An Impressive Ricksaw Puller

I met this Hard working and genuine guy during my official trip to Agra in the smouldering month of May. He was in the wrong side of forties, the age where most of the government employees either worried of there flabby body, diabetes and other major diseases or are thinking of the voluntary retirement to spend the quality time with their grand sons and grand daughters.

I had to be in hurry in order to manage my time since I was already running out of time as the train was scheduled to arrive in an hour. Also I had the sharp instructions from my friends not to return from agra without the Petha (Famous sweet dish of city Agra and Aligarh). 

Though I was guided to buy Petha from the famous Panchi stores but in hurry I told him "bhaisahab, I have to catch the train in an hour, but first take me to the famous store for buying the Petha" 

"Ji saheb dont you worry" were the only words he uttered.

It was small shop, as small as you can not even imagine why its so famous but the name engraved on the top was big, yes the rickshaw puller was able to come up with the expectations of my friends who instructed me to buy petha from "Panchi Petha store only, Agra" which I almost forget.

He was thin and was old,

That awesome moment when you feels like a God

Manifold facets of life. isn't it??? People succeed sometimes fails. People Love and they care. people die and born again. They shouts, cheers and elate when their team won matches against arch rivals. They get promotions in their jobs, and in life's responsibilities. And many other aspects, certainly out of the limits of this blogs. Almost every person has that one awesome moment which he surely wants to embrace thorough out his life span. 

But above all, there is one moment which lets you feel out of this world. That awesome moment when you feels like a God. 

Indeed it happened with me twice. The first one in the last Winters.

Read http://ajitbiomed.blogspot.in/2011/01/ever-you-felt-as-if-you-are-god.html  

Today is January 27 and nights still used to be heavily chilled at 5 degrees. That trough, which used to fall on my way to room (you shouldn't consider me its neighbour when it falls around half kilometers away ..lol), oh lord, rotten smell is still scenting my hairy nose. I am a pace rider but still managed to heard the crying of a puppy who was looking down in that trough and was searching something, infect when I stopped the engine  I heard two voices simultaneously. The other one was more cacophonous. It took a mili second for me to understand that the owner of other voice has fallen down in that rotten black and dead chilled water and was in trouble. In consensus, I looked down to see who it was and oh hell, another small puppy.

I bend down lil more and pulled up that defenseless animal .

But damn to the mother of that puppy, that bitch (yes that's what we used to call the female dogs...lol). Fifteen minutes later when I visited again that place to see where the puppy was, both the puppies were licking her mother. On stepping little forward, she barks on me. That bitch...that Mother.

The Manipulator..

There was a King, Indra who ruled the best race in the world and dwelled in the most marvelous citadel. His ornaments were of the best gold and chariots had the best horses. His orchards bore the best fruits and roses had the best fragrance. Celestial nymphs who shone brighter than the sun danced for him, served him the finest liquors and made love to him. He commanded the race, ordered them to serve him and thus lived an affluent life.

The King couldn’t sleep though. Whenever he tried sleeping, he had recurring nightmares of people overtaking his throne. Hence he never promoted people on the basis of their talents but on their basis of their inheritance and creed. He appointed his faithful vicars to brainwash people and sow seeds of ignorance in them. Still he could never find solace. Whenever he saw anybody rising in stature or power or knowledge, he personally crushed them to death. Sometimes he crushed people and sometimes he crushed ideas. But he made sure that no opposing voices echo around him.

Times have changed but that King still lives. He has renounced public display of gold and chariots but piles it secretly. He has even started folding hands. He lives in disguise and his accomplices stay in disguise too who still brainwash people to make sure the King never loses the throne. And he still crushes sometimes People, Sometimes ideas and more recently he has started crushing channels for the propagation of those ideas. He is making sure that no opposing voices echo around him.

Courtesy - The Frustrated Indians on Facebook

Am I really empowered enough??

‎...And 'They' say I am Empowered

Once upon a time there was a GIRL. Since her childhood she had been told that she was lucky to be born in a house where education was given utmost importance (proof: her grandmother has an M.A in History and her mother works as an English Professor). Yes indeed she was lucky, she was lucky that she wasn‟t fed crushed glass or poisoned milk when she was in her mother‟s womb. Although, after her birth she was at times taunted for her dark skin. They told her it‟s a drawback for girls to be anything less than as white as milk. Nevertheless, she grew up into a young woman who was very focused on getting a good education and reaching the zenith of success. Her „educated‟ family wanted her to become an engineer because being an engineer could really improve her chances of getting married to a „good‟ groom, one whose dowry demands would not touch a crore.She was always told that she belonged to the empowered lot. She tell us how is it being the chosen one…

“When I was little, I used to go with my mother and sister to my mom‟s college for get-togethers. We could never stay there for long i.e. after 8, in case we wanted to we had to search for a family or a man who could escort us back safely to home...and at times these generous people helping a lady and her two little daughters in distress used to drop us few blocks from home and then we literally used to walk like thieves so that no one would notice our presence on the road…

And still I was told that I am empowered.

I remember people telling me that be bold and never feel threatened by miscreants then why was I told to stay away from the roads ruled by hooligans?

And then also they told me that I am empowered. Did they allow me to move around all by myself without being escorted by a man?

I still remember that every time I left home I was advised to carry a stole and in a way that will hide my sexuality. I wanted to flaunt my new top, but did I have a choice?

And then also they told me that I am empowered, I was allowed to wear T-shirts and tops.

I remember whenever we used to travel alone, the three of us, me, mom and sis… We could never tell strangers our real names nor could we befriend them… We felt bored but could not approach any stranger for the fear of being stalked and taken advantage of.

And then also they told me that I am empowered, I was given the liberty to travel.

I vividly recall the times when in order to catch a train scheduled for 11 PM in the night, we had to leave for the station by 7:00-7:30, firstly to increase our chances of reaching the station safely and secondly to find a place in the ladies' waiting room. The waiting room would be locked after 8; I still haven‟t found any logic behind this act!

And then also they told me that I am empowered, I could afford travelling in trains.

I also recall the times when we had to do morning journeys to new places to avoid staying in hotels because three women staying alone in a hotel room in a small city could invite trouble.

And then also they told me that I am empowered. I could still dream of living in hotels.

Then, when I moved out of home to join college, I thought things would change. They did but not as much as I had expected. We were told to dress decently (a subtle way of telling us that our professors considered Capri and sleeveless tops a little too explicit and also to make our dressing sense an excuse to mess with our grades, forget being in their good books).

And then also they told me that I am empowered, I had a chance to avail higher education.

I joined college with an impression that we would get the freedom to move around in the campus, work in labs throughout the day and night, do group studies but to my dismay I was confined in a hostel that had an in-time restriction. Why so? If I am not safe in my college campus then what more is left for me to say!

And then also „they‟ told me that I am empowered, I had the privilege of staying outside the boundaries of home.

I don‟t know what is the definition of being empowered? Is it just getting a chance of living my life but according to their rules or actually living it? What is the point of being empowered if I am under constant surveillance and accountable to someone for every small decision taken by me. I have heard loads of profanities greeting married women who choose to have safe sex and go to shops to buy condoms. Leave the ones who drink, smoke and enjoy, they are always branded as sluts. Why?I feel suffocated and burdened by the weight of restrictions that have been imposed on me, by the pressure of being judged for every step I take.

And they still say that I am empowered.

I wonder! How? ”

(Referenece - The seeker)

Rahul Dravid...a legend

Dear Rahul

(Reproduced from a blogpost one of us wrote when Dravid retired from ODIs)

Hello, Rahul.

You know, I’d love to start off by saying that I had many memories of you, proceed to analyse your cricketing technique and proclaim you as the greatest cricketer that India has ever produced and all that countless paeans you’re no doubt receiving now – but I can’t. I really can’t.

You see, I missed much of India’s glorious decade because I didn’t have access to television for most part. So I really cannot stake claim to watching your brilliance in Adelaide, Rawalpindi, South Africa or the West Indies.

Big deal, you say. Everyone follows sport on the Internet today. Why, even Tendulkar’s double century was savoured over Cricinfo commentary by most of the nation. So was Sehwag’s brutal assault on Sri Lanka at the Brabourne. Or most of the IPL, for that matter.

No, no. Saying that I’ve become a fan of you by following your exploits through Cricinfo’s ball-by-ball commentary would be an insult to you. Mind you, it’s alright if we do it for other cricketers, and there would be absolutely no disrespect meant. Michael Hussey’s incredible 6-6-4-6 against Pakistan to win the T20 WC semifinal was thrilling as read through text. I devoured Kevin O’Brien’s outstanding assault on England in the F50 (er) WC group stages through Twitter updates since I was in a train. I visualised the shots. I could picture Hussey smashing the crap out of Pakistan. Or Sehwag mutilating Murali. I didn’t need visual aid for that, oh no.

But to say I’ve become a fan of Rahul Sharad Dravid by following text updates on some cricket website would be like going up to Wolfgang Mozart with a piece of parchment and a quill and saying, “Big fan, mate. I’ve heard all your symphonies in 96 kbps MP3″. I remember earlier this year, I did catch an innings of yours. In South Africa. Nobody else in the room could understand what I was doing, watching Test cricket (they were all the kool kyds who watch ManUtdRokzzz and F1, you see). With every defence shot, I’d ooh and aah. THIS was what I was missing out on. This was pure cricket.

And it was all so very unfair, Rahul. Which kid wants to do that? When I play the official IPL Android app, I want to smash every ball for 6. I’m not very well-acquainted with the gully cricket scene in Delhi, but I’m supposing not too many people want to ‘construct’ an innings in the 5 overs they’re allowed before they have to run back home to finish the 10th chapter of Bhargava’s 5th standard primer for IIT aspirants (Geometry).

One memory, Rahul – that I do have, was on a day on which I had what you might say, selective fever. When you and VVS ended Day 3, I knew something was up. I ensured I drank plenty of iced water that evening so I could give myself some semblance of a cold the next morning to skip school.

Yes, there were the glorious shots from VVS. It’s my favorite Test innings of all time, but that’s not what I remember. What I do remember is you getting to your century. You had that look on your face. Pointing to the press box, and I’m sure it was only your dignity that stopped you from giving the esteemed occupants a middle finger (or it could have been your gloves). I saw that look. Woah, I saw that look. That was the same look that I wanted to give my detractors. When my teacher back in Bahrain unfairly embarrassed me in a parent-teacher meeting in 1999, I swore I’d get back at him. I topped the fucking class and came third in the country (granted, it was a country that had the population of the entire of Chakala, but still). I so wanted to go back to him and say, “Take that!”. That was the look you had, man. Whadafighter.

Criticism towards you has been as effective as a record label asking Dream Theater to adopt a more radio-friendly style.

I’m not a real fan, Rahul – I’m a mere piggybacker. It’s fashionable to call yourself a Rahul Dravid fan. While ‘junta’ acquiesce to their baner instincts by loving the IPL, the educated, The Hindu-reading populace prefer to quote the numbers ’180, 233, 270, 148′ as if they were a holy chant. How many of them would actually sit through a RSD innings? I know I wouldn’t. I’m just a piggybacker, like I said.

The purpose of writing this closed letter, Rahul, is to say – thank you for surviving despite people like me. Indian cricket The game of cricket has been richer for it.

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