“These f!@#$%s don’t do any f$#@%ing social development”, frowned the mouth that was spewing out rings of tobacco smoke at well-timed intervals.

The mouth belonged to the head of a group of NGOs. He was here to attend some talk related to community and social development.

Sitting across the table from him were a couple of my batchmates and me.

The focus of our conversation was Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) departments of various organisations.
To which his response was the first line of this post.

I listen intently as one of my batchmates gives a response that CSR departments are indeed doing a lot of work.
Amidst tobacco-filled smoke, I notice that the person breaks into a wry smile and says, “I have worked with them. They know f#$%^ing shit about social development”.
Loud laughter follows.

I look to my right and my batch-mate continues his battle. A battle against this person who uses the f-word as punctuations and periodically sips rum and coke.
The person then goes on to ridicule well-established people in the development sector. Names are thrown around freely, interrupted briefly ofcourse by rum and coke.

I butt in, thinking its time for me to talk and make my presence known.
“I have worked in CSR departments of organisations and they do some wonderful work”, I start.
As soon as I say that, the wry smile re-appears behind the glaze of smoke. Un-perturbed, I continue highlighting all the wonderful work done by the CSR departments of various organisations. I give him raw statistics and prove to him about how much social development is being carried out by corporations.

The wry-smile yet again.
This time I feel like standing up on the table and kicking the guy’s lower jaw off his skull.
I ofcourse don’t do that and politely ask him to support his view with facts.

He shakes his head in dis-belief and says, “Its no point sponsoring kids till 10th standard. You have to bring in holistic development”.

I nod my head. I know where this is coming from. When you don’t have anything of substance to say, use the word holistic.

I look at my watch and realise I have spent 2 hours with a moron who, surprisingly, heads a group of NGOs and sips on rum and coke and gets drunk and talks dirty about people who actually make a difference.

I also start wondering that if this person heads many NGOs then what is going to happen of the people who are the supposed beneficiaries of those NGOs?
I know the answer. I break into a wry-smile and say “F#$%^ it. I need to go.”
Alright I lied. I didn’t say “F#$%^ it”. I didn’t say “I need to go” either.

I sat there for another hour and finally left when it was polite to do so.
On my way back, I think again of the people who are in need of help. Some of them will now need to wait for holistic development before they can get any relief.

As I glance back briefly, I see the nicotine rings making their way up into the star-less sky.

It is inspiring to see that there is quite a good amount of innovation happening under the Sarva Siksha Abhiyan (SSA).

I read an article in the Hindustan Times – New Delhi edition a few days ago regarding the innovative ways of teaching that have been adopted by the volunteers at the SSA. Currently unable to get the online link, but its available on their e-paper version.

Excerpts:

Innovation, it seems, is the way to go. Conventional teaching methods are giving way to creative ideas…..

In Andhra Pradesh’s East Godavari district, children from 170 deprived families call a boat their school. Since their parents live on boats too, normal schools were too far for them. So, “providing schools close to their homes” was the best bet of giving them an education, the compilation says.

This particular one seems interesting:

In Gujarat, girl students are being used as tools to educate their mothers, with the help of SSA volunteers.

This is a great move of trying to educate the mothers via the girl students.
Traditionally, the housewives in this strata of the society are conservative and usually not educated. By trying to address their education needs in addition to educating today’s girl child, the SSA volunteers have come up with a great solution.

In Haryana, the government has given bicycles to 21,000 girls so that they get to school.

It is commendable to see the efforts that are going into the program in terms of new and innovative ways of teaching.

Also posted on the DreamSchoolForum blog.

“Hold the bags”, Rachna told him.

Amit was holding a cigarette in one hand and his car keys in the other.
He took the bag from Rachna while she opened the door to their home.

The house was in an up-market residential area and had a small lawn at the entrance. The couple had moved in here after Amit got his new job.

Rachna laid the bags on the open kitchen’s platform. Amit picked up the day’s mail and called out to Dai ma.

Dai ma was a middle aged lady who lived in the outhouse which was in one corner of the backyard of the house. She had an 8 year old son Raju who lived with her in the outhouse.

Dai ma got tea for Amit as he glanced through the day’s headlines.

“Shiv is coming today for dinner. He is in town”

“What? Why does he keep visiting us so often?”, Amit frowned.

“Come on, he was my best friend in college”

“Yeah, he was indeed your ‘best’ friend”, Amit laid out some sarcasm as he read the Happy Diwali Offer advertisement and sipped on his tea.

Dai Ma asked Rachna for some crackers for Raju on the eve of Diwali.

“I will get them, since Rachna madam is going to be busy with a friend of hers”, Amit said stoically with his eyes fixed on the news.

“Come on, he was your good friend too, wasn’t he?”, Rachna cosied up to Amit and sipped on his tea and gave him a silly smile.

“Sure he was. Used to hang around with you more though. Anyway, I think since he is coming we will have to get some liquor as well. And yes, I will buy the crackers for Raju.”

“Come to think of it, we haven’t bursted crackers since the time grand dad passed away three years ago”.

“Yeah, we haven’t. I think I will make Raju’s day. We’ll burst crackers with him”, Amit said and proceeded towards the main door.

Rachna started preparing dinner while Dai Ma got down to cutting vegetables and cleaning up the kitchen floor.

Raju went to a nearby school and Amit paid for his education. Rachna and Amit took good care of the maid and his son. They treated them as family.

Amit returned home with a bagful of crackers and with Raju following him with a gleeful face. Raju was wearing brown shorts, which were made after altering to a large extent Amit’s old college trousers. His shirt was half-sleeved and he wore a black thread around his neck.

Dai Ma looked at his son and felt proud. Proud that she was able to give him a decent education and a good place to stay.

Amit lit another cigarette as Raju took the bag of crackers to the backyard.

“So, when is your darling friend coming?”

“He must be here any moment. You know him, always late”.

“He isn’t late when he has to meet you”

“Will you cut it out please? He is going to be here and you would do well if you behaved a little more civil than that”, Rachna frowned and wiped the batter from her hands on her apron.

Within minutes, the door bell rang. Amit opened the door and Shiv was standing on the door mat with a bunch of flowers in his hand.

“Your friend is here”, Amit screamed to the kitchen.

Rachna came out of the kitchen as Shiv and Amit hugged each other and Amit led him to the living room.

“Hey baby, you looking as beautiful as ever”, Shiv said as he gave her the flowers.

“And you haven’t changed one bit I must say”, Rachna smiled.

Amit lit a cigarette and switched on the television. Cricket was a solace in times like these.

Time passed by and the conversations between Rachna and Shiv could have put Britannica to shame in terms of volume.

“And remember our date? Dinner at that small little restaurant”, Shiv chuckled.

Amit looked at Rachna with a raised eyebrow. He had heard this before a million times.

Rachna ignored Amit and continued giggling with her friend.

The wine bottle came out and all three raised a toast on the eve of Diwali.

“I think I will go out and burst crackers with Raju”. Amit left the living room.

Rachna and Shiv continued talking about their college years. Amit could no longer stand her best friend.

Raju was sitting alone counting the number of flower pots in the small box.

Amit smiled and got the matchbox and incense sticks ready. Within half an hour they ran out of crackers.

Amit returned back to the living room to find that the conversation was on the same old plane – Their numerous dinners, their drives and so on. Sometimes Amit wondered as to why Rachna hadn’t got married off to Shiv in the first place. Atleast he wouldn’t have had to go through this torture.

Brushing the thought aside, the only way he could quell his anger was by burning a cigarette. He lit his cigarette, tried to make his presence felt and then went back to the backyard.

Raju was sitting alone, this time counting the number of burnt sparklers lying in the corner. Amit called him and asked him to go join the boys on the street. Atleast that way Raju would have a better time.

As Raju started hopping towards the main door, Amit called him back and gave him a 500 rupee note.

“Go buy whatever you want”.
As soon as he gave the money to Raju, Amit didn’t feel good about it. He knew that he hadn’t given Raju the 500 rupees out of genuine care. It was more out of anger towards his wife and her best friend. The little child ofcourse had no such idea and that made the feeling worse.

Raju pocketed the money and ran towards the street. However, the boys had finished bursting their crackers and instead were now collecting paper and making small fires.

“Do you have any paper with you? We are making a fire here. A big fire.”, one of the boys asked Raju.

Raju looked at the fire burning the wooden twigs and bits of paper. He removed his 500 rupee note and threw it into the fire. That was the only contribution he had.

The 500 rupee note immediately started curling itself up as if it was trying to protect the face printed on it. Before the note could curl itself completely, the printed face was burnt to ashes.

“Happy Diwali” screamed the boys and Raju joined the little dance around the fire.

Amit lit another cigarette as Shiv bid his goodbyes.

“Happy Diwali”, said Amit looking straight into the distance.

“Happy Diwali”, said Rachna as she smiled and put her arms around Amit.

As Amit and Rachna stood at the doorway watching Raju dance, they realised that most of the lights in their home were switched off.

The small fire on the street created a faint glow on their faces.
Life continued to make its journey through myriad emotions and moments.

Previous story: Neumonia

I would like to apologise to that one ardent reader for not blogging regularly. ( I assume there is one ardent reader of this blog)

It is certainly not true that I have not had the time to blog. Writing in this space has been, unfortunately perhaps, of utmost priority to me for over a couple of years now. I think the primary reason that can be attributed to a lack of writing has been the fact that I don’t have much to say. Time has warped itself around the possibilities of imagination with a strong grip and does not allow any perspective to manifest itself in a communicable way.

Writing for the sake of writing results in poor posts like the previous two. Filter-blogging is not something I like to do.

Having said all that, here I am with a whimper.
Last night, I read Arundhati Roy’s The End of Imagination. It is a critical analysis of India’s nuclear policy and paints a gray picture of the apparently inevitable nuclear destruction of the world.

I remember my thoughts about the bomb when India proclaimed proudly to the world, using the Buddha as the carrier of the wonderful message.
I did find it ironical that Buddha had to smile for India’s nuclear experiments.

Coming back to the middle-path of this discussion (Buddha – middle-path, remember?), I rejoiced then at the fact that the bomb had arrived. India was on the international map with regards to nuclear capability and all that shebang.

The nuclear test also re-affirmed my belief in the BJP. Back then, I thought the party comprised of well-educated intellectuals who were caught in the quagmire of politics and hence had to deal with piddling issues like secularism.

Having aged a little since then, I believe now that the nuclear tests were extremely anti-democratic. The government had not listed it in its election manifesto and neither had it figured in the coalition’s agenda. How then did they go ahead with the tests? The Indian democracy was certainly not informed about this decision.

Arms-race and sanctions were natural to follow. But the biggest betrayal of that government was in not taking public opinion into consideration before going ahead with a decision that impacted the entire world.

Read Arundhati Roy’s article here.

I found the last two lines of this article poignant:

If you are religious, then remember that this bomb is Man’s challenge to God. It’s worded quite simply: We have the power to destroy everything that You have created.

If you’re not religious, then look at it this way. This world of ours is four thousand, six hundred million years old. It could end in an afternoon.

Ladies and gentlemen, life rocks.
For a change, I didn’t say that. The Buddha did.

After a considerable passage of time, the US seems to have realised that its time to change the strategy of the war.

Watch this video reported by the Telegraph.

John Keegan has written this article on why Iraq is not Vietnam.
I have usually liked Keegan’s writings but in this article I believe he has got his analysis all wrong.
Excerpts:

Indeed, insofar as Tet was a defeat for the United States and for the South Vietnamese government, it was because the American media decided to represent it as such. It has become a cliché to say that Vietnam was a media war, but so it was.

The media were extremely influential, particularly at such places as university campuses and the firesides of American families whose sons had been conscripted for service. When casualties of 150 a week began to be reported, the war began to be increasingly unpopular.

The Vietnam war was not lost on the battlefield, but in the American media’s treatment of news from the front line.

I am not debating on whether Iraq is another Vietnam or not, but to put the entire blame on the media does not seem quite right.

It is quite impossible to believe that had the media not indulged in “negative publicity” about the Vietnam war then it would have been deemed an American victory!

Read the article and more importantly read the comments to that article.

Repeated attempts at trying to read something useful have been failing repeatedly.
Something useful, according to this environment, would mean reading insightful articles on share options on the Economist. I also read something about America’s new bankruptcy policies.

All is fine with the world.

The only thing that has kept me interested in the past few hours has been R.E.M’s Man on the Moon. Although I have heard this song many times before, for some strange reason it seems to crawl right back on my media player as soon as it finishes. 3 hours of continuous Man on the Moon has the power to coat you with melancholy. That is the power of a song.

Flipping through the pages of Arthur Miller’s All My Sons, I come across the line – I would love to help humanity on a Warner Brothers salary.

Man on the Moon resurfaces.

Here’s a little agit for the never-believer.
Here’s a little ghost for the offering.
Here’s a truck stop instead of Saint Peter’s.
.
.
Andy are you goofing on Elvis?
Hey, baby. Are we losing touch?

If you believed they put a man on the moon

This song makes numerous references to Andy Kaufman. Andy was a comedian and a practitioner of anti-humour or dada absurdism.

Some trivia from Wikipedia:
The band R.E.M. reference Andy Kaufman, his Elvis impersonation and other facets of his life in their song Man on the Moon. Man on the Moon is also title of the movie about Andy Kaufman, directed by Milos Forman in 1999.
Jim Carrey, who played Kaufman in Man on the Moon, shares his January 17 birthdate.

Watch the video here:

Cotton 56, Polyester 84

During my visit to Bangalore, I was lucky enough to catch the October theatre festival at Ranga Shankara.
They play that I watched was titled “Cotton 56 Polyester 84″.

This play, written by Ramu Ramnathan and directed by Sunil Shanbhag, is one of the few outstanding plays I have seen at Ranga Shankara.
Cotton 56 Polyester 84 is a play that revolves around the lives of two former mill workers who have lost their jobs owing to the shutdown of the old mills.

Bhau Saheb and Kaka spend their time at a road-side corner, reminiscing their past and at times re-living the forgotten moments. To kill time, they play a game of counting the number of people wearing cotton and the number of people wearing polyester. At the end of the play, the count stands at Cotton – 56 and Polyester – 84. Polyester winning signifies the death of the old cotton mills and the victory of the new manufacturing units.

Within this game is intertwined the lives of Kaka, Bhau, Bhau’s wife and son, Kaka’s daughter, Bhau’s son’s girlfriend, Gopal Seth who is an opportunistic trader and Dharavi’s Bhai who runs the mafia involved with garbage collection and dumping.

For me, this play had many hard-hitting lines. The starting couplets that Bhau sings in Marathi provoke a sense of ashamed patriotism (I wouldn’t bother explaining that).

Kaka is a Muslim and Bhau is a Maharashtrian. During their conversations about the unions and the political parties, one learns that Kaka (inspite of being a Muslim!) was a staunch supporter of Shiv Sena and Bhau was a communist.
Bhau jokingly tells Kaka, “Bala (Thakre) Saheb didn’t know that you were a Muslim. Otherwise he wouldn’t have allowed you to attend any of the Sena’s rallies”.
To this Kaka replies, “In those days, it was not that bad to be a Muslim”.

The audience chuckled and I withdrew in a shell. Probably because I was watching the play with a Muslim friend?
The sensitivity of that particular line hit me hard in the face. It was that same feeling which I had got when I was acting in the Babri-masjid scene in my last play – Vision 2020.

Bhau and Kaka continue living through their past, living through their children’s deaths and living through their constant marginalisation by the ever-increasing rich society.

The play breaks away in many places into Marathi folk songs and dances. Bhau’s wife does the Lavni as she makes her entry into the stage. She is portrayed as a strong woman who even starts off her own kitchen to make ends meet when Bhau loses his job. She withstands everything from her husband being unemployed to her son’s death. I found her character one of the strongest portrayals of the strength and determination of the Indian housewife belonging to the lower class of the society.

If you are in Mumbai, you might be lucky enough to catch it at the Prithvi theatre.

Following are other reviews of this play (all links sent in by F via e-mail):
http://mail.sarai.net/pipermail/urbanstudygroup/2006-May/000909.html
http://www.mumbaitheatreguide.com/dramas/hindi/c56p84.asp
http://www.abillioneyes.in/cotton06.htm (Poster-picture obtained from this website)

Stepping away from the play and into the reality of the affairs, FreeIndiaMedia provides a good article here – http://www.freeindiamedia.com/economy/10_april_06.html
Excerpts from the article:

Such is the display of contempt for workers in Mumbai now that the very memory of the textile workers is being wiped out with the closure of textile mills and the destruction of even the physical structures of the mills that brought the industrial revolution to this country. Right in front of the Shiv Sena’s Sena Bhavan at Shivaji Park stood the Kohinoor Mill that was run by the National Textile Corporation

With the destruction of mills and the eviction of mill workers from working class areas that are now being gentrified and “developed”, the memory of the workers may now remain only through literature, drama and other works of art.

Come to think of it, the last time I was in Mumbai, I was trying to strike down pins at a bowling alley which was set up in one of the demolished mills.

Strike 10 anyone? 56? 84?

I am still holding the flag high.

So is he.
So is he.

Ranga Shankara is hosting a theatre festival from Oct 8th to Oct 15th.
It has an interesting line-up of plays including Girish Karnad’s Flowers (with Rajat Kapoor in the cast) , K K Raina’s Jameela Bai Kalaali (Ila Arun acting in it) and Atul Kumar’s Numbers in the Dark.

You can check out the schedule and read the synopsis here.

Happy times ahead!
Feels good to be in Bangalore

Juliet the dice were loaded from the start
and I bet and you exploded in my heart
and I forget I forget the movie song
when you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong Juliet?

when you can fall for chains of silver you can fall for chains of gold
you can fall for pretty strangers and the promises they hold
you promised me everything you promised me thick and thin
now you just say oh romeo yeah you know i used to have a scene
with him

Juliet when we made love you used to cry
you said i love you like the stars above i’ll love you till i die
there’s a place for us you know the movie song
when you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong?

i can’t do the talk like they talking on the tv
and i can’t do a love song like the way its meant to be
i can’t do everything but i’d do anything for you
i can’t do anything except be in love with you

and all i do is miss you and the way we used to be
all i do is keep the beat and bad company
all i do is kiss you through the bars of a rhyme
juliet i’d do the stars with you any time

It was just that the time was wrong?

- Dire Straits