Of Gymnosophists, Jugaad and Indian National Security

Fareed Zakaria was on prime time TV today and he did India a big favour. It was a special called Terror in Mumbai which over the span of an hour took viewers across America through the attacks last year. He made no effort to be diplomatic and boldly proclaimed the role of Pakistani entities in the attacks. Further he emphasized the Jewish angle to the attacks in a clever attempt to mobilize public opinion. So if there were any Americans/Westerners still deep in slumber over what happened, I am pretty sure they woke up and woke up hard to certain harsh realities which even the most ignorant of them will know will impact their lives. American/Western public opinion is a very powerful tool.

Also I happened to watch a particular talk on the mythical roots of belief and behavior by Devdutt Pattanaik. In the talk he goes in to examine the basis of behavior which in turn is used to explain the attitude of the concerned peoples to business. He contrasts as an example the case of the Alexander and the Gymnosophists (the link leads to beautiful anecdotes about the encounter recorded by Plutarch in his work 'Life of Alexander'). Alexander lived his life as if it was his only one while the approach of the philosopher was from the point of view of perpetual rebirth. This led each to find the others pursuit foolish. The philosopher found Alexander's yearning to conquer the world futile while the latter found the former's ascetic existence shameful. This Pattanaik concludes was probably one of the first recorded evidences of the clash of the subjective worlds. It all made very great sense. He even went on to explain his experiments in the Future Group as their Chief Belief Officer based on these deductions of subjective worlds and how he was able to rewrite established business principles in light of what would work in the gymnosophist's world i.e. India as opposed to what was true for Alexander's west. This had gone down very well with me. I was in great awe of the man as he had for once justified jugaad quite well. Jugaad can be defined as an innovative fix. This is what Indians learn from birth almost. There are constraints and rules but make it work. And gladly Indians are good at it. We do see the country running and doing surprisingly well.

Now what's the connection? The well intentioned business talk by Pattanaik innocuously explains why Fareed Zakaria was on tv today. Innovative fixing is a specialty of the Indian but I started wondering if finishing the job was. Anywhere you see we start with good intention and pursue the objective with a definitive Indian twist but do we reach the goal. Our cricket team, our collapsing flyovers, colliding trains, failing public health system and most of all a below par Internal and National Security system.

Krishna told Arjuna, do your bit and leave the rest to me. I think somewhere along the line we have lost the essence of our philosophy. That method and result are not central to Indian philosophy is well understood. But now we have completely become non-committal to our duty towards action.

A year after the worst images of terror on ever television screen and even more pitiful images of a crippled Mumbai police and a late-Latif NSG with some face-saving action by the Naval commandos, India and its people are back to what they do best, making do. Issues in the forefront are again those of a divisive yet inconsequential nature. Reports on the NSG and the troubles being faced in implementing the many changes that the attacks necessitated are in a truly Indian manner makeshift and haphazard. Mumbaikars and their government are back to worrying more about the Thackerays and their monkeying than about Lashkar and future security threats. A year later our police forces still lack special anti-terror squads, special weapons and training and most of all institutional commitment to national security. A national investigating team was refused access by the FBI to a suspect allegedly planning more attacks in India. It is shameful. What if it were the Israelis, French or the Germans?

There are many immediate solutions. But surely our attitudes need to change. So long as an Indian life is expendable we will not get anywhere close to having a safer country. There are volumes in recommendations and reports voicing the much needed changes in every conceivable system in the country and I am no expert on these issues (yet!) but I can say that I am not going to point fingers at some imbecile sitting on a chair in a stale government office. I put him there. I am equally responsible for the tokenisms and the inability to learn from the hard lessons that followed the horror of 26/11.

Screw Social Networking

Hotmail, Gmail, Facebook and Orkut. These are the first four pages I visit along with Google news everyday and every time I logon to the internet. Email I understand and so can anyone. But these days I am really starting to get annoyed with the whole fb phenomenon. Its just too intrusive and too public. People meet you once and add you. You oblige and for eternity now they can get updates on you whereabouts and doings. These people could be a fellow back-bencher from 4th standard or a summer student or some random person you meet everyday. Many of these people are part of your life for short spans. And it does make sense to have them available for these short term purposes. But very few you want to retain for long term. A neighbour from last summer was great for last summer. Its about time that they moved on by this year.

As a way to just say hello and post messages to one another, fb serves a great purpose. May be it was even the intended purpose when it first began. When i first used it in 2005 it did just that. Over the years though it has morphed into this ugly know-all wannabe so much so that people now lead their lives with great consideration for fb opportunities as I like to call them. Fb opportunities are photos, videos, notes, blogs, links and just about anything created or accessed exclusively for the purpose of posting on facebook. I was was victim of this phenomenon too. For sometime I enjoyed posting links and videos that elicited response from my circles. But now I just dont care.

My network of friends has more people I dont talk to anymore, I dont give a shit about anymore or plainly never knew at all. And I dont want all of this. Soon the curtains shall come down on www.facebook.com/sandeepyad. So if any of you read this take a last look.

For those of you who matter, you get to read this or anything else here only because I want you to. I like knowing that only a good few friends get the info they need on my life or my thoughts.

To the rest of you, FUCK OFF!

365, 52, 1

Tall 15-foot glass windows looking onto Bloor Street.

People walking by are a great past time for the bored studier.

BMO, Scotiabank, TD and CIBC stand dwarfed by the CN tower.

In the forefront, the Varsity stadium lays through summer and the white bubble winter.

At the far end of Devonshire place, some cars pass by and occasionally the footballers run past.

Whatever the season, the joggers step on.

Cigarettes and headphones are two abundances of the college goers.

Clutters of bicycles chained on the footpath.

Linked arms, skateboards, skull caps and high heeled leather boots abound.

The parking enforcement comes by on their rounds.

Pigeons and squirrels completely urbanized are my best friends.

A New Being

I hear news that springs emotion in me. A new life, a new being.

Love

You know, a flower that has perfume is not concerned who comes to smell it, or who turns its back

upon it. So is love. Love is not a memory. Love is not a thing of the mind or the intellect. But it

comes into being naturally as compassion when this whole problem of existence—as fear, greed,

envy, despair, hope—has been understood and resolved. An ambitious man cannot love. A man

who is attached to his family has no love. Nor has jealousy anything to do with love. When you

say, ‘I love my wife’, you really do not mean it because the next moment you are jealous of her.

- Jiddu, Bombay, 1965.

I learnt something new today. The above is an excerpt from the closing lines of JK's talk titled Learning About Pleasure. In the talk he asked me to listen. That is how he began. To purely commit the act of listening and nothing else. That was very hard. Every sentence I found myself doing exaclty what he described we do when we claim to be listening but are actually not. I was aware of my sorroundings, yes, which is a very important part of listening but thats not where it ended with every passing word a comparison, an evaluation was in process. I was immediately trying to digest what was being said in contexts so varied that the import of what was said was actually being lost. That is as the speaker JK has an intention for his words which I will learn only if I listen to him with an unbiased mind which is not doing anything else but listening to him speak. But in the process of my conditioned behaviour of processing what he is saying and its applicability, its veracity and so on I have already steppedd out of the role of a good listener. I have overshadowed whatever I have heard with the internal conversations I am having with myself in the form of checks and balances my mind is applying on the input received. Therefore to begin with itself I have already lost much of what I might have learnt because I am, by virtue of my experiences and learnt behaviour, taking sides and judging the information.

Then followed a very decent, succinct definition of what discipline is. I realise that what we understand as discipline is very much an implied meaning rather its true meaning. We associate discipling with conformity rather than a nascent yearning. The latter is the state of the mind when we have put aside conditioning and opened up our senses to experience putting the internal conflict and conversation to rest. This is something I realise is very true and very difficult. Furthermore putting to rest your internal conversation so that the impact of the external sound can actually take course involves resolution not suppression. This is something I need to unlearn. Suppression plays a very important role in my life albeit negative as I am growing to realise. So long as any conflict is suppressed with in me I will never truly learn anything new as all the while the mind is occupied with what is suppressed and the threat of the suppressant resurfacing. My mind is not free.

I want to stop there. Further I write I imitate and regurgitate what I have read rather than understand and learn from my understanding.

At this very moment a lot of internal conflict is ensuing. I suppress a lot of emotion, thought and action in the search for conformity. I want to unlearn that. I want to set my senses free.

Something I read in that talk has made a deep impact on me.

Love implies great freedom—not to do what you like. But love comes only when the mind

is very quiet, disinterested, not self-centred. These are not ideals. If you have no love, do what you will—go after all the gods on earth, do all the social activities, try to reform the poor, the politics, write books, write poems—you are a dead human being. And without love your problems will increase, multiply endlessly. And with love, do what you will, there is no risk; there is no conflict. Then love is the essence of virtue.

I need to become that love.

I am a farce. I am a dead human being. I want to come alive.

The ‘being’ is not the ‘becoming’.

Purgatory

a clean slate my life

unmarked untouched

awaiting a stroke of

inspiration

a blank canvas my day

shadows contrast to

the drought of

colour

an abyssmal hollow my spirit

trodden forgotten beneath

endless crushing

misery

a cruel venom my blood

flowing serving saving

the flesh that bears the

suffering

a contorted maze my mind

thoughtlessly conscious

of its vain attempts to a

meaning

an divine lie my belief

comforting numbing brutal

excuse for the fiction of

being

a putrid bowl my soul

i endure the shameful deceit

of the unforgiven

sin

a consummating void my heart

i wait and tire

in the eternal

hope

(de-)Evolution: Hair Gel To Hair Oil

I vividly remember. My mother would look her legs around me and get a grip. It was a smart way to hold a hyperactive little devil who hated what was to follow. Out came the blue plastic of Parachute and the thick goo or thin slime poured out depending on what the weather was like. What followed was a juggalbandi of howls and frets, one party fighting the other. I always lost. By the time the death grip was released my fully oiled hair reeked of coconut complicating the stickiness of all the tears that I wasted. This was the daily routine of oiling. I was four.

As time went on, learning tamed me. Somethings were better left unresisted. And may be that brought with it a certain pack of Smarties or Kinder egg. It was a fair deal. Suffering was rewarded. How subtle yet profound are simple things in life. This phase of learning though didnt last long. I was more of a man every passing day. One day it happened. My mother didnt recognise my voice when I blasted through the doors back home from school. Lessons ended, I was no longer a cub. The teen years were teen years. Change was the mantra. Especially changing everything that even remotely seemed to vindicate the lessons handed down from the adults, those darned adults.

Move over oil, welcome hair gel! Parachute gave way to a long line of contenders for the job of styling my hair. Notice that style is the keyword here. But before the the gel era, there was one occasion when the hair oil routine was broken. After a trip to the barber I wanted the mist-sprayer/atomizer that those fellows used to wet the hair. I realised this could make my strands bend any which way. That was the first acknowledgement of the need to style. This led to a tantrum and a misled father buying me a Silvikrin Hairspray Ultra hold. Yes, I used hair spray.

It started with a cheap jar of Man gel. Now I know that sounds shady and may even trigger humorous but untrue ideas. But that was the first hair gel I used. From there I moved onto Wellaflex. High school is plagued with such kind of standards. Everything had a defined best. Wella was the best for hair gels. That too was an ultrastrong hold. Haircuts had to be tailored to suit the use of gel. What would later come to be known in India even till as late as 2002 when I joined college, the 'dil chahta hai' cut now simply called spikes was already prevalent by 10th standard. Also I had my own take on the Ultrastrong holds dilute it with some water and get that slick look. What essentially I was aiming at was a Wet look.

StudioFx from L'oreal followed. It was a wet look gel. But either my cohort wasnt completely conversant with reportoire of hair products or my image was not consistent with a cool dude as one of the sad fallouts of the wet look gel was a question that was often shot at me quite innocently, why is your hair so oiled up? Much to my annoyance I tried to stop explaining that it all was about. I took my hair gel quite seriously. After some more tubes of StudioFx and may be even some DesignerFx I finished school and arrived in India only to be more aggravated my friends who had not experienced the hair gel. And so the questions of oily hair abounded. Ofcourse not everyone cared as many of the guys themselves had bathed their locks in oil.

The careless attitude that took me over in the later part of the first year lasted a long while or may be even to the end of medical college but in second year during a trip to Kuwait I did purchase Clairol Herbal Essence Hair Styling gel. That was the dawn of a newer understanding. Thick black locks are not forever. Grey showing more frequently made me to look at my hair gel with an eye of suspicion for the first time. Style gave way to worries of Healthy hair(yes I know hair is actually dead, but still). So for those occasions like the Hyderabad trips and the college days when I still cared to groom myself, this more conservative gel devoid of special effects like strong hold and wet looks served me for a long period.

The postgraduation period which was mostly time spent in the library, hair gel took a back seat. Although I lived in Toronto, the libraries of the University of Toronto provided a certain damn-care environment where what did you did was your own statement. And so I benefitted from the collegial confusions of those kids and dumped the hair gel into oblivion, till Akka's wedding. A bad 450 rupee Jawed Habib haircut later hair gel was needed to salvage the remanants. So it was Garnier Fructis hair gel this time. And it was pathetic, probably the worst hair gel I used even more so because it came in a small spray bottle like the one that started it all at the barber's shop. Luckily for me it leaked on the way back to Toronto and so found way to the trash can.

Now more than ever I understand that beautiful hair, flat abs and toned biceps are not forever. Just at 24 I start to realise that this body needs to be cared for or else I would find it taking a beating of a lifestyle which is still very erratic. In Los Angeles a couple of days ago I found my bava's Parachute. And on the way to the shower just emptied a blob of grey slime and rubbed it into my hair. The premature grey was starting to show ever more prominently. I was scared. And this time it was the death grip of my fears of losing my youth held me down while I lost the battle to myself. I oiled my hair. The circle was complete.

At 14 or 15 there are things you believe can never happen to you.

Ego's Dilemma In The City Of Angels

Two weeks ago, I landed in Orange County. Life has varied its pace on me. In the big picture times seem to fly by while at any given moment they seem to be as stagnated as can be. Better put the quantity of time passing by is ever overshadowed by its poorer quality.

Over the last couple of weeks I have spent considerable time exploring the southwestern parts of this country. Well that is a bit of exaggeration. My sister and brother-in-law here have driven me all over California and also to Vegas. All the trips were fantastic. Being on my first trip to this country, I am learning at lot many more new things, things I would never be able to learn from my books and the internet unless I experienced them first hand. And these have helped me understand my perception of this country better. There are many many good things in this country and many more things I despise.

Throughout my exploration of America, the first impressions have been mixed at best. At the US Immigration customs desk at Toronto the kind of scrutiny I was subjected to made me wonder why I even want to go there in the first place. In frustration I thought to myself, screw this no one in India would ever be allowed to treat me this way. But once you are inside the borders of this country, it is a different scenario altogether. And thats what gets me thinking.

Having grown up in Kuwait, I am no stranger to the life of an outsider. Life was all about boundaries and identity along with a surprising level of what I now realize was racism. It was a time when I roamed the streets in fear of the constant awareness that at any moment things can go terribly wrong because of my foreign identity and its consequence in the eyes of the local authorities. In India as a citizen I could well afford the illusion of having the power to demand my rightful position and receive my due. Here I was in 'my' country and for the first time did not have anxiety/fear on my daily roster. But at the same time born in me were certain reality checks of what my identity meant among my own people. I started to see the difference between what I was entitled to and what I got. Yet the country, and its billions with a misplaced sense of patriotism which presented outside the context of cricket and Pakistan had no meaning, infused in me a sense of home, belonging and wanting.

Then for the past few months I haev been here in the much fabled "western" world and that too in and around the holy grail of "free" society. In America and a slightly lesser extent in Canada, the sense of individual freedom is very high and to an extent difficult to define, this freedom is actually experienced. So amongst the three different regions of the world that I have lived in I can actually say that on the face of it, North America has given me what might be the closest experience to the impossible unitary utopia.

Unitary Utopia is a phrase I think I just coined in the last sentence. What I mean by that is utopia experienced in senses limited and applicable only to an individual. I have seen that individual well being and the sense of self are of paramount importance in these societies and therefore the social instruments ensure the greatest achievable level of self-fulfillment I have seen.

By now it is pretty evident that my trip thus far has been as much about having fun as it has been about a dynamic comparison of things I have experienced so far.

Now, unitary utopia as such works for me too. As long as I don't ask too many questions or think too far in any direction it is as fantastic as can be. But beyond a certain limit to the radii of thought-spheres this unitary utopia reveals itself as a farce. I know the fallacy within it yet it is not easy to dismiss. The impact of self-gratification is way too strong for even the most intellectual minds, so I think I can be forgiven.

I am here in this society with the certain aims and ideas. My professional line requires active social participation with an appreciation of local culture and customs which may eventually find their way into my life. In all of this I find myself asking the question as to why I am even here. To train to be a better physician I often answer but deep within I am not too sure if that is the right answer or atleast the complete answer. My professional betterment (unitary utopia) lies here but my sense of belonging will forever lie in elsewhere. America is good for my id while India better for my superego. The question is which way the ego goes. I fear losing my Self.

AK Afridi : Le Fin

Alright! I can now conclude the Afridi story. Its been three months since the $40 to charity that went off in the direction of a sense of trust I had in the Pashtun/Pathan tribes, and I havent heard from dear old Abdullah Khan Afridi. What started off as a request for $20 went as far as $35 and finally I gave away $40 to help the guy with the subway instead of walking in the December cold. Some saw naivete while others altruism. I for myself reasoned out that there was enough reason to trust that man to call me back if not for the money then for the sake of honour. He did seem honourable and probably is.

Three months on, those who laughed at my 'stupidity' feel vindicated while some others have pointed to the infinite possibilities of what might have happened. Everything from the guy never reaching a good financial position to return the money to my subsequent departure to India a week later. It does seem plausible that during the month that I was gone to India Afridi may have tried to get in touch with me several times and after 35 days of incommunicado gave up. It is also likely that he was just another conman who made off with my sympathy and money, though it does seem unfair to malign the man without knowing his true intentions.

It is amply clear that I am less willing to believe the second possibility. I argued in favour of taking a chance and that I may have fooled myself into being conned. I have decided to retain my faith in people despite it all.

There is some goodness left in this world.

PS

I meant to write a lot about the trip to India and all that transpired there but now its been too long and probably the details are getting fuzzy to make any good reporting. But there is a point of note though. 

On my way to India, as reported, I had some encounters with the CBSA here in Toronto. While on the last leg on the way back here, there was this jerk of a guy who I could easily figure had a great time being an asshole. He stashed away with this briefcase his jacket into the overhead cabin above his seat. An air hostess who was trying to accomodate another passenger's baggage moved his coat to the next cabin. I could see by then that the jerk was already hyperventilating since his coat was 2 feet farther away than he could live with. As soon as the flight was airborne he rang for an attendant and requested that his coat be moved back to his overhead cabin and the displeasure and "inconvenience" the other lady had caused him thus setting the submissive attendant into a tirade of apology. Tch tch.

Well after we landed in Pearson, at the mouth of the aerobridge were again the dearest CBSA. Funny this time though, they checked my papers and wished me a great day as i walked off while the jerk was held back. Just as side, he was white. You know when you get taken aside at airports like that, the passers-by have an annoying look they toss you. That was what probably ticked him off. He started giving the agents some attitude with the usual I am a citizen and i have rights crap. They didnt buy it and as I vanished on the escalator I could help the smirk that was starting. What you do comes back to you. 

Live From Heathrow

Started out of Toronto on the 29th afternoon. The trip to Pearson airport was uneventful. I was happy to find out that I could get from my address to the airport with only one fare. A normal taxi ride would cost me around $55 easy. So for $2.75 all the way to the airport was amazing. Awesome.

Anyway I checked in and got on into security. These days with all the scares they make you take off everything. Well this was the first time for me. I thought that they were doing this only the States but I was even more surprised to find that after the 2 hour wait at the security gate as I walked into the aerobridge I encountered a CBSA officer who asked to check my passport and the following conversation ensued.

Can I please see your passport and boarding card sir?

Sure.

Are you travelling alone today?

Yes.

What’s your final destination?

Hyderabad.

(Sees the Canadian immigration stamp on my visa pages and..)

Are you permanently residing in Canada?

Yes.

Are you going on business or personal or..?

Its my sister’s wedding.

Oh right. Sir as a rule you have to any (stutters)foreign exchange you may have. Any amount greate than

$10000 or equivalent should be declared with the CBSA.

I have $35 on me.

Is that enough to buy a (stutters)sandwich during the stopover?

Well it’d better be. A sandwich more than $35? I don’t think so.

Oh well thank you sir. Have a nice flight.

And funny thing was it was easy to see that only the brown men had the special appointment with these officers. Four or five of them standing there conducting mini interviews. This was the first time I experienced openly racial profiling.

I am ambivalent on the need for such inquisition especially after I have proved my credentials at earlier checkpoints. Either they should place a CBSA officer at the check in counters or they should inspect everybody. It is a little annoying when you are called aside. That automatically highlights the differences between people.

What annoys me even more is that these fools think they are doing a good job of covering up the real intent of their duty. You have to be incredibly stupid to think otherwise. Stop a random brown guy and start talking about forex limits and liquor control? What do you think we are, blind?

I think a lot of people do understand the need for constant surveillance. I support it to a certain extent. But it is the farce that they create which annoys me. If you have a doubt ask, I will put my credentials and facts before you and walk away. I have nothing to hide. When they do things like these, it automatically incriminates the persons of unacceptable behaviour in the eyes of passers-by. Or else why would any regular Joe be stopped and questioned by the authorities without specific actions prompting the suspicion. Simply unbelievable.

If you have something to ask, crosscheck or examine, please be my guest. And openly tell me why I have been singled out and the not the white guy next to me. I don’t care. As I said I have nothing to hide. And well seems like times are such that actions such as these are sanctioned in public safety and if scrutinizing me is going to make the public safer, sure avec plaisir. But please, please don’t insult my intelligence and take me around in circles.

Well I guess there is only more to come that way. Later this year a trip to the US is on the cards and more profiling, discrimination and insult.

Anyway the flight from Toronto to Heathrow sucked. Two babies made sleeping as hard as rappelling. Saw Nick and Norah’s Infinite play list. Like that guy Michael Cerra. The characters he portrays be it Juno, Superbad or NNIP, all of them have certain characteristics in common. He is always a docile, chivalrous, unassuming fellow who seemingly is very different from the teenager stereotype of American movies. I like that. I wasn’t a jock, stud or a playa. I was regular guy, may be even a nerd. And having such a character lead a plot is very interesting and easily digestible. Seems like stuff which really happens. At least to guys like me. He is an incredible actor, I think.

Food on BA is a curse. The AVML - Asian vegetarian meal was hot shit packed and served with a bun and some salad. Whoever supplies these damn meals should be shot. Of course after forcing one such meal down their throats. I think it was in Ratatouille, the French chef instructs the his little vermin protégé that a good chef always tastes what he cooks.

And of course the usual Indian guy who has to do everything possible to further downgrade the image we have. So there was this Indian lot at the security gate which was causing a lot of ruckus as it is, but after boarding the plane a dark desi bong guy with shitty long locks of hair falling on to his face ending in the aisle seat across and a row in front. Unbelievable this guy! He just wouldn’t stop staring. Next to me was this white girl with her English dad and of course ample cleavage to show. Not that it was worth boasting, I’d seen better, but still. Anyway so this horny bastard would find every reason to stare at her and the shameless uninhibited manner in which he did it embarrassed me. Yes I have checked out girls, and I checked this one out too. But then you stop. Not with this guy. And then of course the drinks. Already downed 3 or 4 Johnny Walker Red Labels. Any dumbass would know that this fellow was drunk. You had to see the disgusted look the cabin crew shot him every time he asked a different member for another drink. Yuck! Again intense disgust. When you are in the aisle seat you have to accommodate requests from the passengers on the other side when they want to get up and may be relieve themselves. But not this guy he lay there sleeping, dead as a log. A man on the inside gave up and propped himself up on the seat and leapt for freedom in the process almost cracking a guys laptop screen. And this wasn’t just once either. It is a pretty long flight, Toronto to Heathrow, and a young guy like me went thrice. So you can imagine what those 45-50 year olds with their aging prostates would have felt like.

Anyway I whiled away the remaining time watching The Matrix Revolutions. I can never tire of that series.

Down in Heathrow we were going to be ferried in buses to the terminal. The weather, it was around 3 deg C, was amazing. I just wanted to run around like it was a spring day. Anyway back at the terminal some more lines and checking. Up an escalator into another line. This was another first. I had never been security checked while on transit. Apparently at Heathrow they do the whole deal again. Before you are let free into the terminal, once again you pluck out those shoes, unbelt and de-pocket yourself to have a gloved man frisk/grope you in full view of everyone else. And what I saw here was just not the customary frisk they made sure all nooks and crevices had been palpated for negative findings. Luckily for me, the metal detector did not go off, so I was spared the honour.

Anyway after dressing up again, I walked around for a while familiarising myself. First times at transit terminals can be pretty flustering. Anyway went downstairs called dad and then CCR. The chat was interrupted by a Bangladeshi man who couldn’t figure out how to make calls. I tried explaining in Hindi but he still couldn’t understand and he gave up on me and left. After, I made a beeline to the place I had predecided on gracing.

Plane Food. Gordon Ramsay. Heard, seen and read enough about the guy to not risk letting go of a chance to eat at one of his spots. 9.30 am. Only breakfast was served. So have to leave my main course reviews for the return trip. For now it was Egg Florentine.

Eating begins with the eyes they say. And that’s the beauty of these hi-fi places. Eggs and spinach on half a toasted bun with some pepper and butter on top. Just the ordinary but made to look regal. Well I would be exaggerating if I said anything more than what was. It was eggs on toast and there are few ways any genius can reinvent it. But still got myself a window table overlooking the tarmac, pulled out Beach Boy and started reading. Well complete picture isn’t it. An English breakfast at Ramsay’s with a good novel. Only no one was taking pictures. I am brilliant act you see.

More damage to Indian reputation downstairs at one of the duty free stores. A sales girl just pitches a discounted chocolate box from Butler’s. Handmade, vegetarian, alcohol-free from a traditional Irish family business. Sampled a praline and moved on. Three desis, her next target, were ogling/orgasming while they asked the most ridiculous questions to make conversation with this agreeable lass. Will my girlfriend get fat if she eats these? Are there any nuts, my girlfriend has allergy? Ever heard of an Indian with a nut allergy.

May be but not the way this guy was asking. Anyway it was going to be Godiva gold ballotin for me. I had someone in mind.

Wi-fi. Isn’t that the norm? Internet access at places like the airport should be complimentary or at least dirt cheap. Not at Heathrow. I didn’t buy an hour at Pearson thinking $6.99 was a lot. But 5 quid for an hour in London. No thank you. So this has been blogged in word and posted at the earliest.

11.15 am. Another 2 hours to burn. Hopefully should go by quickly. Haven’t been allotted a gate yet. Gee I am tired, got to pee and crap. Pee I will. Crap we will see.

Next: Rendezvous with the Motherland and the brother-in-law.

Don't Forgive The Impotents

Members of a self appointed moral police Sri Ram Sena barged into a Mangalore pub and beat up eight women on Sunday.About 40 activists allegedly from the Hindu fundamentalist group Sri Rama Sena gatecrashed into a Mangalore pub and thrashed up people inside. Eight women were injured two of them seriously."There are some activities going on here that spoil Hindu tradition. We've just shown our frustration at that assault on Indian tradition. We don't like such indecent behavior and tried to stop it," said Sri Rama Sena spokesperson, Dinakar  -ibnlive.com

dear women of mangalore

i am immensely pained to see what has happened in mangalore at amnesia. i saw the videos on the internet of how the girls were mercilessly beaten and molested. it got my blood boiling enough to wish death upon every man who participated in this atrocious act of barbarism.

sadly we men of india are impotent. we are mentally troubled. we are perfect examples of displacement and projection as defence mechanisms. i am no different. my words sound premeditated just like that of your chief minister yedyurappa, brimming with impotence. time and again we see these incidents, may be even once or twice a year on such a scale yet we shout and cry and soon we forget, they forget.

sri ram sena? i pronounce that ram, wherever he is, stands shamed for all he tried to be for these people. righteous? respectful? rational? let it be known that in this era or yuga as they would have it, ravana is the new ram. yet sadly the beauty of ravana was that though he eyed another's wife, he was honourable enough to believe that it was to be his unconditonal love that would make sita yield. may be it is time to rewrite our stories. let sita be dishonoured, disrespected because that is the ramayana i see more apt for india today. our gods, our traditions, our belief systems are nothing but a whole load of shit. because if it were any different we the men of india would not resign to such incredulous acts in the guise of protecting our culture.

it was not far off in the past that we prided ourselves as a people who respected the paramount importance of our women to our society. but in less than sixty years of independence we have managed to rid ourselves of the pride of our culture. we now are nothing but a bunch of culture-less brutes for whom money is god, greed is religion and violence strength. we the men of india cannot bring home a decent meal but are in the forefront to execute the fancies of any disillusion sociopath. i denounce my religion, my values if this is what it they make me do. india is fast turning into a country of retards.

we are all criminals, either by acts of commission or acts of omission. criminals are above the law. rest assured, we all are.

it cannot be a thinking man who perpetrates violence on a woman. we are degenerate. in our history, time again it has been proclaimed and there are plenty evidences :

curse those sons who see not their mothers in the eyes of the helpless women they violate.

karyeshu dasi; karaneshu mantri;
rupecha lakshmi; kshamaya dharitri;
bhojyeshu mata; sayaneshu rambha;
shat dharmayukta kuladharmapatni

a society that fails to respect its women is a society doomed.

i pray to the women of india, please dont forgive us, the men who sit and express our sorrow as you are left victim to our ineptitude.

and as for the guilty, kill them.

with deep regret
sy

Predictable Choice

so here i was talking about random things in life when i went into a soliloquoy. the subject of my angst this time dealt with directions we "choose" to take in our lives.

like take the example of the cohort that graduated in the summer of 2008 to which i belong. a 150 fresh  mbbs graduates came out into the real world. so it was yet another crossroads and time to make choices again. what gets me thinking is how many of us actually stop to think of what we are to do next. the obvious choice for many would be to move on to postgrad in a specialty and further training to be a specialist doctor. and there is nothing wrong with that. i would love to be one too. the problem arises with the way we think that we choose to do it. 

i have often observed that we dont have to do too much to live life well. life has a way of taking care of you. all you have to do at your end is perform life's current task well enough. thats all and everything else is taken care of. i finish mbbs and the obvious questions arise and life has an answer. do a pg. there is not so much thinking involved in the choice, ofcourse the details are different. 

when i say life, i mean what you have around you. you have a certain upbringing in a certain household with a certain way of life in a certain society with certain social, cultural and economic sensibilities. and if you choose to sit back and relax, then these have a way of being your cushion. they have conditioned your behaviour enough to make whatever is next obvious. just dont ask too many questions and everything will be laid out in front of you. 

your life is the environment around you. it is the nature around you not your nature. it is what nurtured you, not the ideas you nurture. every idea you have, every trait you claim has litttle to do with you. it is a response you have conditioned to an external stimulus. and the beauty of our societal environments is that there are inherent feedback mechanisms to keep track and if necessary weed out the unwanted. and may be even recondition a response into a more suitable one. thats the purpose of your society. the thinking has been done for you. you have a role to play. just do what you have to well enough and everything will show up in front of you. its almost like life is offering you a step at a time what you need . you could be blind to where these steps lead and still you wont be lost. and if you were to deviate and sidestep, there are inherent protector mechanisms in this society that will try and bring you back to the mainstream that life has charted for you. if you persist, then you are marginalized, obscured or even ostracized. every once in a while there are few who can reach the destination through their own charted paths and they stand out. society explains them to you as extraordinary or freaks. its almost like they are pushed into being the cases falling outside 2 standard deviations of your normal gaussian curve. even maths is taught to teach you the oddity.

now when you do dare to sidestep, you are making a choice. now what governs this choice. the reason you chose to sidestep is so that you can take the reins into your own hands and lead life the way you want it to go. but then if you were to chart the new directions based on previous conditioning of the very same society you come from then how far are you really stepping out. all you know is what you have learnt, that is responses to those stimuli your environment has given you. the eyes can see only what the mind knows holds true here. the limits of your thought are more or less defined by the boundaries of the stream you are hoping to leave. then what do you do. do you even have a true idea of your own that can help? is any response your own as all the stimuli coming are that from an environment you are trying to abort and therefore detrimental to the search of your new direction?

society teaches you to dream of a destination. the final outcome of your efforts. yet it very successfully limits them temporally. therefore any average joe being led down his path sees satisfaction in stepping onto the next step. but he fails to realise that the next step will always be there. there is no stopping. whatever your effort, action, there will always be an outcome and you will move on. such a joe will never realise that it is never going to end. walking through the mall he is inspired to dress like an icon and purchase a particular brand. then a car, a house, watches, holidays and the list is endless. he runs after another everytime. does he ever stop and think about what it is about the next thing he desires that will make it all come to an end? i dont know. will he ever realise that such a scramble is perpetual unless he stops it. i dont know that either.

some say it is not the destination but the journey that is important. but society teaches you the contrary. you belong to a certain social class and therefore there shall be certain endpoints that you shall aim to achieve. anything else is crushed. 

we all are eventually aiming for the same thing. yet how many of us realise that we are all conditioned beyond imagination such that we limit our own choices.   

choice is an illusion. they let you pick a flavour when all you know and see is chocolate. 

Abdullah Khan Afridi

There is still some goodness left in the people of this world.

My mom used to say that whenever she came across a good samaritan or witnessed an act of kindness. Today was yet another boring day at the library till this happened.

I just finished a block of questions and decided to take a break with the Economic Times shouting itself hoarse with the whole Satyam fiasco. There was this guy I saw from the corner of my eye but I stuck to what I was reading. A couple of seconds later I couldntt resist lifting my head up as this figure was slowly and deliberately looming in my direction. So as I looked up I saw this guy who looked well South Asian lets say. He came over to the side of my table as I took out my earphones and braced myself for the encounter.

Can you speak Urdu?

No.

Hindi?

Yes.

Well if you dont mind can I just talk to you for a minute.

Yeah.

Bhaijaan My name is Abdullah Khan Afridi from Peshawar. I am an architect. Just got here a month and a half ago. I am living in London as of now and came over to Toronto to meet with my immigration lawyer. Unfortunately though this afternoon my wife lost her purse with all our money in it. We are stranded now as we dont have enough money to get back to London. I have my wife and 21 year old daughter waiting as I am out here looking for help. I am new in this place and I dont know anyone. I tried going back to the lawyers office but found it closed. Someone there said that there was a mosque somewhere nearby where someone might be willing to help me. As I was walking by, you caught my eye and I just thought that in this foreign land I will take a chance and ask you for help.

Yeah, I guess. What are looking for?

I am short of exactly 35 dollars. Thats all I need to get my family back to London tonight. I was hoping you could help me out with the money. I promise I will be back on Friday, not this one but the next, and I will come back and repay you. Trust me brother, I know its awkward like this asking around for money but I dont know anyone else here and there is nothing else I can do. I am Pashtun and mark my word, I will come back and return the money.

I think for a minute. The man seemed honest and well as always in these situations, I am easily persuaded.

All I have got with me are 15 dollars and thats what I can give you.

The man hesitates and looks at me for a bit.

Bhaijaan I am not here to ask around for money. I promise to return it all. I wish that you could please help me out. There is an ATM just outside. I would be very indebted to you.

Alright I was going to give him the money. I just was going to. Sometimes I am just sold on certain things. There needn't be any particular reason. I just do it anyway. And this was one of those. I got up and walked out the library.

Allah, Subhanawata'ala will keep you well and will never put you in bad times. I will pray for you my friend. Thank you. Thank you so very much. I walked all the way from Union to here. We havent eaten all day.

Well you should just take the subway to Union on the way back. Its too cold.

Brother that would cost money too. I couldn't. All I need are 35 dollars.

A Pashtun's word? Alright. Lets not talk about it anymore. I am giving you what you want and lets both forget it, I think.

Outside the ATM is a BMO. My bank is Scotiabank. I tell him that. We decide to walk over to Bloor and Spadina. I go inside get my jacket.

It is -22 C. As we walk he asks me if all the buildings there belonged to the university. I tell him they do. Even that most of everything between Queen's Park and Spadina, and Bloor and King are university buildings. He says he has seen Western and it was huge. Well UofT was in the centre of the city and so was actually smaller than some of the university campuses I tell him.

What are studying? Finished medicine in India. Final Year? No I have my degree.

Mashallah! Congratulations brother. It is a matter of great pride.

I guess.

I am an architect. I have two Bachelors degress from the University of Peshawar. But people here tell me that my degrees are invalid, that I am unqualified. It is maddening. I regret coming to this country. My sister-in-law, my wife's sister, would call us from Vancouver every week and tell was what a great life it was and that we were missing out. May be she hated us. My family runs a garment factory in Peshawar, we make leather. I have two brothers who live in Germany. But I dont know why I came here. Once a woman had decided on something, there is little you can do to change her mind. My wife insisted. You get screwed. I gave 47000 dollars US to the immigration consultant to get us here and now I realise its all waste. I wish I never came here.

By this time we reached the ATM. He says he will wait outside. I draw 30 dollars. I think if I should just give him 40 dollars and be done with it. Then again he asked for 35 dollars and thats what I will give him. Money clutched in hand I walked out.

Thank you very much brother. Thank you. I will never forget this.

He leaned forward and hugged me.

I will be back to return this money to you.

Don't worry about it. Its alright.

No brother I couldn't. Atleast on that pretext we will get a chance to sit down for some tea. Please give me your number.

I do. He makes note of it in the Arabic script. And then my name too.

He points and asks if that direction was South.

I pull out my wallet and give him another 3 dollars and tell him to just take the subway.

He hugs me again and walks off around the corner still thanking me.

I walk back.

It will always be tough. One half doesn't believe it at all. The other wonders how many times total strangers have helped me and so may be if I owed it to this man. Well I gave him the money he needed. Thats all.

People will tell me that I got taken for a ride. That I got conned.

I gave the man money, it wasn't so much to make feel the pinch yet quite a sum.

I wish for him to come back, that we do sit down for that tea and that I make a new friend.

I don't need the money.

I want him back just to prove to everyone, to myself that we still have honest good men who will help one another, friend or stranger.

I need that.