Crap

Indians, when overcome by irrational and momentous hate against Pakistan, tend to lash-out and warn about how India is militarily (and otherwise) superior to Pakistan and could nuke it out of existence, and that Pakistan should not dare trouble India, if it knows what’s best for itself.

There are so many things wrong with that statement ..I won’t care to elaborate, purely out of lack of time\intent. Primarily, Pakistan as a nation may prove to be a thorn for India, but it’s peoples do not deserve the hate that is so-often showered upon them. So let’s not threaten the entire peoples of the country. It makes us (Indians) look like gloated muscular buffoons who want to pointlessly (and selfishly) throw our weight around on people much too nice to warrant such show of force (in short, it makes us look like a certain Mayawati).

Here goes –

10 years have passed since the Kargil War came to an end.

Being a citizen of India, and having been subjected to Indian propaganda for all of my years, i ought to classify today as the decade-anniversary of India’s victory in Kargil. Forgive me for not doing so, for, this blog-post is not about winning and losing. Rather, it’s about a virtue that often lies forgotten – generously evaluating how we’re living.

As as all these years passed, we continually witnessed Pakistan deteriorate – in action, and also, in being. The recent turmoil in the country has been visible to everyone. Additionally, when Bombay was attacked on November 26, 2008 (better known as 26\11 to most), several Indians – me too, for an impetuous moment – could be heard making calls for war. After all, there could be no time better than this to finish Pakistan off, no? Pakistan was weak and dis-co-ordinated. The army, the ISI, the government, the peoples, the militia, and every other piece of soceital machinery seemed out-of-place. Pakistan itself was convinced that it was going to come under fire (figuratively, and more). India (i suspect) did carry-out contingency plans for the same too. It would be foolish to think the opposite. I remember writing this down, during the days following the ordeal:

Nothing [sic] can justify War. The imminent loss of lives, the economic impact, the crumbling of international decorum; all weigh down upon a state while it contemplates violent aggression against an enemy state. Let’s focus down to the current context; India-Pakistan. [December 23, 2008]

And so i sat down to chart out (my-own) reasons for whether we(\India) should attack Pakistan or not. I’m basically just converting the points i listed down (back then) into sentences, for the sake of making it worth reading through.

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The little girl never really sat on the rock, instead, wandered about, along the shore of the mighty Bramhaputra. She searched for shiny pebbles, or for twigs that floated ashore, or simply played about with her frock or the twirls in her hair, as she spent her days in the company of what-ever suited her best. Sometimes she came-by along-with a boy, sometimes, with a pet, and oft, by herself.

The rock – he had weathered the river for ages, and watched as the river flooded, and consumed all that came under its swell. The rock knew that he too, would soon be gone; lost in the waters of the world forever. The girl would forever remember the rock, even as she would grow into a fine young woman, go along her way, and travel the globe, unto newer shores, and greener pastures.

The girl was a dreamer. And nothing consumed her more thoroughly than planning her wedding. She was a pretty, dainty lass, one of the few that came by the shore. Naturally, she was doted upon by many; those who came upon the beautiful lands, from places afar. The lands – yes. Legend had it that a magical lore nested in these ancient lands, and blossomed along the river’s shores, for the young to wrestle success and wisdom from.

Her heart quivered, and forever did her decisions elude her. Many a boys’ offer did she accede to, only to let her emotions crumble away soon-after. Maybe she was as naive, as fickle, as those that searched the shores for wisdom-not-to-be. Maybe she was just normal, thought the rock, as he silently watched her from his bed by the waves, upon the shore that she had grown to call her own.

For long, in her solitude, or in her wallow, had the girl shared her life with the rock. And indeed, the rock had done so too. For, if there was magic in these lands, it was thus – unto those that swayed not to selfish greed, it was the rocks that, erstwhile inanimate, came to life. Not the sands, not the flowers, not the waters that the boys scavenged – the wisdom lay embedded in the rocks that none otherwise glanced upon.

Secrets that none-else knew of, or even vagaries that none would have bothered unto, flowed seamlessly between them. Sometimes, she lent an ear to his melancholy; something that the rock otherwise withheld in abundance. More oft, there were smiles, there were laughs, and there were pleasures that their conversations lent to their lives. Above all, they were friends. And, thus, the wisdom was for her to own. For, unlike her lovers, her innocence never bore want to steal the rock’s wisdom; thus-with, only she could own it.

She mused, and did so aloud at-times, as she straddled along her shore. She oft-wondered, as to why the river hadn’t flood her shore for so long. Every year the river swelled, ever to bring death and destruction, to henceforth usher in new life – her shore, however, lay unspoilt to the ravages of time. But the rock remanined silent, in-pretense unknowing, never moved by her playful queries, although he knew the of river’s ways.

One day, as the clouds rolled in, she came by with tears in her eyes. It was not unlike her, to be disraught thus. The rock prodded in-caution, urging her to share her grief, only to be shunned away as froth. She was human, after-all – her grief consumed her, and weighed down on her frailties. She felt as though the world conspired against her, and brought upon her such pain. She sought not another’s company, and forsook her friend unto solitude. Her self consumed her, making her believe that she alone, could part her from her grief.

When she came to herself, few days hence, she made her way again to her shore, in calm and composure. Alas, she saw, that the river had flood, and her shore had been lost. Whence lay her rock, whence swept the waves the gleaming sand, now turned to silt flowed within the swollen tide. The rock, in all it’s grime, was nowhere to be found. Her shore was lost, never to be her’s again.

And as she sulked, she wondered. Had the friendship she’d estranged been the very magic that her shore had once thrived upon?

Me: So, is that really your real name, or just a pet name that you publicise?

Her: Naah, that’s just it.

Her (thought): IITian! Can’t come up with a better pick-up line than that!

Me (thought): Dammit, perfect. Now she’s never gonna go out with you! Whoever let her parents name her!

Some pointless conversations ensue. And then,

Her: So, you smoke?

Her (thought): I so hopes he asks me out now. We can sneak off for a while.

Me: No. Actually, i have this weird aversion to smokers and drinkers. Just develop this instant dislike for them. Dunno.

Me (thought): Now she’s totally gone.

Her: Oh. Okay then. Cya!

–

Later, the next night, as i walked past the Admin block, i can make out two familiar figures, heading in the other direction (thus, walking toward me).

Me (thought): Why the heck is that other girl with her? Shoo girl, shoo!

Girl won’t shoo. Obviously.

Me (thought): Think of something…Quick !

Too close to not say anything.

Me (looking at the other lady): So, you ladies collected your certificates?

Other lady: Blah Blah

Me: Blah Blah

Me (thinking): Why can’t you bring yourself to look at her, nut! Look, 10 degrees to the West, turn cadet!

Me and Other lady: Blah Blah.

Me: Anyway, hope you guys had fun here. Have a nice trip back!

–

Over the phone, some days later. The visiting delegates had returned to where they’d come from.

Her: Nut, couldn’t you just ask me out?

Me: Nut, couldn’t you just ask me out?

Her: Because…(supposed to be understood)

Me: Why’s the guy always gotta do the hard stuff ?! I can’t tolerate this hypocricy! First, you say that girls and guys must be treated equally. And then this !

Her: Laugh.

Me: Laugh. (Aargh !)

–

Memories. Techniche 2008.

PS. I know better pick-up lines. But it wasn’t my fault. Her name really is silly. I so totally won’t let her name her children. No !

A reccomendation :
Are We Ready For Women’s Equality

It links up to Sushant’s Blog. He posts rarely, but they’re always brilliant to read. I guess that’s how things ought to be – in small doses, over extended periods of time.

Faced with a billion-dollar budget deficit, Michigan expedites the release of some prisoners.

So says the Newsweek.

Hmmm…And i can think of two ways to look at this.

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Shut down all Police Stations. Disembow the policemen. Put them in the Police Vans and let them earn livelihoods by using the vehicles as Taxi and Tourist Vehicles. Turn the Guns over to the terrorists. (What difference, the terroists get the guns anyway..Atleast this way, we might partially know who has how many guns.)

I’m not talking shit. Okay, maybe i am. But hear me out. It actually makes sense.

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They make exceptional executives. Always on time, they have everything planned out – probably even have a plan on how to go about making a plan for a plan for the next day’s events. Who knows! These people will always know what it is that they can do, and thus, take up responsibilities accordingly. They won’t take more work than they can finish, and will always submit assignments on time. But they won’t compromise on their time-table, and emotions towards another’s plight may take a back-seat if they think that pity might cause them any back-log.

kiinda monotonous, doncha think? somehow, they never feel what is like to stay up all night finishing an assignment – and their minds are never stimulated by those last-minute pangs of fight-or-flight…figure their lives are too perfect for their own good!

Then there are the second type. The me type. Read the rest of this entry »