I don't understand much about politics. Actually, I don't understand much about ANYTHING, but politics is something I understand even less about. I mean, I know our great leaders are doing everything they can to help the poor and lift the country to the sunlit uplands of peace and prosperity, but sometimes I just can't see the logic behind their actions. Why, for instance, does Amar Singh, who is such a great leader, spend so much time leading the Bachhan family, who are not really poor? And why in the world would he want his security upgraded to Z-category when no terrorist in his right mind would want to assassinate him, because he's doing a much better job of buggering up the nation than they could ever hope to?
But the thing that takes the cake is Naveen Patnaik's great effort to change his state's name to Odisha from Orissa and the name of the language to Odiya from Oriya. Now is this profound or what? Here you have a state which is the poorest in the nation, where people routinely die of starvation, where women and children are sold in weekly markets and what do you give them? A spelling change. And the beauty is the way it is presented by the press, as if Naveen had to struggle night and day against immense opposition to achieve this. Who in their right mind would? But perhaps Naveen is not really to be blamed. It is the latest political doctrine - when you can't do anything, increase the reservation and rename something. It's a lot easier than ensuring effective administration and just governance. Who wants to tramp around the place ensuring that the poor get a fair deal when all you need to do is to increase the OBC quota for something?
I despair for my country, I really do. I know I should stick to writing funny stories but today, I really don't feel funny at all. I quite love India. I've been all over the country and I've found the people to be really nice. To be sure, there is the odd asshole or criminal, but most Indians are warm and hospitable people. And honest. And clever. So how in the world do we have a political system where anyone can get away with anything? What the hell went wrong? Who elected Amar Singh?
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
How to address a Bengaluru Auto driver
Whenever I stay in Bangalore, Sheela's brother most graciously ferries me around in his car to wherever I want, which is nice of him, but has deprived me of some very important insights into human nature, a very specific sub-species of humanity known as the Bangalore Auto Driver (BAD). This time, owing to his being busy, I volunteered to get around by myself on autos. He warned me, saying that it is a thing not easily mastered by novices, but I decided to take the plunge. Hence this report.
At the outset, let me clarify that, despite all the cynical and adverse publicity given to the BADs by various writers, the BAD is actually part of the homo sapien species. The seemingly aberrant behavior, surly countenance and reluctance to perform any kind of beneficial economic activity such as taking people to their destinations is simply an acquired evolutionary feature and should be understood as such. This account is intended to guide the reader in his or her interactions with the BAD
First, unlike in Mumbai, one does not get in to the auto and bark out one's destination, just like that. I don't exactly know what happens if one does that, but no one's ever tried it and survived. Perhaps the auto driver slashes your throat. Even the question puts the shivers into most Bangaloreans. What you do is go humbly to the rickshaw driver, avoiding eye contact at all times, and request him to take you to your destination
"Chalukya Hotel?"
Note that I do not use any more words than necessary. Even the question mark is implied in the intonation.
The responses to this question can be one of several.
Sometimes even this innocuous question, possibly because you haven't asked it with sufficient humility, results in a little tirade, conveying the auto driver's views on the despicable nature of Chalukya Hotel as a destination and of you as just the kind of low life who WOULD want to go to places like that.
Do not be disheartened. He does not mean it. Even if it does, he does not mean you any harm. Withdraw from his august presence with head bowed at all times and walk backwards till you are a respectable distance away. See for instance the movie Mughal-e-Azam for guidance to proper obsequiousness. You will find it in the courtiers approaching the Emperor Akbar for minor favors such as commutation of a death sentence.
Often, the auto driver also adds a sarcastic barb, pointing you out to other auto drivers as if to say "Look at this loser. Chalukya hotel! His father ever went to Chalukya hotel or what?" and ends it with a bit of raucous laughter.
Choke back those rising sobs and hold back those tears. The auto driver might not take kindly to drama gima.
However, there are a few auto drivers who are very sweet and nice about the whole thing. These are the thinkers, the Socrateses among the pack, people who have realized the futility of life, people who will feed dumb animals and give alms to the poor. If you are fortunate enough to meet one of them, he will smile in a saintly manner and with a look of infinite sadness tell you that he cannot come to Chalukya hotel. He doesn't tell you why but you can guess it must be something grave. Probably promised his dying grandmother he would never got to Chalukya Hotel.
Where, one might ask, do these guys all want to go? That, dear reader, is one of life's great mysteries. Perhaps, like great sages, the great BADs are here for a purpose us ignorant people cannot fathom. Perhaps it's just our sheer inferiority that puts us out of contention for receiving favors from them. Perhaps you'll have to climb a few Himalayan mountains scouring for wise men who can tell you the answer. But one thing is abundantly clear. What they are definitely NOT here for is to go to Chalukya Hotel
At the outset, let me clarify that, despite all the cynical and adverse publicity given to the BADs by various writers, the BAD is actually part of the homo sapien species. The seemingly aberrant behavior, surly countenance and reluctance to perform any kind of beneficial economic activity such as taking people to their destinations is simply an acquired evolutionary feature and should be understood as such. This account is intended to guide the reader in his or her interactions with the BAD
First, unlike in Mumbai, one does not get in to the auto and bark out one's destination, just like that. I don't exactly know what happens if one does that, but no one's ever tried it and survived. Perhaps the auto driver slashes your throat. Even the question puts the shivers into most Bangaloreans. What you do is go humbly to the rickshaw driver, avoiding eye contact at all times, and request him to take you to your destination
"Chalukya Hotel?"
Note that I do not use any more words than necessary. Even the question mark is implied in the intonation.
The responses to this question can be one of several.
Sometimes even this innocuous question, possibly because you haven't asked it with sufficient humility, results in a little tirade, conveying the auto driver's views on the despicable nature of Chalukya Hotel as a destination and of you as just the kind of low life who WOULD want to go to places like that.
Do not be disheartened. He does not mean it. Even if it does, he does not mean you any harm. Withdraw from his august presence with head bowed at all times and walk backwards till you are a respectable distance away. See for instance the movie Mughal-e-Azam for guidance to proper obsequiousness. You will find it in the courtiers approaching the Emperor Akbar for minor favors such as commutation of a death sentence.
Often, the auto driver also adds a sarcastic barb, pointing you out to other auto drivers as if to say "Look at this loser. Chalukya hotel! His father ever went to Chalukya hotel or what?" and ends it with a bit of raucous laughter.
Choke back those rising sobs and hold back those tears. The auto driver might not take kindly to drama gima.
However, there are a few auto drivers who are very sweet and nice about the whole thing. These are the thinkers, the Socrateses among the pack, people who have realized the futility of life, people who will feed dumb animals and give alms to the poor. If you are fortunate enough to meet one of them, he will smile in a saintly manner and with a look of infinite sadness tell you that he cannot come to Chalukya hotel. He doesn't tell you why but you can guess it must be something grave. Probably promised his dying grandmother he would never got to Chalukya Hotel.
Where, one might ask, do these guys all want to go? That, dear reader, is one of life's great mysteries. Perhaps, like great sages, the great BADs are here for a purpose us ignorant people cannot fathom. Perhaps it's just our sheer inferiority that puts us out of contention for receiving favors from them. Perhaps you'll have to climb a few Himalayan mountains scouring for wise men who can tell you the answer. But one thing is abundantly clear. What they are definitely NOT here for is to go to Chalukya Hotel
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
National Awards
As I sit here pretending to work, a news item flits by. Some people are being awarded Padma Vibhushan and Padma Bhushan awards. Among them, Tendlya, who looks rather smart. And for some mysterious reason, Pranab Mukherjee. What the F has he done? Apart from screwing up foreign policy all over the place?
Anyway, the thing that prompted me to write this post - my contribution to post-erity - is that one of the awardees for Padma Bhushan is Chandrashekhar Dasgupta, a former Ambassador. I was just thinking how nice it would be if they had awarded one to Dara Singh for being a former Maruti.
Anyway, the thing that prompted me to write this post - my contribution to post-erity - is that one of the awardees for Padma Bhushan is Chandrashekhar Dasgupta, a former Ambassador. I was just thinking how nice it would be if they had awarded one to Dara Singh for being a former Maruti.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Saturday, May 3, 2008
A rose by any other name-brand
There are many ways of earning money. Some people choose to toil away in a farm and earn money from the rice or wheat that they grow. Others work in factories, for which they might be paid a daily wage. Or you can buy T-shirts with pirate skulls painted on them by people in China and sell them for $154 a piece, which is what one Ed Hardy does.
I have nothing against Ed. Indeed, I envy him his easy lifestyle. Pay the Ching Hou Garment company of Guangzhou for 10,000 tee shirts at 0.82 per and sell them at $154 less retail commission. I'm not much of a mathematician - I would readily acknowledge Newton and Leibniz to be my superiors - but I know enough to tell that Ed is rolling in the stuff. What I marvel at is that the supply of suckers in this world seems endless.
How does someone like me who, lets be frank here, has the style consciousness of a hippopotamus in a mud pool, cash in on this abundance of suckerness? I thought I would list down a few business plans and pass it around the blogosphere for some free advice. Please don't steal them. If you do, please send me my share .
Business plan 1
Product - Designer bread
USP - Available in bold colors and post-modern shapes.
Designer logo - Five grains of wheat stuck on the wrapper
Target Customer-
Retail price - $49.95 per loaf.
Manufacturing - Sourced from The Ching Hou Designer Bread Company of Guangzhou @
$49.95 per 20 ft. container
Quality policy - We will tell the chaps at The Ching Hou Designer Bread Company of Guangzhou, "Chaps, make sure it is of a good quality, ok?
Do you think Kleiner Perkins will fund it? I guess so, can see no downside.
Business Plan 2
Service- Designer appendicectomy scars
USP - Available in bold colors and post-modern shapes.
Designer logo - Five distinctive stitches on the abdomen
Target Customer-
Retail price - $4,995 per scar. (The operation is extra)
Manufacturing - Outsourced to The Ching Hou Designer Scar Company of Guangzhou @
$49.95 per scar
Quality policy - We will tell the chaps at The Ching Hou Designer Scar Company of Guangzhou, "Chaps, make sure the knives and needles and stuff are clean, ok?
Kleiner Perkins should be able to fund this one as well.
I have nothing against Ed. Indeed, I envy him his easy lifestyle. Pay the Ching Hou Garment company of Guangzhou for 10,000 tee shirts at 0.82 per and sell them at $154 less retail commission. I'm not much of a mathematician - I would readily acknowledge Newton and Leibniz to be my superiors - but I know enough to tell that Ed is rolling in the stuff. What I marvel at is that the supply of suckers in this world seems endless.
How does someone like me who, lets be frank here, has the style consciousness of a hippopotamus in a mud pool, cash in on this abundance of suckerness? I thought I would list down a few business plans and pass it around the blogosphere for some free advice. Please don't steal them. If you do, please send me my share .
Business plan 1
Product - Designer bread
USP - Available in bold colors and post-modern shapes.
Designer logo - Five grains of wheat stuck on the wrapper
Target Customer-
- 1. Style conscious professional who needs to make a statement with the sandwich he/she takes to work.
- 2. Sucker
Retail price - $49.95 per loaf.
Manufacturing - Sourced from The Ching Hou Designer Bread Company of Guangzhou @
$49.95 per 20 ft. container
Quality policy - We will tell the chaps at The Ching Hou Designer Bread Company of Guangzhou, "Chaps, make sure it is of a good quality, ok?
Do you think Kleiner Perkins will fund it? I guess so, can see no downside.
Business Plan 2
Service- Designer appendicectomy scars
USP - Available in bold colors and post-modern shapes.
Designer logo - Five distinctive stitches on the abdomen
Target Customer-
- 1. Style conscious professional who needs to make a statement when he/she undresses, for various reasons.
- 2. Sucker
Retail price - $4,995 per scar. (The operation is extra)
Manufacturing - Outsourced to The Ching Hou Designer Scar Company of Guangzhou @
$49.95 per scar
Quality policy - We will tell the chaps at The Ching Hou Designer Scar Company of Guangzhou, "Chaps, make sure the knives and needles and stuff are clean, ok?
Kleiner Perkins should be able to fund this one as well.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
The Greatness Gene
There is a gene for greatness. I know it. I am not in a position to prove it right now, but I know that great people are born only to other great people. Soon we will have elections here and then all you skeptics will see it for your self.
I am talking of people like Kumaraswamy, who gets the greatness gene from Devegowda himself, that patriot who has done so much for his poor self, his poor wife and his extremely poor children, M. K. Stalin who likewise, inherits it from Karunanidhi, Milind Deora, Jitin Prasada, the Thakerays son and nephew, and even old Narayan Rane's whatsisname son, I can think of dozens.
Disappointingly some of our so called great leaders did not posses this gene, evidenced by the fact that none of their progeny are great.
Start with Rani Lakshmibai of Jhansi. Unlike the Scindia family, who wisely decided to support the nice, white, British masters, this belligerent queen fought them recklessly, even killing herself in the process. Had it not been for the kindly Scindias who decided to betray her to the British, why, she might have actually won. Luckily for our country, the nice British masters were able to defeat her, and won for the Indian people a hundred years of secure serfdom instead of dangerous independence. And the Scindias, you will note, gave us many many great leaders including the young and dashing Jyotiraditya Scindia and the not so young but no less dashing Vasundhara Raje. And Rani Lakshmibai? Her direct descendant is a petty shopkeeper in Indore, I heard. See? See what I mean?
Second non-great on my list is Mahatma Gandhi who left no son, daughter, cousin, in-laws, nobody at all to prove that he had the greatness gene. Bal Thakeray rightly condemns him as having ruined the country, unlike himself who has given us a son AND a nephew, both adept at beating up wrongdoers.
Third has got to be Vallabbhai Patel. They used to call him the strong man of India, but where is the son? The daughter? Anybody at all?
The list continues, though, mercifully, it does not have any current leaders on it. Even that rotund excrescence, Chhagan Bhujbal, has given to the nation two equally rotund young excrescences, nephews I think, who are as great as him.
I know, you're going to say what about the poor people? Why are their numbers swelling if we have so many great leaders? Why does the system keep robbing them of what is rightfully theirs? The PDS supplies? Their lands, in acquisitions? Their liberty in arbitrary assaults? You are a stooge of the Americans, if you feel that way. The reason all this happens is the caste system, foreign hands, forcible conversions, scantily clad cheerleaders, flags being flown upside down, insufficient reservation in the IIMs and the IITs, unscrupulous businessmen, actors smoking on screen, distorted versions of Akbar's story.And a few more I can't recall at this moment.
But it is NOT because of our great leaders. To say that is tantamount to treason. We might just lynch you.
I am talking of people like Kumaraswamy, who gets the greatness gene from Devegowda himself, that patriot who has done so much for his poor self, his poor wife and his extremely poor children, M. K. Stalin who likewise, inherits it from Karunanidhi, Milind Deora, Jitin Prasada, the Thakerays son and nephew, and even old Narayan Rane's whatsisname son, I can think of dozens.
Disappointingly some of our so called great leaders did not posses this gene, evidenced by the fact that none of their progeny are great.
Start with Rani Lakshmibai of Jhansi. Unlike the Scindia family, who wisely decided to support the nice, white, British masters, this belligerent queen fought them recklessly, even killing herself in the process. Had it not been for the kindly Scindias who decided to betray her to the British, why, she might have actually won. Luckily for our country, the nice British masters were able to defeat her, and won for the Indian people a hundred years of secure serfdom instead of dangerous independence. And the Scindias, you will note, gave us many many great leaders including the young and dashing Jyotiraditya Scindia and the not so young but no less dashing Vasundhara Raje. And Rani Lakshmibai? Her direct descendant is a petty shopkeeper in Indore, I heard. See? See what I mean?
Second non-great on my list is Mahatma Gandhi who left no son, daughter, cousin, in-laws, nobody at all to prove that he had the greatness gene. Bal Thakeray rightly condemns him as having ruined the country, unlike himself who has given us a son AND a nephew, both adept at beating up wrongdoers.
Third has got to be Vallabbhai Patel. They used to call him the strong man of India, but where is the son? The daughter? Anybody at all?
The list continues, though, mercifully, it does not have any current leaders on it. Even that rotund excrescence, Chhagan Bhujbal, has given to the nation two equally rotund young excrescences, nephews I think, who are as great as him.
I know, you're going to say what about the poor people? Why are their numbers swelling if we have so many great leaders? Why does the system keep robbing them of what is rightfully theirs? The PDS supplies? Their lands, in acquisitions? Their liberty in arbitrary assaults? You are a stooge of the Americans, if you feel that way. The reason all this happens is the caste system, foreign hands, forcible conversions, scantily clad cheerleaders, flags being flown upside down, insufficient reservation in the IIMs and the IITs, unscrupulous businessmen, actors smoking on screen, distorted versions of Akbar's story.And a few more I can't recall at this moment.
But it is NOT because of our great leaders. To say that is tantamount to treason. We might just lynch you.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Touching Tale - 2
(Author's note. I know this is really low, but I am totally bored and I have no idea what to do with my time. And I seem to have run out of ideas. What is the difference between Naren and a lockjaw patient? One has a biter's lock. The other has writer's block)
I spent the evening in my friend Sudarshan's office.
Sudarshan is a hot shot entrepreneur, running a KPO and is razor sharp at decision making. One nice thing about Sudarshan is that he is very approachable.
So I wasn't surprised when a small mouse like girl came in and stood hemming and hawing
Sudarshan smilingly told her "Speak out, speak out, I'm not going to eat you".
I raised my eyebrow, old dirty mind me and got an angry frown in return from Sudarshan.
"Sir," squeaked the girl "my mother-in-law blah blah husbands cousin blah blah may I leave early today?"
"Done. You can leave at 5", said Sudarshan, smiling "and now get back to work."
She fled gratefully and we resumed our animated discussion on the state of the economy and the effect of the falling dollar on Sudarshan's bowel movements.
Soon another girl, foxier than the previous one, entered and brazenly asked for Friday off because she and her boyfriend were going out for the weekend and also wanted the company guest house in Lonavala which was available but Admin said need Sudarshan's ok.
Sudarhan thought for a moment and said, "Tell them to call me. I'll okay it. And you better be back on Monday!" She batted her eyelids, made a pout at Sudarshan and told him he was a sweetheart. As she left, Sudarshan made a grumpy face and said "All this work pressure and these people just want vacations. What am I to do?"
"You could have said no, couldn't you?" I asked
"I suppose I could, but sometimes you have to be careful about spoiling employee morale. Plus she's very efficient and she can handle everything I push at her. You have a dirty mind, Naren. That is not what I meant"
We had a cuppa and as I waited for Sudarshan to pack up, in came a smart young lad, one of their systems wizards, apparently.
"Boss, you'll have to give me a car", he said, in a whiny tone
Sudarshan raised his eyebrows.
"I don't like our agency's taxi service. Plus I NEED a cabin, boss, I need to command some respect. And that guy who makes the tea? He really needs to be sacked, he never gives me tea when I ask for it."
"Boss?" he enquired, for Sudarshan seemed strangely silent.
"Johnny," said Sudarshan, gritting his teeth, "you are not getting a single thing. If you don't like it around here, you can quit and you can quit now. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"
Johnny slunk away without a word.
I didn't need to ask Sudarshan why he was so nasty to poor Johnny. I knew the reason. He had put all his begs in one ask-it
I spent the evening in my friend Sudarshan's office.
Sudarshan is a hot shot entrepreneur, running a KPO and is razor sharp at decision making. One nice thing about Sudarshan is that he is very approachable.
So I wasn't surprised when a small mouse like girl came in and stood hemming and hawing
Sudarshan smilingly told her "Speak out, speak out, I'm not going to eat you".
I raised my eyebrow, old dirty mind me and got an angry frown in return from Sudarshan.
"Sir," squeaked the girl "my mother-in-law blah blah husbands cousin blah blah may I leave early today?"
"Done. You can leave at 5", said Sudarshan, smiling "and now get back to work."
She fled gratefully and we resumed our animated discussion on the state of the economy and the effect of the falling dollar on Sudarshan's bowel movements.
Soon another girl, foxier than the previous one, entered and brazenly asked for Friday off because she and her boyfriend were going out for the weekend and also wanted the company guest house in Lonavala which was available but Admin said need Sudarshan's ok.
Sudarhan thought for a moment and said, "Tell them to call me. I'll okay it. And you better be back on Monday!" She batted her eyelids, made a pout at Sudarshan and told him he was a sweetheart. As she left, Sudarshan made a grumpy face and said "All this work pressure and these people just want vacations. What am I to do?"
"You could have said no, couldn't you?" I asked
"I suppose I could, but sometimes you have to be careful about spoiling employee morale. Plus she's very efficient and she can handle everything I push at her. You have a dirty mind, Naren. That is not what I meant"
We had a cuppa and as I waited for Sudarshan to pack up, in came a smart young lad, one of their systems wizards, apparently.
"Boss, you'll have to give me a car", he said, in a whiny tone
Sudarshan raised his eyebrows.
"I don't like our agency's taxi service. Plus I NEED a cabin, boss, I need to command some respect. And that guy who makes the tea? He really needs to be sacked, he never gives me tea when I ask for it."
"Boss?" he enquired, for Sudarshan seemed strangely silent.
"Johnny," said Sudarshan, gritting his teeth, "you are not getting a single thing. If you don't like it around here, you can quit and you can quit now. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"
Johnny slunk away without a word.
I didn't need to ask Sudarshan why he was so nasty to poor Johnny. I knew the reason. He had put all his begs in one ask-it
Monday, April 28, 2008
Touching tale
7 Jan 2013 -
I posted this a long while ago, and left the main chap's name out of the anecdote, because I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Well, it can now be revealed that the chap was Asaram Bapu, he of the "call thy rapist 'brother' fame, and this anecdote was told me by a former devotee.
Last night, bored because I was alone, I roamed around the blogworld and left comments on people's website. This blogger gave a good account of how she falls for confidence tricks. I remembered an anecdote (what else) which I had found touching (touching the funny bone, that is) and I wrote it as a comment. Then I thought, what the hell, it is long enough to be a post. So here it is
You are in good company, I told her, commiserating with her on her propensity to be cheated. I will tell you the story of Sadhu A*****ji Bapu. Bapu, as he is fondly known to his devotees, is a major draw on the Aastha channel and Sanskaar channel and what not and his devotees flock to him everyday for spiritual guidance, dropping something into the offering plate - sometimes a few rupees, sometimes a couple of hundred.
One day a well dressed man came in and after prostrating himself, dropped in 25000. Bapu’s bushy eyebrows rose a bit, but he said nothing.
A couple of days later, the same gent walked in and dropped a big wad of currency notes. This time it was 50000. Bapu’s eyebrows went as far north as his hairline but he still refrained from comment.
When the man appeared next, a couple of days later, he dropped in a cool 100000. Bapu could contain his amazement no longer. Signaling his minions to invite this fine devotee to his inner chamber, Bapu went in.
“Son”, asked Bapu, “How is it that you make such generous contributions?”
“Oh what is there to say, Bapu? ” said the faithful devotee. “All this is by your grace. I used to invest in the stock market and with your blessings I have exceeded all expectations. I am able to double the money under my control within 6 months. I have many serious investors who trust me and my judgment implicitly, and with your blessings, I have made them extremely rich within a very short time. I charge ten percent of the profit as my fee, and this is enough for me.”
Bapu was moved. Such humility! Such sincerity! Such honesty! “Son”, he said “will you invest some of our funds?”
“Of course, Bapu, what is there to ask? I am but your humble devotee. I must mention though that one crore is the minimum”.
“I will give you two”. He signaled to the accounts swami and told him to get two crores of the crispest.
“I hope cash is acceptable” said Bapu. “We don’t believe in bank accounts too much.” Bapu smiled. “Or Tax audits”.
“For you, Bapu”, said the devotee, “I will do anything. Cash will be fine”
Tears came to Bapu’s eyes as he gazed at the departing devotee.
Well, Bapu is still looking for the guy.
Update:-
I was sitting in a neighbour's factory last month with a bunch of other guys over the evening cutting-chai and the discussion turned to spiritual leaders and how they are usually hoaxes.
I narrated the anecdote I just told you and to my amazement, one of the chaps laughed so hard that he actually fell off his chair. We anxiously helped him to his feet and he seemed to have hurt his shoulder a bit but the thing was, the chap couldn't stop laughing.
I knew, in a general sort of way, that the anecdote was humorous but I had no idea it was THAT hilarious.
Well it turned out that the reason for our chaps intense merriment was not so much my story-telling skills as the delight in finding out that the sufferer was Asaramji Bapu. It seems his wife is a follower of said Asaram and said Asaram preaches complete celibacy even in marriage, except for the purpose of procreation at which point, with the greatest reluctance, he permits the - how shall I put it - sword to be drawn from its scabbard. The chap has a child so I surmise he wasn't getting any, and rightly or wrongly, blamed said Asaram.
I posted this a long while ago, and left the main chap's name out of the anecdote, because I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Well, it can now be revealed that the chap was Asaram Bapu, he of the "call thy rapist 'brother' fame, and this anecdote was told me by a former devotee.
Last night, bored because I was alone, I roamed around the blogworld and left comments on people's website. This blogger gave a good account of how she falls for confidence tricks. I remembered an anecdote (what else) which I had found touching (touching the funny bone, that is) and I wrote it as a comment. Then I thought, what the hell, it is long enough to be a post. So here it is
You are in good company, I told her, commiserating with her on her propensity to be cheated. I will tell you the story of Sadhu A*****ji Bapu. Bapu, as he is fondly known to his devotees, is a major draw on the Aastha channel and Sanskaar channel and what not and his devotees flock to him everyday for spiritual guidance, dropping something into the offering plate - sometimes a few rupees, sometimes a couple of hundred.
One day a well dressed man came in and after prostrating himself, dropped in 25000. Bapu’s bushy eyebrows rose a bit, but he said nothing.
A couple of days later, the same gent walked in and dropped a big wad of currency notes. This time it was 50000. Bapu’s eyebrows went as far north as his hairline but he still refrained from comment.
When the man appeared next, a couple of days later, he dropped in a cool 100000. Bapu could contain his amazement no longer. Signaling his minions to invite this fine devotee to his inner chamber, Bapu went in.
“Son”, asked Bapu, “How is it that you make such generous contributions?”
“Oh what is there to say, Bapu? ” said the faithful devotee. “All this is by your grace. I used to invest in the stock market and with your blessings I have exceeded all expectations. I am able to double the money under my control within 6 months. I have many serious investors who trust me and my judgment implicitly, and with your blessings, I have made them extremely rich within a very short time. I charge ten percent of the profit as my fee, and this is enough for me.”
Bapu was moved. Such humility! Such sincerity! Such honesty! “Son”, he said “will you invest some of our funds?”
“Of course, Bapu, what is there to ask? I am but your humble devotee. I must mention though that one crore is the minimum”.
“I will give you two”. He signaled to the accounts swami and told him to get two crores of the crispest.
“I hope cash is acceptable” said Bapu. “We don’t believe in bank accounts too much.” Bapu smiled. “Or Tax audits”.
“For you, Bapu”, said the devotee, “I will do anything. Cash will be fine”
Tears came to Bapu’s eyes as he gazed at the departing devotee.
Well, Bapu is still looking for the guy.
Update:-
I was sitting in a neighbour's factory last month with a bunch of other guys over the evening cutting-chai and the discussion turned to spiritual leaders and how they are usually hoaxes.
I narrated the anecdote I just told you and to my amazement, one of the chaps laughed so hard that he actually fell off his chair. We anxiously helped him to his feet and he seemed to have hurt his shoulder a bit but the thing was, the chap couldn't stop laughing.
I knew, in a general sort of way, that the anecdote was humorous but I had no idea it was THAT hilarious.
Well it turned out that the reason for our chaps intense merriment was not so much my story-telling skills as the delight in finding out that the sufferer was Asaramji Bapu. It seems his wife is a follower of said Asaram and said Asaram preaches complete celibacy even in marriage, except for the purpose of procreation at which point, with the greatest reluctance, he permits the - how shall I put it - sword to be drawn from its scabbard. The chap has a child so I surmise he wasn't getting any, and rightly or wrongly, blamed said Asaram.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Bored outta my skull
On a normal Sunday evening, you will find me, assuming you are interested in such unrewarding quests, ambling through some shopping mall or bargain basement sale, holding on to dear wife's hand, trying to keep up with her, looking around to find the kids in case they wander away and cursing silently under my breath about the crosses that a suburban husband and father has to bear, thanks to the invasion of all this Americana. In the good old days, we used to go to places like the Tata Textile Showroom and buy two meters of the baby pink for a salwar suit. And the choices were not all that many because we already had the electric green and the Rani color. But now? Even men's undies are available in 27 colors and 14 styles. Too much choice. But that is not my point. What is my point? Good question, even I'm not sure, what was it now? Ah yes, my point is that now that the brood is away in Mysore, I find myself strangely at a loss for thoughts. What does one do in Bombay on a Sunday evening alone and lonesome, that will not attract pity, ridicule or the attention of the lunacy commissioner?
I spent an idle hour polluting people's blogs with stupid comments, secure in the knowledge that they could not assault me physically, since no one knows I live in Malad west in Mumbai. I'm now trying to read a book called "Civilisation" by Kenneth Clarke which is erudite and absorbing but lacks what they call the sex interest.
Thus this post. The most pointless in a long series of pointless ones. I have been thinking about continuing my series on Matrimonitis with a little account of our first pregnancy, the subsequent delivery and the trials and tribulations therein, but somehow, I'm not in the mood
I think I'll infest some more blogs till i fall asleep.......
I spent an idle hour polluting people's blogs with stupid comments, secure in the knowledge that they could not assault me physically, since no one knows I live in Malad west in Mumbai. I'm now trying to read a book called "Civilisation" by Kenneth Clarke which is erudite and absorbing but lacks what they call the sex interest.
Thus this post. The most pointless in a long series of pointless ones. I have been thinking about continuing my series on Matrimonitis with a little account of our first pregnancy, the subsequent delivery and the trials and tribulations therein, but somehow, I'm not in the mood
I think I'll infest some more blogs till i fall asleep.......
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Memories
Ok tagged me to write some random memories. I feel a bit silly doing this, so I'm going to be mostly pre-adolescence or, if post-adolescence, a bit selective. You see, this thing could so easily metamorphose from memories to mammaries, and one doesn't want that sort of thing, so I'm gonna be watching it like a hawk
1. My closest buddy was Raja, a year younger than me but several sizes larger and a difficult customer to overcome in disputes. Once, I was eight or nine, we had a difference of opinion and in order to resolve it in my favor, I dropped a watermelon on his head. The damage of course was entirely to the watermelon but it was one of the few times I've seen my mother really angry. I haven't dropped watermelons on anyone else's heads since(though I've come close).
2. When I was a kid, my dad used to have a Lambretta scooter on which we used to travel as a family. Dad driving, Mom sitting behind with sister, other sister yet unborn and me standing in the front holding the handlebars. I remember promising my dad that when I grew up, I would ride and HE would get to stand in front holding the handlebars.
3. We had gone to Kodai for a vacation - I must have been 12 or 13 - and for some reason, I got it into my head that it would be real cool to swim in the lake. Both my parents lovingly tried to convince me that the lake was dirty and moreover dangerous but I kept throwing tantrums like Shoaib Akhtar throws his deliveries. Fast and furious. Finally my dad got angry and started SULKING! It worked, however, and I gave up the thing, but sulking? My lads would have got a BIG earful from their mother and if for some reason, laryngitis perhaps, she couldn't deliver, I would have given my ship's fog-horn imitation. My parents are tooooo sweet.
4. I had my first drink when I was in the third semester of my engineering. It was before the fluid mechanics paper. I knew the whole thing thoroughly. Those days, I was one of the official "corpse carriers" on trips to the local bar an on the night before the FM paper, the lads dragged me along as usual. There a couple of guys decided to get me drunk. They ordered me a quarter bottle of vodka. Since I was prepared, I thought what the hell and finished it in two or three gulps, with a "haaaaa" after every gulp, just like in westerns. In approximately 20 minutes, I was feeding the earthworms and walking like the price movement of the Reliance Petroleum share. I woke up on the morrow feeling like I had a little nuclear reactor inside my head and I have no idea what I wrote in the paper. Luckily for me, the examiner seemed to have had a quart of vodka himself, because he gave me absurdly high marks. I've never figured that one out.
5. Finally, something of a "romantic" nature. I was set up with a girl, being friend of the girlfriend of a friend, for a date. We went for this movie "Tarzan" starring Hemant Birje and Kimi Katkar. She kept giving me all kinds of come-ons, nudging my hand, brushing my leg and so on, and I was petrified! I had no idea whatsoever as to what the proper reaction would be. I was terrified of being slapped and called "battameez" or whatever they call rapists in hindi. I huddled into the cocoon position and took the name of Ram. Apart from the name of the movie and the actors, I remember nothing of it. My friend was livid "What the HELL did you do to her, man? She refuses to even TALK about it!" And later when the truth came out, said friend gave disgusting amount of publicity to the matter. That was my last outing with any female not being wife, mother or sister.
1. My closest buddy was Raja, a year younger than me but several sizes larger and a difficult customer to overcome in disputes. Once, I was eight or nine, we had a difference of opinion and in order to resolve it in my favor, I dropped a watermelon on his head. The damage of course was entirely to the watermelon but it was one of the few times I've seen my mother really angry. I haven't dropped watermelons on anyone else's heads since(though I've come close).
2. When I was a kid, my dad used to have a Lambretta scooter on which we used to travel as a family. Dad driving, Mom sitting behind with sister, other sister yet unborn and me standing in the front holding the handlebars. I remember promising my dad that when I grew up, I would ride and HE would get to stand in front holding the handlebars.
3. We had gone to Kodai for a vacation - I must have been 12 or 13 - and for some reason, I got it into my head that it would be real cool to swim in the lake. Both my parents lovingly tried to convince me that the lake was dirty and moreover dangerous but I kept throwing tantrums like Shoaib Akhtar throws his deliveries. Fast and furious. Finally my dad got angry and started SULKING! It worked, however, and I gave up the thing, but sulking? My lads would have got a BIG earful from their mother and if for some reason, laryngitis perhaps, she couldn't deliver, I would have given my ship's fog-horn imitation. My parents are tooooo sweet.
4. I had my first drink when I was in the third semester of my engineering. It was before the fluid mechanics paper. I knew the whole thing thoroughly. Those days, I was one of the official "corpse carriers" on trips to the local bar an on the night before the FM paper, the lads dragged me along as usual. There a couple of guys decided to get me drunk. They ordered me a quarter bottle of vodka. Since I was prepared, I thought what the hell and finished it in two or three gulps, with a "haaaaa" after every gulp, just like in westerns. In approximately 20 minutes, I was feeding the earthworms and walking like the price movement of the Reliance Petroleum share. I woke up on the morrow feeling like I had a little nuclear reactor inside my head and I have no idea what I wrote in the paper. Luckily for me, the examiner seemed to have had a quart of vodka himself, because he gave me absurdly high marks. I've never figured that one out.
5. Finally, something of a "romantic" nature. I was set up with a girl, being friend of the girlfriend of a friend, for a date. We went for this movie "Tarzan" starring Hemant Birje and Kimi Katkar. She kept giving me all kinds of come-ons, nudging my hand, brushing my leg and so on, and I was petrified! I had no idea whatsoever as to what the proper reaction would be. I was terrified of being slapped and called "battameez" or whatever they call rapists in hindi. I huddled into the cocoon position and took the name of Ram. Apart from the name of the movie and the actors, I remember nothing of it. My friend was livid "What the HELL did you do to her, man? She refuses to even TALK about it!" And later when the truth came out, said friend gave disgusting amount of publicity to the matter. That was my last outing with any female not being wife, mother or sister.
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