Understanding Indian Psyche

Melting Pot of Civilizations, Salad Bowl of the Orient, Emerging Superpower : These are phrases which are hardly unknown to anyone. Even if you are an ignorant bozo, you might have definitely come across these collection of words. To cut to the chase, these are new bynames with which India is referred to these days. Under this global recognition and megalomaniac veneer(which the services industry has created thereby catapulting India to the global platform)exists a different India : An India where citizens of one state are reluctant to mix with natives of other states; An India where the palpable chasm between the northern and southern states are rapidly widening(with politicians adding fuel to the fire); An India where politicians foment anger in the name of religion; An India whose citizens do not respect the National Flag - So much so that I was ridiculed once(in US) by fellow so-called educated Indians, when I stood up while the Indian national anthem was being played; An India where corruption is rampant; An India where the young generation refuses to understand the essence and value of freedom; An India where the word "patriotism" has lost its meaning in the darkest corners of a labyrinth;An India where the
guardians of our state intend to control the flow of human traffic by erecting virtual porous sieves - to separate "Marathi Manoos" from the "Bihari Bhaiyyas"; An India where the country unites only when it wins a inconsequential cricket match or when a oblique reference to Pakistan has been made.

In this write-up, I do not intend to hurl my pent-up anger towards my fellow countrymen. But, I do intend to bring to light some behaviors of us which are beyond my comprehension.

Case in Point: The same person who does not even think twice before spitting out a mouthful of red betel leaf(paan) on roads and heritage monuments in India would never indulge himself/herself in the same act in US. And, I have seen highly educated people in India conscientiously litter monuments despite standing next to a trash can.

Case in Point: In BayArea Diwali mela, I have witnessed my impassive and frivolous countrymen savoring "chole bhature and dahi-papdi" without paying any heed to the Indian National Anthem that was being played at that moment. And I am not talking about a few ignominious souls but a good size of the attendees. These same individuals would be the first one to stand, in order to pay respect to the "Star Spangled Banner(US National Anthem)" as if by doing so, Uncle Sam would expedite their Green-Card processing.

To me, disrespecting National Anthem is tantamount to criminal offense and if I were given the power, I would scrupulously prosecute each and every one of the culprits to the fullest extent of law. What is even more disgraceful is that these are well-educated technocrats who are the torch-bearers of progressive India. On the contrary these are the same people who do not have the slightest regard for their National Anthem. If that is the fallout of a world class education I would prefer to remain a hobo.

It really makes me wonder what prompts this paradigm shift in behavior when we start living in a foreign country. Does it mean, in India, we deliberately indulge in these kind of activities without the slightest fear of retribution or does it mean that we are scared of the stringent regulations, strict martinets in the form of cops and the specter of deportation in the alien lands? My guess would be the later.

Fascination with Monikers

Flaunting has always been in the genes of all Indians. Crass display of opulence and wealth has so far been a symbol of one's status and power. Be it a wedding or materialistic toys such as cars and gadgets and even holidays abroad,Indians have left no stone unturned to make their monetary arrogance more pronounced.

Lately the same attitude is becoming ostentations in the professional field as well. Fascination with Professional Monikers is the "in-thing" and fad these days. What social networking sites have done(in aiding to that monetary insolence - Many have used orkut as a tool to show the world certain aspects of life which I feel should be personal: On proud display these days are pictures of newly bought houses, swanky cars and pictures of couple cozy-up on the hills of Swiss Alps) at the personal front, Linked-In has done the same in the professional. Everyone these days is a director, a vice-president, a technical architect or a founder. Come on guys give me a break!!! These are very venerated roles in the Industry and I have witnessed new kids in the block with 3-4 years of professional experience assuming these positions. Not so much for their caliber but for their sole desire to flash these gaudy sobriquets. As if we don't know how many years it takes to assume those revered positions.Some had made a mockery of these roles and some used these designations solely to hobnob and distribute visiting cards among the so-called successful business man,in the name of networking.

Beholding so many morons assuming these positions makes me wonder the ominous metamorphosis the IT industry has undergone and how loosely these appellations are thrown around these days with impunity.

Leave Me Alone!!!

The excessive attention of the media, authors and film directors towards India has produced a plethora of works which people in the West, including the so-called intellectuals just lap up in a moment's notice. The opportunistic media has metamorphosed from days of yore - India was then the archetype third world country, a land of snake-charmers - to a rising superpower(pun intended) needed to be tamed to maintain the balance of power in South Asia. It hardly bothers me that journos and authors of Western capitalist countries fill their coffers by projecting filth, squalor,inhumane living conditions,violation of human rights and chinks in the democratic armor of the largest democracy of the world. It also hardly bothers me that books on Asian contexts are sold primarily in the West - the rich countries thereby enjoy a vicarious pleasure and gloat over the deplorable state of affairs in the developing countries. What bothers me is that each one of them state the obvious facts(As if, we are not cognizant of our own sufferings) and do not propose a solution. NY Times columnist and author Thomas Friedman, in his book "World is flat" talks about everything else but the steps South Asian countries should take in order to keep the world flatter,thereafter. Even renowned HBS professor Tarun Khanna in his book "Billions of Entrepreneurs: How China and India Are Reshaping Their Futures and Yours" glosses over the most important aspects of the 21st century and stresses on aspects which only make headlines in the academic case studies.

A simple perusal of the library racks would provide you with enough testament that every Tom, Dick and Harry notwithstanding their journalistic prowess, flair of writing and depth of subject-knowledge have written books on India and China; And they keep on procreating(read producing) the same shit over and over again. Plagiarism is an understatement. In our lifetime we have/will witnessed/witness a glut of movies based on the life of the destitutes and slum dwellers of Mumbai - the latest being "SlumDog Millionaire". Though its a cinematic marvel,it is overtly palpable that this movie was made keeping in mind the "Golden Globes" and the "Oscars". Otherwise, how would you explain an uneducated slum native speaking in suave English accent? Simple, the movie was meant for western audience(eye-candies for the jury).If you believe in the-matter-of-fact data, tell me "How many full-length western movies(I am not talking about You-tube uploads) have you seen which portray the aesthetic and powerful vignettes of India"?

Here, worthy of mention is selfless westerner John Wood(http://www.leavingmicrosoftbook.com/author.html) who quit his position as Microsoft's Director of Business Development for the Greater China Region in order to found Room to Read. I offer my sincere respect to self-denying individuals such as John and not authors, commentators or journalists who write about poverty from their cushy Manhattan apartments.

Leave me alone is the cry of my motherland.

Jack..I swear

For those, who have intense dislike and distaste for queer or socially unacceptable movies made on the themes of gay and lesbianism, Ang Lee's Brokeback Mountain is a must watch. This movie making genius has taken an unconventional concept(Remember the story took place in the year 1963) and made it into a mainstream movie - so much so that for a person like me, who can never understand a love-bond between two men, still empathized with the relationship Jack Twist and Ennie Del Mar shared. An individual growing up in Wyoming would undoubtedly have a desolate childhood and finding love and solace in another man, for someone who had limited brush with humanity is a very natural association in my opinion. This provides an immense credibility and a touch of realism to the story.

Love is nondiscriminatory. Heart makes no such differentiation when it comes to the all important question - "For whom should I beat and for whom should I beat faster?". And, Ang Lee very adeptly portrayed this vulnerability of a human heart in this movie - Brokeback Mountain.

This reminds me of another movie on the same subject - Gus Van Sant's Milk. Harvey Milk(Played by Sean Penn, who won this year's Critics Award for his role in Milk) was the first elected gay official and he orchestrated a state encompassing gay and lesbian revolution in San Francisco urging the members of this gay-community to stand for their rights.

Oh, by the way this poignant and heart breaking movie ends with the intriguing words Ennie Del Mar remorsefully muttered under his breath - 'Jack, I swear.......'

PS: Edna Annie Proulx - the writer of the short story, Brokeback Mountain certainly deserves accolades for penning a book on a subject which was considered anti-biblical and heretical in the year 1963.

The Whims Of An Indian Mind

This is a post I wrote a few years back and was published by Sulekha.com.

A vacillating pendulum…
An incongruous mélange of distinct and disparate ideas…
A cauldron full of vigorously stirred gravy…

All these similes are different ways to address the Indian minds of the Pepsi-Generation -- Each a wavering mind with googols of unwavering ideas… So tortured, abused and confused the Indian minds are, it's like standing on a crossroad, bewildered as to which road to take -- some roads less traveled, some so frequently trudged by the peripatetic Indian middle-class that it seems a hackneyed theme of Bollywood movies. It's like a baby in a topless bar amazed by the meretricious melodrama and the histrionics of the role players. Sucked in the vortex of the “Chutney Culture”, Indian minds are baffled as to which culture to ape, what decisions to make and what goals to fulfill. The offshoots of this generation find it very difficult to balance their life on an even keel, when the juggernaut of the western culture is running over them, the goblin of parental and peer pressure haunts them, and the constant urge to deny the run-of-the-mill careers prods them.

This is the generation I belong to, and I proudly proclaim that I am an integral part of this culture which has forcibly reposed on us a generation whose mere existence and integrity is questionable.

When I was an infant just becoming familiar with the rudiments of day-to-day life, I was attracted to the game of football. It was a very conventional dream as I was born in the Mecca of Indian football -- Kolkata. I consider myself an offshoot of a typical passionate Bengali mindset which sleeps, eats and thinks football (though there might be a slight digression now due to the advent of Saurav Ganguly). Then came the 1983 World Cup triumph of the Indian team -- the best ever gift the Indian team has so far given to the cricket fanatics and aficionados. We witnessed the peroxide debut of Demigod Sachin in the realms of Indian Cricket, a valid raison d'etre for the Indian enthusiasts to get back to the usual business of showing more inclination towards cricket. And the sub-continental inclination of the junta towards cricket also ensnared me… There was a major focus shift… from football to cricket… The person remains the same. Aspirations changed. Still I was an Iconoclast.

So a new chapter of my life was unveiled. A new beginning. A new epoch. An invasion in the world of cricket. At that time, my mind was always occupied with different facets of the game. The “straight drive” of Sachin, the “square cut” of Dravid, the “off drive” of the Prince of Kolkata, and the wristy “flicks” of Azhar: These were the shots which I used to rehearse in my dreams, mustering and earning hearty accolades from the spectators.

When I used to wake up, I would again be absorbed in the humdrum existence of my life. The same boring school, the same monotonous lectures. Gradually I was being sucked more and more into a mechanical life -- a prosaic life that my parents etched for me. The dream was still a dream -- unfulfilled and unrealized. The relentless desire continued sans sense of implementation.

The failure to cling to my goal drove me crazy. I was frequently haunted by nightmares. I lost confidence not because I was not able to make it, but because of surmounted pressures from many directions that prevented me from taking the plunge. But I was high on self-confidence. I used to boast on the apothegm that: “Had I been given a chance I would have made it.” A malicious satisfaction and gratification I enjoyed.

During my IIT days, a sudden brush with a literary genius, the king of satire and subtle humor changed my outlook. A consummate metamorphosis. I realized the depth, passion, sensation, emotion and the sapidity of Literature. The genius was none other than P. G. Wodehouse. How vapid can one's life be without the nuances and sumptuousness of literature!

I was very much into literature, but definitely not at the cost of my engineering studies. It was a nice blend of fiction and non-fiction, naturalism and surrealism. I wanted to be a writer. But who knew what destiny had coined for me. History repeated itself. I again succumbed under parental pressure. Again back to engineering studies. The voluminous Mass Transfer equations and the complex Iron Carbon diagrams slowly annihilated the creative genius. A desire was nipped at the bud .A gleam of hope cauterized.

This is what an Indian mind of the “Information Overload” generation is. A mind so completely unorganized and chaotic.

On the contrary, the mind is potent; hardly wilts under pressure and has the necessary forte to adhere to one's aspirations.

Parental and peer pressure bulldozes and influences one's decision to choose a career of his/her choice.

Is this the reason why an Indian mind is so turbulent?
Is this the reason why an Indian mind is so vulnerable?
Is this the reason why an Indian mind is so precarious?

No, certainly not.

Is it justified to single out a reason for the fluidity of an Indian mind?
Is it justified to ghettoize and incriminate the parent community?

It's their peer pressure and social status which eventually translates into parental pressure. It's their unrealized dreams that they want to realize. Who else can realize that better than their own progenies? A realization which yields vicarious pleasure.

So what can be the reason of such Instability?

Reasons are manifold. Some tangible, some intangible. Some self-created and some reposed by a generation.

But there is no point seeking the answer for an unanswerable and subjective question.

What is answerable is: “How to subjugate the state of instability lurking in the minds?”

The answer is simple and succinct. Stick to the dreams. Dreams are unlimited. What matters is the audacity to fulfill those.

Woes Of An Office Going Bachelor!

This is a post I wrote a few years back and was published by Sulekha.com.

My halcyon night is over. Nightmare is about to begin. The incubus of the “snarling traffic” looms large on me. The horror distinctly writ large on my face. The painful morning ablutions and the harrowing experience of attending the “Nature's Call” (bearing the impressionist view of my inside, with regards to the oily stuffed Paratha, Dal Tadka and a pint of Hayward's 5000 I had at Medchal road Dhaba last evening) makes my life a more constipated one. The prologue is over, stretching the next histrionics of searching an ironed pair of cloth. “Gosh!” there is none. “How can I be so stupid?” I strongly detest my perennial amnesia and negligence bordering on remiss. How long did I try to desquamate this Bohemian outlook?

My first jaunt of the day starts with the search for a dhobi. Steady on the motorbike, electrified hair standing out as if I had a small stint under the Van de graph generator, wrapped around with unironed clothes, one pair of trousers hanging from my neck ducking fleeting glances and furrowed stares of the passersby. After combing the neighbourhood, I finally met a dhobi and got my work done. Hurried back to my nest and scampered into the bathroom for a French bath. Buddy even French bath needs water! It's 9 'o clock and according to the society rules the end of morning water supply. Scurried down to the ground floor for another hunt. This time the hapless person is the chowkidar. After lots of pleading and soliciting, I finally managed to woo him and turn on the water supply for a few more minutes, but that made me poorer by 10 bucks.

Eventually a baton-holder of the so-called glamorous yet unexciting IT industry, a software engineer is ready to make a move to his office which happens to be in a different “District” (Rangareddy) altogether. Till now I was disillusioned by the internal speed breakers which bear the direct repercussions of my own nonperformance. A still larger and an external impediment waits to waylay me. It's the glut of traffic that's heading towards Begumpet. The flow of traffic resembles the gushing out of river Ganga from the Gangotri glacier. Relentless and unstoppable. It's my turn now to be a part of the rocky and bouldery journey parrying the rapids and circumambulating the rugged countenance of the slithery traffic.

So my imminent journey starts. This journey has its own enigma. A charm dangerously inviting. To add to the woes, the inhabitants of Hyderabad have very insignificant traffic sense. The slithery traffic, ceaseless honking of autorickshwas, purring of the state transport buses emitting loads and loads of obnoxious gases asphyxiating the already polluted atmosphere. The array of noises emanating from the rickshaws in Hyderabad ranges from a tinge of mellifluousness to the Caw-Cawing of an ugly raven (ones which are fitted with those black ravenous hooters). You can feel the gust of wind when a zooming Fiero or CBZ passes by, making you a bit jittery and for a fleeting second forces you to wonder whether you are traveling on a normal tarmac or an airport runway. The propensity of the youth in Hyderabad is to touch the higher echelons (Speed 80-100) of the speedometer leaving the dregs to the mercy of the middle-aged. A harmless 40 in the speedometer is the most harmful one never know who whacks you from behind. Jumping the gun (here the gun is the ubiquitous Red Light which stands as a sovereign and silent witness to the collapse of the traffic-rules by the “Gung-Ho” unruly mob), two-wheelers in full throttle, altercation of pedestrians, gasping of the puny Luna and Moped sandwiched between the gigantic Hyderabad State Transport buses, cacophony of sounds, paunch-studded policemen embezzling money from two gentlemen (their demeanor astutely suggests that they can hardly commit any trivial crime, leave aside breaking traffic rules) whereas the raunchy drivers go scot-free -- all these are the salient features of the Nawabi roads of my dearest city.

Guys strutting their stuff snugly placed on their two-wheelers trying to vicariously molest the office-going babes. The ogles had such intensity that they can even strip a heavily adorned torso. These “stripping stares” hardly differentiates an emaciated figure with a lascivious lissome form as long as it's the opposite sex. The “reciprocate stares” were always a blend of scorn and indignation. You can witness all these cameos during the sojourn from home to office, which makes the otherwise hackneyed journey a defining one.

The “capability of procreation” is phenomenal for the Hyderabad roads. Every morning I wake up to wage a war with the increasing number of vehicles on the tarmac, and as a result the time taken to cross the stretch from Begumpet to Panjagutta increases in geometric progression. The incessant honking of the omni-present autorickshwas and the careless drivers of the two and four-wheelers makes me sweat profusely under the helmet.

The scalding heat and the snail-paced traffic adds to the woes of a well-dressed software engineer. Slowly and steadily, a narrow slimy tract of sweat started to adorn the back of my shirt leaving behind big patches of stained blobs. Somehow huffing puffing I reached the Lifestyle flyover where the traffic was blocked by a fracas erupted between two elderly people. Unmindful of the waiting traffic, they tried to manhandle each other wasting precious time of the office-goers. And to my befuddlement, people perched on their vehicles happily witnessing the two street-smart senior citizens fighting for their democracy in the most undemocratic manner. The situation came under control when a policeman intervened and pocketed a handsome tip from both the contenders. When I made a cursory glance at my watch, I realized that I traveled the stretch between Shoppers' Stop to Lifestyle in one hour. Luckily, there were no further hiccups before I reached my office. By the time I reached office, the fragrance of my deodorant had given way to a putrid smell… and a nauseating sojourn to office had given way to an even more fiery reception from my boss… I was late…

Hells Angel - Mother Teresa

Some Interesting documentaries on Mother Teresa. Christopher Hitchens in his documentary has portrayed Mother Teresa as a guardian of Christianity who never had any motive to alleviate poverty or raise the dispossessed from the clutches of deprivation. Atanu Dey, in his blog has vented out his exasperation on the subject here.







By the way, on a side note :Hells Angels(HAMC) is a notorious and outlawed motorcycle gang which demands - by virtue of its widespread terror - a rightful and credible mention in the US gangwar folklore.

Historic Overkill

United States has always been at the forefront of capitalism and a quintessential example of a Capitalist country. It has gone so overboard with the concept of free market economy that in order to promote tourism(read to make money),it has termed every road, scenic route, river, building, lane and even patio as HISTORIC. Any passing reference to any object more than X years old has been deftly converted to an object of attraction. To me, this country has made a fun of the word "Historic" by attributing this term to any inanimate object possible. Some can argue that being a capitalist country,US only understands the meaning of the word 'capital' and the disparate ways and means to generate it. And, I don't disagree. US, as a country has taken the concept of "selling" to a whole new level - It can even sell a "condom to a bobbitized man". Now thats food for thought!!!

US hasn't even spared the dead. Lizzie Andrew Borden was a New England spinster who was the central figure in the hatchet murders of her father and stepmother in Massachusetts. Today, anyone can rent the haunted house for a night, sleep on the same bed where her mother was slaughtered and relax on the same couch where her father was bludgeoned to death.

But, what seems strange to me is the fact that people shell out boatloads of money in spite of being aware that they are being duped. Now thats what I call as subliminal advertising. Any country who wants to learn about pure-play Capitalism should take a leaf out of US's book and for people like me who detests the overuse of any word - to the extent where it looses its own meaning - better start looking somewhere else.