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Mwri itn i Wdnil

S  Bgll fiyoee  o gp  g uura    rg s2 ee    i

17 .0 n1  ?

MIND BLOGS 1.0

Three Bangalore writers go offtrack and find themselves

CHRISTINA DANIELS

NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN & ZAHID H JAVALI

MMIINNDD BBLLOOGGSS 11 ..00

Three Bangalore writers go offtrack

and find themselves

Christina Daniels

Nirmala Govindarajan

& Zahid H Javali

NON-FICTION

294, 15th B Main, 19th Cross, Sector 3Published by Write Wing Media

HSR Layout, Bangalore 560 102

www.writewing.in

Copyright ©

Christina Daniels, Nirmala Govindarajan

Zahid H Javali

All rights reserved

MIND BLOGS 1.0

ISBN 978-81-910903-1-4

Designed by

Print 2 Last Solutions

Printed at

Brilliant Printers Pvt. Ltd.

No part of this publication may be reproduced,stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, inany form or by any means, electronic,mechanical, photocopying, recording orotherwise, without the prior permissionof the copyright owners.

ZZaahhiidd HH JJaavvaallii

For Abbajaan and Ammijaan who mean the world to me

CChhrriissttiinnaa DDaanniieellss

For Manoj who has always told me to follow my heart

NNiirrmmaallaa GGoovviinnddaarraajjaann

Remembering Jeeves & Jaya Paati, Dad

Paatima & Thathappa

For Mom, Pupul and Peter Colaco

4   Mind Blogs 1.0

MMIINNDD BBLLOO GGSS 11 .. 00

Christina Daniels

Nirmala Govindarajan

& Zahid H Javali

Mind Blogs 1.0   5

PROBLOG

SSiigghhttss && SSoouunnddss

BY PREM KOSHY

O VER THE past 60years, the walls of Koshy's have listened tomillions   of   stories

w het Ma ke iVv

ic : P

narrated to one another

—   from   great-great grandfathers to greatgreat grandsons. They have encompassed all religious, social, national, ethnic boundaries and

backgrounds. Many a book   on   different

subjects has been born at Koshy's. But, this is a special book of brilliant stories, wri?en by the angels who visit here. It's a sharing of their life's experiences for all of us.

Christina pens li?le anecdotes of memories andrelationships with teachers, friends, family and thestate of infrastructure in our country. This remindsus that we need to be in harmony with our fellow

6   Mind Blogs 1.0

beings and yet stay connected with our inner being. We need to be internally referenced, she says, and not just externally, as modern life would demand.

Zahid... the bakra, the before-after-man, evokes the adventure, the mystery, the excitement that surrounds our daily lives. I'm sure many a girl in red he spo?ed at Koshy's must have triggered his flights of fantasy, or reality, to keep the reader guessing, and turning the pages faster than they usually would!

Nimmi's (Nirmala) eloquence and poignant simplicity bring out those tiny things that make life so interesting — a journey on her scooter, her relationship with her grandpa, the people she meets on the train, the li?le girl next door, the deity she brings home and other gems that want to be read, over and again.

And time to turn to our next page, as in... surprise, and a cute story to go with every cup of coffee!

The author is a theatre person, environmentalist, musician,

yoga master & restaurateur

Mind Blogs 1.0   7

WWhhaatt''SS IINNSSIIDDee??????

To Be A Writer by CHRISTINA DANIELS ............................................9  Seeking Eye Balls by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ........................12  Guest Blog by MANJARI RANASARIA ................................................15  The Girl In Red by ZAHID H JAVALI ..................................................17  A Lot Happens Over Coffee by ZAHID H JAVALI ............................20  Wrung By Bollywood by ZAHID H JAVALI ......................................23  My Reality Show by ZAHID H JAVALI ..............................................26  Who Is The Celebrity? by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ................31 Working Child by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ............................34  Discovering A New Deity by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ........37 Smi?en By A Ki?en by ZAHID H JAVALI ..........................................40  Interview Blues by CHRISTINA DANIELS ........................................43  Executive Moments by CHRISTINA DANIELS ................................48  What I've Learned by ZAHID H JAVALI ............................................51  The Before-After Man by ZAHID H JAVALI ......................................54  The Tigress Of Panchgani by CHRISTINA DANIELS........................57 How To Heal Your Life by ZAHID H JAVALI ....................................62  Which Colour Do You Choose? by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN 65 Buying A Groom by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ........................67 Here Come The Impressionists by ZAHID H JAVALI ......................70  The Amalgamation by CHRISTINA DANIELS ..................................74  The Small Wonder by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ......................75  Luv Ya Guys by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ................................78  Mum Is 60 by CHRISTINA DANIELS ..................................................82  Every Woman by CHRISTINA DANIELS ..........................................85  Escapades On L5598 by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ..................89  A Swimmingly Good Time by ZAHID H JAVALI ............................92  The Story With A Hole by ZAHID H JAVALI ....................................95  Whose Fault Is It Anyway? by CHRISTINA DANIELS ....................97  Insiders All Out. Outsiders In? by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN 99

8   Mind Blogs 1.0

A City Brought To Her Knees by CHRISTINA DANIELS ..............103 Give Me Heaven by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ......................106  City Of Dreams by CHRISTINA DANIELS ......................................108  Sunshine In The City by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ................109  The Love Calculator by ZAHID H JAVALI ........................................111  Meeting Shah Rukh Khan by ZAHID H JAVALI ..............................113  Discovering Serendipity by ZAHID H JAVALI ................................117  Tolerance by CHRISTINA DANIELS ................................................120  Suspicion by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ....................................122  So, Help Me God by CHRISTINA DANIELS ....................................124  Of Riot And Camaraderie by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ......128 Saffronisation Of Indian Television by ZAHID H JAVALI ............130  Sir Mark Tully by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ..........................133

If It Weren't For Horns, Life Wouldn't Be Worth It

by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ......................................................137  This Is No Irish Joke by ZAHID H JAVALI ........................................140  Nu?y Trouble In The Backyard

by  NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ......................................................143  Smoke, And Life Goes Up In Flames

by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ......................................................146  Being Alone by CHRISTINA DANIELS ............................................151  Memories, Time And Distance by CHRISTINA DANIELS ............153 Love by CHRISTINA DANIELS ..........................................................155  Bangalore's Very Own Shahjahan by ZAHID H JAVALI ................156 Earlobe Watching by ZAHID H JAVALI ............................................159  Seeing Red On Valentine's by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ......162 I Suppose I Don't... by NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN ..................165  Mirror-Man's Epiblog  by MANOHAR PRABHU ..............................166

Now It Can Be Told  by PETER COLACO..............................................168 Write Your Own Mind Blog ..................................................................171

Mind Blogs 1.0   9

ttoo BBee aa WWrriitteerr

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

S OMETIMES, IT is a privilege and a curse to

be a writer.

You work for hours, days, months, years —sculpting, sculpting. You delve deep into your spirit — not always to find experiences, but definitely todraw out and then draw for an audience the laughterand the pain of life.

While doing this, you need to pay a?ention toyour choice of expression. The a?empt is to use oftenquoted, worn out words in novel ways.

And of course, the tale must not be too short ortoo long.

10   Mind Blogs 1.0

So the writer sets out on one endeavour after

another. Again and again and again.

But, will the writer be successful? Well, who is to say?

And yet, the writer crafts a tale. It is the need of an idea to express itself. Success — if it comes — is purely incidental.

Mind Blogs 1.0  11

rroouugghh

ee LLooookkiinngg GGllaassss

An excerpt from Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

Luckily for Alice, the li?le magic bo?le hadnow had its full effect, and she grew no larger: stillit was very uncomfortable, and, as there seemedto be no sort of chance of her ever ge?ing out ofthe room again, no wonder she felt unhappy.

'It was much pleasanter at home,' thought poor Alice, 'when one wasn't always growing largerand smaller, and being ordered about by mice andrabbits. I almost wish I hadn't gone down thatrabbit-hole — and yet — and yet — it's rathercurious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonderwhat can have happened to me! When I used toread fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing neverhappened, and now here I am in the middle ofone! There ought to be a book wri?en about me,that there ought! And when I grow up, I'll writeone - but I'm grown up now,' she added in asorrowful tone; 'at least there's no room to growup any more here.'

'But then,' thought Alice, 'shall I never get anyolder than I am now? That'll be a comfort, one way — never to be an old woman — but then — alwaysto have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn't like that!'

12   Mind Blogs 1.0

SSeeeekkiinngg eeyyee BBaallllss......

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

"A

ND YOU are Eye Balls," purred li?le Ashvin, eyes wide, unblinking and very clear that this was the appropriate title for his aunt. Laughter sliced the morning air in the master bedroom at home, now alive with the intelligent banter of two boys — one four and the other seven.

"My Kutlu Twinkle Eyes," I crooned to Ashvin, before the four-year-old mastermind christened me Eye Balls in return. Cousin Priya left home to visit her in-laws with my two nephews Rishi and Ashvin, late Monday morning. As I rode behind the not-so-smoky

Mind Blogs 1.0  13

trail of the brand new Ikon that transported them, I turned heavenwards to thank the almighty for five big blessings... all showered upon me over one weekend!

Whoever conjured the saying that it never rainsbut pours, must've had quite a few experiences ofgod's raining magic wand.

Such magic was implicit in Samara's sunshinesmile on Saturday evening. She shot this mostwelcome smile for her mother's best friend from class

3... a million dollar flash of ten or twelve teeth — just for me! Then, the li?le angel ran into my arms for a few more than three seconds before sprinting off to the jungle gym by the pool.

Samara had, after a long wait, just met her mama's mischievous friend, Brenda later told me. Barely recovering from the warmth that only a six-year-old as innocent as Samara can shower upon a stranger, I hugged Brenda before turning around to see who had u?ered a gentle hello. Brenda's eight-year-old Bianca grinned ever so shyly, dazzling the evening air with a soothing flicker of her eyelids. We greeted each other just like we were old friends of class 3.

While Bianca got busy with her watermelon juice, Brenda and I got on the time machine ride back to 1985 when the third dimension of our triumvirate, Margie walked in. As I turned to greet her, my eyes caught a li?le brown head bobbing from behind my friend of 25 years. All of three, Margie's son Joshua made himself comfortable on the plastic moulded chair, before gaining the air of Einstein to tell me how, the structure by the blue billboard was a

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14   Mind Blogs 1.0

transformer. Alright, I said, what does it do? "It keeps the switches on," he droned! Six eye balls rolled — Margie's, Brenda's and mine.

As a tribute to all the fantasies these li?le

magicians are set to take us through, lets get the eyeballs rolling. As Stuthi, friend Catherine's fouryear-old niece with the IQ of a 400-year-old saint once said: "But Nimmi aunty, it's said in the project (I guess she was alluding to the Bible) that everybody must sare (share) everything with everyone!"

Mind Blogs 1.0  15

hhoorrnnss tthhaatt ccrreeaattee ssoouunndd

Nat

Bukkehorn

ural

horntrument)

Horn (

ins     Horn section Tra

in horn

Ho rn (acoustic

Alto horn            )Swedish cowhorn

Blowing horn Ho

rn loud

speaker llhor

no

rm

eg

ap

ho

ne

,   A

ir

Bu

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Shof

ar                     or

Dungchen Alphorn    nFoghorn Vehic

lehorn

GUEST BLOG

hhoorrnn,, NNoott OOKK,, PPlleeaassee!!

BY MANJARI RANASARIA

I STRIVE to be a happy driver, which isdifficult in Bangalore traffic. But, I mostly succeed. Igenerally have a smile, a nod of understanding orthumbs up for fellow drivers depending on thesituation. But I just cannot tolerate people who honkunnecessarily and incessantly.

So I have come up with some bumper stickers,which I plan to print and stick on my car.

16   Mind Blogs 1.0

For those who think that

excessive honking will make me jump signals, change lanes or violate traffic rules.

For those who think

honking will make cars develop wings and fly over 30 other cars to clear the

signal as soon as it turns

green.

For those who think

honking is a musical form.

The author is a blogger and works with an MNC.

Mind Blogs 1.0  17

Uma Thurman's Stalker Sentenced to 3 Years' Probationand Treatment

The New York Times, June 3, 2008    years' probation for stalking the

at 1654 hrs IST           actress Uma Thurman. He was

ordered to undergo psychiatric

NEW YORK: Jack Jordan, once  treatment. The sentence greatlya promising youth who became  relieved Mr. Jordan, who hada drifter and has been diagnosed  told the judge that he waswith mental illnesses, was  "terrified of being incarceratedsentenced on Monday to three  again."

ee GGiirrll IInn RReedd

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

I HAVE always been a sucker for all things red.

In school, it used to be that red tiffin box myclassmate opened every afternoon to find a pastryinside. I wonder why his mother chose pastry overlow-calorie food for lunch.

But that's besides the point.

In college, it was that red top the girl at the nextdesk in class wore. Why she chose to wear red every Saturday was beyond me.

That's besides the point.

Out of college and in the job market, it was thatred Ferrari driven by the guy next door. That the car

18   Mind Blogs 1.0

belonged to his father is besides the point.

Today was no different. It was red that drew my a?ention again. That it was a red Esteem is besides the point. It was the label stuck behind the car that begged for an encore. "Women are more rational than men. And you are behind one of them," it said.

I was won over.

But first, a confession: If it's not all things red thatfascinate me, its a?itude. And this one swept me withits rational tide, creating yet another urge: To get toknow the woman behind the wisdom on the bumpersticker.

I stepped on the gas to catch a glimpse of her.

I imagined her to be dressed in a sheer red top andskin-tight black jeans the colour of her eyes (black,because I can't imagine red eyes). I imagined her to bea beauty I would fall drop dead in love with, evenbefore I lowered my eyes.

My eyes met. It was with the cop's. He had flagged me down because I had jumped the signal inthe hope of catching up with the 'girl in red'.

"Going to an emergency press conference," Ithrust my press card under his nose.

"Sorry, sir?" the cop said apologetically and let me

go.

But the damage was done. The Esteem had sped away and was nowhere in sight.

Death is a great leveller. So is traffic.

No ma?er how fast you navigate the roads, you are bound to get stuck at one of the traffic junctions. Some theory that, but it worked for me all the time. Whenever a rowdy rider crossed the speed limit and

Mind Blogs 1.0  19

left me far behind, I would wonder why he was in such a hurry to meet that 'someone up there', only to find the rider stranded right here on Mother Earth at the next traffic signal.

I thought the same 'levelling' virtue could work for me again. Maybe, just maybe, she would get stuck at one of the traffic signals, and I would meet her eye to eye.

The signal glowed red. I stopped. The Esteem was nowhere in sight. In front was an autorickshaw whose bumper sticker proclaimed: "My boss is a Jewish carpenter." Before I got the connection, the auto spu?ered to life, leaving behind a cloud of carbon dioxide and a coughing, cursing me.

I spo?ed a red Esteem at the next signal.

But my chase was far from over. The bumper sticker squealed: "Marriage is slow poison."

Just when I was thanking my 'single-ready-tomingle' status, I caught a glimpse of yet another red Esteem.

It was finally The One. The 'rational' label stuck

behind endorsed it.

I managed to sidle up to the car... only to find myimagination losing altitude and landing with at...h...u...d.

In the driver's seat was a man.

20   Mind Blogs 1.0

aa LLoott hhaappppeennss OOvveerr CCooffffeeee

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

THERE ARE no names in this story. Thecharacters in it are a kurta-clad reporter, a verybeautiful model in spaghe?i straps and low rise jeans. And, not to forget, a waiter. There is a small chorus offriends who spend some time talking at the nexttable, and stand up as the reporter and the girl inspaghe?i straps walk past them to occupy the chairsat the far end of a cafe on Cunningham Road.

At four o'clock in the afternoon, the reporter andthe girl stand and wait for the waiter. He arrived. Late. "Some cafe mocha, please," said the girl, her

Mind Blogs 1.0  21

cleavage in ample evidence. "She is beautiful, after all," thought the reporter. He had been sent on so many assignments in which beautiful girls figured, and so few of them had turned out to be beautiful. If

they were efficient in one aspect, they were deficient

in another.

"I am from The Star," the reporter commenced. He had a very strong feeling that if he stopped talking for a moment, the girl might lose interest, quickly.

"So, why do you think Bangalore is truly one of the best cities to live in?" asked the reporter.

"For one, it's easy to find a job and do business here," the girl offered immediately. She was a topnotch interior designer earning enough per month to keep her going for six more.

"Did you know that Bangalore has been rated the sixth best city to live in by a news magazine?" the reporter continued.

"No, I hardly have the time to read. I am either working or travelling and sometimes doing both," she replied.

The reporter went on. "Well, according to the survey of 55 cities in India, Bangalore ranked second in jobs and health, and third in weather and safety."

"I agree with it completely. I love Bangalore for all these reasons. They've figured it out all right," she said.

"I'm sorry to have done all the talking," said the reporter, sipping on fresh lime soda. "Or rather pu?ing words into your mouth."

The girl smiled and left. Looking at her fading

22   Mind Blogs 1.0

silhoue?e, the waiter whispered to the reporter, "She is hot, isn't she?"

The reporter had thought she was beautiful. But didn't she know what she was doing when she got into those spaghe?i straps and low rise jeans. His eyes were ba?ling gravity all this while to stay on course. And he was successful, much of the time. But he was not proud of it.

Mind Blogs 1.0  23

WWrruunngg BByy BBoollllyywwoooodd

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

What happens to a nice Bangalore lad (it was not Bengaluru yet) at a talent show in Bombay (it was not Mumbai yet)? He is picked on by the Bombay TVchaps who are only out to get him. The underlyingmessage: whatever you do on stage, make sure youpepper your performance with generous doses of Bollywood or else, no one has the patience.

The judges wait like hungry vultures waiting toswoop down on the kill. Boom. The hammer thwacksthe bigger-than-life-sized gong – and your show isover. I'm talking about the watered down version of

24   Mind Blogs 1.0

'The Gong Show' on American television that appeared on India's Sony TV back in the 90s.

Welcome to the world of censorship – Bollywood ishtyle.

I had unsuspectingly gone to the sweaty studios of Bombay to recite poetry. One of the organisers at the studios came up to me and confided: "Make it funny if you want to stay in the show." I suddenly realised that it was no genteel poetry reading – it was a free-for-all performer bashing experience. The judges doing the honours included advertising professional Piyush Pandey and actresses Mandira Bedi and Mahima Chaudhury.

The first participant, a li?le girl, confidently stepped out on stage and began a Hindustani classical piece. She barely got through the first  alaap, before one of the judges banged the gong and the li?le girl cried her way off stage.

The next participant was lucky. He delivered a touching rendition of  Jab dil hi toot gaya. The judges unanimously approved his imitation of the famous Sehgal's quivering voice. And he was in the safe zone.

Then came a ventriloquist. He threw his voice left, right and centre. The audience gasped, waved  and clapped. But he couldn't sustain the judges' interest. And he went back to his hometown – Obscurity.

He was followed by an Amitabh impersonator. The judges loved him. But the next wasn't that lucky. He had come all prepared to sing. But the organisers had too many singers. He could do something else or whistle, they suggested. So he did. He whistled a tune from an old Hindi song and got to the last note.

Mind Blogs 1.0  25

Then came a smart chap who knew what it meantto curry favour with the judges. It was an impromptuskit about love-at-first-sight. And he cleverly pickedone of the judges (Mahima) as his love interest. Thetrick worked. She even forgot her job for the moment. And no one stopped her.

Then came my turn. I had come prepared to recitea poem on Indian politics. Taking a deep breath, Itook centrestage. When the crowd saw my sky-bluesafari suit, they gasped – then whistled approvingly. I knew what I had to do. So I drew inspiration fromabove. No, not that far. A li?le closer to earth. Iinvoked the most infamous screen villain, Amrish Puri. And delivered my poem – as he would.

The audience and judges sat glued to their seats. Mercifully.

The show finally ended and the results were in. The Amitabh-clone came in second and the Sehgal-clone topped. Well, what did you expect?

Somebody asked me what was the best part of thewhole experience. My answer was immediate: "Mytrip back to Bangalore, of course!"

26   Mind Blogs 1.0

Elesh wins Rakhi Sawant's hand in TV 'Swayamwar'

PTI, 2 August 2009 at 1115 hrs IST

her life partner. Parujanwala was among the top three

NEW   DELHI:   India's  finalists who waited anxiously

controversial item girl Rakhi  to be 30-year-old Rakhi's Sawant on Sunday night chose  suitor. After many ups and

NRI   businessman   from  downs, Elesh was the winner.

Canada, Elesh Parujanwala, as

MMyy RReeaalliittyy SShhooww

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

THE TIME was 3.40 pm. It was a Thursday,that day of the week when we fell over ourselves tosend our weekly tabloid to the printing press.

And my cellphone rang. It was a call for help.

"I am right outside your office. The front tyres ofmy car are wobbly. Could you help?" my friendpleaded.

I obliged, asked my colleague for a phone numberthat could come handy if there was a car breakdown.

The sun was peeping from behind a cloud, and Isauntered out to meet my friend on Resthouse

Mind Blogs 1.0  27

Crescent Road.

Wearing a white top and faded blue jeans, she waslooking purrfect. But then, the problem was not withher — it was with the car.

"The tyres are wobbly. Can you do something with the toolkit?" she pleaded.

"I am a stranger to cars, but there might be someone who can," I told her, and went back to the office to bring along a colleague's driver to play the good Samaritan.

By then, the sun had done his vanishing act and it began to drizzle. I fished out my green, waterproof cap and got out of the office to find her holding an umbrella.

The driver got to work immediately: He inspectedthe rear wheels, tightened the bolts and took the caron a test drive.

"It's perfect, no problem," he declared.

And then, it happened.

"I need to go to Manipal Hospital. My mother is waiting for me and she doesn't have a cellphone. So, I can't inform her. And I can't drive this car. I am out

of breath, Zahid... is there a chemist nearby? I am asthmatic, and it gets worse when I panic," she explained.

She took me by surprise. For a second, I speculated whether she was pulling a fast one. And then, she cut in, "Zahid, I am seriously out of breath. I might collapse any time. Please hold me."

I did so and asked her to sit inside her car.

"No, I can't. I am claustrophobic. I have to be

outside," she said.

28   Mind Blogs 1.0

I asked her to sit on the footpath instead, but shewalked back and forth and didn't stop worrying.

"I can't. I am just not feeling right. Bring me aninhaler... and just in case I fall unconscious,remember Zahid, it's only Electrol or Glucose for me. And don't go anywhere Zahid... I really don't knowwhat to do," she whined.

I held her.

"My hands are going numb, rub them Zahid," she

continued.

I did. But that didn't help either. She was back ather breathless best. The driver went inside the office

to fetch an inhaler from someone. In under a minute, he was back with a glass of water, with my colleague close behind, armed with pills and the inhaler.

I handed her the glass. But she was as frantic as ever. Just then, her phone rang. She picked it up almost instantly, as if she had been waiting for the call.

"No Papaji, my friend is here, you don't need to come rushing. If something happens, he's there for me," she explained.

My colleague asked her to take the pill, and played the perfect counsellor. "I am asthmatic and I know what it feels like during panic a?acks," he said, adding, "Stop ge?ing panicky and you will feel good. Now take this pill."

She said she couldn't, because she was allergic  to it.

"What are you allergic to?" he asked.

She didn't answer, and got more panicky. The

cellphone rang again.

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Mind Blogs 1.0  29

"Don't worry, we have your uncle's number. Does he know your medical history?" my colleague asked.

My friend got even more panicky.

"Don't worry, we have vehicles and people on standby, so there's no need to panic... just calm down," my colleague continued calming her.

Her cellphone rang again.

My colleague picked up the phone this time. The phone went dead.

She broke into laughter.

A gang of youngsters surrounded us.

"You are on camera," she told us, and pointed to the SUV ahead. The door shu?er opened and we spo?ed a camera right in front of us. One of the crew members asked us to say 'cheese'. Another member came from behind, and planted a cap on my head. It said, MTV Bakra.

PS: Not sure, if reality shows are so great if you are thebakra!

30   Mind Blogs 1.0

aa MMiiddssuummmmeerr NNiigghhtt''ss DDrreeaamm An excerpt from the popular Shakespearean play

ACT II - SCENE I. A wood near Athens.

Enter, from opposite sides, a Fairy, and PUCK

Fairy

Either I mistake your shape and making quite,

Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite

Call'd Robin Goodfellow: are not you he

That frights the maidens of the villagery;

Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern

And bootless make the breathless housewife

churn...

PUCK

Thou speak'st aright;

I am that merry wanderer of the night.

I jest to Oberon and make him smile

When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,

Neighing in likeness of a filly foal:

And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,

In very likeness of a roasted crab,

And when she drinks, against her lips I bob

And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.

The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,

Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;

Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,

And 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough;

And then the whole quire hold their hips andlaugh...

Mind Blogs 1.0  31

WWhhoo IIss ee CCeelleebbrriittyy??

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

PARTIAL AMNESIA, selective perception,state of fugue... can't quite place a finger on theproblem. But I first realised there was trouble when Iwas twelve.

On a bright Sunday afternoon, friend S, all of nineand I ten, strolled through the Jayanagar shoppingcomplex. We ra?led on until a Maruti 800, driven bya familiar face wearing a friendly smile spu?ered tolife. "Hey that's Anand Nag ya... actually no, I thinkit's Shankar Nag ya... no, Ananth Nag ya," I ra?ledon, with S nodding her head vehemently back and

32   Mind Blogs 1.0

forth. Suddenly, the friendly smile with a handsome head shot out of the window and grinned, "Shankar Nag ya and this is my wife Arundhati."

Delighted, we skipped home and told all that we had met Shankar Nag. As the years passed, I was to be at nose distance from stars. That too, at the commonest places.

As I trudged home one misty December morn, juggling three packs of Wills Gold Flakes like an inept circus artist, off flew one packet and landed beside a neat pair of white keds. I grabbed the pack and quickly glanced up at a dignified, charismatic face. I smiled a guilty smile even as the now familiar face broke into an 'I know' kind of grin. As I trudged along, it suddenly dawned that the face belonged to actor/writer Girish Karnad. I couldn't stop cursing myself for being caught with three packs of Wills at the tender age of 15. It really didn't ma?er that the cigs were for dad.

But to me, Romeo (Romy) ma?ered. I stood at my neighbour's gate and flirted with their brownskinned Dachshund. As I stroked Romy's brown head, a well-groomed man hovered over me. Since we were 'ages' apart, I continued to flirt with my canine pal. The man smiled at me. I smiled back. He looked familiar... perhaps a face from my past life, I thought. Or, maybe not.... The quandary lasted until a passer-by rushed up to him and thrust a piece of paper yelling "autograph sir". Peering over his shoulder, I read the words "Best of Luck, Vishnuvardhan" forming a neat pa?ern on the paper. "Oh gosh! So you are my friend's star uncle," I cried.

Mind Blogs 1.0  33

And I cried out again at the passport office. Si?ingwith friend D, waiting to have her ECNR stamped, Isuddenly saw a mirror image of a distant cousin. As I ranted on about the resemblance, the entire hall fellsilent. "You idiot, it's Anil Kumble," clarified D.

Well, there was more to come. More recently, inmy avatar as a scribe I was all set to talk to membersof the Indian cricket team. And who should I shrugoff as a bunch of handsome dudes?

Saurav Ganguly, Salil Ankola, Mohammad Kaif, Zaheer Khan... And of course, my assignmentremained undone!

34   Mind Blogs 1.0

torturing childInfosys suspends staffer for

Times of India, 9 January 2010

at 0251 hrs IST

Chakraborty   till   policeinvestigation against him iscompleted. He is accused of

BANGALORE:   Infosys  torturing 15-year-old Lakshmi

walked the talk on ethics and  who worked as a domestic help

integrity on Friday when it  in his HSR Layout apartment.

suspended its employee Pallab

WWoorrkkiinngg CChhiilldd

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

IT WAS close to the end of a working day. Weary shoppers slowly filtered out of the shoppingcomplex. Shopkeepers held the shu?ers half open,hoping for some last-minute customers. A tightslapping sound, followed by a torrent of harsh wordsinvaded the placid atmosphere.

I instantly turned to face a pe?y shop owner. Heheld the collar of an eight-year-old and let his roughhands come bearing down on the child's face, onceagain. " Yake hoditha iddira? (Why are you hi?inghim?)," I enquired. "Kelsa madalla avanu, yello

Mind Blogs 1.0  35

nodkondu ata jasthi agide (He is distracted and playful.)," the shop owner replied.

I looked around for support. Some people got on with their jobs; others looked on from a distance. "Ee magu nimmage yenu aga beku? (What is your relationship with this child?)," I asked. "Illi kelsa madthane (He works here)," he replied.

Still a?empting to hold my temper, I informed the shopkeeper that it was against the law to employ children and harass them.

"Shut up," he yelled.

"I could lodge a complaint against you," I yelled

back.

A traffic policeman lurked in the background. Iexplained the case to him. The policeman justified theshopkeeper's behaviour saying that these childrenland up from small towns. "They are poor and theseshopkeepers help out by employing them," he said. The cop also felt that it didn't ma?er if they got athrashing or two.

The discussion was pointless. Deciding to thinkabout the situation calmly, I returned home. I havea?empted to help street children in the past. Thereare many remedies to the problem of child labour,but the loopholes are innumerable. One such instancewas when a boy in a parking lot, wide-eyed andearnest, clamoured to clean my bike so he could getpaid for it. I bought him food instead and talked tohim about his home, education and family. I hadheard about non-government organisations thatwould take on children, educate and empower themto become professionals. On my part, I could

36   Mind Blogs 1.0

contribute money and time. I needed to speak to the boy's family and we agreed to meet at the same parking lot the following day. When I did go back, there was no sign of the boy.

Almost every  darshini  in Bangalore employs child labourers. My friends and I were at a  darshini having chaat the other day. I placed an empty glass on the table; a li?le boy whisked it away to clean it. Another boy wiped the footprints.

"How old are these children?" I asked the

manager. "They are all over 15. We give them place to stay, clean uniforms and food," replied the manager in one breath. I could vouch that none of these

children were a day older than 12. A few children were able to confirm the fact. "If you are so concerned about the children, why don't you send them to school at least during the day," I asked the manager. "They are not interested, madam," he replied.

Should one blame the manager who thinks he's helping these children? Is the disciplinarian shopkeeper to be blamed? Or, should one blame the children who often contribute money to large families? Is there something I can do to prevent financially empowered children from developing a distaste towards education?

For a start, I have stopped visiting shops,  darshinisand other establishments that employ child labour.

Mind Blogs 1.0  37

Yeddyurappa visits TN temples for rain in Karnataka

DNA, June 22, 2009  at 2305 hrs IST  more rains in Karnataka. On

Monday he visited the Sun

CHENNAI:  Karnataka  Temple at Tirunallar, 300 km

chief minister BS Yeddyurappa  from here, and prayed to Lord is propitiating gods in Tamil  Saneesvara. From there, he

Nadu for better ties between the  proceeded to the Nataraja

two states. He is praying for  temple in Chidambaram.

DDiissccoovveerriinngg aa NNeeww DDeeiittyy

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

THE CONCEPT of Kula Devatha or familygod is ancient. Most of my religious relatives arequite unaware of the origins of this concept. Ammahas an interesting theory though: "People living invarious towns and villages adopted the local templegod as their Kula Devatha," she revealed. Fairenough, I thought and got around to creating a new,unique Kula Devatha.

The origin of my Kula Devatha dates back to Sunday, January 27, 2000. I sat on my thinking chairat home, pondering over the idea. In fact, the seed of

38   Mind Blogs 1.0

the idea was a scene with a Kula Devatha in a Tamil

movie that  Paati (grandma) was watching a few days earlier. In front of me sat one of my favourite terraco?a collections, a black elephant from Madanapalli. I'd been contemplating the idea of adding a touch of colour to it for months now. So, out came my painter's kit, gold and orange Fevycryl, paintbrushes and a pallet. Cut glasses and Fevicol complemented the collection to enhance it with a royal touch.

Two hours later, a bedecked, royal, resplendent elephant stood before me. Heavenly and divine are the other two adjectives that led me to believe I had created the would-be Kula Devatha.

Now came the difficult part. I needed to get onwith convincing everybody that the Kula Devatha ofthe 21st century had arrived. Here I was, painterdoubling up as marketing guru. Dad was my firsttarget. After much cajoling, he bowed before the lord (by this time named Jumbo by eight-year-old Ranjini), mainly to get rid of me and retire for thenight. With the first devotee to Jumbo's credit, myconfidence rose considerably.

Superstitious grandma was the next to bow. Bythis time, I thought Jumbo began to look morepowerful. This aspect, coupled with final examsbrought in a few tenth and twelfth standard studentdevotees from the neighbourhood. Of course, theirfaith was purely conditional. Cousin Sindhu rushedup every morning to fall at Jumbo's feet beforewriting her pre-final papers. "But Sindhu, is itworking for you," I asked. "Yes ya, except for the first

Mind Blogs 1.0  39

paper, I didn't pray that day," she conceded. Sindhu's extraordinary performance invited another devotee, her classmate Sagarika. In case Sagarika couldn't bow to Jumbo personally in the mornings, Sindhu prayed on her behalf. So, with Sindhu and Sagarika advertising the product, the next to visit Jumbo was Shivangi. The result: Shivangi was really happy with her performance in the ICSE exams. And of course, now there's Ranjini who promises to pray to Jumbo when her final exams are on.

Jumbo requires his share of devotees. So, along the way, I have taken the liberty of extending the concept of Kula Devatha from family god to neighbourhood god. As far as devotees are concerned, there is no dearth of them as long as humans have desires. Philosophical as I might sound, experimental as my experience might be, this is probably how devotees have evolved through the ages.

40   Mind Blogs 1.0

SSmmiitttteenn BByy aa KKiitttteenn

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

IT HAPPENED one night. The way dreams do. A cute li?le ki?en was tiptoeing behind us when wewere on one of our walks. Her innocent and cherubic

face got us smi?en, and she landed in our household. Establishing an  entente cordiale  with the ki?en was easy. And she came to be called Minnu.

When anyone came to our door, she would peer from under the curtain with a look of curiosity. If it was a stranger, she would dart beneath the sofa. If not, she would come rushing to one of us. Similarly, during Diwali, loud firecrackers kept her indoors. On

Mind Blogs 1.0  41

a day when there was good sunshine, she would go to the balcony and indulge, seemingly without respite, in licking herself clean. Watching her engage in the cleanliness act repeatedly never tired us.

At times she would walk up to us with a horselike gait, hop on to our laps, make herself comfortable, roll her body over, and take a nap. If we happened to disturb her by lifting her head or shifting our position, she would jump on to the sofa and continue her sleep.

What was most remarkable was her toilet

discipline. In the beginning, she used to urinate all over. So we decided to impart some toilet training. As soon as she started scraping the floor, one of us would dash off with her to the bathroom. After a few

days, Minnu went to the toilet of her own accord and did it with aplomb. This endeared her to us even

more.

When it came to eating, especially non-vegetarianfood, Minnu would appear on the scene fromnowhere. She did not seem to bother about the kind

of food we served. Her taste was thankfully wideranging from  godi mudde  (with vegetable oil), rice (plus milk),  roti, chocolate and ice cream to  mixture.

When father came home late from work, Minnu would go up to him, put his toe in her mouth and nip it gently to convey her message of affection and the fact that he was long due. Similarly, at breakfast time, she would dart off to my father's room and keep 'meowing' until he came down for breakfast. She was to all of us a 'blithe spirit', akin to Shelley's Skylark.

When the anniversary of her stay with us was

42   Mind Blogs 1.0

nearing, we decided that it should be celebrated. However, it was not to be. One night, Minnu didn't turn up. My mom said that a dog might have bi?en her or she must have fallen into a drain. We waited.

And waited. The days became weeks. And the weeks,months.

Those whom the gods love, indeed die young.

Mind Blogs 1.0  43

Slowdown, pink slips, salary cuts:a year that redrew biz rules

PTI,  Dec 31, 2009 at 0655 hrs IST

dominated by zero appraisals and reduced growth prospects.

PUNE: Global slowdown  The second half saw the market

became a household term and  showing   early   signs   of

words like pink slips, salary  recovery; salary cuts were

cuts and recruitment freeze  reversed, though full-fledged

dominated the corporate world  appraisals may have to wait till

in 2009. For those who held on  the end of the fiscal.

to their jobs, it was a year

IInntteerrvviieeww BBlluueess

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

I F YOU work in the IT industry, it's a place ofopportunity, jobs aplenty and uncertainty. You willexperience at least five important job changes andtriple the number of interviews during the course ofyour professional career. You will also, in alllikelihood, meet all my eight protagonists at somepart of your journey, as you take part in interviewsgalore to find that illusionary perfect job.

I, ME, MYSELF

I'd be surprised if you have not met him or

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44   Mind Blogs 1.0

her as yet. This kind of employer will make you stand on your head to just reach the venue of your interview, and won't bother if you have to lose your current job, just a?empting to get there. At the end of the interview, you may or may not get the job, and you won't hear from the interviewer again if you haven't. If you do get the job, you will probably be expected to join tomorrow, without the slightest concern for your current employer. You will also probably discover that your offer le?er has multiple intricate clauses that make it impossible for you to leave your new job if you have to.

I should know. I've worked for a company that expected me to join it in 20 days, but had a three-month notice period when it came to its own employees.

THE IDIOT!

This kind of an employer will ask a writer, "How do you write?" Another version of thesame question is looking at the differentdomains you've worked in and asking, "Howdo you understand these different domains?" Itwould not occur to the person that writing andunderstanding are abilities. They can only betested by the manner in which it is done, not byverbose answers.

This kind of interviewer will not accept yousaying, "I write like how I breathe (even if it'strue)." So, don't try it, and don't lose your cool. Patiently explain as you would to a six-year-old.

Mind Blogs 1.0  45

THE 'MAKE-UP-YOUR-MIND-

FOR-YOU' TYPE

This type of employer will decide on yourbehalf that you are too creative or tooexperienced for the role on offer.

If you have changed too many jobs, he or shewill decide on your behalf that you won't stickon to your next company as well.

There's nothing much you can do with thiscreature, except to forget about the interviewand proceed with the next one.

PLEASE, PLEASE MAKE ME FEEL

IMPORTANT

You find these guys at other places besidesthe interviewer's chair. They are distinguishedby their ability to ask you shockingly irrelevantquestions just to demonstrate their vastknowledge.

Another variant of this type is the kind whotakes pleasure in tearing you apart just to proveone's own great intellectual prowess.

With this type, it helps to cringe a lot. Also,massage his/her ego until it swells. Of course,you also need to remember that you need tohave the energy to keep doing it as long as youwant to hold the job.

I PAY, SO I THROW MY WEIGHT AROUND

This kind will spend the interview sessionlooking away from you with disinterest, ratherthan at you. You will also spend the rest of the

46   Mind Blogs 1.0

interview fending off questions coated with skepticism.

You need to ask yourself a question — is this the kind of atmosphere you would like to come to for even one month of your working life?

THE FLIRT

This employer will give you every hint thatimplies you have the job. But once you go backhome, you will never hear from the companyagain.

THE OPEN MIND

With this type of employer, you have aconversation. You share ideas and you disagree. But, instead of fending off skepticism, you findthat you are having a discussion.

As you leave the room, you know that you'vemet a person who you've enjoyed talking to. Youmay not get the job, but it doesn't really ma?er. You feel empowered.

THE PROFESSIONAL

Here's an open mind, who takes the processa step further. He or she gives you feedback onyour answers at the end of the interview. The Professional also ensures that you get anacceptance or rejection le?er at the end of it. Thisparticular breed is at the higher end of theevolutionary chain and extremely rare to find.

Being the cynic that I am, I find that it pays togo prepared to meet the Idiot and pray for all the

Mind Blogs 1.0  47

patience that I can summon. Who knows... You just maybe surprised with a Professional at the other end.

48   Mind Blogs 1.0

staff in HyderabadSatyam serves pink slips to 150

Financial Express, Sep 10, 2008

at 2349 hrs IST

Satyam Computer Services toois understood to be pruning itsworkforce. The company has

MUMBAI: Close on the  given pink slips to about 150

heels of Wipro's plans to slash  experienced employees who 1,000 people from its payrolls,  were on the bench from the and give counselling to another  Hyderabad centre.

2,000 'under performers',

eexxeeccuuttiivvee MMoommeennttss

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

THIS WAS scribbled one morning at a hecticrecruitment drive at a five-star hotel in one of India's many IT cities...

Brown panelled walls.

It was the soft brown of gentle forests.

Expanses do?ed — happy painted red flowersframed in glass boxes.

Tributes to modern art.

In the background, a gold-rimmed table set off by

elegant gray chairs.

Mind Blogs 1.0  49

Laid against a white lampshade.

The carpeted expanse seemed to spread for miles.

The green neon sign announced the exit.

And not too far away, the happy yellow banner ofa company logo.

The Executives sat behind their desks with

nameplates.

Men dressed in black and white made their

entrance and exit.

They served coffee and tea very resentfully.

The Executives put them in their place.

Meanwhile, carefully dressed men (and anoccasional woman) filled out forms in a hurry.

They were ushered in to meet the Executives,seated behind nameplates.

They sought their place in the Executive coterie.

The air-conditioner droned endlessly.

50   Mind Blogs 1.0

Depression offers lessons forfinancial crisis

AP, October 4, 2008 at 1201 hrs IST  lesson. This time, America hasbeen through it before, and

CALIFORNIA: Experts  there's a guide, at least forsay today's crisis isn't as grim  mistakes to be avoided as theas the Great Depression, but  nation's leaders try to prevent

there are lessons to be learned.  another catastrophe.

They are the stories we heard    Economists have spent from our grandparents, the  decades dissecting the Great pictures we studied in history  Depression. Their findings books, bread lines stretching  demonstrate the crippling

around    street    corners,  effect fear has on economic

shantytowns sheltering the  decisions, the tremendous cost unemployed, small-town banks  of not acting quickly and the with darkened windows.    risk of damaging the larger

Today's financial crisis is  economy in efforts to makehardly that grim, though it does  individuals pay for financially

share some similarities with the  irresponsible investments. economic collapse of the 1930s    Today economists partly both were preceded by a  blame the Fed for the housing boom, a long period of  Depression because it raised cheap credit and a falling stock  interest rates even as the

market. But those same  economy was slowing in the

similarities may offer some  late 1920s. Then when banks

reassurance.          began to fail, it took a hands-

What was then economic  off approach.

calamity is today a history

Mind Blogs 1.0  51

WWhhaatt II''vvee LLeeaarrnneedd

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

WHAT I'VE Learned is one of the mostpopular columns in Esquire magazine. Once, theyasked readers to send their two cents of wisdom

gathered over the years. And this is what I sent to Esquire.

1.  Honesty is indeed the best policy. And just

when you think  it's not working, go ahead

anyway. Backtracking can be more

harmful.

2.  It's be?er to be sorry than safe. This

translates into taking risks whenever,

52   Mind Blogs 1.0

wherever and not feeling shy of saying

sorry when you screw up.

3.  Sometimes, it pays to listen to your

ego. But most times, it's the cause of things

only going downhill. And there's

no such thing as a balancing act. Either you

are in it or out of it.

4.  Judging people by how they dress can turn

out to be downright wrong. But it's good to

judge people this way, too.  It takes all

kinds of judgements to sum up an

individual. You could start with his fashion

quotient.

5.  You could make a fashion statement by

not following it; no one will call you a rebel

except the fashion designer whose rules

you blatantly violated. So go ahead, live

your freedom to `be'.

6.  Never go behind what women want.

Eventually, everything will be to their

heart's content and nothing to your liking!

7.  Phone etique?e is good to an extent.

Thereafter, what ma?ers is how much you

pretend to be interested in the conversation.

If your pretence is up to the mark, you

don't need any etique?e.

8.  You may not believe in clichés even if being

in the `right place at the right time' worked

for you.

9.  Luck is no lady unless you manage to

inherit millions from your grandmom. 10. It's be?er to think you can read peoples'

Mind Blogs 1.0  53

minds. This will boost your self-confidence

and egg you on to breaking the ice with

people who were indeed hard to crack.  11. Maturity is to know when to be immature.

It's true and it works, even if it seems like a

clever li?le cliché.

12. Never turn down anybody. Just stop

responding to their calls, emails, SMS-es.

54   Mind Blogs 1.0

Lohan's lips get a makeover?

PTI, August 19, 2009 at 2233 hrs IST  star made quite an impression at

the   'Inglourious   Basterds'

LONDON: In a bid to get  premiere in New York as sheher career back on track,  sparked rumours she's had a 'lip Hollywood actress Lindsay  job' with a plumper smile than Lohan has reportedly gone for a  usual, the Sun online reported. 'lip job'. The 'Freaky Friday'

ee BBeeffoorree--aafftteerr MMaann

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

I WAS invited to meet someone. A very specialname. Someone who had undergone a makeover. Not that I didn't know him from before.

My earliest recollection of him goes back to hisschool days in Davanagere, an industrial town innorth Karnataka. He must have been seven-years-oldor less. Once, he missed the tempo that took him toschool because his teacher had punished him for notdoing his homework. It was common news at thetime that school children were being kidnapped for

ransom.

Mind Blogs 1.0  55

Thinking about the possible repercussions, hestarted crying on the road. But no one took anynotice. He made his way past the road in front of hisschool and went looking for a house (and ahousehold) that would find him his home. Aftergoing past several houses, he chose one with a gardenin front — he loved all things green.

He was lucky.

The woman of the house was all help and hecould remember his father's name and where he

worked. It so happened that she was the wife of the sugar factory chairman where his father worked.

Ge?ing him on the line was easy. He was eventually back home, safe.

The next time, when he was travelling by the same school tempo, the vehicle stopped because it had heated up and there was smoke billowing out of the engine. Having seen several films where the sign of smoke meant the vehicle would blow up, his first instinct was to rush out of the vehicle, and he did. When nothing happened, he would quietly go back in and wonder why the vehicle didn't blow up. The tempo was too old and this happened quite regularly. Whenever it coughed, he was out of the door praying to god that all should be well. And god answered his prayers every time. The vehicle would spu?er back to life and he'd be on his way to school.

Not to be left behind, he was also Adam-teased. The thing is, he was shy of girls and never looked in their direction when he entered class. The girls noticed this shyness about him and ragged him endlessly. They would snatch his bag and pass it

56   Mind Blogs 1.0

around until it came back to him all rumpled and dishevelled. All he could do was curse himself

silently and pray to god that be?er sense prevailed on the girls. Thankfully, his prayers were soon answered and he wasn't ragged ever after. Neither by the girls, nor the boys. Not in school. Not even in college.

Today, after years of school, college and work experience, he was invited for a makeover and he was game.

The first thing the image expert told him was a revelation: "Yours is a heart-shaped face." All his life, his mother had said, his face was square. The expert didn't stop at that. She told him that the shirt he was wearing was sartorially deficit because his body was rectangular and went well with a vertically-lined shirt.

Now was makeover time. Upon her suggestion,he ended up wearing a Wendell Rodrick's co?onkurta, a pair of leather flip flops and linen pants madein-house.

Looking at the mirror, he asked me, "Which one's

be?er? The 'before' avatar or the 'after'?"

I was undecided. And still am.

That before-after man is no one else, but yours

truly.

Mind Blogs 1.0  57

Strike, violence across India on

Teachers' Day

PTI, 5 September 2009         went on a hunger strike and

at 0831 hrs IST           teachers in Lucknow and

Ranchi   hit   the   streets

NEW DELHI: As the  demanding   better   wages

country marked the Teachers'  suffering police lathi charge in Day on Saturday, faculty  the capital of Uttar Pradesh.  members of prestigious IITs

ee ttiiggrreessss OOff PPaanncchhggaannii

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

S HE WAS of a harmless nondescript stubbyframe, which disguised a ferocious snarl that couldsplit your heart in two. It was not for nothing that shewas known as the Tigress of Panchgani. I also knewher as my principal, Miss Inayat.

This tigress had been heading Kimmins High School in Panchgani for as long as most Kimminitesin my generation could remember. Kimmins is where I spent eight years of my life, the school of mygrowing years.

The outlines of her face are still clear. A face that

58   Mind Blogs 1.0

was never seen without spectacles, and hair always worn gray and short. Was it her smallish sturdy figure that gave her the appearance of a bulldog-ish tiger? Then perhaps it was her ferocious tenacity that would not be stopped, intimidating even the bravest of hearts.

My first memory of fear was inspired by thesentence, "Miss Inayat is coming." Miraculously, abuzzing classroom took on the tones of hushedsilence and unruly girls fell into a queue. We listenedwith special dread for the characteristic thud that herheels made against our wooden steps at the time of 'mark reading'. Our idea of ultimate misery was atrip to Miss Inayat's office for an admonishmentbrought on by some act of wrongdoing.

One incident after another only increased thespecial dread that only she managed to invoke.

It was Miss Inayat who inspected our dormitoriesand presided over all school functions. If we did notmeet her high standards, a fall from grace wasguaranteed.

Each morning, Miss Inayat presided over morningassembly, as rows of senior girls sat straight in theirseats, slightly afraid to sneeze. After all, only Miss Inayat had the power to fell even the mighty seniorgirls with a powerful flick of her cane.

Fridays were the most dreaded days in aschoolgirl's life. It was her chosen day to chastisethose who had been awarded order marks (negativepoints in layman's terminology) at this very publicforum.

Among the many dark powers that Miss Inayat

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Mind Blogs 1.0  59

wielded was the terrifying word called 'suspension'. And where the crime was grievous, but not extreme enough to demand suspension, she caned you or forced a spoonful of terrible tasting  kuneel (epsom salt) down your throat. As it happened, I had experienced both.

A visit to Miss Inayat's office was usually preceded by a sleepless night of great mental turmoil. The visit itself was made in multiple layers of socks, worn to reduce the impact of a potential caning.

In adult life, I traced my wariness of all figures of authority back to this period. I only overcame this to a certain extent in college, when my favourite lecturers were also my lifelong friends.

So, when a friend messaged to say that Miss Inayat had died a year ago, the first feeling I acknowledged was shock. She too, was mortal. Then, I was surprised at the complete sadness.

Strangely enough, I was not alone in my experience. Mails came pouring in from Kimminites across the globe. All spoke of her with gratitude and a sprinkling of affection. None claimed that Miss Inayat was a noble teacher. But, there were many tributes to her passion for Kimmins High School.

Young women, once scared schoolgirls, spoke with admiration for the high standards she had always set. They remembered that she had ensured her school was the best that it could be. In doing this, she encouraged us to be the best we could be.

Later generations claimed that after she retired, the school no longer had the same high standards that she had enforced.

60   Mind Blogs 1.0

Miss Inayat had her prejudices, and as ineverything, she pursued these with passion. Herfavourites were always treated as a breed apart. But,woe betide those who fell into her disfavour. While I

was never a favourite, I found that I was not without gratitude.

It was in Kimmins that I found my identity and came to believe in it. So, in later life, the rest of the world could never shake me.

It's true that it's not always your friends or thoseyou love that change your life. Thank you, Kimmins. Thank you, Miss Inayat. I'm not sure if you intendedit, but I owe a lot to you.

61   Mind Blogs 1.0

OOnn SSeellff--KKnnoowwlleeddggee

An excerpt from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran

YOUR HEARTS know in silence the secretsof the days and the nights.

But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart'sknowledge.

You would know in words that which you havealways known in thought.

You would touch with your fingers the nakedbody of your dreams.

And it is well you should.

The hidden well-spring of your soul must needsrise and run murmuring to the sea;

And the treasure of your infinite depths wouldbe revealed to your eyes.

But let there be no scales to weigh yourunknown treasure;

And seek not the depths of your knowledge withstaff or sounding line.

For self is a sea boundless and measureless.

Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I

have found a truth."

Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Sayrather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path."

For the soul walks upon all paths.

The soul walks not upon a line, neither does itgrow like a reed.

The soul unfolds itself like a lotus of countless

petals.

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hhooww ttoo hheeaall YYoouurr LLiiffee

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

LIFE IS about living... and not just existing. Butmost of us are so drawn to the exigencies of life thatwe forget to live and just exist. 'Time is short, and weare not keeping up with it', is the common refrain. But wait. Take a deep breath. And you will realisethat you can control your life, heal yourself and live longer. And you don't have to read a Deepak Chopra or a Be?y Shine book for it.

Here are a few simple tips that could get yousinging and dancing all your life. And if you thinkalong these lines, you can add many to these and

Mind Blogs 1.0  63

make that your Bible for life.

1.   Go to sleep blessing everyone — friends,

enemies, strangers.

2.   Be happy with what you have. Our future

is what we make of our present. If we are

unhappy in our present, we will be

unhappy in our future. This is because our

present state determines our future state.

So be happy with everything you have

right now; and you will be happy forever.

3.   Don't cling to your past and form

relationships based on that. It will severely

impair your mental faculties and you

will develop a biased view of life. And this

isn't good, both in the long and short term.

4.   Learn to forgive and forget. It's difficult,

but it isn't impossible either. And

remember, if you don't forgive, you get

hurt more than the other person does.

Having a selective memory when it

concerns hurtful feelings is the best

insulation against the vicissitudes of life.

5.   Be self-reliant — emotionally, physically

and financially. The moment you become

dependent on someone or something, you

are on your way to hell. What if that

something goes away from your life? Will

you be destroyed? Now you wouldn't be in

that state if you were not that a?ached to

that person, place or thing.

6.   What goes around comes around. What

you sow is what you reap. Nowadays, you

64   Mind Blogs 1.0

don't have to wait another lifetime to see

the repercussions of your act. God has  become impatient. He's doing justice right  here, right now. So watch your moves. Be  tolerant. Be humane. Be honest. And

importantly, be fair to one and all — caste,

gender, ethnicity no bar.

7.   Treat others the way you want to be

treated, and you will always find yourself

happy and sated.

8.   Have your 'alone time'. This practice is

sacred and your life-giving source. Indulge

in activities that bring you solace. Warm

your heart. Soothe your soul. It could be

anything from going on long treks,

indulging in photography, solo travel, long

drives, morning walks, hobby clubs and

golf links to charitable organisations... the

list is endless.

9.   Celebrate happiness every moment of your

life — and, you will never live to regret it.

What we are is how we perceive ourselves.

Our future is in our hands. And our

primary priority? To be happy and

all-smiles!

Mind Blogs 1.0  65

Genelia endorses fairness cream

Indo Asian News Service,        face of a fairness cream brand.

January 29, 2010 at 1239 hrs IST    She will now endorse Garnier's

new product Garnier Light, said

NEW DELHI: Bollywood  a press release from the firm.actress Genelia D'Souza, who  Actresses like Aishwarya Rai

shot to fame with 'Jaane Tu...  and Bipasha Basu have spoken

Ya Jaane Na', has joined  against fairness creams as they Deepika Padukone and Sonam  feel it generates discrimination.  Kapoor in signing up as the

WWhhiicchh CCoolloouurr

DDoo YYoouu CChhoooossee??

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

B HAVANI'S MOTHER is worried. Hergrandson of three months is ten shades darker thanshe is. He is at least 20 shades fairer than his grandpa.

"How sad. How is he ever going to face theworld," she sighs. "What's colour got to do with it?" I think, as her eyes cloud and she raises her headheavenwards.

Dark clouds looming heaven downwards, wheatcomplexioned cousin S chokes on her words as she

66   Mind Blogs 1.0

narrates her tryst with discrimination. Her paternal aunt, a well placed entity in a media company, has expressed her soft corner for her fairer nieces. "K is fair and beautiful, D is even be?er; she is so fair and so pre?y. They are my favourite nieces, you pale in comparison," confirms her Aunt V.

Colleague R too, is rather taken in by the new girl who has joined the publication. "She is so fair and so hot," he confides to colleague C.

But all's not fair in our country.  Paati  has a grouse: "Isn't my Spanish grand-daughter-in-law T, too fair?"

Mind Blogs 1.0  67

The Tyranny of custom

Hindustan Times, May 12, 2010

at 0001 hrs IST

(75), who did not read beyond matriculation level, is a battlehardened Jat. But they have

CHANDIGARH: Naveen  become famous supporters of

Jindal (40), Congress MP from  self-styled   khap    (clan) Kurukshetra, is a US-educated  panchayats by backing theirbillionaire politician. Indian  demand to amend the Hindu National Lok Dal (INLD)  Marriage Act 1955, to ban

President and former chief  marriages among people of the

minister Om Prakash Chautala  same gotra and village.

BBuuyyiinngg aa GGrroooomm

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

D IABETIC DAD (I'm referring to my owndad, not a newfound rock band) developed a cravingfor potato  bondas last Sunday. So, with a huge,imploring smile he said, "Nimmi, haven't I boughtyou so many things — nice clothes, a bike and if youwish, I'll buy you a nice husband too. Now, pleasebuy me a plate of potato  bondas."

"Buy me a husband?" I exclaimed. "Well, don'tyou know that your mother bought me and that mygrandfather bought expensive husbands for his four

68   Mind Blogs 1.0

daughters?" he asked.

Paati  was a 13 year-old bride in 1938. Diamond ear and nose rings, gold ornaments, silver vessels and household items constituted her dowry. And all the wedding expenses were borne by the bride's family. Paati feels this arrangement made perfect sense. "My father made a small investment to ensure that my husband spent unselfishly on my well-being," she clarified. She gave up her home and went to live with her husband. And  Paati's dowry was passed on to her daughters. "That was generations ago. Surely, modern, educated women would never believe in buying husbands for themselves," I said to myself.

Cousin Sheila, marketing manager with an international hotel chain got married to a software professional last month. She's 24, educated and needs no financial support from her husband. But all the wedding expenses were borne by her dad, Uncle C. "Why does the groom's family need to contribute when my parents can well afford to," she exclaimed, when I questioned her about it. Jewellery, an expensive wedding ceremony, and an excellent education gave Sheila her visa to the US – indeed!

For years now, Hema's parents have been searching for a suitable boy for her. She has met over 25 prospective grooms. When boy and girl made it past the initial barrier of matching horoscopes, the prospective groom often expressed the desire to learn how much Hema earned. "This is unfair. I want

equality. The guy I marry doesn't need to know how much I earn. My parents will pay for the wedding after all," lamented Hema, an engineer.

Mind Blogs 1.0  69

Pooja, a human resources executive is in themarriage market. "Whoever I marry will have to bearhalf the wedding expenses. But, I am not opposed toqui?ing my current job and moving to where myfuture husband lives. I'll start afresh there," sheconfirmed.

So much for freedom, education, equality,independence...  Paati, I figure was clear about whatshe wanted. She invested in a husband and owned an

entire household!

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Cheating Munnabhai style

Tribune News Service, July 2, 2008

at 2000 hrs IST

Bollywood     blockbuster 'Munnabhai MBBS', an NRI

MBBS student of GMCH-32

CHANDIGARH:   Local  attempted a more sophisticated

MBBS students have gone the  version and used a hi-tech Munna Bhai way. Taking a cue  watch to copy in the exam but

from reel life where actor  was caught. He was released

Sanjay Dutt uses an improvised  later after a warning. Thedevice for cheating in his  exams were conducted by

medical   exams   in   the  Panjab University.

hheerree CCoommee

ee IImmpprreessssiioonniissttss

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

TRUSTING, NAÏVE, gullible, impressionable. These qualities define who we really are. Not just the 13-year-old whose face is breaking into warts and all. Not just the 15-year-old who will blindly shop foranything endorsed by the rich and famous. Evenimpressionable adults ranging from OJ Simpson to South Dakota Congressman Bill Janklow have beennegatively influenced by what they've seen on the bigscreen (particularly, the car chases in films).

Mind Blogs 1.0  71

If a young working professional is absorbingeverything being said by a Jack Welch, it is true ofpeople in the middle and senior management levelsas well. If you find a bunch of senior pros at a CEOenclave watching industry captains deliberating onthe future of business, they are doing nothing butdigesting, assimilating and chewing upon everythingthat's being said and debated about. Not only that. All this becomes the foundation of their workingcodes — the data from which they will judge thepresent and shape the future.

In fact, Eminem goes farther than any of his criticsin portraying his music as responsible for real-worldmayhem. His hit single Stan, for instance, talks of animpressionable Eminem fan who descends into abooze-and-pill-induced murder-suicide. His story istold through a series of le?ers to his idol. Respondingto Stan's le?ers, when Eminem enters the narrativetowards the end of the song, he explains that listenersshouldn't take it to heart when he raps aboutharming others or himself, and that violent,destructive actions like Stan's 'make him sick'.

Nobel laureate VS Naipaul is not spared too. Inhis book, Literary Occasions, he credits a large partof his learning to Hollywood films of the 1950s andsubtly advocates Hollywood to the rest of theimpressionable world.

Not that the US of A is insulated. Self-help booksare a rage among Americans and they are nothing buta sort of spiritual jacuzzi. Couched in the jargon ofwhite-coated Mr Know-it-alls and ladled throughoutwith statistical precision, Americans (and through

72   Mind Blogs 1.0

them, the rest of the world) are being conditioned to behave and react to every situation in a certain way.

Or take yourself. You watch a film and keenly look up the film reviews in Ro?enTomatoes.com or The New Yorker and find yourself nodding your head in agreement with everything the reviewers argue about. Not that you are faking it. It's just that they have so tweaked your sensibilities with their high literary standing that you have no leg to stand upon; and therefore prefer to lean on them and tut-tut your approval.

Is this sort of conditioning dulling our cerebral cortices? The question might be hanging in the air but there is a sense that individuals ultimately can't be trusted to their own devices. We are too easily duped, too gullible, too dumb. We live in an increasingly visual age, consumers, not of life, but of representations of life; of movies, videos and commercials; of media events and re-enactments. This, to put it bluntly, makes us vulnerable and dangerously so, impressionable, age no bar. With nearly 50 per cent of us functionally illiterate and 90 per cent of us listing television as our primary source of news, we're ripe for the picking. Or the manipulating, as the case may be.

So what's the alternative, especially in a semi-free society? The signposts clearly indicate less choice, less information, less individualism. So why do we shy away from marching to our own beat? Sadly, those who don't want to follow the herd are never

heard. Those who do are branded mavericks in a

negative sort of way. When they fail, they are

Mind Blogs 1.0  73

guillotined at the altar of individualism. When they succeed, eyebrows are raised; some institutes may even award them for their out-of-the-box thinking — but most are just happy branding them as mavericks and distancing themselves from them. Who wants to be a maverick in an impressionable world? It's convenient to be impressionable and part of the crowd rather than risk being called a maverick and be lonely at the bo?om. There's less risk involved. And there are no eyebrows raised.

But should that be a blueprint for life? T.h.i.n.k again.

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ee aammaallggaammaattiioonn

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

AS A child, I remember

My uncle was angry.

My mother beat me.

My teacher healed my wounds.

My grandmother loved me.

My friend inspired me.

I, an adult...

I am angry.

I destroy.

I care.

I love.

I inspire.

I, an adult.

An amalgamation of the child.

Mind Blogs 1.0  75

Money-smart kids start early

The Times of India,  May 14, 2010

at 1200 hrs IST

money-smart   simply   by watching what their parents do.

It is seen that children with

NEW DELHI: An increa-  parents in a financial plan

sing number of parents are  understand the basics of money seeing the collateral benefit of  management and are able to put working with a financial  their money life in order than planner: Their kids are getting  those with parents who blunder

ee SSmmaallll WWoonnddeerr

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

IT WAS the 13th of November. Dipti peeredthrough the railings of the banister and yelled, "Nimmi  akka, what party is there ya tomorrow?"

"I'll tell you about it, but what are you planningfor Children's Day, Dipti?" I asked her. "My mummyis going to make  payasa  with  godambi, drakshi ya," shereplied, un-flu?ered. "Oh wonderful, will you giveme some?" I asked.

"No ya, the Children's Day god will get angry; he is Jherulal ya, he needs lots of  payasa," said Dipti convincingly.

As you might have already guessed, she had just missed a few alphabets from Jawaharlal Nehru's

name.

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Dipti sounds all of 40 and sometimes 400 at four. She loves talking, and has overcome the biggestbarrier — language. So she ra?les off in Telugu, Kannada, English and Gujarati and has made it herbusiness to understand and be understood byeveryone on our street.

Dipti likes to think that anyone between the agesof one and one hundred is her friend. So, she goes to Poornima  kaki at two in the afternoon and yells in

Gujarati, "Kaki, darwaza khol, nahi tho thala band kardoon," (Open the door or should I bolt it from theoutside). Poornima  kaki  gives up her siesta for fear ofbeing locked indoors. In return, she gets to listen to Dipti's entertaining stories.

Be it at two in the afternoon or nine in the

morning, Dipti has something important to say. Being her neighbour, I wish her as she leaves for school.

One morning, she said, "Once upon a time Spo?ydog and Blacky dog had come to your house no ya Nimmi  akka?" swinging from side to side in her blueand white striped uniform, waiting for me to updateher about our other neighbour's four-month-oldpuppies.

As she got caught up with the details of the story,her mom whisked her away to school even as Diptikept yelling in Telugu, "Ir andi mummy, vosthanu," (Wait mummy, I'm coming).

At school, Dipti speaks more than her teachers orfriends do. At home, she plays the teacher andconsents to be student only when her friends threatento stop the game. If her friends are not home, Dipti

Mind Blogs 1.0  77

tells their mothers: "Aunty,  nanu  kitchen  alle irthini. Nivu kelsa madtha iri, nanu paathre thogondu aadthini," (Aunty, I'll play with the utensils while you cook).

Although Dipti loves sounding grown up, she is barely three feet above the ground. Her eyes light up at anything that is said to her. As for her chubby cheeks, one can't resist pinching, kissing and biting them. Even as I pick her up to cuddle, Dipti makes it a point to have the last word, "Nimmi  akka, you can kiss me ya, but please don't bite my cheeks!"

PS: Dipti is now 14, but still has the baby-face I so love tobite!

78   Mind Blogs 1.0

Growing old... alone

Hindu, July 13, 2003 at 2100 hrs IST  and insecurity compound theirproblems. The three main

MUMBAI: Elderly people  requirements of old people

in India face an uncertain  today are social, health and

future. In Mumbai alone, there  financial security. The senior

were 192 crimes in 2002... a  citizens' need for social

large number resulting in death.  security has only risen with the

Decreasing incomes, loneliness  times.

LLuuvv YYaa GGuuyyss

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

LARGE WIDE-Open eyes, deep with thecolours of over 60 years on earth, stare into my face. Uncle P isn't actually looking at me. He stares at lifegone by; his eyes mist up with loneliness; physicalweakness tells him he must move on — perhaps toan old age home. He is glad to see me that night. "Many days, I wake up in the morning and don'tspeak to a soul until my dearly adopted children —either you or S, turn up to visit me in the evening," hesays, concealing a choke waiting to escape. I have nowords to offer. Advice is not solicited. How would I

Mind Blogs 1.0  79

know, I am not 63.

Sixty-three may seem too young in today's context. I agree. There are sprightly, retired parents, uncles, aunts, acquaintances, friends, politicians and social workers who live each day like three-year-olds who have just learnt to run, discovered to leap, fallen and then risen.

Uncle M, friend S's pa at 65-plus prances aboutvery much like a sprightly three-year-old. The samezest for life manifests in his elation at havingmotivated and won a case over the government tosave park land meant for citizens in his locality. Hecomes to our publishing house to talk about thisachievement. It's lunch time, and so, we have asimple meal of rice,  dal and  subzi  in our canteen. Afterspending a hearty hour together, he rises to leave. Atiny tear hangs around the corner of his right eye. "Itfelt just like having K and S around, we should dothis more often," he says, thinking fondly of his twodaughters, one living in the UK and the other in Delhi. I wish I have the time to visit him more often.

This morning, V, my piano teacher P's 75-year-oldsister wears a sunshine smile and flowered hair-band

upon her newly trimmed hair. Differently-abled, she wears the same enthusiasm as a girl in her pre-teens waiting to sweep the lad of her dreams off his feet. She wants me to buy her satin cloth to sew bridesmaid handkerchiefs. "I've finally found a store that sells the material," I tell her, promising to bring back some next Tuesday. Sixty-five-year old P's eyes light up with gratitude – road rage and increasing traffic don't leave her feeling stable enough to go

80   Mind Blogs 1.0

shopping on her two-wheeler any more. I hug them both goodbye after my music lesson. They are waiting to see me next Tuesday.

Two weeks ago, the toothless paati  resting under the neem tree outside a village temple in Mayavaram, Tamil Nadu, wants food. There isn't any. So I give her some money. "Don't you have any children,  paati," I ask her. "Yes I do," she replies with the heartiest toothless smile I've seen. "What are their names?" I

question. "I haven't named any of them," she grins. "What's your name then?" I ask. "I too, have no name," she replies. I am totally won over, I grab her small frame into my arms and she plants a kiss upon my cheek. Her eyes sparkle, she doesn't want to let go but gently unclasps her grasp around my waist and says, "Come back to visit me, my children are no longer here." My eyes cloud with a fresh stream of tears. Her toothless smile continues to fill my soul with warmth.

Three years ago, I hold dad's hand for twocontinuous days while he lies in coma upon ahospital bed. On day three, he loosens his clasp,making it clear he's le?ing go. He's gone.

Last night, Uncle P asks me to leave him alone. "This 10 sq ft by 10 sq ft space is mine. Go away andcarry on with your chores," he says. What he's said tome a few months ago rings in my ear: "As we hit 60,we know we are on the other side of life. Going to anold age home is a possibility, but having youngsterslike you visit us; talk to us is what keeps us going. Otherwise, we oldies have no breath of fresh life tooffer each other; we are all in the same boat." So I

Mind Blogs 1.0  81

hover around.

I write this note to those very special peoplewho've added an irreversible touch of warmth to mylife. Love ya guys...

I'm confident you've done the same for yourparents, they've let you unselfishly out into theworld; they're pleased with your progress. And...they may not say it... they yearn for your smile, yourloving touch....

I just can't wait to get home to give mama a bigbear hug.

82   Mind Blogs 1.0

Indomitable mum Neelam Katara:

A profile in courage

Hindustan Times, May 29, 2008

at 1630 hrs IST

Yadav   was   the   logicalconclusion of the six-year fight

for her murdered son. The

NEW DELHI: She took the  accused were the son and

combined might of politics and  nephew of a politician whose money head on, and won. For  name spelt terror in western UP. 56-year-old Neelam Katara, the  But Neelam refused to be

conviction of Vikas and Vishal  scared.

MMuumm IIss 6600

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

MY MUM turned 60 a couple of days ago, andwe had a get-together for her close friends of the lastthree decades. After I had said 'goodbye' to the lastguest, I spent some time thinking about the 31 yearsover which Mariam has also been my mother.

It's true that my mother has not been the idealmother. It's also true that I have hardly been theperfect daughter. I doubt if we will ever have acompletely functional mother-daughter equation. Buttoday, I'd like to take the time to celebrate all thethings that my mother did right.

Mind Blogs 1.0  83

I did not know it as a child, but my mother was asingle parent. It is to her credit that I neverexperienced the thought that my home lackedanything. My mother always managed to make mefeel superior to all the kids that I knew.

My earliest memories are of the variety ofinfluences that my mother brought into my life. I amtold that even when I was still in her womb, she readthe newspaper aloud to me everyday. This I do notremember. But, I do remember the picture books, thetoys and stories. Later, there are clearer memories ofvisits to many parks, museums and cinemas.

She gave me my love of books, and later nurturedit. When I look at the collection of books that I

collected as a child (and still keep in my bookshelf), it never ceases to amaze me. My mother earned about Rs 800 a month in the 80s. Yet, I was the only girl in class who owned all of the series on Secret Seven, Five Find Outers, Famous Five, Malory Towers and St Clares. As if this were not enough, these were only part of the books in my collection. I still wonder how my mother managed to do that...

I saw some of the best movies of my growing years with her. She also introduced me to theatre. Incidentally, this is a role that she continues to play.

My mother always ensured that I had a privileged education. Her conversations with me always dealt with the world around me. It is also said that by the time I was three, I was telling people that Morarji Desai was the Prime Minister of India and that he

believed in urine therapy. Of course, I have no recollection of this. But, later as a teenager, I do

84   Mind Blogs 1.0

recollect that my mother nurtured my love for the

humanities.

While most kids of my generation had theirparents breathing down their necks to create thedoctors and engineers of the future, my mother letme want to be a writer.

She never told me that I had to be fair to be

beautiful, and neither was I moulded into a housewife from my earliest years.

My mother is among the most independent, freespirited women I know. She was also wise enough to raise me in the same mould.

She was my mother. But, she never forgot that shewas also Mariam. This was the greatest service thatshe did to both of us.

Mind Blogs 1.0  85

eevveerryy WWoommaann

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

THE OTHER day, a friend of mine created anode to her women of substance. One thought led toanother and I soon realised that there were many ofthem in my life too.

There was...

The lady who was wife to one husband,mother to seven children and grandmother tomany more. Even when the money ran out, shealways kept an impeccable home. In later life,when Parkinson's had rendered her a bedridden

86   Mind Blogs 1.0

invalid, she remained as the gracious mighty oak to whom her offspring could return to find their roots.

There was...

The lady who sailed away on her own to aforeign country on a scholarship to studyliterature. She was beautiful, intelligent, 29 andstill single. In the 1960s, this was unthinkable.

There was...

The lady who chose to live her life on herown terms, whether it was to pierce her nosewhen it was still taboo, light a cigare?e in publicor love the men of her choice. She accepted thepain of her choices, and as she grew older shealways spoke with courage and openness abouther mistakes.

There was also...

The lady who looked back at 60 years of her

life and said, "I have no regrets."

Then, there were...

The girls from orthodox conservativefamilies who dared to find their own way andgrew into the most unorthodox thinkers I havemet.

The girls who did not change themselves sothat they could belong in high school.

The girls who always knew they were equalto the boys.

Mind Blogs 1.0  87

The girls with dreams in their eyes, whodared to chase them across countries and

continents.

There were...

The women who dared to love truly andpassionately, each in their own fashion.

The women who knew that it was okay to besingle, and who would marry only for love.

The women who loved, and did not wait fortheir man to pop the question.

The women who loved, but saw the wisdomin le?ing go.

The women who loved, were hurt, and stilldared to love again.

The women who travelled across continents

for love, and still dared to turn back when they knew they had been mistaken.

The women who gave it all up for love, and the ones that didn't.

There were...

The women who did not shirk responsibility.

The women who got down into ditches ortook on ranting opposition to protect the weak.

Those who looked after their parents,educated their siblings, got their sisters marriedand played single mother.

There were...

The women who confidently led teams.

Some of them even handled departments.

88   Mind Blogs 1.0

The women who donned multiple hats –efficient professional, dependable wife andcaring mother.

The women who did not wait for the rich

husband to buy a house, travel or simply make money.

The women who threw up successful careers, and went to follow their calling.

The women of conscience who never lost a

sense of gratefulness to life. They always wanted to 'give back' to the world around them.

They are in every woman. They are my women of substance.

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Mind Blogs 1.0  89

Drunk woman rams car into police jeep, bike; 2 killed in Mumbai

PTI, January 30, 2010

at 0510 hrs IST

inspector and the biker dead and four constables seriously injured    early   Saturday

MUMBAI: A   woman  morning.   A   local   court

driving allegedly under the  remanded Nooria Haveliwala

influence of alcohol rammed  (27), arrested for drunk driving,

her car into a police jeep and a  to   police   custody   till

bike, leaving an assistant sub-  February 5.

eessccaappaaddeess OOnn LL 55 559988

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

P ULLING THE zipper of my faded redwindcheater to a choking tightness, I gaped at themechanic who had deftly separated the tube from thepunctured tyre. My dear Kinetic, KA O5 L5598, haddecided to wobble dangerously at 10 pm, Friday last. Returning from work, it took me seven kilometresand half the distance home to realise that the back

tyre of my bike was punctured.

Call it serendipity, for, people at the petrol bunk I stopped at in Wilson Garden, directed me to a conspicuous lorry tyre repair shop. Thanks to the bad

90   Mind Blogs 1.0

men in the movies, even as the mechanic went about his business, as did the other employees in the shop, I hid my toes under my already long skirt even as I had hidden my full-sleeved shirt under my windcheater earlier. Ten minutes later, a by-now relaxed, confident journalist, I rode straight into the petrol bunk, tyre fixed, phone in ear, Mom blasting my head off for being caught in the middle of the night on a wobbly bike. "Why on earth aren't you selling it?" she stormed.

After having slept over her query, I knew, even as bright morning sunshine brushed my face, that L 5598 and I are inseparable. Dad, even as I remember him today on his third birthday away from Planet Earth, gifted me L 5598 in 1994. Black and powerful, it was a dream come true after my Hero Puch had split wide open with all those heavyweight friends I'd ridden back and forth. L 5598, on the contrary has withstood the test of carrying six people at a time, all the way from Jayanagar to MG Road.

A weekend out meant a trip on Nimmi's bike for all the children on our street. So, li?le Amitu and Pupul stood in front, while big girls Sindhu, Shivi and Sagu rode pillion. And our li?le brigade zipped at 60 kmph all the way to Corner House on Residency Road for chocolate chip ice creams. Now li?le did I know that Aunt Revathi and  Paati  secretly wished to be part of this merry brigade. So, one evening, escaping from dad's watchful gaze, Aunt Revathi, clad in salwar and  Paati in her crisp nine-yard sari, deftly got atop L 5598, each with legs on either side before se?ling behind me. Barely able to stifle our

Mind Blogs 1.0  91

outrageous giggles, we created a furore enough for Dad to peep out of the window, only to see his mom and sister, ride into the sunset behind his notorious daughter...

As expected, all hell broke loose when we returned. But L 5598 has gone on to accompany me on many more outrageous escapades that have added immense flavours of fun to my life. So, sorry Mom, L 5598 stays. Thank you Dad, wherever you are, for all my escapades with L 5598.

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aa SSwwiimmmmiinnggllyy

GGoooodd ttiimmee

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

IT'S MONSOON time. A daunting time fortwo-wheeler guys like me. A heavy downpour theprevious night leaves its testimony in the form of wetislands – small and large all over the road. Thechallenge is as clear as fresh rainfall.

First the Tata Sierra. I was trying hard to avoid theislands by criss-crossing all over the road. I felt like acircus stuntman. Or a teenage clown. Down came the Safari in a dramatic swoosh. I swerved to my left and

Mind Blogs 1.0  93

came to a screeching halt just short of the Atlantic Ocean. The Safari grazed past me. I felt the strafing. But I was spared. My pristine white trousers still bore the sparkle my mother had struggled over. Crease and cuff still intact. One down, how many to go?

I approached the next street. In my rear-view mirror, flashed a Maruti 800 travelling at the speed of light. I looked to my left and then to my right. My eyes were now at the back of my head — a full 180 degrees. Rear-view mirrors are good for disciplined drivers, not for rash ones.

I accelerated. I was trying to side step the potholes and reach drier, higher ground before the Maruti could come in. Saved by the cross! The cross road on my right. I swerved into the cross and let the Maruti speed past. Phew! He disappeared as fast as he came.

I persevered. It was ge?ing late for work and my boss does not appreciate excuses. I was on to a waterlogged road. And fate in the form of the Bangalore City Corporation struck.

Crash! Bang! Boom! @$%#

"Oh, hell! A pothole," I cursed in my head after the string of unprintable epithets. Couldn't I have avoided it? After all, I knew the road like the back of my two-wheeler — or the back of all the polluting vehicles I am forced to stop behind.

I checked my shirt sleeves and my trouser cuffs. My boss hates messy employees. I was safe. And clean. And on time. I breathed a big sigh of relief. And pulled into the parking space outside my office.

Splash..sh..sh!

I looked down on the soggy mess that was once a

94   Mind Blogs 1.0

pure and unsullied Zahid. And looked up to see the vanishing tail lights of a courier van, making sure that his package arrived on someone's desk. Clean, dry and on time.

Ah, well!

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The Trouble With India

PTI, March 19, 2007 at 0310 hrs IST   Route 101, Hosur Road isworse. This potholed, four-lane

BANGALORE:    When  stretch of gritty pavement, the

foreigners say Bangalore is  primary access to Electronics

India's version of Silicon  City, is pure chaos. Cars, trucks,

Valley, the high-tech office park  buses,   motorcycles,   taxis,called Electronics City is what  rickshaws and cows jostle forthey're often thinking of. But  every inch of the roadway as

however much Californians  horns blare and brakes squeal.

might hate traffic-clogged

ee SSttoorryy WWiitthh aa hhoollee

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

"T

AKE A picture with our heads peeping out of a pothole," suggested the editor, si?ing in his airconditioned office on MG Road.

He was willing to go to the streets, only becausehe was doing a series of public service campaigns inthe press to educate Bangaloreans about civic sense.

That about summed up the issue.

"Know of any pothole close to your office?" Iasked him.

He laughed. "I know of a pothole close to youroffice... it's gaping enough to accommodate two

96   Mind Blogs 1.0

people," he intoned.

I was suitably fine with the arrangement. But, out I stepped on Church Street and realised the road was brimming with freshly-tarred confidence and no potholes in sight.

I cruised on Resthouse Road, Residency Road, Brigade Road and MG Road, but there wasn't one good pothole to talk about.

"Bad luck," I apprised the editor when I met him. "That pothole is filled."

"But how?" he asked.

"Probably because the mayor had recently decided to keep his oath to rid the city of potholes," I said, ma?er-of-factly.

"Oh, really now?" asked the slightly embarrassed think tank of the newspaper.

"I have another idea. There's this road sign saying, 'Caution. Pothole ahead.' Why not take a picture of us against the road sign?"

"Good idea," I trilled.

But first, I thought a recce would do us a world of good and avoid future embarrassment.

Out I stepped on Old Madras Road and reached the designated spot.

Just when I had almost given up on the search, I located the road sign. But before I could say, all's well that end's well, I squeaked, "Where's the pothole?"

The mayor had done his job, and robbed me of mine.

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Five dead, several injured in Delhi Metro flyover collapse

PTI, July 12, 2009 at 0800 hrs IST   official said. The accident took

place at around 5 a.m. at the

NEW DELHI: An under  Metro construction site at

construction bridge of the Delhi  Zamroodpur   near   Amar Metro collapsed in south Delhi  Colony. Many are still trapped early Sunday, killing 5  people  under the debris, a Delhi Metro and injuring at least 20 people,  Rail Corporation (DMRC) many of them critically, an  official said.

WWhhoossee FFaauulltt IIss IItt

aannyywwaayy??

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

I WAS told a flyover had collapsed in Delhi.

Early reports confirmed two dead and 20 injured,  With casualty numbers expected to escalate further.

The reporter immediately asked, "Who isresponsible?"

The minister passed the buck.

His colleagues instinctively dodged the buck.

Statements were made on television.

Compensation packages were announced.

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A commi?ee was set up to probe the incident.

The guilty were named.

The cause was unnamed.

Public memory forgot.

Then, a year later, another flyover collapsed...

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Sasken staff fired for anti-Kannada poem

CIOL, Tuesday, March 04, 2008     distributing a derogatory poem

at 1730 hrs IST           on Kannada inside the office.

All the three offices of Sasken

BANGALORE: Sasken  in the city were shut down on

Communication Technologies  Monday as members of Ltd has sacked an employee (a  Karnataka Rakshana Vedike

Canadian   national)   for  (KRV) attacked one of itsallegedly    writing    and  offices at Electronic City.

IInnssiiddeerrss aallll OOuutt..

OOuuttssiiddeerrss IInn??

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

H EAVY DROPLETS of smog-laden rainpelted my helmet's visor, screaming oblivion. Thesecurity guard at our parking lot refused to makeway for my bike. I yelled, calling him inhuman. Heretorted, saying, "We don't have raincoats like youguys," pointing towards the row of bikes owned byexecutives working out of the building.

Is it my fault that he doesn't have a raincoat? Perhaps it is. I earn thrice or four or maybe five times

100  Mind Blogs 1.0

more than he does. And raincoats don't come cheap these days.

We now own a house in JP Nagar, 8th Phase. Ge?ing home includes a long commute on Bannergha?a Road and, a promised traffic jam right through. Perhaps that's our curse.

Perhaps not. I have a home to go to, a room to call my own and a patch of green that brightens my day despite soaring realty rates. And it doesn't ma?er then that large, smoked glass buildings with multinational offices bear down at my dated bike even as I crawl, snail-like, revving and polluting the once tranquil road to Bannergha?a National Park. Doesn't ma?er that the cop, who perhaps earns half my salary has just enough to make ends meet. Like many government employees, it's no fault of his that he aspires to make a buck or two from the owners of splendidly polished cars that often transport one or two people, while occupying large portions of the road. And he doesn't even have a room to call his

own, to rest his polluted lungs, clogged with litres of fume and smoke pumped into the atmosphere, invading the spirit of the bird and bee and many a Bangalorean, including me.

My family now owns a home, in an area that was once considered the outskirts of Bangalore. Thanks to the purchasing power of 20-plus nothings, who believe in investing in a home of their own, before they have learnt that car pools could save the cop from asthma and a smile or greeting could win his heart. And we are talking about the same cop who might stand at the junction, clearing the metallic

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mess, infused with spurious fumes, if only he were

able to breathe.

Twenty years ago, we travelled by bus. There werebuses and there were roads that bus drivers took to

reach us to our destinations. Bangalore then was perhaps in her second round of pregnancy, glowing in her new-found motherhood, making life comfortable for her older one and waiting earnestly for the life within her. We welcomed our IT giants with open arms. Twelve years ago, we dreamt of being experts in labour law.

Ten years ago, we watched the cosmopolitan influx filter in. Eight years ago, we opened doors to designer and branded stores because our cosmopolitan mix could afford it. Good old Bata took a back seat, but still survives because that's what the bus driver, the cop, the security guard, the waiter, the school girl and the average Bangalorean can afford. Also, Bangaloreans preferred lounging out at Koshy's or at the splendid Victoria Hotel, on whose remains stands a mall. Mr Mota simply couldn't afford to maintain prime land on which Victoria saw many a generation bask in coffee, fresh from the plantations of Coorg and Nilgiris and a musician or two serenading you whilst you sipped on your wine. The cosmopolitan, hard working generation that's stacking up money for all those good things it can buy needs to party hard, by night.

Sunshine is for losers and people who can't afford raincoats. Our security guard has a second-hand raincoat now. We have coffee together. We realise that cosmopolitan as our city gets, we love our Bata

102  Mind Blogs 1.0

shoes, by-two coffee, summer rains and traffic junctions. We care for the cosmopolitan mix. Our hearts bleed for those traffic jam ups, but after all, we've got to let the mud and stone-loaded lorry get to those construction sites by night. You see, they transport raw material to building sites that are to be homes for millions of cosmopolitan residents.

What's the government doing? We are a democratic nation – aren't we? We voted them, didn't we? Does the constitution say that 'outsiders' aren't supposed to vote? Or that 'outsiders' aren't supposed to contest elections? Or that 'outsiders' aren't

permi?ed to get off their cars and help clear traffic jam ups, just like we do when there is a crisis? Come on now, Bangalore is doing all it can to accommodate 'outsiders'. Bear with her, she is in her eighth pregnancy and has seven children clamouring for her a?ention. But, she still believes in that new life inside her — You!

Give her a chance; she too, has morning sickness.

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Kidnap drama paralyses

Bangalore

BBC, August 1, 2000 at 1322 hrs IST  neighbouring state of Tamil

Nadu on Sunday by India's

BANGALORE: The city  most    wanted    fugitive,

has shut down for the second  Veerappan. He is wanted by the

day running as fans of film idol  police in connection with more Rajkumar   continue   angry  than 100 murders. A criminal protests over his abduction.  who has been on the run for Rajkumar was kidnapped from  over a decade and counting.

his   farmhouse   in   the

aa CCiittyy BBrroouugghhtt ttoo

hheerr KKnneeeess

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

RAJKUMAR DIED today. The office closedearly because there was news of tension in the city. But, when I left the office at six, while the streets wereemptier than usual and shops and establishments onthe entire Vivek Nagar Main Road had their shu?ersdown, there were no untoward incidents on the way.

I thought of the last time when veteran Kannada film icon Dr Rajkumar's kidnapping brought the cityto a standstill. It was just another afternoon at work

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104  Mind Blogs 1.0

when CJ told me over MSN Messenger that Veerappan had kidnapped Dr Rajkumar. She was on MG Road and the trouble was all around her. But, I kept working.

By lunch time, the office had closed for the day.

As office and home were at the two other ends of

the world, SB suggested I spend the night at her place. In any case, I didn't have petrol, and most petrol bunks in the city had closed down. So, it made sense, and that's what I did.

It was only the next day that I realised what a wise decision that had been.

Whether you were on MG Road, in Malleswaram,

Kammanahalli or Yelahanka — there were mobs on

the street, and they were forcing everyone on vehicles to get out or get off and walk.

PC walked all the way from her office in Yelahanka to her home in Banaswadi — a good 25 km. With buses being stoned and autos refusing to run, she found that she was safest on foot.

On the way, she saw hooligans running amok on MG Road. At Kammanahalli, motorists were being pulled off bikes, and tyres were being burnt on the road.

At Malleswaram, SB's uncle's car had the glass

smashed.

Elsewhere, near Yelahanka, MC almost got pulledoff her bike by a bunch of rowdies, who were notwilling to spare even a woman on a two-wheeler.

By night, the city had spent itself out. You couldfeel that even indoors. But, the anger smouldered on — sometimes in the form of half-charred tyres, still

Mind Blogs 1.0  105

burning on the road.

The next day, the newspapers told us that Diamond District had been stoned. In those days, Diamond District was still a relatively new glass building, and the scars more evident. But, other buildings were a?acked as well.

There was an uneasy stillness on the road. But slowly, people stirred out of their houses. First, hesitantly investigating, and then in hordes.

As always, the spirit of the city had survived.

Of course, the day did not have a profound effect on everybody. ML, TM and BS used the day off to catch an unscheduled boy's day out, with a drink at the Hosur Road cemetery.

But, for me, it was a day that I would not forget. It was the first time that I watched my city brought down to her knees, and it upset me deeply.

106  Mind Blogs 1.0

Ragging at City college, 8 hurt

DH News Service, September 18,    The trouble started at around 10

2008 at 1530 hrs IST

pm in Vivekananda Institute of Technology    located    at

BANGALORE: The rag-  Kumbalgod near Talghattapura.ging menace resurfaced at a  Timely intervention by the City college hostel, triggering a  Talghattapura police saved

clash between north Indian and  further injury to students and

local students that left at least  damage to college property.

eight injured on Tuesday night.

GGiivvee MMee hheeaavveenn

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

NORTH, SOUTH, east, west. Ragging turnedugly in a city hostel the other day, thanks to regionaldisparity. How promptly the human mindstereotypes.

Hindu, Christian, Muslim, Parsee. Orissa is rifewith killings on the pretext of religion. Mangalorefollows suit. We have forgo?en to live and let live.

Rice, wheat, fish, mu?on. Ban the sale of meat onholy occasions, they say. All food is source of life.  Your meat is not my poison.

Tall, short, dark, fair. Beauty is measured skin

Mind Blogs 1.0  107

deep. It takes a believing soul to discover the ocean of beauty within the human frame.

I, me, myself. There is an ongoing contention that no one else is important. Open your eyes, look around, there's the gift of life in bounty. Learn from your selfless mother.

Heaven, earth. Death separates the two.  Let the twain meet. Why not make heaven on Earth?

108  Mind Blogs 1.0

At Mumbai's construction sites,labour is cheap, lives cheaper

Indian Express, December 9, 1998

at 1100 hrs IST

They don't even speak the locallanguage. And they die easily.

The death of 14 construction

MUMBAI: Construction  workers in the scaffolding

workers come cheap. They  accident at Sterling Apartments, subsist on daily wages of Rs 50  Peddar Road, on Thursday was

to Rs 70. And don't demand  followed by another worker's

compensation for injuries or  death on Saturday at Marine

death. In most cases, they can't.  Drive.

CCiittyy OOff DDrreeaammss

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

O UTSIDE,

The sea glistened against the black tarred road.

The trains roared by.

A city of great distances,

Travelled to work,

And returned.

In the great tumult,

As a city rose, heaved and subsided,

A construction worker set up a shack.

Even as he toiled to raise another structure,

A structure of gigantic concrete in the

City of Dreams.

Mind Blogs 1.0  109

SSuunnsshhiinnee IInn ee CCiittyy

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

THE LAZY afternoon sunlight seeps throughthe lilting arbour on Kasturba Road Cross. The rayslinger through translucent leaves before permeatingmy skin. This warmth dazzles me to a sigh. Nature'sbeauty is beyond human comprehension.

My resting brains bask in the gentleness of thesemodest rays. My legs do the walking, while my headslowly rises to sink in the glory of the world around.

My   Bangalore   shines   resplendently   insurreptitious hues of red, abundant in the Bougainvillea creeper nestled upon the stone wall. Brick red lures my eyes to the handsome

110  Mind Blogs 1.0

Vishveshwariah Museum that stands in its cascadingglory. Tomato red glimmers through the salwarkameez of the girl, asleep on the bench in thesheltered bus stand.

My city knows how to wear its grays as it does itsreds. Solid gray stones that line the footpath reflectthe sun's mellow beams. Bluish grey arches of the HDFC Bank punctuate my thoughts with musicalintonations.

In the Garden City, grays give way to an ensembleof jade green Peepal leaves. Dark green Gulmoharstems jig to the touch of the sun. Blades of grassrefract the artistry of an hour before twilight.

A yellow Reva brushes past. There goes the sun, Ithink.

Back at my office desk after a long walk, I bow

down to the almighty for this regal day...

Mind Blogs 1.0  111

Gadgets to express your love!

The Times of India, April 11, 2008     look at these uber-cool and fun-

at 1502 hrs IST

packed love-gadgets that are all set to give a hi-tech yet naughty

MUMBAI: Flowers are  twist to your love tale. From a

common, chocolates just miss  pink iPod Nano to a red Palm that thought and teddies don't  Treo. Not to mention, heartcharm any more! Is there  shaped USB drives, naughty girl something hotter out there for  cufflinks, Kissing Love Tester Valentine's? Yes, there is. Take a  and Proximity T-shirts.

ee LLoovvee CCaallccuullaattoorr

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

WHEN I am unsure, when I need to decide,when I need to read someone's mind, I consult Dr Love. Nah, it's no shrink out to rip me off in my hourof need.

It's a Windows 95 freeware that throws upstartling facts about interpersonal relationships andit's all in percentages. I might not take it at face value,but it does provide enough mirth to brighten mymood.

When I first downloaded the software, I thoughtsome testing was in order (the idea is to give two full

112  Mind Blogs 1.0

names of people or places or things, and it will throw up the love percentage).

The love quotient of Iraq and USA stood at 1 per cent. Di?o with India and Pakistan. Not bad, I thought, and moved on to Iran and Iraq. 0 per cent, declared Dr Love, and went on to conclude that it was di?o with Iraq and Kuwait.

Right off the bat, I thought some generic things might make things more believable. I played coffee and tea against each other and realised they shared a good rapport (71 per cent), though beer and vodka bonded the best (91 per cent).

Not surprisingly, cellphones and landlines didn't like each other (22 per cent) and neither did war and peace (26 per cent), nor Karnataka and Tamil Nadu (10 per cent).

Convinced, I asked Dr Love about Romeo and Juliet and he said, 98 per cent (congrats, Shakespeare). And the one that scored off each other was love and lust with 98 per cent.

It was now my time to be the guinea pig. Between Zahid H Javali and Zahid H Javali, I scored 86 per cent (I do love myself but by what percentage, I knew only now).

My love for Bangalore (97 per cent) was higher than my hometown (Dharwad scored 43 per cent), which was true indeed.

Moving on, I sought to know my personalequation with Allah.

"63 per cent," pointed Dr Love, clinically.

I typed God."74 per cent."

Mind Blogs 1.0  113

Bomb blast at Shah Rukh concert,

2 killed

PTI,  December 12, 2004        The two dead in the blast were

at 1208 hrs IST

Sri Lankan fans — a 30-year-old woman and a 22-year old

COLOMBO: Two persons  man. A number of children werewere killed and 15 injured when  among the wounded in thea bomb exploded at the fag end  explosion which ripped throughof a concert by Bollywood  Shah Rukh Khan's megasuperstar Shah Rukh Khan. But  concert at Colombo's formerthe actor was, however, safe.  Race Course open air stadium.

MMeeeettiinngg SShhaahh RRuukkhh KKhhaann

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

PRIOR TO 2004, remembering dreams hadbecome a long-forgo?en art for me. Either I washaving dreamless nights or my dreams were soinconsequential that they never rose to the consciouslevel and nudged me into remembrance.

Just when I resigned myself to more dreamlessnights, reigning Bollywood superstar Shah Rukh Khan came along. No, not in person but we met upwhen I drifted into the land of nod. This time though, I remembered the dream clearly because I wasconfronting Khan on a certain issue.

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"Why aren't you protected?" I asked him.

Khan snapped his fingers. Two bodyguards wearing pale blue shirts appeared from behind me and inspected the area, their backs to Khan and me.

That's what I remembered of my dream.

I mentioned this to Tarun Cherian, the then creative director of an advertising agency who was also a reiki master and spiritual guide. Without much ado, he placed before me three possible interpretations:

One: Khan's life could well be under threat.

Two: Khan might be feeling threatened bycompetition from newcomers; or he might be goingthrough bouts of low self-esteem because someconsider Aamir to be a far be?er actor.

Three: Khan could well be me feeling threatenedabout something like the meditation workshop I wasto take up with Cherian a few days later. But I wasprotected, if the dream was to be believed.

The ball was in my court. I was to accept one ofthe options that best suited the situation. I thoughtoption three might be most accurate. Here I wastrying to take up a two-day meditation workshop afew days later to 'expand my soul' and didn't knowwhat it meant or what I was ge?ing into. But curiositywas what got me into journalism and curiosity waswhat got me into saying 'yes' to the workshop. Sincethe dream said I was protected, I went ahead.

The workshop went along swimmingly and I wasanything but threatened —I was rejuvenated beyondmy expectations.

On Sunday, Khan was all over the TV channels.

Mind Blogs 1.0  115

At least two persons were killed and 15 injured whena bomb exploded at the fag end of his concert in Sri Lanka on Saturday, December 11, 2004. But the actorwas safe. Reports said the bomb had ripped throughthe Rs 10,000 stands just as the Bollywood superstarended his three-hour concert. It was held despiteprotests by Buddhist monks who said the musicshow coincided with the first death anniversary of apopular monk.

What does all this mean? That, sometimes,dreams should be taken seriously.

PS: A few months later, Shah Rukh appeared in my dreamsyet again, saying he is being threatened by the underworld. Not taking the dream lightly, I alerted SRK's secretary whoasked me to email him directly. Though SRK didn't reply,two weeks later, I read in the papers that a top Bollywoodstar was being threatened by the Chhota Rajan gang andwas given police protection.

116  Mind Blogs 1.0

Far-off healing

Los Angeles Times, May 02, 2005     into the woman's groin to

at 1100 hrs IST           enable researchers to measure

how fast she heals.

SAN FRANCISCO: Many    The woman is a patient in Americans pray for the health  an extraordinary government-of loved ones; others turn to  funded study that is seeking to

shamans or reiki. Now science  determine whether prayer has

is putting these practices to the  the power to heal patients from

test.              afar — a field known as 'distant

On an operating table at a  healing'. While that term is

medical   center   in   San  probably unfamiliar to most

Francisco, a breast cancer  Americans, the idea of turningpatient    is    undergoing  to prayers in their homes,reconstructive surgery after a  hospitals and houses of worshipmastectomy. But this will be no  is not. In recent years, medicineordinary   surgery.   Three  has increasingly shown an

thousand   miles   away,   a  interest in investigating the

shamanic healer has been sent  effect of prayer and spirituality

the woman's name, a photo and  on health. A survey of 31,000 details about the surgery.    adults released last year by the

For each of the next eight  national Centers for Disease days, the healer will pray 20  Control and Prevention found minutes for the cancer patient's  that 43% of U.S. adults prayed recovery, without the woman's  for their own health, while 24% knowledge. A surgeon has  had others pray for their health.

inserted two small fabric tubes

Mind Blogs 1.0  117

DDiissccoovveerriinngg SSeerreennddiippiittyy

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

FOR YEARS, I used to pity people who wereinto self-help books (which meant most of America). Until Be?y Shine happened.

There I was, browsing for more than an hour, at Sankars Book Stall when my eye picked out Shine'sbook, Mind Magic. Maybe it was the jacket blurb. Maybe it was my age — I had just turned 30. Maybeit's a bit of all this, but the fact is, it was a fortunateaccident.

The next few days stretched my mind. Shine saysthat we are energy beings first. Without the energy

118  Mind Blogs 1.0

counterpart of our physical body, we would not be here at this moment. But stress causes energy blockages in the physical system, causing distress and disease. The underlying reasoning: Don't underestimate the power of your mind. If it can create an atom bomb, it can also create great art. It makes waves — of love, compassion and understanding — and it heals.

Shine was a medium (she died four years ago). She not only existed in this dimension, she could also interact with `dead' people in the next dimension, so she could pass on their messages to loved ones telling them not to grieve. They came to her to prove they had survived 'death' and were happy in their new world.

The healing powers of the mind drew me morethan anything else. I wanted to heal and be healed,physically and soulfully. I have tried healing myfather's dislocated knee — though it's yet to be healedcompletely, the pain has receded to some extent. Now he heals himself. The process is simple: Visualise your palm as a magnet that takes awaynegative energies. Then place your palm on the placeof pain for a while and move it away, taking with itall the negative energy that was embedded within thebody. It's a process that demands faith.

If it's about healing people living away from you,you could still work the magic through visualisation. You could send loving thoughts to the person evenwithout that person's knowledge. And the best wayto heal yourself is to go to bed blessing your friends,enemies and strangers.

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Mind Blogs 1.0  119

As Be?y Shine puts it, to be happy, one can neverafford to lose the child within. A child is innocent, hasfaith and allows things to happen. We are all bornwith this talent, and it takes the child within to findand nurture it.

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EC Notice for Varun Gandhi

Hate Speech

Outlook, March 16, 2009

at 1853 hrs IST

inflammatory remarks with communal overtones, which

saw the Election Commission

NEW   DELHI:   Varun  slap a notice against the young

Gandhi, a BJP candidate in the  scion of the estranged Gandhi Lok Sabha elections, is in the  family, who was also ticked offeye of a storm for making  by his own party.

ttoolleerraannccee

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

I

WE REMEMBER the Mahatma not because of

what he said,

but what he did.

Tolerance is not you standing on a mountain,banging your chest, and proclaiming to the world, "I am tolerant."

That is aggressive arrogance.

Tolerance is lived in our lives everyday.

How tolerant will I be today?

Mind Blogs 1.0  121

II

Are you conscious of having to tolerate?

Then, it is no longer tolerance.

Now, you are only tolerating.

III

My friend asked, "What is tolerance?"

I said, "To respectfully give unto others the space tojust be, without nudging them into becoming what

you want them to be."

IV

I say that my tolerance has reached its limits. But isn't my tolerance, with inscribed limits,another word for intolerance?

122  Mind Blogs 1.0

Serial blasts shock Bangalore

Deccan Herald  July 25, 2008

at 1400 hrs IST

the city, however, failed to dampen the spirits of the city which chose to carry on its

BANGALORE: A series of  business as usual. Two people

low-intensity blasts rocked  were killed and five injured in southern and central parts of  the blasts, the first of which Bangalore,    momentarily  took place around 1.30 p.m. stopping the city on its tracks  Seven blasts were reported in a on Friday afternoon. The eight  span of one hour, and the eighth blasts, aimed to disturb peace in  occurred around 5 p.m.

SSuussppiicciioonn

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

CLAD IN a white co?on shirt, a lanky manmoves the dividing stones on the two-way flyover. Instinctively, I veer my bike away from him,watching out for tell-tale signs of a crudely madebomb.

Suspicion has clouded my mind, brimming overwith unproven and probable causes of the serialblasts in Bangalore.

Preceding my encounter with the man in whitewas a 20-something chap waiting to cross the one-way side of Double Road leading to Richmond Circle.

Mind Blogs 1.0  123

A mobile held close to his lips, cynical expression inhis eyes, caused me to cast him a dual glance. "Has heplanted a bomb someplace here? Is his mobile but aslimy weapon waiting to trigger a blast? Where wasthe bomb?" I continued to surmise.

It could be hidden among the spider lilies do?ingthe separator, or it could well have been in the truckthat passed by. Or, could it have been in the drainbeside the bus stop where I'd dropped Mom off thismorning?

Panic catapults suspicion. My mind is rife withimages of men garbed in white, strategising the nextblow up. I've been watching too much news, readingtoo much between the lines, unmasking everyburkha-clad face, delving too deep into everyforehead smeared with vertical  tilaks  and scrutinisingthe lilting eyes of every bearded man. But then, eventhe security guard had tightened his grip on the canelast evening as two white-garbed, bearded menentered our office building.

Suspicion is epidemic. I am, but one particle that floats towards the nucleus of self-destruction.

Clarity beckons. Life is god's magic. I realise that I am just another being, no different from the man inwhite, the boy with a mobile, the lady in burkha, thetilak-smeared man and the bearded, white-garbed

men.

Suspicion precedes belief. I believe.

124  Mind Blogs 1.0

rampaging VHP mobsChristian woman burnt to death by

Indian Express, August 26, 2008

at 0111 hrs IST

and set ablaze in other parts of the state by mobs led by Vishwa

Hindu   Parishad   activists,

BHUBANESWAR: A 24-  enforcing a bandh to protest the

year-old   Christian   woman  killing   of   their   leader working as an orphanage  Lakshmanananda Saraswati and

caretaker was burnt to death in  four followers in a suspected

Bargarh in western Orissa today  Maoist attack.

while churches were attacked

SSoo,, hheellpp MMee GGoodd

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

AS A child, a teenager and a young adult, Inever thought much about being a Christian in India. I only thought about being an Indian andpassionately about being a Bangalorean. I thought soli?le about being Christian that my Orkut and Facebook religious profiles proclaimed to the worldthat I was 'spiritual, not religious'.

But in the recent past, I have wondered if I shouldchange my religious profile to 'Christian'. If fornothing else, then to state my solidarity with those in Orissa forced to hide in the jungles for the only crime

Mind Blogs 1.0  125

of being 'Christian'.

Was I in some way turning my back on my basic identity when I said that I was 'spiritual, not religious'?

But, when I thought more about it, I began to feel that troubled times demand that we hold on more

closely to the beliefs that ma?er. If my faith is that I am 'spiritual, not religious', then I should cling deeper to my faith. Anything less would be denial of my identity.

After all, in the final analysis, it is not about how others see me. It is about how I see myself.

It's true that the values I learnt as a child in church

have set the foundation for the person that I am. Whilst living out the many sermons that I heard here, I first experienced the wisdom of forgiveness and satisfaction with my lot. It was in church I learned that the first of 10 commandments was 'thou shall not

kill'. Here also I first heard of faith, hope and love — and that the greatest was love.

There were also many other simple truths that abounded here. Do not lie (or bribe). Be a good citizen. Marriage is a decision, not a feeling. Your word is everything. Hard work pays in the end.

No rocket science in any of that, and many of these are universal religious values. But, in my case, I learnt these in church, and I will always be grateful for that.

So then, why am I 'spiritual, not religious'?

I am spiritual because I believe that the wonderthat is life can only be a miracle, an act of a superiorbeing — even if it be through a process of evolution

126  Mind Blogs 1.0

over the ages. My life and those of others around me is guided by a force that is 'greater than I'.

But yet, I am not religious because I find I cannot accept any religious book in totality. I question too much. I cannot accept any one book as being 'the way'.

When I was younger, I could claim that being 'spiritual, not religious' was a state that I had evolved into. In today's world, it is a conscious choice and a decision that I must make everyday.

So, help me god.

Mind Blogs 1.0  127

26/11 with prayersMumbai marks anniversary of

Mint, November 26, 2009

at 2355 hrs IST

private memorial service for staff in the evening. Candles

were lit outside the Trident-

MUMBAI: One year on  Oberoi hotels and a blackfrom the deadly militant attacks  marble plaque unveiled in

in   Mumbai,   the   city  tribute to the 35 victims who

remembered its dead in solemn  died there.

prayers and candlelit vigils. At    At the city's main railway the attack sites, a steady stream  station, the Chhatrapati Shivaji

of mourners mixed with  Terminus (CST), a blood

curious visitors and locals. The  donation session was organized

Leopold Cafe, one of the  instead of a high-profiletargets, was packed with  commemoration. CST was thetourists. Staff, who lost two  scene of the bloodiest episodecolleagues,   wore   black  of the attacks, with 52 dead. armbands over their red polo   Nariman House, until lastshirts; commemorative mugs  year a little-known Jewishwere on sale.          cultural and religious centre,

At the Taj Palace hotel and  staged a memorial service. Six Tower, where 31 people were  people died there, including thekilled, bosses said they wanted  rabbi who ran it and histo treat the first anniversary like  pregnant wife. any other working day, with a

128  Mind Blogs 1.0

Bangalore East burns again

The Times of India, January 22, 2007  vehicles, while a 11-year-old boy

at 1245 hrs IST           died and five sustained bullet

injuries in police firing. Curfew

BANGALORE: In a bitter  has   been   clamped   on

sequel to the riots on Friday,  Bharatinagar, T G Halli, K G localities in Bangalore East  Halli, Commercial Street, Frazer

witnessed another round of mob  Town and all areas coming under

fury on Sunday as miscreants  Ulsoor police station limits till

attacked shops and torched  7 am on Monday.

OOff RRiioott aanndd CCaammaarraaddeerriiee

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

F RIEND M'S SMS stirred curiosity — "Thereare rumours of a communal riot in the city, is it true?" After SMS-ing a colleague, I called M to fill him onthe details. "A beheaded pig was found in a mosquein Bangalore's RT Nagar area, triggering a riftbetween the Hindu and Muslim communities," I toldhim.

As the wheels of Lalbagh Express huggedglistening tracks in the late noon sunshine, Mrs Sayeeda Khatoon's eyes raised a questioning look. We'd been fellow passengers for two hours now. The

Mind Blogs 1.0  129

heat of Chennai had passed on to allow the cool breeze from fields near Jolarpet Junction. Burkha-clad and comfortable in this climatic transition, Sayeeda seemed concerned. "Where do you need to go in Bangalore," I asked. "Sultanpalya," she said. "Oh, that's where the riots are," I said, as an afterthought, "But do you have relatives in other parts of Bangalore? It's be?er you avoid Sultanpalya."

"Yes, my husband's sister lives in BTM Layout. This is the first time I'm going home to Bangalore to visit family after I was married off last year. My sister and parents have been waiting to see me," explained Sayeeda.

"Oh! Let's be in touch with my office then. If the situation is be?er by the time we arrive, you could go home to Sultanpalya after all," I replied. Sayeeda smiled. Her husband smiled too. Jessica and her daughter Sharon si?ing in the row ahead, turned around to gather information about the aftermath of the riot in Bangalore.

We bantered on. No caste, nor religion nor geographical origin divided us. We were one in the face of adversity.

As the train pulled into Bangalore Cantonment, our parting wishes were sealed with an unsigned agreement — No ma?er who beheaded the pig, or who started the riot, strangers from different religious communities do part as friends.

130  Mind Blogs 1.0

Govt trying to saffronise DD, AIR

The Hindu, February 5, 1999

at 1600 hrs IST

Girija Vyas, said that the Vajpayee regime was usinggovernment-controlled media

NEW   DELHI:   The  for propaganda of the BJP and

Congress (I) today accused the  affiliated organisations which BJP-Ied Govern-ment of trying  were damaging the secular

to saffronise Doordarshan and  fabric of the country.

AIR. Party spokesperson, Ms.

SSaaffffrroonniissaattiioonn

OOff IInnddiiaann tteelleevviissiioonn

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

EKTA KAPOOR and her counterparts like Dheeraj Kumar and Aruna Irani seem to be intent onsaffronising television. Pick any soap on Sony, Star Plus or Zee, and you will see some  pooja or the otherbeing telecast into drawing rooms across the country. Agreed, it's a Hindu-dominated country and suchrituals are part and parcel of the lives of the majority,but the frequency of such rituals has gone beyondtolerance levels. Remember, this is on nationaltelevision and therefore needs to be tailored to every

Mind Blogs 1.0  131

other religion in the country. What's more, much of the customs and rituals shown in these serials are

predominantly north Indian and find no resonance in south India. The TV channels seem to be happy overdoing one religion and ignoring the rest. If this isn't a sign of national disintegration, what is?

There is more to this. When the odd serial does

have a storyline involving members of other communities, it's only by name. There are no rituals being shown, no pilgrimages being captured on film and no recitations of their sacred texts. Why these double standards? Why can't an equal emphasis be given to all the other religions and showcase their customs and rituals as well? And by this, I don't just mean Muslims (Sunnis and Shias) and Christians (Catholics and Protestants), but also the Jains, Sindhis, Lingayats, Vokkaligas, Brahmins, Vaishyas, Shudras — each have their uniqueness, be it in the way they conduct marriages or the way they eat and dress. If the media is a mirror of society, then why is the mirror not functioning like one? Why can't we show what is real and leave the interpretation to the viewers? There are numerous cases of inter-religious marriages of the famous and the not-so-famous kind. And like everything else in this world, some work, some don't. Reality today is that there is more of an integration of cultures than ever before, and barring the fundamentalists, several others are co-existing in a multi-religious environment. Why isn't this being reflected on the small screen? Why is there bias not only towards non-Hindus, but also towards different regions, creeds and colours? Why can't a real India

132  Mind Blogs 1.0

be shown on national television?

Films are worse off. They represent the minoritiesonly to reinforce stereotypes. A Muslim crops up ifit's to do with terrorism, a Sikh is in the picture toconvey colour and variety and a Parsi couple figuresif it's to give a comical touch. This is particularlypredominant in films, language no bar.

Thankfully, our regional TV channels are muchmore rooted in their portrayals. If there's a  pooja, it'srare and it's only because the script demands it. What's more, they use non-Hindus to take their storyforward. There isn't any perceived religious bias. And even if there is, it isn't so in-your-face like the Ekta Kapoor serials. Will she and her ilk drop theirregional bias and become truly national and stopfurthering the RSS agenda? We are here to live andlet live. Not kill.

Mind Blogs 1.0  133

SSiirr MMaarrkk ttuullllyy

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

MY 12.5 x 9.5 cm diary is heavy with truthabout India. "Only politicians give advice, notjournalists," said Sir Mark Tully, when I askedwhether he had a message for readers.

1985: Prestigious Order of the British Empire; 1992: Padma Shree; 2002: Knighted by the Queen of England and 2005: Padma Bhushan. A 40-minutetête-à-tête with Sir Mark Tully leaves no doubt in mymind that these accolades have meaning, after all.

The justification: He knows India inside out. Notfrom the perspective of a Britisher, not from the eyes

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134  Mind Blogs 1.0

of a capitalist or communist. "Some people call me an incurable secularist, but the truth is, I am not," he says. His, is the perspective of a true journalist.

"As journalists, we have the tendency to think that only bad news is worth writing about. With the English language having become the medium of choice in India, we tend to underestimate and often taunt people who are not sophisticated, like Laloo for not turning out to be a good CM. He was mocked by the same media which later said he was a wonderful

railway minister!" explained Tully.

In fact, we as Indians are quick to judge; especially when it entails the actions of a celebrity. As Tully pointed out, "When former deputy PM Devi Lal announced waiver of loans for all farmers, he was booed.   When   the   suave,   English-speaking Chidambaram did so for a much larger scale of farmers, it was taken positively."

I set out to meet a man of substance and found the

meaning of India. Take the way our country is handling terrorism. "It's a global problem which no country in the world has really learnt to cope with. My suggestions to alleviate it are modernisation of the police force, abstaining from discriminating, so it doesn't result in the harassment of any particular community and examining its causes. Justice delayed is justice denied," explained Tully.

If modern-day media is merging blacks and whites into shades of gray, the police imagine the only citizens in the land to be money-churning politicians. Tully's assignment in Chikmagalur paints India at its political worst. "I was in Chikmagalur to

Mind Blogs 1.0  135

film Mrs Gandhi on her campaign trail. George Fernandes was making a speech and I was shocked to see the police throwing stones at the crowd to create a riot. They then fired at the press and my cameraman was shot," said the septuagenarian journalist who chooses to stay in India. Why not? He sees colour through shades of gray.

And we have our very own government to thank for its efficient railways. Tully took me through one of his colourful trips: "I a?ended a wedding at St. Marks Cathedral in Bangalore. I had an important role to play in the wedding and needed to travel by train from Patna, change three times over to get here. The first stop was at Mugulsarai, then Varanasi and last, Itasi. The first disaster was at Mugalsarai. We missed the connecting train and the station master said another would come along in half an hour. It did. On the way from Varanasi to Itasi, I got up in the middle of the night, looked at my watch and found that we were running two hours late. I eventually fell asleep and when we reached Itasi, we were dot on time. I made it to the wedding!" Like a true Indian, Sir Mark Tully never lets go of an opportunity to travel by Indian rail.

Sir Mark Tully: No advice here, just the complex

truth about India.

136  Mind Blogs 1.0

Public can complain against noise pollution

The Times of India,  Aug 9, 2002,

1024 hrs IST

for communication within, like auditorium, conference rooms, community halls and banquet

BANGALORE:   Noise-  halls.

makers, beware! The public has    ? No person shall use or been informed that any person  operate in or upon any premises troubled by noise pollution of  any loudspeaker or other any kind, loud music or  apparatus for amplifying any industrial noise, can now  musical or other sound at such register complaints over phone  pitch or volume as to be audible

or   in   writing   with   the  beyond 50 feet from such

jurisdictional police station.  premises.

Immediate action will be    ? No person shall use or

initiated against the offenders.  operate in any open space Under the provisions of the  loudspeaker or other sound at Karnataka Police Act, 1963, and  such a pitch or volume as to be the Environment (Protection)  audible beyond 200 feet from Act, 1986, loudspeakers and  the place at which the musical public address systems have to  or other sound is produced or be used under the following  reproduced.

conditions:             ?  Special   permissions

? A loudspeaker or a public  obtained also have strings address system shall not be used  attached. According to the Act, except after obtaining a written  the noise level should be kept at permission from the authority.  the bare minimum and the

? A loudspeaker or a public  timings should be observed in address system shall not be used  order to avoid the infringement at night (between 10 pm and 6  of the rights of other people in am) except in closed premises  the neighbourhood.

Mind Blogs 1.0  137

IIff IItt WWeerreenn''tt FFoorr hhoorrnnss,,

LLiiffee WWoouullddnn''tt BBee WWoorrtthh IItt

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

S OMETIME LAST year, Harvard, a friendfrom Los Angeles came to Bangalore on a visit. Wewent around the city on my Kinetic Honda. While Harvard appreciated my skilful riding, he wasslightly appalled at the way I used the horn.

"If you honked like that in the US, you would be fined," said Harvard, sounding half-irritated andhalf-amused. "No sane person would risk ridinghornless in India, Harvard," I said, simultaneouslysounding it in order to avoid a pregnant cow on

138  Mind Blogs 1.0

Richmond Road.

Harvard's observation was soon put to the test. Aresident of Jayanagar, I set out to work one fine Tuesday to Frazer Town in east Bangalore. I kickedmy bike with a dead ba?ery about 20 times before itspu?ered to life. Then, wiped the dusty visor of myhelmet with my gloved hands, accelerated, andarrived at the main road in no time. Along came a busfollowed by a thick trail of smoke. I blinked, barelyable to see through my once again dusty visor. Iaccelerated.   A   one-eyed,   spo?ed   mongrelmaterialised in front of me, right out of nowhere. So I honked. There was no sound. I tried again. I grippedboth the clutches and jammed them to the handles. The dog trudged along, completely unaware of hisnear-brush with death.

Great. A dead ba?ery, a dead horn and an almostdead dog! But I was ge?ing late and dead horn or not, I had to be at work by 10 am.

As I rode on, I adopted a mixture of determinationand aggression in my style of riding. So, I made it to MG Road in record time, barring a few minormishaps like stepping on the foot of a fellow Kinetic Honda rider and missing the rear wheel of a brick-laden lorry by a mere half inch. Considering the mutestate of my horn, I hoped god would forgive myrashness.

The green light came on. Impatient as I was, Iinched forward, hoping the auto ahead would movefaster. My hopes died even as they were being born. The auto driver got off and wheeled his vehicle to theside. It was clearly a case of no fuel. The driver turned

Mind Blogs 1.0  139

around and grinned, of course infuriating me. Obviously, my facial expressions suggested that I had all the time in the world. If only the horn came alive, he would know my true colours. Speaking of colours, the signal turned red again.

The speedometer indicated 60 kmph. The wind forced my oversized helmet backwards, almost pulling my head along. I thought I saw a vegetable cart two hundred yards ahead. There was the Home Guards Office to the left and Ulsoor Lake to the right. I swerved a li?le to the right in order to overtake the cart.

A whiz of green appeared like a flash, even as Iovertook the cart and swerved to the left, again. Ijammed the brakes, just missing the bike in front andpaused to regain my breath. The vegetable vendorovertook me.

It was 50 seconds to 10 am when I unlatched the

wooden gate at my office. As I trudged up the green path, I couldn't help but wonder whether friend Harvard might have enjoyed that hornless ride. One might just end up behind bars if one didn't honk in India!

140  Mind Blogs 1.0

Virtually Yours: A chat room love story

Hindustan Times, February 13, 2009   Despite coming from differentat 1102 hrs hrs IST          countries and meeting in an

Internet chat room 12 years ago

MUMBAI: He was a  — and despite American

guitarist with a Mumbai rock  Kathleen Ferrara being 20 years

band. She was a dinosaur tour  older than her Indian partner

guide in a New York museum.  Akshay Singh Jamwal, they are They met in a science fiction  living together in an extended chat room. And Cupid struck.  family in Juhu, in Mumbai.

iiss IIss NNoo IIrriisshh JJookkee

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

I NVERTING THE argument until the truthfalls out of its pockets. That is what I found myselfdoing the other day, when my brother reported thathe cha?ed with an Irish youngster who claimed hecould read peoples' minds.

I didn't believe it at first. But when my brothergave me instances of how the Irishman uncannilypredicted everything that my brother was andwasn't, I decided to check on Mr Know-It-All and seeif there was a story in it after all.

I logged on to Yahoo! Messenger and added him

Mind Blogs 1.0  141

as a friend.

The next day, he was online, and we got talking. Ididn't hint at his mind-reading skills. But he knewwho I was, and he said it in so many words.

"You aren't American, are you?" he asked. I hadused an American name as my chat id. "And yourname starts with Z and you are a journalist with atabloid in Asia."

Suspicion had flown out the window, but whatcame next chilled me to the marrow. "You know, Iam a professional assassin. I have killed a dozenpeople until now. But I don't hate anybody liketerrorists do. I just do it for the money. Would youstill like to be my friend?"

"Sure, life is a game, let's play it," I said andcontinued: "So how much money do you have?"

"About 500 thousand pounds in the bank andabout 300 million in my hotel room."

He didn't stop at that. He told me how he killed aguy who was making out with his girlfriend, andhow he read his mind, and killed him.

"Dead men can't talk, and I am a free man," hesaid.

When probed on how he mastered the art ofmind-reading and whether the way I answered hisquestions had anything to do with it, he said: "I canhear things, like people talking to me... I don't knowwho... it's like your conscience."

"What are the voices telling you right now?" Iasked.

"That you are a good guy, hard working, and

always in a bit of a hurry."

142  Mind Blogs 1.0

"Do the voices say that you and I will be friends for a long time?"

"We will never meet," he said, "Our roads don't cross. We will be Internet buddies."

Then I asked him if he would know when I would

die or be?er still, when he would die.

"I will be dead when I am 25 in a police shootout," he said, point-blank, "I still have two years."

I was stunned. The silence was eerie, with just the sound of my fingers stabbing the keyboard.

"But if you can read minds then surely you know how to avoid it," I said. "If you know the police will kill you that day, you can escape."

His answer put an end to that, when he said, "I don't know which day or where."

Inverting the argument until the truth falls out of its pockets is all fine, but I don't know if this Mr Know-It-All can qualify for Ripley's Believe It Or Not. For all you know, he could be adept at reading peoples' minds, but might be a social isolate playing out his real-life fantasies online. Or even worse, he could be a genuine professional assassin. One never knows. But yes, fact can be stranger than fiction.

Mind Blogs 1.0  143

Serendipity

Pronunciation: (sɛrənˈdɪpɪtɪ)    OOrriiggiinn::

1974: Coined by Horace

noun             Walpole, suggested by The Three

The occurrence and development  Princes of Serendip, the title of a

of events by chance in a happy or  fairy tale in which the heroes

beneficial way: a fortunate stroke  'were always making discoveries,

of serendipity          by accidents and sagacity, of

things they were not in quest of'.

(Source: Oxford dictionary)

NNuuttttyy ttrroouubbllee

IInn ee BBaacckkyyaarrdd

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

AN APPLE enlightened Newton. It took amedium sized, half-ro?en coconut to shake me out ofmy wits.

We stood in a backyard full of coconut trees thatfateful Sunday in September. Peter, Sham, Abhi, Bharath, Deepu, Pupul, nine-month-old Akhil and Ienjoyed the partial sunlight streaming in through thecoconut leaves. It almost felt like Goa, but for themissing sea.

144  Mind Blogs 1.0

Suddenly, my head felt like ten bricks had beenemptied on it. Akhil wailed simultaneously. Mytongue was wet with fresh blood.

Abhi stood in front of me with a half-ro?en

coconut. "Idhe nimma tale mele bithu (This fell on your head)," he explained. "Oh my God, I'm dying, or worse still, I'm going mad," I mu?ered to myself.

But Akhil, off whose head the coconut had bounced, was smiling by now! We handed him over to his mother Viji an hour later. "The two of you are really lucky. Coconuts are very auspicious," she smiled.

But my head still throbbed. Mother wasn'tconvinced about Viji's theory. "See Dr Baliga," shesaid. Dr Baliga examined my head, carefully checkingfor soft spots. He shone a pen torch into my eyes,fastened a half smile upon his lips and asked: "Is thecoconut unhurt, my girl?"

Now that it was confirmed that I wasn't goinginsane, he explained, "It is a myth that coconuts don'tfall on our heads. I've known patients who'vesuffered multiple fractures as a result."

It's not just one gruesome coconut story I'veheard. There was Mrs B's sister who sat in the porticoof her house, when two coconuts from herneighbour's tree fell on her head, driving her insane. A 19-year-old walked home from her tuition class oneevening when a coconut loosened itself from the treeabove, crushing her skull. Others I know have hadnarrow escapes like Mr PC. A dried coconut leafbrushed his shoulder, narrowly missing his head. Coconuts are also known for their notoriety in

Mind Blogs 1.0  145

damaging po?ed plants, denting fenders, breaking window panes and ripping electrical wires.

Enough, I've decided. I've started a campaign against coconut trees in residential areas by sending coconut-plucking men regularly to neighbouring houses.

You see... one coconut has shaken my wits andrearranged them to act in the best interests of otherwits in peril!

146  Mind Blogs 1.0

Smoking ban from Thursday

Indian Express  October 1, 2008

at 1443 hrs IST

with the ban on smoking in public places coming into

effect.   The   ban,   the

NEW DELHI: Smokers  implementation of which is

beware! Hotels, restaurants,  effective   from   Mahatma pubs, offices and even the  Gandhi's birth anniversary, will international airport would be  cover even hookah bars and out of bounds for lighting up the  pubs as well as private offices rolled tobacco from Thursday  and public places like bus stops.

SSmmookkee,, aanndd LLiiffee

GGooeess UUpp IInn FFllaammeess

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

I TOOK to smoking when I was just three-

months-old. Dad was a chain smoker.

Ours was a joint family then. I was Grandpa Jeeves' pet. His other passion, as a retired man, was tosmoke cigare?es. He was great fun and I spent mostof my waking hours with him.

So, I inhaled the smoke without actually placing acigare?e between my lips.

I went to nursery school in a cycle rickshaw.

Mind Blogs 1.0  147

Perumal, the rickshaw man believed that a child must first learn to respect his or her parents. As his thin butstrong legs applied pressure on the pedals, he sang, Matha, Pitha, Guru, Daivam, for us. He repeated thisstrain over and over again until he almost swallowedhis Ganesh Bidi, each time he puffed on it.

Dad had an active social life and so we partiedoften. Most men and some women puffed oncigare?es and cigars. Until I was ten, I stronglybelieved that if a man didn't smoke, he wasn't a manat all.

When I was eight, Dad was transferred to Bangalore from Madras and we shifted base. The firstfew years taught me that one didn't have to smoke tobe manly. Talks and workshops in school, educatedme about the adverse effects of smoking. I had justplanned to educate Jeeves about the ills of smoking,when we received news that he was dead. I was nine

then. Mom explained that it was the killer disease cancer, that had taken him away from us. That was the beginning. I dreaded cancer and hated cigare?es for life.

Ours was an all-girls' convent school. None of thegirls I knew in school smoked. But I did meet severalgirls and boys at parties who had taken to the habitwhen they were still in high school. I decided theyhad to be informed about the ill-effects of smoking. But fear of losing friends was greater than the urgeto tell them. What worried me then was a selfish

concern — I couldn't imagine myself ending up with cancer, the dreadful demon that perpetually haunted

me.

148  Mind Blogs 1.0

During my pre-university years, I spent more timewith smokers and thereby inhaled more. Around thistime, an uncle fell prey to cancer and died. Whilst hebade goodbye to me forever, I cringed at the sight ofhis body blackened by medication. He was also achain smoker.

It really hits home when it happens to someonedear to you. What was I waiting for? I needed to startsomewhere, and so I spoke to Dad, but in vain. As faras my friends were and still are concerned, tellingthem not to smoke, I discovered, was the easiest wayto strain my relationship with them. I gave up when I sensed this happening.

During my BA days, boys and teachers alikepuffed outside the college premises together. Younglove blossomed every second day and girls spentmost of their time in college worried about theirboyfriends, convincing them not to smoke andthreatening to `ditch' them. But the boys smoked onthe sly.

I spent six months at a college in Pune doing my Masters in Economics. The pressure to perform washigh and many boys and girls in the hostel thoughtthat smoking would sharpen their senses and keepthem awake and ticking, 24 hours a day. But all thathappened was that many non-smokers ended upwith headaches and asthma. And the smokers spentmore time hiding from the warden than with theirbooks.

I was back home after having given up my coursehalf-way through. The reason, Dad's memory cellsslowly started weakening due to blood clots in his

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brain. The cause, according to the doctors, was excessive smoking. He had to give it up, though it was a marathon task for someone who had started

smoking at 12 years of age.

At work, I regard my boss with great respect. In fact, he is more a foster father to me. He smokes a cigare?e or two in my presence and I don't know how many more when I am not around. Though I express my disapproval, old habits are tough to discard.

Just the other day, a friend told me that she startedsmoking a few years ago and wasn't able to give itup. Talented photographer and friend R regarded thecigare?e as integral to his thinking process. However, Dad is dead. So is good friend R, who developed anincurable tumour.

Am I ever going to be able to inspire anyone togive up smoking? Past experience does not provepromising. But I'll try hard until my dying day. Whoknows when the 'dragon' might consume me. Afterall, I've been smoking for over 30 years.

150  Mind Blogs 1.0

ttuurrnn!! ttuurrnn!! ttuurrnn!!

A song by BYRDS. Words-adapted from The Bible, book

of Ecclesiastes. Music-Pete Seeger

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)

There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)

And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap

A time to kill, a time to heal

A time to laugh, a time to weep

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)

There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)

And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to build up, a time to break down

A time to dance, a time to mourn

A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones

together

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)

There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)

And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time of love, a time of hate

A time of war, a time of peace

A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from

embracing

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)

There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)

And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to gain, a time to lose

A time to rend, a time to sew

A time for love, a time for hate

A time for peace, I swear it's not too late

Mind Blogs 1.0  151

BBeeiinngg aalloonnee

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

I GUESS the truth is that in life one is always

alone.

You are born.

Then you have siblings.

You make friends.

You have a peer group.

You fall in love.

You fall out of love.

You have colleagues.

You meet people with similar interests.

You fall in love again.

152  Mind Blogs 1.0

You marry.

You have children.

Possibly grandchildren.

You grow old.

But, in all of that, you are always alone.

The only person responsible for yourself is `you'.

You need to care for yourself, before someone else

can.

You need to make yourself happy, before anyone

else will.

Only then can your soul be at peace or even

experience genuine togetherness.

Mind Blogs 1.0  153

MMeemmoorriieess,, ttiimmee

aanndd DDiissttaannccee

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

A FRIEND e-mailed to say that he was 'tyingthe knot'. As I read his mail, there was a lingeringsense of loss.

I thought of school. I don't do that often thesedays.

I saw again the beginnings of many dreams andthe struggle for excellence.

Friends' names resurfaced, and then once moreslipped into oblivion. M, beautiful M. RA — mywoman of substance. AS — discerning spirit. AN —

154  Mind Blogs 1.0

ever intuitive. RS — my dearest friend. Where are they all?

More frightening was the self-doubt.

Am I the person that I had dreamt I would be?

Had I achieved all that we passionately discussed, till the early hours of the morning?

Had my mouth grown into a sullen pucker of embi?ered discontent?

Had I grown old?

I thought of my friend who I have watched growfrom a boy into a man, albeit from a distance. Therehardly remained any traces of the boy who had beenmy great friend.

I thought of our special bond that had slowlydisintegrated over the last decade. Bit by bit.

If we had to still be friends, it had to be a newbeginning every time. There was no occasion for thatand it was never important enough.

Time and distance.

I am happy about my life. It would be true to saythat while I have not achieved great success, I havenever been so content. I am also proud of my friend'sachievements and I am happy for all that he hasfound. But, there is also that lingering sadness for allthat we have irretrievably lost.

Mind Blogs 1.0  155

Acid attack on law student

The Hindu, October 22, 2008

at 1530 hrs IST

marriage proposal, on Tuesday.

The victim, Karthika, a final year LLB student of Bishop

BANGALORE:  A 22-year-  Cottons Women's Law College

old law student suffered burns  here, suffered 20 per cent burns

after being attacked with acid  in the attack that took place in allegedly by her childhood  the Holy Trinity Church friend, after she spurned his  compound near MG Road.

LLoovvee

BY CHRISTINA DANIELS

IS AN end in itself.

Steadfast.

Satisfying, Satiating.

Not self seeking.

Never fuelled by underlying other motives.

But the fluid echo of life's expression of itself.

Love is silence.

Love is noise.

It breathes deeply.

Laughs easily. Lives completely.

It is to life,

As life is to love.

156  Mind Blogs 1.0

BBaannggaalloorree''ss

VVeerryy OOwwnn SShhaahhjjaahhaann??

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

F OR   ITI   employee   Muniyappa   (51),

Gowramma was more than a wife. She was the

motivating force and, as he said tearfully, "The goddess who transformed me from a wayward alcoholic to a responsible family man. I swore by her love."

And as if to test his love for her, Gowramma hadonce jokingly asked him, "How will you show yourlove for me after I am dead?"

Mind Blogs 1.0  157

"I'll build the Taj Mahal in your memory," he had said fiercely to her then.

Someone up there seemed to like the idea. Only months later, 27-year-old Gowramma died tragically in a motorbike accident.

Life lost all meaning for Muniyappa. He stoppedgoing to work and became a man afflicted by the lossof his beloved. But when old memories rushed to

swamp him, he recalled his promise to build a Taj. It became his only mission in life.

Although he came from a poor family, Muniyappa wasn't daunted in the least. Like a man possessed, he applied for voluntary retirement from ITI. Armed with gratuity, provident fund and other benefits which added up to about Rs 2 lakhs, he set out to prove his dedication.

Muniyappa decided to build the Taj Mahal on a 40×40 plot in the graveyard near his house in Rammoorthy Nagar on the outskirts of Bangalore.

On the advice of his engineer friend L Jayakumar, he appointed Karpuswamy of Vellore for the job. Work started in due earnest in 1992, only six months after his wife's death.

But the Moghul-esque enterprise was not without

hurdles.

"At first, the authorities objected to the building of the tomb. Then I asked for their permission. When there was no answer, I began to build the memorial regardless, because I knew that once it was built, no one could demolish it. There is a law that protects  these kinds of monuments," he explained. Apparently, the authorities did not come in his way

158  Mind Blogs 1.0

and he carried on monument-building.

But soon, Muniyappa realised that Rs 2 lakhs was nowhere near enough to complete the task. Unfazed, Muniyappa turned to real estate, where he thought he could make some money. With sheer grit and determination, he succeeded in selling some houses and earned enough to complete the job.

His dream became a reality after six years of unrelenting pursuit on January 14, 1998.

Not to lose sight of his goal, Muniyappa had not shaved in all those years. "The beard reminded me of the promise I had to keep to my beloved," he said to me. Only when the Taj finally took a bow on Vijayanapura Grounds, did he shave off his beard.

"My Mahal may not be as big as the real Taj Mahal, but my love is definitely greater than Shahjahan's," proclaimed Muniyappa, who went on to invest another Rs 4-5 lakhs to make his Taj Mahal picture perfect: a milky-white fence, entrance door, a rose garden and a musical fountain.

But there was one thing, Muniyappa was very certain about. His wife's continuing presence. "To me, she is still alive. Even now, I hear her call out to me when I'm at home. One day, I will be re-united with her," he said, wistfully.

PS: Fact is indeed stranger than fiction. When this writercalled his home six months later, his second wife picked upthe phone. She happens to be the sister of his first wife! Heis no Shahjahan.

Mind Blogs 1.0  159

eeaarrlloobbee WWaattcchhiinngg

BY ZAHID H JAVALI

S HE SMELLED like rain after a night ofthunderstorms. But my friend had other ideas.

"It's easy to cheat the nose," he countered,thumbing the lighter into flame. "If I say it smells likea rose, you will smell the same even if it's not." It washis way of telling me not to get too gung- ho over thegirl at the next table.

I didn't budge. Si?ing at a 45-degree angle fromher, if she were to look at me, she would have to turnto me. "How do I get her to look," I wondered.

"Your body language tells me that you want her

160  Mind Blogs 1.0

a?ention," my friend said. At last, he seemed to come around to my view of things.

"Stare at the earlobe nearest to you," he suggested, in all seriousness.

"Are you pulling my leg?" I asked. "Think of a be?er way to make me look foolish," I added.

"I'm serious," he said, "Just try it. If it doesn't work, I will pay for your lunch."

I blinked. Reconsidered. Blinked again. Accepted.

I stared at her earlobe, something I can say in all honesty I've never done in my life. Earlobes have never a?racted me, though the other day when a girl turned up with her ears as big as the mascot of MAD magazine (and this was a top model endorsing national brands on TV), I did notice. There is facereading, tea leaves-reading, palm-reading... but earlobes? Now this was new, but I was game.

Since she was seated three chairs away from me, I couldn't precisely 'read' her earlobe, but I could stare at it with reasonable precision.

It hadn't even been 30 seconds when our eyes met. Now I must admit, I have never met an eye for an eye, especially if it's from a girl who is still a stranger to me. It's happened to me on MG Road, Brigade Road and even on Church Street and Resthouse Crescent

Road. Whenever my eyes met that of a girl's and shecontinued staring at me, I was the first to lower myeyes and drop the only communication modeavailable for interaction with complete strangers.

Maybe I am essentially shy, maybe it's out ofrespect for the woman, maybe it's the fear of beingridiculed, but the fact remains that my eyes do bow

Mind Blogs 1.0  161

down under pressure from a female gaze. They just

can't take it.

The old order didn't change this time either. Myeyes dropped the stare, but my friend had won thebet.

"How did you do that?" I asked.

"It's a proven fact, not mumbo-jumbo," he

offered.

"What's that?"

"Every one of us has an energy field around us," he began, "People call it aura. What happens when someone else intrudes on your space? You look the intruder in the eye and that's what happened here. You were intruding into her space and she had to turn to you and remove the intrusion."

"And what if you like the intrusion?" I asked.

"You don't drop your stare, you smile," he said.

"What if she doesn't smile back?" I queried.

"Drop the stare, pronto," he replied.

"And what if she smiles back?" I questioned again.

"Drop the stare anyway and move on to the girl at the next table," he explained.

"But why?" I asked.

"That's the rule of the game. It's earlobe-watching and it's supposed to be harmless. That way, you keep trouble out of it," he said.

So now, I know why my eyes drop to the ground sooner than you can say Commitment.

162  Mind Blogs 1.0

'Pink chaddi' campaign draws

over 34,000 members

The Times of India, 14 February

2009 at 0428 hrs IST

and women have joined the campaign    against    an unsuspecting Pramod Muthalik,

NEW DELHI: The `Pink  the Sri Ram Sene chief who

Chaddi' underwear campaign  claimed responsibility forhas attracted 34,032 members  attacking   women   in   aand counting. Barely a few  Mangalore pub earlier this year.hours to go before V-Day, men

SSeeeeiinngg RReedd OOnn

VVaalleennttiinnee''ss

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

"AAAHGRREHHHH... No, not me too!" I yelled zipping up my green jacket in frenzy. Only a couple of minutes earlier, the cloth merchant heard my snigger at his preferential display of bright red chiffons. Only a minute earlier, he had cast an appraising look at my — yes, red shirt.

It struck at about noon in the guise of an SMS message — "Happy Valentine's Day" — from good friend Melodramatic M. "It's alright I guess, M is the

Mind Blogs 1.0  163

apt instrument to escalate Cupid to fame at least once a year," I consoled myself even as I shot a wish in return. Chagrined at falling for the Valentine wishing bait, I made a mighty resolution to abstain from such mindless imitation of what originated as the Lupercalian festival in Rome.

Bangalore, the partaker of all ceremonies, the cosmopolitan king, might have even put a chance Roman from Caesar's time at ease. In the heart of

town, red were the heart-shaped balloons, red clothes, red lips of women, red décor of the lingerie stores. How my heart bled at this literal painting of the town red... Pairs walked hand in hand. Each

flaunted a red rose or a bunch of the same, clutched gifts and brandished cards. And I wondered how much money the international card chains and gift stores made... and how li?le the crippled man at the traffic signal had to eat.

By then, I was also hungry for those roasted peanuts off the cart. I gorged on them and gaped at the red sea on the narrow backstreet. My twowheeler spu?ered to life and I held out a fiver, gently calling out to the peanut man, "Ree" (equivalent of 'sir' in Kannada). No response. I called again, "Ree, duddu thogolli  (Sir, take the money)." Still no response. Then it came to me in a flash and I murmured, "Valentine," adding a soft, "Duddu  (Money)." He swivelled with sparkling eyes, arms outstretched for his fiver! Beep went my mobile phone again. Fate had its own game to play. Stoic C had been traumatised by the Valentine bug too, and had decided to share her misery with her good friends. How could I defy

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164  Mind Blogs 1.0

fate? I wished her back. "This is going to be my last Valentine wish for the day," I said to myself, sternly. But I ended up wishing another friend. So sorry D. Sorry MR. And sorry A to Z, of course excluding all those I wished in-between.

Mind Blogs 1.0  165

II SSuuppppoossee II DDoonn''tt......

BY NIRMALA GOVINDARAJAN

I SUPPOSE...

Black is black

And white is a shade too many

I suppose...

Green is gentle

And red is a flash of energy

I suppose...

Blue is still

And pink may please too many

I suppose...

Black is pink

Red is white

And blue and green are the sea

I suppose...

There is harmony

In shades I cannot see

I suppose, perhaps I don't....

166  Mind Blogs 1.0

MIRROR-MAN'S EPIBLOG

ee WWrriitteerr''ss QQuueesstt

BY MANOHAR PRABHU

w het Ma ke iVv ic : P

I LOOKED for mein the vast blue sky,behind the changing,swirling clouds.

I hunted for myself inthe depths of the greatocean, in the inkyblackness of the deepestwaters.

I searched for my

shadow in the crowds.

I tried to spot my

face in the eyes ofanother, reflected in dark brown pools of feeling.

I listened to hear my voice in the sound of the rain.

I read all the books in all the libraries

to try and find an accurate description of me.

At last, I looked into my own mind.

Beyond my mind I found my heart.

Mind Blogs 1.0  167

I looked deeper.

Beyond my heart I found my soul.

There I came face to face with myself in a mirror Who was this man with my face, my nose, my jaw,my eyes?

Did I see evil or did I see good in that visage?

Did he smile at me kindly or mockingly?

Was I this face or the light that made it visible orthe watcher who observed?

Was I the artist or the image, the canvas or thepaint?

Suddenly I knew:

This was all a dream

And the Dreamer had no face

To call His own.

The author is an entrepreneur and writer of Light Songs

168  Mind Blogs 1.0

THE LAST WORD

NNooww IItt CCaann BBee ttoolldd!!

BY PETER COLACO

hg inS itm r Ha

ic : P

THE GANG of Threewho have been recentlyobserved around a table in

Koshy's,   evening   after

evening... (in concentrated

silence, with an occasional

Mexican Wave of gigglespassing through the group). They were not just ourusual happy, Koshy's regulars, drinking tea fortimepass...

They were 'bloggers', surreptitiously pioneering anew Art Form (a Weblog site  collated in a handyprint-form for easy access).

It's MIND BOGGLING, isn't it? The hard versioncopy of an essentially 'virtual' literary form, now incold hard print... No downloading code, nopasswords.... It's appropriately called MIND

BLOGS. And, Bangalore style, it is a 'one-by-three'production.

Enjoy!

The author is former faculty member of advertising at IIMB;documentary filmmaker and author of Peter Colaco's Bangalore

Mind Blogs 1.0  171

WWrriittee YYoouurr MMiinndd BBlloogg......

Done writing your blog post? Now post it online athttp://mindblogs1.wordpress.com. e best submissionwill be published in the next edition of Mind Blogs.

n hat an a dyi VaK a itG : icP

e grasshopper finishes his supper. Senior jour-

nalist Zahid h JaVali catches him in action,

through his shutterbug, his mind's eye. e

grasshopper doesn't know this. e world sees it,

and falls in love with the grasshopper's supper.

Zahid is not a foodie, he loves to tell his story in a

way you can digest it. he's a meticulous guy, with a zany zest for story-telling.

e fly continues to sit on the wall. author of novel

Ginger  Soda  lemon  Pop,  ChriStina

danielS has observed him, noting his every

move, storing descriptions in her mind. e fly has

no clue he's of such great interest to a writer. e

reader gently follows the fly, and wonders about its

place in the world. Christina is not into flies; but

she takes a trip in to this fly's soul, and then, inspires you to go on that

journey. She's a go-getter, in a gentle, artistic way.

e butterfly is romancing the jasmine bud. Senior

journalist nirmala GoVindaraJan has flit-

ted with him, from rose and lily to jasmine, basking

in the rendezvous. e butterfly relaxes in the af-

termath of the journey. e human race catches a

whiff of rose essence, spray of jasmine, and, a fan-

tasy ride to the nether world. nirmala doesn't know

the butterfly is, in reality, a moth; she believes in wonder. She rides life like

a 350 cc bike, and, suggests you hop on — vroom.

Sunshine, rain, bombs, bridges, mothers, friends, bikes,distances — sorrow, joy, hope, love, celebration — cheapthrills, poignant observations and an intense desire tomake this world a better place, bind these pieces by threewriters of diverse, yet conjoined personality. Laugh, cry,reach out...and savour those small, many times unnoticedmoments through the experiences of these writers. Mind Blogs 1.0 — a collection of heartfelt ramblings from Bangalore.

Pioneering a new art form (blog to book).And, Bangalore style, it's a 'one-by-three' production

— Peter Colaco, author, filmmaker

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9 7881 9 1 0903 1 4

AWriteWing Media book

Non Fiction

Cover & back page photographsby Zahid H Javali

www.writewing.in         Cover design by Chandru N

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