the trip, the female form greeted me at the door step, and the first question was, "so, how was the trip, what's new?".

I miss missing.

A hairy account

2009-01-29T14:23:00.004-05:00

It all started with just a silly comment, ones that are generally made without the involvement of the right (not right or left right, but right or wrong right) side of the mind, comments that usually are blurted out, which are not meant to be taken seriously, and should not be used for future reference so as to gain an upper hand in any conversation. In this particular scenario, the relationship between the maker of the comments and the taker of the same assumes great importance. Say the relationship is of peer level, as in plain friends. Once the stupid comment is made, and both the parties involved realize the stupidity of them at just about the same time, either a) the taker would call on the maker and the maker immediately gives in and both of them laugh it off, or b) the taker and the maker immediately realize the asinine nature of the comments and the taker keeps mum about them, so as to not embarrass the maker and make the moment really awkward. An example of such kind of comments would read, Indian cricket team never wins important matches, because they are handsomely paid off to throw them away. If the relationship is not on an even keel, like a parent-child or a superior-subordinate dynamic, the taker would take pity on the maker and would correct him immediately to set him on the right path. The maker too, on his part, would yield in deference to the suggestions of the taker, be it because of the disparity in the levels, or because of the firm belief that the taker's intentions are truly genuine. Next in line is one of the most complex, inexplicable and mysterious relationship that exists between a husband a wife.

It is not completely a peer-level relationship, where husband and wife are on an even footing, despite what feminists and some film-makers would have us believe. It is not entirely a superior-subordinate scenario with both male and female taking either position depending on who wears the pants in the house. Generally speaking, in the male chauvinist(ic pig's) world, the relationship would remain at a peer level, as long as the female agrees/acquiesces/and applauds, from time to time, all the comments that are made by the man. When the female starts to question the veracity/authenticity/and in some cases, the validity of those comments, the relationship quickly turns into a hostile superior-subordinate kind, with the male assuming the role of the superior, relegating the female to the subordinate position, much against her wishes. Also the male immediately turns off his receptors, and refuses to acknowledge, let alone accept, the female's suggestions or counter-comments vis-a-vis his original blubberings. This action is usually termed as "taking a stand". Once someone (that someone, for most part, is the male) takes a stand, logic, reason and basic comprehension skills are usually thrown out of the window, as he continues to surge forward purely on the merit of his social status, higher voice and bloated ego. There is a particularly telling verse in the Gita which deals with this specific situation of the mind spiraling out of control hurrying towards it's eventual doom, as it starts to lose one faculty after another in quick succession, all culminating in the person turning clinically insane. Though the situation between a husband and his wife would never turn that dire, because when it generally starts to head in that director, the female's wisdom prevails over, as she backs out of the conversation, leaving the male gloating about his hollow victory.

The situation can turn even interesting, if the female can drive the male into painting himself in a corner, from which the only way out is to concede his position and bail out respectfully. But in cases, the male becomes adamant to yield his ground...

In hindsight, I agree that my comment was stupid, out of place and totally unnecessary. I, like any other typical South Indian, have a fascination with long, flowing (braided would do too) hair on females, to the point that I openly admire on other females, in front of my own female form, for, I consider it as any other attribute of beauty and nothing more. All the songs that I have seen till date made by classic film-makers, involved long flowing hair, when it came objectification (er..personification) of beauty in the females. Though I had not dreamed about a wife with long flowing hair since my childhood, like how it is with girls and princes in shining armor on white horses, I had absolutely no problem with what I got as my share of bounty in terms of tresses department. Which is why it came as a rude shock to me, when one day the female form came up to me and said that she would like to cut it short, not exceeding beyond the neck, citing convenience. I couldn't believe what I just heard. Why would anybody want to willfully part with that great attribute of womanhood, even if entails putting up with a little discomfort. Add to that, the latest flier from the neighborhood hair stylist to slash down tresses and prices, in that order, didn't do me any good. It felt that the whole world was conspiring against me, denying my legally granted privilege of gazing endlessly at the twisted hair knot, whenever I felt like. A lot of discussions, negotiations, bargains and barters ensued, as I didn't want to give up on my follicle-fetish without putting up a good fight. I knew that the odds were really stacked up against me and I couldn't hold on any longer with just a "beauty, womanhood" card, while the female form is stacking up convenience, ease of handling, lesser time and energy on grooming procedures, and the dreaded on, prospect of piercing headache post a shower session, which might in fact turn into something more serious.

That she was even asking my permission, I knew deep down, was just a token of respect, and that I could do absolutely nothing if she just got up, walked into a hair salon, did the deed and walked back in calmly. No sooner it occurred to me that I had no logical jurisdiction over this matter, I resorted to playing the "husband knows better" card, "I am older than you and hence have lot more experience and consequently more say in this matter" card, and the trump card, "I have sacrificed a lot for you, can't you do just this thing for me". When all talks have broken down, negotiations came to a standstill and the situation settled on a stalemate, I invoked my executive privilege - "If you go ahead against my wishes and lighten you load on the head, I am going to reciprocate in kind and go bald, not only on the head, but around the upper lip", in the silly hope that all females would want their men to sport a macho look, with long side-burns, a rugged beard, and a menacing mustache. And when she pounced on my idea and shook hands on that vigorously, I realized that she was going to go ahead with it and that she had already made up her mind. Which is when the vicious comment, that had started it all, came out like a thousand daggers - "You silly weaker sex, you moan and cry about every little thing that gets just a tad inconvenient. You people neither have the stomach nor the appetite to handle tough and pressure situations"; and then the killer - "You women are fit for only two things - NAGGING AND COOKING.

I know, I know, I went too far. Women respond instantly when commented upon their collective behavior than when commented on individually, while men's minds respond the reverse way. I got the reaction....and some more...

The deal was pretty simple. For however long I can go without a haircut, the female form would keep her end of the bargain. It is a given that I cannot hold on forever, keep growing my hair endlessly, before it curves, loops, twists, curls, bends and then starts extending in unanticipated directions. The only option I had was to arrive at an amicable arrangement, provided I show a little spunk that I can take the stink like a man. And so it started 11 months ago. The first few months were fun, as the rate of growth was not as pronounced, and therefore, the mop on the head would look the same at the end of the 4th month as it was around the second month. Also it was very structured and even, bending nicely to the will and the wiles of the comb. Interesting things started to happen around the 5th-6th month period. Unable to grow in a straight line, the first loop started to appear around the ear, which if not checked and pressed back behind the ear from time to time, started to fall over the ear, causing a ticklish feeling in it. So as to not be mistaken for an ear infection, the subject, if in the midst of a company, had to slowly take the extra tress of hair dangling over the ear and gracefully settle it back behind.

NOTION No. 1 QUASHED - Women do not do this to appear coy, skittish or even cute. They do it because it really annoying and irritating.

Of course, this period offers a great benefit, if one is interested in wearing caps. The image of an Imran Khan, with the cap carefully placed on the head, to indicate a dash of nonchalance and a sprinkle of carefree (careless) glamor, with most of his mane, outside his cap than inside of it, that moves, bounces, and swings with his every step, is a sight to behold. Though not to that level, the 5th-6th month period offers a shot at that kind of irreverent image. It is when loops start to give away to curls and lumps start falling over themselves, on their own weight, and layers start to build. This is the period when it is said that "your hair is really growing, don't you think it is time for a snip" (I wish I could, my friend, I sincerely do). As it started to grow more and more, so is the number of times my hand started to involuntarily move towards the hair trying to suppress it and get some semblance of order restored in that region. And the more I tried to do so, the more it became unruly and unmanageable. I started carrying around a comb in my pocket, something that I had always looked down upon, and whenever I chanced upon a reflecting surface, pat came out the comb from the pocket and restoration operations instantly resumed.

NOTION No. 2 QUASHED - Women do not look into the mirrors often to appreciate what they find in there. It is to manage the unruliness from time to time.

As more and more hair started to cascade down the neck region, so was this unfamiliar unsettling feeling that something slimy was crawling up there, causing me to jerk my head and hand to clear that region once in a while, to appear as though I was suffering from some catatonic disorder to an unwitting onlooker. In order to compensate for that feeling, I started to push my hair at regular intervals, causing it to bunch up and grow laterally, without my slightest knowledge. As the 10th month set in, the voice of reason inside me started to scream for a haircut. Hair started to directly fall over the face, sometimes poking directly in the eye, right in the middle of some serious conversation, causing me to react quite violently at the little tuft of hair, at the risk of being grossly misunderstood by the person right in front, mistaking my grimacing and other facial contortions as affront to his mere presence. Amid such inconveniences arrived the day that I started to fear the most - the shower day.

By this time, the act was no longer termed as "taking a shower"; it turned to "washing the hair". The calculations of the amount of shampoo for a unit of hair had gone completely haywire, and every time it was either too little or too much, for that perfect rinsing experience. After the arduous process of washing the hair, which sucked out most of the energy, as I had never thought raising the hands up the head for more than 5 minutes would bring out such an unbelievable pain at the shoulder-joints, came an even more painful process of drying it. And it certainly didn't help thinking about permanent health risks involved in using a blow dryer. Since the amount of hair involved warranted the use of a turkey towel, which exacerbated the problem adding its own weight in the process, the time spent drying it doubled the time spent washing it. That was only half the show. The rest of it played out in front of the mirror. Since the hair could not be allowed to completely dry down, for the fear of internal knotting, it had to continuously combed on and on, to the point that you faint of exhaustion. From start to finish, the entire process took around half an hour, and sometimes even more, with no energy left afterwards for anything but fall back (collapsing was more like it) on the bed.

NOTION No. 3 QUASHED - It is not just women who get weary after a tiring shower session. Sex is not the issue here. Size is.

10th month rolled into the 11th as the season outside changed into a nice, torrid summer. With sweat oozing out of every pore, the prickly nature of the dry weather causing to have to scratch quite often in the area what till a few months ago resembled a human head, the irritation of the sweat on the face compounded by constantly falling hair, the season of summer dawned an entirely new realization about convenience, health and humanity as a whole. A stroll through any road which had a barbershop board brought out longing looks. Screw beauty, screw glamor, screw the misconceptions about what constitutes womanhood. Long hair is just plain harassment. For all the time and energy expended on washing, drying, grooming, maintaining, and putting up with it, just because the idiot husband can look at it admiringly for a couple of seconds and go about his way, IT JUST IS NOT WORTH IT. I finally realized what the female form did. What negotiations and trade embargoes couldn't achieve, a little "tit of tat" did it many times over. So from here on, whenever I see a female form walking around with a bob-cut, or a step-cut or just plain chopped, I might not appreciate it, but I certainly understand it.

NOTION No. 4 QUASHED - Like the woman's right to choose (as in pro-life and pro-choice debate regarding woman's right either to keep her baby or get it aborted), the man has no say in how a woman wants to wear her hair.

Epilogue: On one of the following days, I made an appointment for two at the neighborhood hair stylist for the weekend - one regular, and one bald.

Sankranti

2009-01-21T11:50:00.005-05:00

భోగి మంటలు

పొద్దు పొడిచే వేళకై ఘడియలు లెక్కపెట్టుకుంటూ
చేయవలసిన చేష్టలను తిరిగి నెమరువేసుకుంటూ
కలల బేహారి నిద్రను దరి చేరనివ్వక
అసహనమున పడక మీద పొర్లాడు కుర్రకారుకు
తొలి కోడి క్రీన్కారమే మంగళ సుస్వర సుప్రభాతము
గాలి పాటల గాలి పటాల కోతల కేరింతలలో
కోడిపున్జుల కోసు పందేల తుళ్ళింతలతో
ఉరకలేయు ఉత్సాహములో ఎగసిపడె
శిధిల గతాల చిచ్చులలో భోగి మంటలు
రేపటి బాటపై క్రీనీడలు పోద్రోలు కాంతి రేఖలు

పరువపు పరవడిలో అందగించిన అందమంతా
పొంగు కొంగు చుట్టున బిగియజుట్టి
మది నిండి పొరలు చిరునవ్వుల తెరలను
ముని పంటి మాటున నొక్కిపెట్టి
ముంగిట వేసిన ముగ్గులలో రేపటి కలలు దిద్దుకుంటూ
చెక్కిట అంటిన రంగులలో ఎర్రటి సిగ్గులు చెరుపుకుంటూ
మరు ఏటికి మరుని మగని కమ్మని
కోరు కన్నె బంగారుల గొబ్బి పాటలలో
ఆశలు ఆజ్యము చేసి వెలిగించిన భోగి మంటలు
రేపటి కళ్యాణ వేదికకు తరలివచ్చు అగ్నిసాక్షులు

అందిన చోట నోటి మాటతో అందని చోట నోటు రాతతో
అరువుల ఎరువులు తెచ్చి చేబదుల చేనులో చల్లి
ఏపుగా పెంచుకున్న పంట
చేతికి అందివచ్చు ఆఖరి నిముషాన
రుణ రాబందుల మంద కసిగా కాపుగాసి
ఇంటికి గింజనైనా చేరనివ్వక
పంట నోట కరచుకుపోయిన చేదు నిజము
గొంతుకు మింగుడు పడక కంటికి కునుకు రానీయక
కడుపులో పేర్చి పోయిన చింతల చింత నిప్పులు ఈ భోగిమంటలు
మారని తలరాతల గీతలు ఏటా చెప్పు కడగండ్ల కధలు ఈ సంక్రాంతి సద్దులు

(ప్రేరణ: శ్రీశ్రీ గారి "సంధ్యా సమస్యలు")

Is brevity indeed the soul of wit?

2007-02-09T15:25:00.002-05:00

Traditions and values are going down the drain. It is not just the same old anymore. This generation has become more brazen and has slipped further from when I saw it last. It is a ticking time bomb waiting to go off anytime. The situations and conditions are ripe for God's second coming... It wasn't the current state of national or regional politics that set me on the collision course with Generation Y (or Z, or whatever they call the next generation; which makes me wonder, what after it?) Politics has always been the rotten apple from eons before. With only the players and the kind of plays that keep changing on the center stage, it has been a foregone conclusion that not much is going to change in the theme of politics (power struggles), and thereby not much is expected of it either. It isn't the movies too, the other touchstone/yardstick/litmus paper that measures the performance of a generation on the culture counter. Unlike politics, measuring the impact of movies on the current generation calls for Mr. Heisenberg and his uncertainty principle (which was about how it is impossible to determine the position and the speed of any particle in the universe with pinpoint accuracy). Some philosopher once said "it is impossible to take a dip in the same river twice", because a flowing river is going to be different at each instant of time. I feel movies fall under the same category. There are too many moving parts there - what is played on the screen and who is watching it - to objectively gauge the voice of the generation.

My main quibble started when, the other day, I received an instant message from an acquaintance, about 15 years younger to me, that said "hi dude, ? r u, long [the icon of a watch] no c". That was when it struck me. It is not the movies that aptly describe the prevailing conditions of the culture. It certainly isn't politics or the policies at that period of time that can measure the means and ways of the generation. It is the language. Language is the hallmark of human innovation. Language, more than the fire and the wheel, bears torch to the ingenuity of the human mind. Where once were shouts, calls, grunts and other guttural sounds to get the point across, during the ages of cave-dwelling and non-seasoned food eating, great oratory and excellent penmanship stood now, to do more than getting the point across. They are chief reasons why human progress made rapid strides in the last 10,000 years.

All that it took was a greatly painstaking process of devising a system, that would cover most of the sounds that are heard and could be generated, phonetically, and making sure that the majority would accept, adhere to and embrace the system. And once the language fundamentals had been laid down, next came the arduous process of coining words, phrases, setting grammar rules and other structural aspects. Why should a predicate be always about the subject and not the other way around, how an adverb is some special circumstances can double as an adjective too and many such. It is mind-boggling when we sit down now, at this point of time, and try to reverse engineer and language completely - not just coming up with alphabets or words, but completely devising a language. With the language born and the key items in place, it was time to wait for the word wizard, who can fully exploit the various features and functionality aspects of it, and deliver masterpieces that could remain as the cornerstones of what human mind is capable of, given the right tools and ripe moments. "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind", "Cowards die many times before death".... prose, poetry, sonnets, soliloquys, orations, comprehensions, precis - human mind conjured up phrases, twisting and turning words, toying and playing with them, to celebrate its existence, to loudly pronounce to the world that "I think, therefore I am"...from there to "long time no C"??? Shakespeare should surely be turning in his grave.

Language is just a medium of communication - I have heard people of the neo-culture often hide behind the statement, whenever structure is stressed in matters of sentence construction. As long as the intention is conveyed, what use there is of the "doth" and the "hath"s. "A rose would just smell as sweet as with any other name", should in their words be technically equivalent to "fuggedaboutit, who the shit cares?". I guess that's where technicality takes a backseat when one tries to quantify the effect that words have on our everyday life. Getting across an intention though is technically equivalent to conveying an emotion, greatly differs in the way, the reaction that is generated from across the aisles. And to spur a reaction, language becomes the chief weapon. If you take the great speeches that have been recorded in the human history, it would be amply clear that the orator or the writer's intention wasn't simply to report on what he/she thinks about the issue. The "I have a dream" speech of Martin Luther King Jr, the famed Gettysburg address of Abraham Lincoln on the even of civil year, or our very own "Freedom and midnight" speech on the eve of Independence by Pandit Nehru, all but point to the same fact, that great ideas come wrapped around in language flourishes. The point simply isn't to put forward an idea, but rather put it forth in such a manner as to evoke a reaction - a sense of grandeur, where castles are built on words, a sense of urgency, where words spurn the spine into action, a sense of great emotion, where images that words paint cause a consternation from deep within.

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
by narrow domestic walls;
Where the words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by Thee into ever-widening
thought and action--
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father,
let my country awake.

The above words of Rabindranath Tagore weren't just about "rise and shine" to an average freedom fighter, it conveys a much deeper thought than that. That the freedom that is gained such have all the above, and not just its own master. Try replacing that with a much simpler "Queen Victoria murdabad", "phirangiyOn, bhaarat chODO"...

As an afterthought, vox populi (voice of the people) has always been the bane for the language. Where majority has a say, where too many cooks start churning the same broth, language has never flourished. In the olden days of monarchy and other single point control government, arts, in particular language, garnered great patronage and seemed to have gained a few more paces in the right direction, than when everybody had a say. The single minded devotion of the one person, who has taken upon himself to champion the cause or advance the case of language, particularly if the person if bestowed with authority, certainly beats out the haphazardness of the majority, in which language is pulled in different directions by different peoples, hands down. The accessibility of the language, and the accessibility of the tools to spread (more like, disseminate) the thoughts around at lightning speeds stood, quite paradoxically, as an impediment for the spread of good language. "Get me some bling bling, and I'll shizzle your jizzle" also counts for language nowadays. It is not just a matter of taste, appreciating or deprecating a usage, exalting or excoriating an expression. What is appalling is, what passes off as language in the first place.

Technology is also to blame for the current scenario. In its exuberance to connect people, it had the right idea, but it certainly didn't go about implementing it right. Instant messaging, text messaging which often encourage butchering of the language for the want of time and convenience, do as much damage to the structure of the language and the beauty of it, as much as book-burning or abolishing of certain works (selective censoring) do. Short forms, abbreviated forms, concocted forms of expression that have slowly seeped into our ethos as slow poison, are gaining immense popularity in technological circles, that strongly encourage, and sometimes, even rewards, linguistic mediocrity. Type "chat word dictionary" in your google search and you would find an entire dictionary of maimed words and mauled expressions. The malignancy does not end there. Take any official email that circulates in an office environment. Even bigwigs, who are supposed to be equipped with better linguistic skills than a typical teenager, find themselves fumbling when it comes to simple words, like yours (and yes, there is no apostrophe after r).

May be this is the natural progression of any language. May be this deterioration is a natural phenomenon (just as with anything that has seen its heyday) that would welcome the next stage in human communication - mnemonics. May be binary is the final language that the human kind settles in. Isn't it ironic that we want our machines to be more human-like (understanding oral commands and giving out verbal messages) as we, the humans, become more and more machinelike? May be, I am unnecessarily lamenting about something as natural as sunset. If that is the case, let me herald the new age - I'll c u & TTYL.

State of Denial

2006-11-17T15:03:00.001-05:00

The ball rolled towards me and stopped a few inches away from where I was leaning on a parked scooter. A little kid, measuring not more than 3 feet from the ground came running, picked up the ball, looked me up, gave me a smile, and went running back to his band of brothers, waiting on the other side of a broken wall, in the park, on a day that was just cool enough to warrant long sleeves, but not before dropping a bomb whose effect I am still reeling under. "Thank you Uncle" was what the lilliput uttered. It wasn't the fact that I had received an undeserved acknowledgement for which I haven't even lifted a finger for that had me dumbfounded. Well, he came, he saw, he took and he ran. Sure, I have received my fair share underserved applause and attention through these years that I had seldom worked for, for which I rarely felt necessary to raise a hue and cry about honesty, integrity, morals and ethics, and return the adulation and awards. It wasn't about the first part - Thank You - at all. It was about the fact that the kid grossly over-estimated my physical stature, wrongly attributed an undeserving age and completely misappropriated a much maligned title - Uncle - to it. Nothing in the lexicon on youngsters Websters is a phrase more deadlier and more harmful for the psyche as the term "Uncle", arguably, next only to the other curse word that is avoided like the plague in the younger circles - "Brother". Yes, I completely understand the growth process, both physical and psychological, and very well know the association of the right words and the right words to the right relationships. But somewhoe, this term "Uncle" is like a runaway term, a renegade, a mercenary, a gun for hire that could and would shoot at will, with scarce care or concern about the feelings of the person, it is going to inflict the pain upon.

"Uncle" is such a loosely used word that doesn't adhere to the formalities that usually govern the general rules of relationships. It doesn't obey the laws of nature and is bound only by the special theory of relativity. While the rest of teh relationships enjoy diplomatic immunity (and therefore adhere to the strict standards that come with the turf), so as not to be confused with something else (like, calling one a dad, a brother, a sister is tied to the physical laws of nature and nomenclature, and therefore a dad cannot be confused with a brother), the term Unlce is covered under no such jurisdictions, enjoying a free pass that crosses (tresspasses is more like it) boundaries, limits and in times like above, sense of human dignity and decency. Uncle? What the .... did I do to deserve that abhorrent title? I didn't grow a pot-belly. I didn't have grey parts in the mustache, side-locks or in the rug above. I don't wear heavy set of glasses (well, not at that time that I had interacted with the kid at least, I took them off for wiping the goo that usually gets built up (for reasons unknown) in the area adjoining the nose bridge). I didn't have any shirts, slacks that were stitched up by the nearby tailor (as a matter of fact, I always wear the most worn out jeans and a T-shirt, that is at least one size less, and always barely covers the belt buckle, even if it comes at the cost of belabored breathing) - what did I do wrong to deserve, to warrant, to earn, such a cruel and a demeaning epithet? And the thing was, I was still referring the ones a little elder to me as Uncle. When did I graduate from "boss", "hey", "guru" to "Uncle" all of a sudden, without my knowledge, and almost certainly, without my effort?

Change is inevitable, goes the cliche. But growth is strictly optional. And I made sure I didn't grow at all! Where did that come from - no where? thin air? Knowingly or unknowingly, the kid has certainly set the marbles in my mind rolling. Am I growing old? Am I looking old? or Am I already old?

Granted, the kid is still a kid and might not be aware of the different ways of greeting and treating people, based on age groups, and also considering the possibility that this kid might be a bit mentally challenged or a little slow in availing his faculties, there is still an odd chance, however remote and however far-fetched, that the age process might indeed be catching up to me and I am slowly becoming yet another unfortunate statistic of the dreaded WYSIWYG (what you see is what you get) phenomenon that generally dictates the aging principles. The face, which serves as the index of the mind, might be doing a double duty and also acting as an age indicator with a ticking time clock, pasted right on the forehead, indicating the miles put on the already worn out body, just like the odometer in regular vehicles, only this has no way of turning the miles back, even in the hands of an expert mechanic. Age is just a number, someone said. Well, that number is haunting me like a nightmare now, refusing to be shaken off, like an ace-detective or a smart police dog on a hot trail. I even entertained the possibility of size here. I was certainly a lot bigger than the kid, perhaps even bigger than his dummy daddy at home, who, to my misfortune, is the only benchmark he knows, that separated "hey" and "Uncle". Well, I certainly remembered the days when I was that kid, playing in dusty playground, chancing a glance once in a while at the elderly ones, sitting on stationed bikes, on the fringes of the playground, treating themselves to a deep smoke or a loud joke occasionally. I took every possible chance to be like them, to be around them, and by God, to be one of them.

I wanted to wear long pants, smoke filtered cigarettes, holding them ever so lightly between the middle and index fingers, flicking the ash just in the time for the next puff, sit on parked vehicles, and comment in a hush tone on the skirts that pass by. And so, during our play times, when the ball happened to roll towards them, I put my hand up for volunteering for the job, ran quite quickly to gather it, but also say "Thank you Uncle" evne though those lazy asses never even bothered to acknowledge my presence, leave alone, my small token of (underserving) gratitude. And in the off chance that somebody did notice, they nodded their heads and quickly shooed me off. I don't particularly remember them to be miffed at being called Uncle, nor were they sulking beyond reasons of sanity, just as I am, right now. They were absolutely fine with being termed that and I had no trouble obliging to their request. Now that the tables have been turned on me, and I am on the receiving end this time (of such barbaric discrimination), I don't understand why it was troubling me so much. Could it because, I held, cigarettes, jokes, parked vehicles and lewd comments, as the yardsticks of "Unclehood"; that I am still miles away from that point and the time I would be known as Uncle henceforth to the world, would be when, and only when, I am at the business end of a finger length filtered cigarette? Was it some psychological protection (cover) that I was hoping for, to impede the rapid progress of the aging cycle, that until and unless I smoke, I was to remain forever young? The Freudian concepts and the Jungian philosphies were driving me to the brink of insanity.

To hell with it, I said, as I walked into the near-by store and bought some smokes. It was a Catch-22 till now - no cigarettes - no growth, no growth - no cigarettes. Since the kid came along and resolved the deadlock, entirely without his knowledge, I might as well welcome the new statushood, in ringed exhales of deep puffs.

Scramble to scribble

2006-11-09T17:47:00.001-05:00

More times than not, great dramatic events are not responsible for great (or even, simple) realizations. A loaf of bread left unattended and uneaten by one Mr.Fleming, piqued his interest in the fungus growth on it, which eventually led to the discovery of penicillin. Same was the case with Mr.Becquerel and his accidental discovery of radioactivity. And many more stories about Mr.Nobel and Mr.Edison and their bumblings, resulting in discoveries and inventions that are spread out on the spectrum ranging from necessities to luxuries, confirm the theory about simple facts leading to great realizations. Though my realization is not going to alter the course of human history hereon henceforth, and does not rank alongside the creations of the aforementioned men in overcoats and funny beards, I consider it important to myself at least nonetheless. As Gandhiji once stated, revolutions start with cleaning up our yards first. It all started with an occasion that warranted a pre-printed greeting card from the nearby departmental store. As I chose to express a feeling that wasn't exactly conveyed in the already printed matter in the card (the content of which can be easily extended from everything to the new arrival to the latest burial), I set out to add few more lines to the make the matter a little more personal, giving the recipient a little satisfaction, that I had indeed thought of the occasion for a littl more time, than it takes to drive to the nearest store and purchase the card. Ladies and Gentlemen, that incident set the ball rolling. As I whipped up the pen and wanted to scribble something on the card, I felt that the neurons inside responsible for the firing of ideas, thoughts and expressions have taken a little coffee break, leaving me speechless, thoughtless and wordless.

They call it, the scare of the white sheet. Take a blank paper, and try to write a few lines about anything. The first few moments are, when the white paper rules over, refusing to be written over while getting its clean image besmirched. Once the paper is tarnished with a few words, it starts giving in, wallowing in its own sullen sorrowful image. But until then, it is pure agony. For writers of some repute, it is called writer's block. But in their case, it is just too many ideas trying to get through a narrow door of legitimate expression, that the mad scramble at the door disallows any to get out to the other side. For the rest of us, they call it constipation of expression. The words simply refuse to come out. It is quite natural that events and words (at least in the concept) are closely tied together. Mention marriage - and the words bliss, heaven, happiness automatically arrange themselves. Bring up death - and the words inevitable, courage, and sorrow stand up in the line. It is a tossup, whether thoughts are stored as words or vice versa, but it is for certain that the association is pretty close, closer than we think. So given the situation, the words should have automatically come up, when I was staring at the blank page of the greeting card, with the pen deep in my mouth, lost in serious thought. Yet they refused to make an appearance. The event that I was trying to write was a pretty generic one. It wasn't about Land Rover's success on the surface of Mars, stumbling upon the prospect of life on the Red Planet. After the exercise in futility, which included but not limited to, walking up and down the aisles, buying a confectionery product in the hope of providing an artificial stimulant to the sleeping mind, perusing the Books section of the store, I eventually gave up, hopped in the car, and drove back home, all the while thinking (cursing is more like it) my inability to come up with any sort of expression (leave alone, right) for the most standard of events. I refused to give up. This time I opened up the lid of the laptop, beaming in inside, bathed in its warm glow for a while, and within no time, the words found their way out, without too much trouble. I then carefully transferred the contents back to the printed matter and considered the job done. But the job wasn't done.....

So strong was the force of the sudden realization that it took me a while to settle down and think about what just hit me. The problem wasn't the mind, or the neurons on their coffee break. The problem was the medium. So used have I got to the soft clicks of the mouse and the soothing comfort of the keyboard, that I have developed a mental block for anything other than a computer. When it came to the matters of writing, whenever the need arose, open the text editor, wait for the good friend, the blinking cursor, at the left most end of the screen, and the words started to come out, playing tag game with the cursor, in a game that the cursor always won. And the satisfaction of the few paragraphs, at the end of the hour, wiped off the little discomfort in the fingers and the wrist joints, as the blinking cursor danced its way up and down the screen. In a way, the cursor became my muse. And now, when the medium changed to the old fashioned pen and paper, I felt like the kid who started his first lesson in writing. Writing - the act itself has transformed itself so greatly that it longer means the literal act anymore. Typing substituted writing, in the current day technologically modified lexicon. Type up a few passages from top to bottom, neatly arrange them using the features provided by technology (that even does a great job at correcting the horrible spelling blunders) and call yourself a writer. Which brings us to the question - is writing mere expressing, or does it include the physical act of putting the metal to the pedal, the rubber on the road and other such metaphorical terms? If writing is indeed merely expressing, should reading constitute listening alone?

Heating to somebody talk about something should automatically make you a reader of that material, in just the same way as expressing your thoughts in a medium of your choice, should implicity make you a writer. That little thought troubled me a little bit. All this time, I thought I was actually "writing" something whenever I sat infront of the command box and let it translate my thoughts in a way it saw fit. It reminded me of the little cycle that we kids used to rent, when learning how to cycle. It had a couple of support wheels on extension rods on either of the rear wheel, guarding the driver from falling from the bike. Technology has taken over as the crutches of our thoughts and expressions, without which the idea of taking a step is tantamount of jumping down from a great height without any fall back protective mechanism. In all the ways I thought that the lifeless computer has been helping me all these days avoid the painful exercise of actually putting pen on the paper, it has in fact been lulling me into a comfortable sleep inside a safety bubble. Computer has become a life support mechanism for me, of sorts. The consistency in the lettering, the spacing of the lines perfectly equidistant to the former and the latter, the suggestive prodding in regard to the structure - the grammar and the spelling, all combined (colluded is more appropriate) to give my expression a faceless, styleless and a toneless feel, that only machines are capable of. And no sooner did this thought occur, I went back again, to the same departmental store, and bought a bunch of yellow legal pads, and took out from the pouch (that has all but been abandoned from the time since I bid farewell to formal education and struck up an affair with the command box) my erstwhile favorite - 045 Reynolds Fine Carbure, the red lettering over a white cylinder, flanked by a soothing glow of blue on the screw and the cap. Even though I have completely forgotten how to write, the first few squiggles on a blank paper by the pen proved one thing - it didn't forget how to write.

It was like learning to walk all over again, without the instinctive impulses that pushes the first leg forward, keeping the other one back, and then the other forward, holding the first one back. The association with the pen dropped dramatically over the years, and the little signatures on the checks are taken over by the command box, without automatic deposits and deductions. I took the pen up, and gripped it the same way I remember holding it from way back and started writing the alphabets in a neat and legible fashion across the first line of the blank legal pad's sheet. By the time I reached the letter N, the index finger that was tightly gripping the screw of the pen ached badly and the resting of the pen against the middle finger caused a little bump to appear along the side. What a tragic state at display here - the reams and reams of paper that I had scribbled on while at various stages during my life in educational institutions haven't come to up rescue here. Along with the intense pain in fingers, the wrist, which I strongly held suppressed to the legal pad, held its hand up, complaining about a throbbing pain right at the joint. The straight line that I started the alphabets on started to make an angle to the normal and by 'N', I came close to making a 30 degree angle and still flourishing. How did it come down to this? Can mere lack of practice completely decimate a skill that I have learned, braving all odds (marks, punishments, impositions etc), to the point that, finding the slightest of traces would take hours and hours of practice and dedication?

I became adamant. I didn't care about the shooting pain in the finger and even bigger pain in the wrist and the worst pain inside. I wanted to find back my original form. Here there was no blinking cursor at the left most end of the paper enticing the words to follow its way. The rabid shaking of the wrist decided the line, the shape and the form. Here there was no auto-complete feature, wherein a push of the tab button or hitting the ENTER button would save time and energy expended in coming up with the entire word on your own. The squiggle of the pen stroke had to come up with everything from the birthing of the word to the finishing of it. Here there was no equidistant spacing that would make reading a pleasurable experience. What you sow is what is you reap - the handling of the pen, the positioning of the tip, the angle of the print and the patience to write - each of these collectively decide how readable the final output was. By the time I was done, writing whatever I set out to write, the result was bunch of unintelligible lines, whose spacing had a harmonic progression about them and the roundness and sharpness of each word are pretty mediocre at best. In spite of all these, it felt good. I didn't care about how childish the handwriting was, how furious it would make the language teachers at school if I showed them this, how completely lost I was when it came to writing - because I remembered; I remembered how long it took for me to write in a straight line, back when I picked up the pencil for the first time; how hard it was to abandon the cursive style and adopt the (more mature) block letter form; how hard it was to finally settle down with what finally became my style of writing. And all it was sheer writing - reams and reams of it. I know I can never get back to the original style in its original form. But if I could even come close to it, it is well worth all the pain - the shooting variety , the throbbing kind and the one inside. (which certainly beat the carpal tunnel syndrome, hands down, any day). Because, after all, writing has to mean writing.