The Great Indian "DAL" Scam

Inflation has surged and threatening the ‘feel good’ factor that the Manmohan Singh government promised before the elections. You might be wondering that how come I’m hoping that Indian government would fulfill promises. I know promises are meant to be broken but still the hope is that the government is going to take some steps to help the economy grow in this recession period. Just trying to be lil optimistic. Now, just when the buildup for the new government is beginning, the inflation nightmare is back in flying colors, with the potential to undermine Congress’s agenda. While the poor — an influential category that Congress successfully wooed during the elections with its “aam aadmi plank”, are the worst sufferers. I remember reading as a child that once upon a time India was known as "sone ki chidiya (golden bird)". But now in 21st century it re-christened itself to land of scams. We all know about the famous Bofors scam, Telgi, Fodder (Chara), Shares and the recent Stayam Corporate scam. But I guess what tops all is “The Great Indian Dal Scam” which got uncovered as a result of the skyrocketed prices of pulses in Indian market. Government has imported a variety of pulses from the world market and stored it in various ports to be distributed in the local market in controlled prices to curb the inflation. The dal that was said to be imported for the aam aadmi didn’t reach the aam aadmi rather it went down the drains due to sheer negligence of the spineless government whose motive was to make money out of the basic human needs. The agricultural minister Sharad Pawar doesn’t have any answer to the carelessness and no one is there to take the onus for the 15-lakh tonnes of rotten pulses across various ports of India which amounts to 300 crores from our pockets paid as taxes. These pulses were not released to the local markets, as the ministers were more involved in plotting how to make money spent recently for their victory in the recent elections. Prices of pulses have risen to such an extent that some harried families even find meat a cheaper option. Not just exotic broccoli and mushrooms but the relatively affordable tomatoes, onions and potatoes - basic ingredients in most Indian meals - are moving away from the common man's reach as prices continue to soar because of our so called incompetent government. The daily used tur dal, which used to be 36-38 per KG, is now available at 5-star rates of 96-98 per KG. NDTV’s special report about the day-to-day life, infact hand-to-mouth living of the common man (like me) directly takes us to the dismay of downhearted common man who is directly and mostly affected with the soaring prices of his basic needs - Dal, rice and vegetables. Many households have entered the uncomfortable zone with each tick marked before rising prices - balancing the checkbooks. These are all essential items in an Indian household and the government is not doing anything to help us out of this crisis. Expenditure is unmanageable in the festive season and now ordinary living is also a hassle. To manage the home budget for a common man is getting more difficult with each passing day. Rising prices have hurt the living style of those who live on modest incomes. In the last one year India has noticed an abrupt rise of 10 to 60 per cent in pulse rates, making it quite testing for the poor to find the money for even basic nutrients and now our lower strata even will have to survive without protein-rich pulses. Even as city dwellers are worried about the price rise, suppliers and traders on the other hand are hoarding essential commodities to create artificial crisis. It is time for the Government authorities to instigate action against such suppliers and bring in relief from the increase in prices. However, this is the time when the opposition party would launch a nationwide stir against the Congress government for its failure to arrest rising prices instead of joining hands in coming up with some solution. These are one of those testing times when the government has to come up with something brilliant to prove their competency. Till then I am keeping my fingers crossed.

Fir bhi dil hai hindustani !!

Namma ooru- Bangalooru

Bangalore - a city known for its lush green gardens, scenic beauty and great weather all year round. Bangaloreans claim that the city is an Indian metropolis with a modern outlook. It is supposed to be the heart of the booming Indian software and electronics industry.

Sure, the illusion lasts for a week or a month. But let me tell you what Bangalore is really like when the smokescreen clears. For the metropolitan city that it is embracing people from all over the country, how about having a street sign in English or Hindi, for God’s sake! All road signs are in the local language, Kannada. Even the public transportation has signs in Kannada alone. I thought Chennai was bad when they insisted on putting up anti-Hindi protests everywhere. But at least they compensate for it by writing the bus destinations in English as well as Tamil!

Now to the root cause of the problem, the people of Bangalore. The state has been aptly named "Kar-natak" (make a scene). Sometime back they have imposed a seven-week moratorium on all non-Kannada movies here, meaning that movies in all other languages will be released only seven weeks after they have released in the rest of the country. This is supposed to uplift the sagging Kannada film industry, since nobody, not even a kannadiga, watches their lousy movies otherwise. Has anybody heard of anything more preposterous than this? Maybe Thackeray’s plan of driving all non-Maharashtrians out of Mumbai came close.

Even with the "modern and broad" outlook the Bangaloreans have, companies still prefer to recruit only from local colleges, preferably kannada speaking populace. During official meetings, lunch or any other team gatherings, they speak almost exclusively in Kannada, so a non-speaker (like me) is absolutely flabbergasted in all weekly meetings and conferences. And to think that the French are snobbish!! Public transport: Autos: another big pain the ass. The drivers are rude and are very choosy as in which route passenger they would take. Aren’t they supposed to take any fare as per law? Thanks to our disfunctional police staff who are more engrossed in making money out of the thelawalas and roadside chaiwalas. The auto drivers have very outrageously lamest possible excuses for not taking a particular fare. Some samples when asked for a ride- Its too far (why the hell would I take a ride if its close by?). Its too close (really? I think I should walk instead), There is lot of traffic (and you do not want to contribute to the traffic?) I wont get a return customer from there (how about I drop you back here?) and and the list goes on. Another problem, if you don’t have change you are screwed. Fisrtly the meter runs faster than the olympic winner and on top of that you end up paying extra bucks as they would never have change. I mean common guyz you are working stop begging for heavens sake. $#@&^%. Nightlife: A typical Cosmopolitan city like bangalore which has a sizeable section of youth, business travelers, tourists and even local citizens, is devoid of night life. Bangaloreans, who work late into the evening and need some time for relaxation and recreation cannot do anything after 11:30 pm. Its sad that the Sillicon Valley of India is forcefully slipped into sleep before cindrella hours while the other countrymen in different cities have good time till late hours. The reason offered out for such rule is to control crime rate and safeguard the citizens from the mishaps at belated hours. Many big cities of the world allow an active nightlife but are by no means unsafe. Moreover, this shows sheer incompetancy of the local “4 kilo tond waale so called policemen”.

Still, one learns to get around. For all the deriding remarks I made about the people here, I must say this: there are some who are very helpful in every way possible. Some of them even go out of their normal routine to help a stranger out, which is unheard of elsewhere in the country. They are also very conscious of their image and communicate very well beyond the language barriers that exist. Even though Bangalore is a sleepy little town, people sure are active during the hours that the city is awake. Not too many lazing around, it’s a nice thing to see. Take in the good and filter out the bad, that’s what I am here to do. While in Bangalore… "Namma ooru, Bangalooru!"

Reminiscence of my past Quarter Century

Today on 22nd Jun 2009, which happens to be my birthday, I sit here in my cubicle scribbling down this piece of post. Over the past couple of years birthdays have not been a special occasion, as it used to be when I was a toddler. Now a days, its just another day, jab main mann maarkar office jaata hun and work till I drop. Today in the midst of colleagues, sitting in the boardroom, unable to receive calls from friends and relatives, I wonder how this particular day has changed over the past quarter century of my existence. I remember as a child my birthday used to be a special occasion with new clothes and shoes to wear, mom’s special delicacies to feed on and some extra generous savings from granny to make the piggy bank little heavier. Colored balloons decorating the hall, Mickey Mouse shaped cake, colorful candles and entire gang of bachcha party singing the happy birthday jingle. When I close my eyes, I recall my happiest days as a child. Those were the days of innocence, fun and frolic. 28 years ago on the same day, a baby boy was escorted into the world, crying loud enough for a deaf man to get a pair of earmuffs lest his eardrums go tattered. After all it’s the momma's job to tell me that unless I kept quiet gabbar aa jaayega. Months rolled up and I grew up into a pretty normal kid who thought thumb is gods candy so I hogged on it. Funny days were those. I used to toddle about the dining room and reach the kitchen to see momma cook, waiting anxiously for her to look and throw an endearing smile at me, and when she did, I would chuckle and clap my hands singing in my own baby language loudly, and eventually land on my bums. I kept repeating this act while she was in the kitchen. And at the end of it, when she was done with her chores, she would hug me and kisses followed and I sang even louder. Ahh the joys of the first-born kids. As the days passed by the young toddler turned into a very naughty lad who used to take pleasure in destructing any random object available within 2 feet height. As mom recalls I used to break the glass jars and bottles because I loved the sound of breaking glass. What a unique music lover was I. Once I even dropped my younger brother while mom was busy with her usual household chores. I picked him and bang… my brother was on the floor crying with a bump on his head while I was all clapping with chuckle. And what followed were spankings from momma. In our building a motley crew of about 10 of us ran around with gay abandon, unbothered by adult concerns. If we fell, which we did, bandages and our mothers’ love awaited our scraped knees back home. We were the noisiest lot; we would fight, cry, cold shoulder each other, but would eventually patch up. Unlike kids now, we didn’t brandish cellphones. But we left voice messages for each other the old-fashioned way. “Will you come out to play?” we’d shriek. It did not matter if one were on the ground floor and the friend, on the third, much to the chagrin of snoozing adults. As the years went by, play was abandoned for studies. The noise of children mellowed and the drone of television took over however naughtiness grew proportionately. I used to gasp seeing Sunny deol planting his "dhaai kilo ka haath" on the "chaar kilo ki tond" of bollywood villains and how He-Man and Spiderman used to send hooligans flying in air with their karate kicks. I remember once I kicked the door after I was back from school...Mom heard the loud bang...Two slaps later I was as calm as gurudutt silently scribbling my homework. PS: My mom’s a pro in slapping though, all thanks to yours truly. I have given her enough chances while growing to practice on me. Eventually years rolled by and the kid grew up to become apna desi no nothing Engineer slogging hard to make a living. Today after 28 years history repeated itself and yes it’s my birthday sans the balloons or cake or the happy birthday jingle. How I wish I could carry myself back to those fun-filled days when having fun was more important than feeding the ego, sunday special delicacies by mom were awaited more than the pizza delivery guy, when dad’s shoulders were the highest place in the world, the annual visits to the circus/zoos were eagerly awaited, when dadi/nani ki kahaniyon ke imaginary jaadugars were more scarier than our managers or deadlines. While I jotted these memories, I clutched my childhood close and left the chaotic present for a while only to realize that we cant get back what we have already passed.

Wanna Salsa ?

Arms were everywhere, shooting up towards the sky, sliding off each other’s arms and backs, and you could only wonder if they had discovered some magical potion that cuts through everything. Sweat dropped off their brows and clung desperately to their clothes but the smiles never waned. Pirouetting on pencil heels and looking ever so electric in their colorful tops, they locked themselves into the arms of the men and flowed like wind. Welcome to the enchanting world of salsa and salseros where the greatest high is dancing, and not alcohol or smoke. For years I was intimidated every time I walked into a club with four left feet. I would freeze at the thought of someone asking me to dance. Sometime back couple of my friends joined salsa classes and in no time they were electrifying the stage with their moves. When I saw them flowing to the tunes I can’t stop myself. What is instantly appealing about Salsa is that being essentially a social dance, it attracts and brings together all kinds of people with a magnetic energy that cuts across age, culture, language and any other human boundaries. I have seen the plainest, shyest, so called insignificant men and women transform into graceful, passionate and poetic movers on the dance floor. Learn the basics, feel the music and let yourself go. Immediately yours truly also enrolled to the next batch and now here I am in F-Bar moving to the beats. The pulse of salsa music has a hypnotic quality; it gets under your skin and makes you move almost involuntarily. What attract the common dancer to salsa are the elegant yet sensual glides and twirls. Two people, who may be perfect strangers, can connect and move to salsa, even if only for five minutes. While merengue and jive are peppier, salsa is more passionate and stylish. I attend classes during the weekends and in the evening, there are performances ranging from the exotic, to the energetic to the sublime. So what if Bangaloreans aren’t ‘technically’ allowed to shake a leg? That doesn’t stop us from getting out there and hitting the dance floor — on a weekday! Three weeks back was the first in series of Tuesday night Salsa’s at F-Bar. We went after work and grooved to the moves till the Cinderella hours. As I’m just a beginner, I managed to stamp on my partners feet couple of times without any guilty feeling :D. As experts say, the key is not to be scared of mistakes, but to live with them, bash on and just keep dancing. That’s the only way to learn. Apart from the fun and learning new art, the newfound friends are an added bonus. But most importantly, I have found yet another way to express myself, and get closer to my soul. The salsa fever is catching up fast and I believe pretty soon everybody would know how to salsa. From classes at various gymkhanas to dedicated nights at Casa Del Sol and F-Bar, lively music, sensual yet not-too-intimidating moves and a very social, interactive couple dance—are the key ingredients for the success of-Salsa. Wanna dance???

Birthday Party

The other day I was invited to my manager’s daughter’s birthday party. As all of my colleagues were attending, so, I also decided to make my esteemed presence. The party hall was decorated with balloons hanging really low. Though in different colors, each had only one particular hue. They were either fully blue or wholly red or completely pink. These were not like the balloons of our childhood. Colored balloons then were always spotted by other tints in ink-drop sizes. In those days, balloons were always taped close to the ceiling, well beyond the reach of our eager, grasping hands. Hopeful, we stood below them waiting for the string to loosen its grip and let them go. Often when the elders were busy clapping for the birthday child, we pulled the nearest chair, climbed furtively and then in small bursts of energy tried to pull the balloons down. On good days, the risk paid off. On bad, of which there were many, the chair creaked loudly, called a grown-up’s attention leading to the inevitable tongue-lash. The color of a twisted, temporarily misshapen ear often matched the blotchy hues on the balloons. It worked both as a remembrance of the deed, and a warning of the punishment to come. As the balloons fell petal-softly, I was the only one watching their descent. The urge surfaced. Get to them before others do. Then hold them close for the rest of the evening lest they escape and float into other outstretched arms. But there was no mindless scramble for the falling balloons. The adults, and now yours truly was one of them, were intent on the food piled on their plate. The kids had other things to beguile them — a clown and a swimming pool. What did — or didn’t — we have that made these things so dear to us? We didn’t have the clowns at our birthday parties. With luck, we would get to see those at the annual visit to the circus. Our party meal was served in paper plates, one helping, no more. A slice of plum cake, five-six wafers, a samosa, an orange-colored drink. Maybe that is why at this party, all who were seven in 1988 and before chose to dwell on the food. I turned and took one last look at the bereft balloons before leaving. I clutched my childhood close and left the balloons fallen behind.

Rain Reigns Again !!

Yay! Looks like monsoon has finally set in Namma Bengaluru. We had the season’s first shower yesterday, just about an hour before I was about to start from office. Going down the memory lane, I fondly recollected those exciting youthful days when I used to be at home. We have extended asbestos shed in our house where we used to park our scooter. The splattering of rain on the corrugated ceiling, chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs had a heavenly rhythm, a sensuous soothing cadence all rolled into one. The icing on the cake was mummy ke haathon bane pakode aur garma garm chai. Mmmm… I can still feel the taste of it. As I got back to reality, I realized that sweet music and tasty snacks were replaced with blaring horns and muddy sweet syrup supposedly tea. Anyhow, the showers got a respite from the heat. I noticed everybody rushed to the windows and corridors to see the rain! Funny, how the spell of rain can change a busy and serious workday into chaos, fun and laughter. Soon, it started pouring cats and dogs. Lightning and thunder added their bit to the season’s first pour. For once, the office didn’t seem so drab. The light above my desk did not look like the one above a criminal being interrogated by a cop in the police station. I didn’t feel like hitting a few selected characters in office or smack on their grinning faces. For once, the egoistic attitude of certain other characters seemed bearable. Deadlines seemed achievable. Colleagues seemed tolerable. Managers felt like buddies. Just when I was about to start I saw that there were no menacing dark clouds however it continued to drizzle. It was just a perfect weather to go on a long drive. To fulfill my heartfelt wish, my company cab screeched next to me. As I left for home, the trees looked greener, the rain having washed off their long-accumulated dust. As vehicles sped past, I could hear the splash of water and see the light reflected from the small puddles. I got down and as I walked, I saw people thronging the "bhutta” (corn cob)’ and chai stalls on the roadside. There were traffic jams near these stalls and on roads, which is not a surprise! Both the customers and the stall owners were having a field day! People here sure know how to enjoy themselves to the fullest. On the way, I noticed a poor family cooking food huddled inside a large drainage pipe, sheltering them from the rain. They were laughing and enjoying. Talk about contentment and making the most of what you have! Somehow, it brought a smile to my face. It was one of those days when I was grateful that I had a warm home and a family to go back to. The bowl of steaming Maggi noodles I had that night seemed heavenly after that!

It's cloudy today. Might rain. Might not. According to the newspaper, monsoons have not officially set in. Full-fledged rains are expected only towards the very last part of the month. A few hoardings and trees fell down and 2 people have been reported dead in yesterday’s rain! Couple of cars met their dreadful fate in the rain yesterday and here I am cozily snuggled in my bed playing inky pinky ponky to decide If I should go to work or not?