It's the clothes, Stupid!

First there were the lip readers, then came the fashion critics, briefly followed by experts on body language and now a need breed of analyst have taken over, who read, mis (sic) interpret, and further analyse what you thinking based on what you wearing.

So, when the Indian Prime Minister was noticed wearing blue pinstripe suit embroidered with his own name, different verdicts were flashed as instantaneously as a news break. While, some relegated him to be a megalomaniac, others thought that he made a statement on lines of the Dalit leader Mayawati, celebrating the success of a downtrodden to the uppermost echelons. 

But when Indians were busy trying to understand why Modi chose to wore his name, literally, the Chinese had a more interesting puzzle to solve. Their central banker, Zhou Xiaochuan, who was at the World Economic Forum in Davos last week, was found to be wearing long johns, or the long underwear.

Discussion groups soon mushroomed over the cyber space, analysing and some even predicting that Chinese monetary policy will be loosened up, as the long underwear called – qiuku – in Chinese, fits rather loosely. 

A similar but not that noticeable trend was also witnessed in India, when the good looking Indian Central Bank Governor, Raghuram Rajan decided to go for a cut in the interest rates, albeit by a marginal 25 basis point. Some websites, decided to equate it with Rajan losing virginity, given it was the first time during his tenure that the interest rates were slashed.

The dress code of some leaders, both in political and business space, may be far some simpler to solve than the Rubik’s cube.  For example, a topless Russian President, directly conveys what he thinks, so do a sharply dressed no-nonsense German Chancellor, Angela Merkel. 

Back home, with a muffler around his neck, AAP leader Arvind Kejriwal tells you, without speaking at all, what constituency he is addressing too. The first family of Indian politics, the Gandhi’s are mostly dressed in pale or white colours, conveying that there thoughts are much simpler to read, hard to construe. 

On the business front, irreverently dressed Vijay Mallya is already in deep trouble and is in the process of losing most of his possession. The scenario is no good for Sahara’s kingpin Subroto Roy, mostly dressed in black and white, and he is trying hard to convince the courts about his grey affairs.

If we dig deeper in history, we will find that Winston Churchill, always use to don a hat, perhaps the thinking kinds. In USA, Abraham Lincoln with a bow tie was may be trying to convince he is more classy than the Southerners. Nelson Mandela who started wearing more African attire as he gained confidence was in some sense resembling the growth of a nation.

For reasons better known we have to exclude sportsperson and film actors from this list. Otherwise different avatars of Lady Gaga would leave even the best of analysts confounded. 

And, before I slip though inadvertently into the shoes of the aforementioned analysts, I guess I need to stop. By the way, I dress formals on weekdays…

Give 'Dhan' to 'Jan'

The Narendra Modi led ruling coalition, National Democratic Alliance (NDA) has entered into the Guinness Book of World Record on the back of its ambitious financial inclusion scheme, Pradhan Mantri Jan Dhan Yojana (PMJDY).

At Day Zero, Prime Minister, Narendra Modi said that the aim was to end, Financial Untouchability. He wants millions of poor in India to not only have a bank account but also start getting the attached financial benefits such as loans and insurance.

The number of accounts opened under PMJDY stood at 11.5 crore as of January 17 after a survey of 21.02 crore households. Of the total bank accounts opened, 3.23 crore have deposits worth Rs 9,188 crore.

“India is now full banked,” said Finance Minister Arun Jaitely. It will take little while for the applause to settle down, however, it will take much longer to actually end the stigma of exclusion.

Financial Untouchability does not end at opening of a bank account. It means availability of basic financial products and most importantly access to credit. The scheme’s success cannot and should not be mapped only on this criterion.

Even after having a bank account, most of these new customer, may continue to depend on usurious moneylenders and in the words of the Prime Minister, entangled in the vicious cycle of debt and poverty.

PMJDY aims to break that chain. But what is required is to look beyond the numbers. Opening of bank accounts, is one small step. To make it a giant leap for the citizens of this country require that these accounts remain active. A heavy two way traffic of transactions, reflected under both debit and the credit columns.

Government estimates are that only 28% of the 11 crore accounts are active presently, and it is banking on the fact that the money under various government sponsored benefit schemes will soon be directly debited in these accounts.

It hopes that this will kick-start a circle of transactions. That may, however, not be the case. Transfer of government subsidies into these accounts will also be limited to a few. To assume that even half of the 11 crore and more households will be beneficiaries of government’s schemes will be ludicrous.

So what can be done to make these accounts, debit card, and insurance cover bundled under the scheme a long lasting success? Small value loans. To make these no frill or basic banking accounts a step stone towards ending financial untouchability, banks need to get back to traditional banking. They need to lend.

These small value loans can empower the youth of this country to be job creators rather than being just job seekers. And once this ecosystem is set up, it will itself kick start the slowing wheels of economy in traditional sectors such as manufacturing.

The latest gross domestic production (GDP) figures indicate that there are green shoots of recovery. A credit support at this juncture will provide a stimulus which will not add to the fiscal deficit woes of the nation. 

Small ticket loans be it towards animal husbandry, or small scale industries will give boost to the manufacturing and farm sector indices of the GDP.

These loans will also develop an ingenious credit rating mechanism for the thus far financially excluded and provide them a platform to apply for big ticket loans in future. If such credit support is provided then only in the truest sense, Modi’s slogans – Make in India, Zero-defect production, promote Tourism, and even building toilets – from the ramparts of Red Fort will see some real action.

In the last few days both banks and bankers have witnessed the moral and financial hazards of focusing on lending high value loans. The bad loans in the banking sector is at a staggering all-time high. The Prime Minister himself in his speech has noted that a poor borrower can be counted upon to repay timely as he has limited alternatives. It is imperative that banks need to give such borrowers a real chance.

As proposed under this scheme, an Rs 5,000 overdraft limit after six month of operations, may not be the antidote for keeping these accounts operational. Six months is a long time in rural India. In some cases it may reflect the time between two crop seasons. This sometimes is the most vulnerable phase for a farmer, a labourer or anyone lower in the food chain who is dependent on agriculture as a livelihood.

Jan Dhan cannot be created alone by the government, the banks need to lend some ‘dhan’ to ‘jan’ to enable them to create cash flow and give a spur to the Indian economy.

NaMo - The Stalker

Insulting the intelligence of voters is a crime and in an election year it is a political suicide. In 2008 US Presidential elections, Sarah Palin, the Republican nominee for the vice president’s post committed that offence. In Circa 2013, Narendra Modi is following her footsteps.

When Palin started her campaign, commentators gave ‘hockey mom’ a real chance. After all, she was folksy – which America loves, good looking and an up righteous grandmother. The concoction was deadly and Republicans lapped it up. A war veteran, John McCain as the head and a mommy as his aide was in some ways the zenith of the American dream.

Modi’s team has also created a similar aura around him. Decisive, incorruptible and earthy – are the characters which largely define Modi’s campaign. If BJP is to be believed, Modi is the slumdog of Indian politics, a ‘chaiwala’ who through his sheer hard work has managed to rise in the political hierarchy. In his own words, he is not a ‘shehzada’ but ‘sevak.’

Till this point, the script runs perfect. But the American dream crumpled when mommy started getting her facts wrong. Palin was ridiculed when she claimed to have an insight into country’s foreign policy because Russia is next door neighbours to her state of Alaska.

Back home, Namo replicated that feat in his Independence Day speech at Bhuj. He almost took the same neighbourhood lane as Palin and while lambasting Pakistan claimed that his voice reaches Pakistan first and Delhi later. This came from the prime ministerial candidate who some months ago had offered Sindh province in Pakistan, the ‘Gujarat Model’ to overcome its power crisis.

While Palin called Afghanistan a neighbouring country, Modi brought Taxila from Pakistan to Bihar. The uncanny resemblance between these two politicians in getting their facts wrong, again and again perhaps stem from sheer ignorance which their supporters mask as unpretentious.

Perhaps, the voters could have forgiven Palin, the winner of the Miss Wasilla pageant for not knowing what lie beyond the American shores but the crowd booed her down when at a public rally she said that the state of North West Hampshire is in the Northwest of Americas. Modi so far has been sparred of this public ignominy.

A closer look at their campaign and one gets a feeling that perhaps the fate of Palin and Modi are intertwined. Days after being nominated for Presidential elections, the Republican supporters were shocked that Palin’s unwed daughter was five months pregnant. Palin, who by then had projected herself as ‘Bible-believing Christian,’ ultimately lost out on the traditional conservative Republican base. Modi, too, is now embroiled in a snooping scandal as his aide Amit Shah has managed to score a self goal against his ‘saheb’.  

In the midst of this jamboree these down-to-earth leaders and their supporters forget that the voter cannot be fooled, or at least for long. So, when Palin described that the Iraq War is ‘a task that is from God,’ voters knew that she is making less sense than ever. Unfortunately for his supporters, Modi is catching up fast with Palin.

After historical blunders such as calling Mohanlal instead of Mohandas Gandhi, and claiming that Nehru did not attend Patel’s funeral, Modi is now treading on more difficult terrain. In his Jodhpur rally, Modi carrying on with his rustic charm claimed that he may not be as educated as the country’s finance minister but he knows that buying gold is not leading to inflation. His first lecture in economics may have got a thunderous applause in the rally but what he lost is the faith of lakhs of voters, who at least believed that Modi is the architect behind Gujarat’s vibrant economic success.

It is time that Modi should learn from the mistakes which Palin committed. After all he would not like to be remembered as Palin, who finally had to be told that there was no tradition of concession speeches by running mates, and that she would not be speaking. Not anymore. 

Online Journalism

After somewhat of a shoddy research and largely based on my experience on the ‘World Wide Web’ I have come to a conclusion that the so called transition of journalism from newspapers to online is a myth. Simply put, this can be best explained through the arch rival of internet – Television.

As a child you are glued to cartoon network, when you transit into your teens, music channels such as MTV and Channel V take precedence, and finally you are hooked on to news, sports channel, discovery, religious and cookery channel or whatever your taste is. But staple channels such as Star, FOX and CBS…continue to be a part of your TV guide.

Exactly it is with the newspaper. The basic premise of my hypothesis is that today people log on to read about their interests or look for specific information. Example: How a particular company/ share doing or whether that cute Vampire movie couple are back together or not.

In the process the particular website or content aggregator may lure his audience to something else which may or may not be of his interest but overall a good read. Like a title “How to pleasure your partner,” will attract more hits than “OPEC Nations to decide on oil quantity.”

The moot point is that a reader/audience will always want a newspaper unless there has been a total transition online, which at least in India will take another half a century.

I am presenting a few case examples and hoping that the so called editors or media moghuls who think that online is the future may take a stand which may change journalism for the betterment. In my opinion (which perhaps does not matter at all) one should look at changing the strategy either for internet (Future Strategy) or for Newspaper ( Current Strategy)...

CASE 1

TIMES OF INDIA ---

Check out Story NO 3 on “Erection” and “Hospital Mall” they both are aggregator’s great idea popping somewhere underneath a story like NO 1, 4, or even Salman-Karan Johar stoy….

  

This is TIMES OF INDIA, India’s largest selling English daily and people want to read on its website, how to get a stronger erection or they want to know that what makes a loser like Fardeen Khan, whose movie career has bombed and was a drug addict “Feels like a dream.”

So if we go by the logic of what reader wants then should not be Times of India banner screaming ---- 6 WAYS TO GET A STRONGER ERECTION

 CASE 2 --- THE ECONOMIC TIMES

On the website of financial paper, The Economic Times, the top 5 read stories were:

Now understandably on any given day on any medium, newspaper or online people will like to know about Vikram Pandit given the circumstances under which he had to resign. But what about Story No 2 on ‘Eight bad financial habits..” and Story No 5 on “Honda diesel variants.” This clearly indicates that what sells on online is PERSONAL FINANCE stories or SOFT STORIES…

Because the day when Vikram Pandit still remains top read it had been more than 48 hours since RBI has come out with no change in its monetary policy and there was a reported tiff between RBI and Finance Minister.

MY POINT IS: An ONLINE reader does not want to know that. He had his share of entertainment through STAR, FOX or CBS (as explained above). He needs content which either he is looking for…

“What the fuck happened to Pandit?” or the aggregator lured him like “ Eight bad financial habits.”

CASE 3  -- FIRST POST

This is from FIRST POST, another emerging wholesome website….

At a time when there has been a cabinet reshuffle. There is a storm in USA. The Most popular stories on this website are purely semi-editorial stories. My favourite pick is “Bollywood’s problem with South Indian hereoes,”

CASE 4 -- MONEYCONTROL

To prove my case that the online reader is looking for specific info is the kind of TOP READS on financial website MONEYCONTROL

On Moneycontrol the audience is looking for specific info and hence best explained if you look at the kind of stories and my favourite is “How Hurricane Sandy will affect investors,”

-----

Thus I end my hypothesis with the argument that people want to read soft stories or whacky stories on the internet. They may go to specific websites to look for information that they have heard of and want to know more about. An online audience is typically looking for views or new information or very very specific information. Websites need to take that into consideration....

For those who believe that online is future should start adapting to this trend so as to get more eyeballs on their website. And those who believe that some journalism is still left in papers should drive their reporters to do better stories.

And the rest of all garbage can always be your MOST READ STORY if you only know how to place it….  

Guinness and Me...

After a few Guinness, Ireland becomes more appealing. The recession may have hit the country so hard but the bars are always full of people. An optimistic lot on counts of both their favorite Guinness and Hope...

So, it was almost poetic when the Emirates first direct flight from Dubai to Ireland,landed at the Dublin Airport and Irish tourism and transport minister,Leo Varadkar promptly noted ; “It is a good news story when it is hard to get good news in Ireland.”

For a country in recession, good news and bad seems twinned like the weather -- sunshine with intermittent rains.

“It was the banks. I used to get calls at midnight for zero interest loans. If not for Guinness (the iconic Irish beer), I too would have given in,” reminisces Tom about how it all began.

Tom, organises tours for the famous St. Michan’s Church in Dublin and has seen a drop in the number of visitors in the last two years.

He recalls, how some of his close friends bought a villa somewhere in Poland just over drinks for it looked that the banks with their schemes do not want their money back, ever.

“A year later my friends had to sell their property near Wicklow (a county near Dublin) to meet ends. The Polish dream is long gone,” he says ruefully.

The property price in Ireland has fell down by almost 45% since the peak of 2007 and the signs of revival are yet to reveal.

“But you should rub his ring finger,” he says pointing to a mummy at the Church. “He may bring you luck, he was a knight. God knows we need people from India to visit,” he says.

If Tom is selling both history and luck, the Irish government is hopeful of attracting both visitors and investors.

Next day it was cloudy and good news in Ireland is also short lived. All Irish papers had reported that the number of overseas trips to Ireland fell by 4.1% between September and November 2011.

In the middle of the town, in front of the Central Bank of Ireland, there is a group of protesters demanding that everyone including the European Central Bank (ECB) and International Monetary Fund (IMF) should stay out of Irish affairs.

Ireland was one of the first to respond to the Lehman Brothers col-lapse, guaranteeing Euro 440 bn of liabilities at six Irish-owned insti-tutions and a foreign-owned bank.

Known as the “Occupy Dame Street” movement, these protesters hold German Banks responsible for the Irish financial crisis. “Our Celtic Ti-ger was poached by the Germans,” says Wesley Arder, one of the protesters and B-school student.

“Now we are paying them because they have successfully poached us,” he adds. A theory which has found many a believers in almost all pubs of Dublin.

“It is true,” says Tony, who works for one of the leading Irish Banks. “There was way too much cheap capital flowing from Germany, which created a real estate bubble in the Irish economy,” he says. But Tony is unsure if there is any other way out. “The economy is stabilising. Even Twitter (micro blogging website) will set up its office here,” said Vincent who works at airport. DAA is hopeful that they will see more traffic as a lot of tourists will spill over from the London Olym-pics this year.

But some Irishmen opine that counting on the Olympics may not be the idea of the moment, as there is general agreement among Dubliners that the present day economic ruins of the Greek economy lie in more than a dozen and now vacant Olympic venues built for the 2004 Olympics.

“I am scared for Londoners. I hope the UK does not nosedive,” says a sarcastic Kevin, who works at a bar in the famous Temple Bar Street, but his colleague, Patricia Murray is more hopeful, “I am counting on the Chinese and Yankees. Chinese specially because they are going to be number one this time in the medal tally. They should come here,” she says.

Patricia is not way off the mark, the Chinese Olympic team topped the gold medal tally in Beijing and reports in the British media indi-cate the UK is also counting on hordes of Chinese to arrive.

Ireland, a country which had celebrated authors such as James Joyce, is also hopeful to sell itself to brand itself as the new education hub. Attracting Indian students is high on every country’s agenda. And the Irish too are in the fray. "We may be a country in recession but there are jobs for skilled workers. Students studying here stand a good chance," said Lucey, an international education manger.

The next day, Irish papers were full of reports about 1,000 jobs lost in a day. The Irish are definitely trying hard to sell, the problem is that the slowdown is a global phenomena.

Price-less Joy?

It has been some long since I have written for myself. Sometimes it becomes a bit difficult to analyse, be accurate and try derive a meaning from events around you. When i get haunted by these thoughts, I blurt out with randomness like this…

START ---

Often I have found myself self drawn towards a situation where awkwardness has crept in without or little shame. Certainly this has nothing to do with my inquisitiveness or reclusiveness, both traits which hold a dominant position in my genealogy.

Anyhow all the events which lead to the present circumstances were purposely meant to be random and appear banal from the very inception. Perhaps hiding the malignant nature of thoughts is not an easy job even if you make the route circuitous and impromptu. And, that is what I missed…


Her perfume was intoxicating. I have never been a connoisseur of any sorts. But I can smell a woman. When I say it, I mean it. This is perhaps one of the few things on which I can stake my life. And whenever she was around, a mixed scent of her perfume and body enamored any rationale thoughts of mine.

This was one of another days and she had come to my desk after a torturous wait and three wasted trips to the coffee machine at the office corner. The first two trips were as cold as the uninspiring coffee for she was not around, and the last one had got me the pangs of jealousy when I see her engaged in a rather unnecessary and disguised flirtatious discussion.


“Hah! I know these bastards. Always lurking around the corners to catch a newbie,” I moaned to another colleague of mine. The prime of our youthfulness may be was on its way to decline but we both surely were ascending up on the ladder.

“He is young. Let him play,” said this colleague as he sipped on that uninspiring coffee. PLAY! My heart let out a silent scream as I watched her fiddling with her hair.

“Yes, we are ahead of the game, aren’t we?” I asked my colleague, as we both walked towards our respective stations.

It had been just a few minutes and I was absent mindedly fucking with google, when I smelled her arrival. I was angry. I was anguished. I will be reluctant.


“Hi,” she said. Captivated. Lost.

“Hey. How is it going?” I responded without taking off my eyes from the screen. I was hiding. I wanted it to last long.

“Good. Just wanted to know if you may help me with….” The rest of conversation is an absolute charade.

In those five minutes I let myself be purposely random. Slight pat on shoulder. Trying to hear her breath. Tracing the curve of her lips through my eyes and when she left, a handshake, to end an agony and begin on another…


Newspapers' say that mid-life crisis can disorient anyone. But I was not going through that. I was being playful. I was attracted. I was genuine. I knew it will never translate.

My closets friend told me I was not the exception. “You are the rule. At our age if we will not notice a firm butt and sigh. When we will?” he reasoned.

“But the trick is to be on sidelines. Remember we are analyst or experts but not the field guy. We don’t play anymore. We are done,” and he raised the beer bottle. Drunk. Intoxicated.

Each day in office was treacherous. I was being random. My suggestions were genuine and I wanted little back. But I was intoxicated with the smell…I searched for reasons to be near.

And when this fine day she waltzed her way to my cabin, I was preparing to be random.


“Hey,” and her scent overtook any rationality present in the room…

“You know, my friends’ boss got fired,” she said causally while taking a seat. I was watching her ear. What will feel like to just kiss them…

“You know why he got fired?” she continued without even realizing my absent mindedness..

“Why?” I somehow blurted

“He was trying to be funny with her. At first he was all helpful kinds but then something went wrong...”

I kept silent.

“You don’t think I give such signals to people in office na?”

Helsinki Tales...

I got a chance to visit Finland. The country is in difficult times. But unlike some nations, I believe the Finnish have not completely lost the plot. Here is a brief account...

Finalnd is on a selling spree. Tourism. Education. Culture. Perhaps for a country to avoid recession the best bet is to sell intangible experiences when its real economy is in doldrums.

Now, in such difficult times Clean technology is the new mantra for Finnish Companies seeking an entry into India. According to Finnish Industry estimates, the size of the clean technology business in India will increase up to around 300mn Euro by 2012, especially in wake of India’s energy demand.

More than 50 Finnish companies, including majors such as Metso and Wartsila are firming up their plans to step up their operations in the country in sectors such as renewable energy and waste management.

Finnish companies are also looking to tap the nuclear waste management market that would shortly emerge in India. “We’ve a strong expertise over whole waste management chain and this is a big undiscovered opportunity on which Finnish companies can work on,” says Henry from CleanTech Finland.

But most Finnish students still think of India as a land of snake charmers. I would have come back with this feeling if i had not met this group of Egil and his team.
They were a young bunch from Netherlands and wanted to check out Helsinki and the girls around:)

Two of them had come to India recently and did say that we are on the right path...

There was lot of action but on that later....

Google Maps

I’ve been stuck. I need directions. Couldn’t think of anything and finally managed to blurt this out…

Google maps had become her best friend lately. Every morning after coming to office she will dutifully log on to the website and like the day before would check upon the distance between her soon to be new office and new home.

This was also one of those days, when she was staring at the screen and recounting the number of stations that she’ll now have to cross on her way to work.

“God! How will I do it,” she murmured to herself. She could visualize herself wading through a multitude of crowd that descend from no where and then as the whistle blows...fade into oblivion. The picture that she conjured was more so based on what she had seen on the silver screen rather than by her own experiences.

Cinema surely has played an important role in each of our lives. It has created cities within cities and opinions when there should be none. But this was not cinema, as she often said to herself, there is never a happy ending…there is always a new day, a new task and perhaps a new life…

Charu by no means was a small town girl. She had seen half the world. Brief stint in different continents and she is what would some call as the new-age-Indian-woman. But this time she was scared or may be apprehensive is a better substitute.

Fighting all these thoughts, she turned back to her best friend…the stations were marked with blue spots and the end points with pink. “Perhaps, they’ve also deciphered the colour of the face when you start or end your journey,” she wondered.

Suddenly, her mobile came to life. Name of her soon-to-be-husband sprang on the screen. She had thought of saving it as ‘hubby’ but than decided not to. He was yet to be coached. He was yet distant. She was still in her city.

She picked up the phone and sounded cheerful – “Yes, Mr Ravi. How may I help you?”

“Morning Sun shine. Just thought should wish you a nice day,” he said. From the voices in the background, she could make out he was at some station. “Which?” she thought as her eyes ran over all the blue dots on the screen again.

Charu had already replied to his morning text message and had deleted it disdainfully. She was yet to find the connect, sometimes forcing things make it more difficult, sometimes things need to forced…sometimes things should be left the way they are…million ways…google maps…

“Oh! So what was it that reminded you of me?” she cooed into the phone. Genuine question. Everybody wants to be loved.

“You’re always there on my mind and…..,” he tried to be funny. Being funny is safe..

“Hey Mister…I don’t talk dirty in mornings…,” she sounded like a tease…Like all girls, she loved to be like that but this time it was not for play. She had to do it. He needs to be coached, he was living with parents…he needs a lot of training…

The short conversation ended with those three magical words. The magic was yet to reveal itself…there was hope…there was google maps…

It was dry afternoon and like all days it had been hot. As kids moving to a new place is exciting, sharing a bed is comfortable…here it was different, “or, perhaps, sharing bed..mmm..is not too bad…” she laughed at her own wickedness…yes, there was some of it… little…need to find it…

While the fight between emotions and hormones was to be build, the phone rang again. It was one of her admirers, the one who fell in the race. There were many, some ran, some watched from the sidelines…some were real close…some never had a chance…she didn’t encourage…Charu never liked giving ideas. Food for thought!

“Yes,” she sounded like a damsel in dire straits.

“Nothing, just called. How art thou?” he sounded like Hamlet from Shakespeare. The world was yet to crumble, marriage was some months away…

“Oh Thanks, I was bored…how are you?” she enquired. This conversation was shorter. There was nothing to share. Conversations also need directions and he was yet to discover google maps…he was still unsuccessful!

Trophy Wife

The walls in this house were screaming pride. Or, perhaps it was the owners, who want to silently convey it by adorning the walls. If there is no shame in displaying your success,putting them on walls is possibly the most subtle way to do it.

“So, what’s happening in your life?” she asked abruptly, perhaps the third time during the conversation. They always had less time for small talk, getting straight to the point was the only best part of their acquaintance as colleagues first and later as friends.

But that was some summers ago. Those were the days when he was a struggling with life and she was making noises about living. But what glued them was different, something like a vague sense of demise, as if two people have met during mourning. And hence they spoke less but definite. Acknowledging the loss and hoping to look forward.

He looked at her face, it betrayed happiness. “Well, nothing much. It’s all the same,” he replied. He had repeated himself thrice. He had hoped to find the pain in her words; at least some. The sense of demise was somehow missing.

He mostly kept silent during the conversation. Actually, he was looking for keywords. Sad words, or expressions that point towards a loss. Old habits die hard and he expected them from her even after a gap of almost a decade.

But today she was on a different tangent, talking animatedly about a trip to some off shore location, and on home redecoration plans. How was she going to use her college degree for some good, and on how finally she has started enjoying shopping...

“Does he hang you too?” he finally blurted.

“Excuse Me!!” she sounded visibly hurt.

“No does he? Or you feel proud to be among one of those animated objects?” he continued unfazed...“Sorry, let me rephrase it, do you compete with them?” pointing at the wall.

“Sometimes I do. And yes there are times, I feel proud,” she blurted.

They were now talking. The shadow of death had crept in and words flowed easy.

“Is it good? Sense of achievement?” he drilled.

“Mixed bag. Not really,” she answered.

“And what about leaving footprints,eh?” he probed. Gloom was yet far.

“I removed the tattoo,” she retorted.

Yes, sight of despair, he rejoiced in his heart but managed to keep a straight face.

“So what do you dream of now?” he asked casually. Expecting nothing.

“How to hang there without getting replaced, EVER,” she answered with a firmness in her voice.

The servants had cleared the tea by now. He had to rush. He was still struggling with life and perhaps she was still making noises about living...

Bastard

“You’re a bastard,” she said that again. Perhaps, this time stressed more on the word – bastard – may be her tongue pushed against her teeth a little more. For this time, it sounded distant...erotic and then simply like bastard. Abusing is a funny business, sometimes you just do it for the fun of it, and at times you mean it. I guess here she was trying to manage both.

She looked at me, perhaps, trying to gauge if any sense of guilt has loomed on my face. I remained quiet. In fact, I was thinking how to hide my malnourished frame. I guess I was trying to pull the bed sheet, which somehow got stuck under our state of undress.

It was early morning, more than four hours, when the exchange of limited body fluids would’ve happened. Limited because I knew this was to happen and bought what need to be bought. Anyhow, I had managed to catch a wink and had completely forgotten that I was sleeping next to a unclothed woman.

Believe me; yours truly, have been extremely unlucky in matters such as these and at some point of time was almost going to renunciate the means to genesis. Naturally, I was disappointed with myself when I realised I had wasted such precious time sleeping. But this has always been the case with me and sleep has taken precedence over various important tasks of mine.

Adding to my disappointment was the berating behaviour of my object of desire. And, here i was trying to hide myself both from her gaze and her verbal volleys, shielding my uncovered display of skinniness with the crumpled bed sheet and fighting her barbed remarks with supersonic silence.

“Light up a smoke,” she ordered. I promptly did. I don’t know what possible conversation was apt for the moment. I mean what do you ask – was it good? Or hope you enjoyed! Or can we do it again? Or simply say it was fun – but somehow none of this seemed to be fit, and I kept silent.

As the smell of nicotine burnt my nostrils, I started questioning myself. Did she like it? I guess she did. She even counted my ribs, six of them, the first five were too obvious...gawking out of my sparsely distributed flesh, but the sixth one...she traced it too. Or did she just enjoy it, perversely. You know, the way, people enjoy watching poverty struck children. Slum Dogs, Poverty Tourism.

May be she did. For she compared our wrists, length of my shoulder, bony fingers and the non-availability of flesh around my stomach. But then why we went this far? Did she took pity on me? Pity, that i was deprived. Pity, that am so pitiable or was it some “motherly” instinct that my pities aroused. And as when i tried to dechipher this unnatural behaviour displayed during a natural act, i started feeling that may be, and mind you, dear reader, that may be, she offered her as a mother to a child. And if it was so, it’s a pity.

“Here,” she broke my chain of thoughts, with rings of smoke blown on my face, as she passed on the cigarette. Perched on her elbow, staring at my face, she continued, “You know, you ruined it all for me. I would never be normal. Friends we were. It was so good. “Bastard,” she said that again.

I maintained silence. And sucked on the cigarette bud, which nearly burnt my lips... “You would keep it to yourself, right?” she was looking intently at me, perhaps for an answer. I guess here was my chance to retort. “You won’t?” She asked again. I was trying to think fast. But only managed to utter, “I don’t take myself seriously.”

She stared at me, for a full minute. I stared back. “I can see that,” she said. Pointing towards perhaps my only body organ, where there are some muscles, which were already flexing. I don’t know, at that moment, i tried to look – ashamed, proud, confused or just relaxed – but I remained silent.

Some days back, I saw her with another friend. They looked happy. I smiled, and so did they. As they moved ahead, she turned back. Her lips made a non-audible “bastard”. I smiled. I guess she’s wrong. I’m only unsuccessful...

Bye, Bye Summer

This has been an uneventful summer. Well, I don’t have any data to prove that if the past 26 summers in my life have been exceptional or eventful, but this summer somehow stands out from the previous 26.

People like me need no introduction. And it will be a waste of time, if I go back into history and start narrating that how I became what I’m. But if you look around, you’ll find many people who you can conveniently say – would be like me.

In a nutshell, I’m one of those silent, non-descript, unnoticed guy in your office, who sometimes appear lecherous. I mean if you would’ve been my colleague, you would have not once spoken about me. I’m surely not that important to figure in office gossip and somehow I never am a part of those who gossip.

Before the summer came, many people somehow had left our organization. I never knew, why and I always thought that may be they’re advancing their summer vacations.
Since, I was made to sit just below the air conditioning duct; I somehow forgot to take a vacation. So, every second day, people taking their stuff, walking out from office and I would peep from my desk, watching them and wondering why they leaving so soon.

If you think I’m an idiot like that guy in your office. Hold on. I’m not. I read newspapers, I watch business channels and I surf the web too. I know people are losing their jobs but not in our organization, because my salary always came on time. First day of each month, month by month.

And then came summer. All of a sudden the air conditioning vent died. I heard people complain about it. In fact, I should tell you that it was really funny, the way it died. It made a large sound…like someone taking deep breaths, it whizzed and then it died.

And when it died, the office became alive. I was scared for a while, that may be they’ll notice me and perhaps…ask me something or the other. But they never did and I guess I was the only one, who was happy that the duct died.

I’ve never met my boss. It’s a male name and it’s a window on my computer. He orders through chats and I answer through mails. I don’t know where he sits and when the other day a new window opened on my screen telling me that she is the new boss…I wasn’t surprised. It was all the same…

Yesterday, the window told me to go on a vacation. Well, I thought good for I never took one. I’ve been told that I’m in some virtual pool, which is very good. I’ll get 60% of my salary and I don’t have to come to office. Plus, if I find a new job I can do that too. I’m writing this from home, I bought an air conditioner yesterday. I sit below it all day. As I said this has been an uneventful summer…

Leaders & Voters

This was his second visit to Delhi. But this time it was more colourful than what it was last time. After all there was much to cover, absorb and make-up for what he had missed on last time.

It was a quick tourney in the capital when he was there some five years ago, a shorter version of even those cheap packaged tours, but even with lack of both time and money he had managed to visit...Lal Qila, Kutub Minar, India Gate, Jantar Mantar, Purana Qila, Sansad Bhawan...and what was that last juncture...aah dargah of Nizamuddin.

“Arrey Pankha Babu...you should go to Nizamuddin...the place smell of roses. Roses! And the dargah...aah, Pankha Babu it’s such a beauty....but crowded if you go in afternoon,” he sighed as he recalled his last trip.

Pankha Babu...for whom this was his first visit to the capital was already amazed at the speed and emptiness of this phoenix city.
“What are you thinking Pankha babu?” he asked when Pankha showed no interest in his praise of the dargah.
“Nothing. When do you think the rally will start? he questioned while feeling the emptiness of the large space, located bang in the heart of the otherwise densely populated city.

“Pankha babu you’re very restless. All day I know you’ve been dreaming of that TV madam who came here and took your interview and now all of a sudden you want to be in the rally,” he said and then laughed and patted his back in continuity.
“Arrey nahi nahi...when did i say anything about that madam...you know why we are here,”...and he left the sentence hanging.

Sitting at the party office, it had been six hours. Among the chaos, till now they had made only two acquaintances, the tree under which they were and sitting and the squirrel who came every now and then to feast on peanuts which they had been munching all the way from Tirkitpur.
Back in town, this time, they would not have been alone...especially during elections.

After all they were the renowned and as their peers will say, emoting the style of a television show on absconding criminals, ‘Most Wanted’ singers. Rawat&Pankha Musical was an essential for all rallies in Tirkitpur and villages in and around the district. Some 500kms away they were stars who shine, sing and play.

Rawatji...do girls here wear these perfumes and cinema clothes?” asked Pankha...who in Khan market yesterday, had accidentally brushed against two girls and had to walk the rest of the evening with visible embarrassment in his desi cotton pyjama.

“Pankha babu...Delhi is the capital. Big big personality come here. For these people its normal. Not Tirkitpur kind,” he said.
And as Rawatji was intending to tell him of his exploits, siren sounds filled the compound. The neta had arrived. Leader of the masses. The future of the country. The one to vote for.

Rawatji...lets start....1, 2, 3
And Rawat and pankha started their most renowned song for this particular party....at the peak of their voice. A few faces in the crowd surrounding the leader looked towards them...and so did leader.

The leader took a garland from one of his supporters and walked towards them. The crowd followed. Rawat and Pankha were screaming at the top of their lungs, eulogizing the party, its symbol and the leader. The leader smiled and garlanded both of them. “You’re visionary,” he said and turned towards the hoard of television reporters.

“They are the grassroot people. They know we’ll win. They are visionary and they truly are,” he repeated as he emphasised the point to the good looking female reporter on his left.

As he embraced both of them, Rawat managed to utter, “Netaji, a school in our village. Music teachers. All will sing your praise, please look.”

“Of course, after elections. First thing. Make sure you give your name to my assistant. Ok. Anything else?”
Pankha and Rawatji bowed their head in reverence. They had done the same in 10 party offices in the last two days. After all someone will win.

“Let’s go Pankha babu. Work is done,” said Rawat as the leader moved away and with him the crowd of sycophants, leaders and reporters.
“where will you go now?” asked the leader’s assistant’s, assistant’s, assistant as he diligently noted their names and the village address.

“We’ve to visit some places. This is Pankha Babu’s first trip to capital na,” replied Rawat.
As they moved towards the gate, the assistant’s, assistant’s, assistants asked his assistant.

“Our netaji is great. These guys are blind. And he calls them visionary!”
“Yes sir, visionary he is. Visionary they are and you too sir...you had this vision to understand netaji’s vision,” he affirmed.

Quickie

Wasn't intending, no meaning, plain words, jumbled up....


She says' play with words
search reason to existing none,
invite, entice and excite
each letter missing or spoken;

Shuffle, twist and turn
few in order, most for fun,
strip, part and push
every sequence in the book;

Near when master the art
remember play is only what i asked....

NewS

There are two things that I would love to escape from, watching news channels and reading newspapers. Or if I can shorten this sentence, I’d say – I want to run away from news.

But this was one of those days, when there was no escape. Sharma called up from nowhere. Funny, that I don’t even remember his first name. Since I’ve known him, I’ve called him and heard of only his last name – Sharma. There may be a million other Sharmas’ in the globe but for me and many others there is only one Sharma. Loser Sharma. Sucker Sharma and now jobless Sharma.

Anyhow, he called from nowhere. I mean it had been weeks and we had supposedly gone underground, since we lost our job. Or Pink slips as pink, white, and blue papers said. Pink slip is a strange shock. Strange because, it’s first rude and then pleasant.

For the first day when you wake up, you suddenly realize that you’ve so much time. You are shocked; you don’t know what to do. No Office, no traffic worries, no Monday blues, No Saturday binges and no more sucking up. It’s like staying clean – if you understand what I mean.

And slowly, you start feeling good about it. It’s like, your lungs breathe in more air, you sleep sound and you suddenly realize that your maid, is actually better than the girl, who perhaps still sit next to your…err…the old cabin where you used to sit. So I stopped recharging my cell (thanks to free incoming), no more cable TV or newspapers, started smoking bidis. But continued with the maid. Besides being good looking she had stories to tell.

This was one of those many days, when I was finally starting to hit off with my maid. My girlfriend had dumped me exactly after a week when I told her, I was not interested in any job. She had tried her best to circulate my CV. I guess we broke, because I told her she can sleep with her boss to get me a job. I thought she was already doing that to save hers and ouch!

Anyhow, Tara (my maid), was telling the story of another maid who ran with her employer and I was lustily looking in her eyes, when phone rang. Sharma, the sucker, who lost his job with me, was calling. Loser, I mumbled to myself as I motioned Tara to stop.

Oye Sharma, aren’t we underground?

“Not me, not anymore,” he chirped

“Oh…you got a job?” I asked disdainfully

“Yes. And they’re paying me 7k plus transport allowance. But this is not why I called you,” he continued

“Ok. So what is it then?” I blurted. Sometimes people can be mean.

“They want another salesman. Preferably MBA, but I told them you are experienced. They’ll take you too. 7k isn’t bad, and then we can share your apartment and your maid,” he said it as a matter of fact.

Lecherous bastard, I thought and then looked at Tara…She was playing with her thumb. Her hair was messed up. Wrapped in a dirty saree, she looked like a goddess from Kamasutra tales. 7k was not worth her.

“Nah…Sharma…I think, I’ll wait. I read in papers yesterday, market will surge and then my stock picks are getting me enough money. I’ve got clients. (I winked to Tara…as I emphasized on clients, I was getting good at lying). She smiled back.

“OK,” loser Sharma grumbled. More than getting me a job, he was interested in my apartment and Tara. Son of a bitch Sharma, sucker Sharma, I mumbled.

“So you got a job friend?” asked Tara. Two days ago we had graduated to address each other as friend; my next step was calling each other by names. By now she had told me about her old mother, and me about my bad girlfriend who left me once I lost my job.

“Nah Ta..Friend. (I was still struggling with not calling her name). He was trying to sell me some insurance,” I replied.

She looked at me, as if I knowing that I lied. “Need to go. Three more houses and I’ve told you about that bitch in second floor. She wants every corner clean, it takes me 2 hours at her place only,” she complained.

“Yeah, carry on with your job. If you get time after you’ve finished, come over, I’ll make you some tea friend,” I said while ushering her out. She turned back and smiled as I eneterd the lift. Needed to buy some bidi packets.

AFTER 15 DAYS

I was smoking the leftover bidis from ashtray. I have not gone out since last 14 days. That was also the day I last saw Tara. There was no money in phone…. I couldn’t have called her. First three days, I thought she was ill. A week later may be severely ill. And today I had lost hope. I raised myself somehow and went to the second floor. The bitch may know, her house would be a garbage dump by now…I laughed to myself as I knocked her door.

“Yes,” a middle-aged lady opened door through a latch.

“Tara…the house maid. She used to come at my place for sweeping….hasn’t come since last two weeks,” I said, while trying to peek inside, as if this old hag has caged my Tara.

“Yes Tara… oh she ran away with a salesman,” she said, closing the door further.

“Salesman?” I put my fingers on the door

“Yeah….Rupa will know better. Did she owe you money?,” and then she turn around and called Rupa…a teenaged girl.

“Jee Memsahab, arrey tell him about that Tara?” the old hag asked the teenaged girl. “That small time maid is a celebrity now, tell him,” she coaxed the girl.

“Sahab, she ran with some salesman. The news even came in a local daily. Some guy who was earlier rich. Someone named S…Sh..,”

“Sharma?” I blurted out.

Yes Sir, the teenage girl recalled with surprise. Some say he was with some big company before.

The old hag was staring me, the teenaged girl was saying something about some TV channel, coming to their wedding planned next week. Tara & Sharma were already a celebrity.

I just happened to miss the news…

Valentine Day Special:

“Fast love in times of slowdown. Recession hit stock broker marries maid”