"UP outlaws to aid Maya realize poll ambitions" screamed the headline on IBNLive's website. As I read through the article, I sauntered to the third paragraph, which went as follows: "Mukhtar Ansari and his notorious brother Afzal are both contesting on BSP tickets are accused of murdering a BJP MLA Krishnand Rai."
Not many may remember the heinous and gruesome murder of the BJP MLA Mr. Rai. But I remember it very well. At that time when I read the news, I was deeply saddened and aghast at the plummeting standards of Indian politics. Little did I realize that I would be involved with this piece of news more than just musing upon it. The deceased MLA's son became my room mate during my final months of graduate studies.
Hearing him outline the tragedy was so very heart rending. I came face to face with the collateral damage inflicted upon by Mukhtar Ansari and his henchmen. Little do people realize the tragedy that unfolds on the family when something so ghastly happens. My friend does an excellent job hiding his anger. He vowed that he will never join politics. His mother, whom he literally worships, won the election immediately after Mr. Rai's death but she subsequently lost the election succumbing to the caste, money and goon politics. My friend is deeply hurt. He believes that not only a promising, honest person was lost to Indian polity, he lost a very inspiring, caring and loving father. The murderers have still gone unpunished and they are standing for elections! That adds more fuel to the fire. I cannot imagine myself being in my friend's shoes and being patient at the same time.
What I am trying to say is that we as Indians have to say "Enough is Enough". No criminalization of politics should be allowed. With impunity the law should be above everyone else including the law makers.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Measuring Experience...Stoichiometrically
As a young kid, I always wondered how I could get those creases that my father sported whenever he frowned at one of my capers or expressed surprised at the antics that I pulled off. But whenever I tried to emulate his creases, I was immediately chastised for hastening the “wrinkling” of the skin.
My sister would say that a time would come when I would not want to sport the crease and yet nature would get the best of me. I have begun to see the work of nature unfold. At 28 years, I now sport a tender crease on my forehead whenever I lift my eyebrows up. Although when I do relax my forehead muscles those creases do not leave any wrinkles, indicating that my skin is still elastic and the collagen in my skin is helping it revert back to its original shape.
It is often said that as we grow older, we grow wiser. I know that is debatable. No scientific data has ever been able to establish an empirical relationship between experience and age. But side stepping the debate, it is an accepted axiom in human relations and often serves as a fodder for an argument between an adolescent and a demanding parent.
So as we grow older, we develop creases and as we grow older we also tend to get wiser. So extrapolating the transitive relationship, so do the creases on the forehead act as a visual indicator…a barometer…a measuring jar for experience?
So if experience can be likened to water, then with age, it gradually fills up leaving behind the creases on the forehead akin to a rising water meniscus seen during a filling up exercise of a measuring jar.
So next time you are looking to consult someone about a problem or looking to hire someone with experience, side glance their resume and remember to count the number of creases on that person’s forehead! It should serve as a good experience indicator.
My sister would say that a time would come when I would not want to sport the crease and yet nature would get the best of me. I have begun to see the work of nature unfold. At 28 years, I now sport a tender crease on my forehead whenever I lift my eyebrows up. Although when I do relax my forehead muscles those creases do not leave any wrinkles, indicating that my skin is still elastic and the collagen in my skin is helping it revert back to its original shape.
It is often said that as we grow older, we grow wiser. I know that is debatable. No scientific data has ever been able to establish an empirical relationship between experience and age. But side stepping the debate, it is an accepted axiom in human relations and often serves as a fodder for an argument between an adolescent and a demanding parent.
So as we grow older, we develop creases and as we grow older we also tend to get wiser. So extrapolating the transitive relationship, so do the creases on the forehead act as a visual indicator…a barometer…a measuring jar for experience?
So if experience can be likened to water, then with age, it gradually fills up leaving behind the creases on the forehead akin to a rising water meniscus seen during a filling up exercise of a measuring jar.
So next time you are looking to consult someone about a problem or looking to hire someone with experience, side glance their resume and remember to count the number of creases on that person’s forehead! It should serve as a good experience indicator.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Prosthetic Care
Recently I had a bout of flu (or more medically terming it, influenza). Although I had never been affected by flu before, this recent bout has already made me have enough of it. Anyway I shall not digress as to how I struggled coping with the unwelcome visitor in my body and how tired and harassed I was from the virus.
But I shall digress as always to the philosophy of the ailment. I should say that I am blessed with a malady. Hmm...a paradox. Maybe I should re-phrase that sentence stating that I am cursed with a malady. Anyway I, unnaturally, always tend to see things through a very complex prism that has a refractive index of morals, ethics, emotions, logic, human melancholy, anthropology etc all mixed very disproportionately. Much as the virus tried to cure my malady, by tiring my body and mind with feverish temperatures of 103+ degrees, the malady magically as it may seem, became stronger, as though it was fueled by the futile machinations of the virus!
On Monday, even as I dragged myself to work, all my sinews screamed for mercy and the comfort of my warm bed. But as obstinate as I am, I showed up haggard and ill at ease to work. Much to my obstinacy and discomfort, the virus began to gradually take control over my body and just 2 hours into the day, I realized that I cannot pull a fast one over this virus. I decided to go home but decided to resist for a while. And then the downpour started...
As people passed by my cubicle, concerns about my failing health were galore. There were people imploring me to go home, take adequate rest, get to a doctor, stay warm etc. I am usually a skeptic of human sympathy (barring those expressed by near and dear ones). I was pleasantly surprised to see the care and attention that I was getting. I began to feel nice about my sickness. I thought at least this way I get to see the softer, comforting side of the people. People in general are nice and caring. The steely exterior that most show at work is just another piece of attire that they wear along with their formal clothes every day in the morning when they show up to work. Otherwise deep down, there is a fleshy pulsating organ in every person. And then the reverie shattered...
Just when I was gloating about my species, a man walked by and spoke those words that defined my next few "flu days". He said that I should go home lest I should infect him and everyone else. The comment is fairly honest and I abide by the logic. But what betrayed him was his eyes and shining steely armor. There was no emotion, the spasmodic vibrations behind his sternum was hardly visible. What came across was a very selfish homo sapien who basically cared about his own well being and him not getting sick. It was not my discomfort that put him ill at ease nor my shooting temperatures that concerned him. What concerned him was "HIM".
Should I blame my prism which sees more than what I should see? It is like a photo mosaic telescope that pieces a given incident into a complex picture which is multi-dimensional. I began to see the decadence of man kind when he is putting him before the other. But then now after much of the virus having flushed out of my system, I see this picture and think whether I am right about that emotion or not. Had the virus actually overpowered my malady? I really hope it had.
But I shall digress as always to the philosophy of the ailment. I should say that I am blessed with a malady. Hmm...a paradox. Maybe I should re-phrase that sentence stating that I am cursed with a malady. Anyway I, unnaturally, always tend to see things through a very complex prism that has a refractive index of morals, ethics, emotions, logic, human melancholy, anthropology etc all mixed very disproportionately. Much as the virus tried to cure my malady, by tiring my body and mind with feverish temperatures of 103+ degrees, the malady magically as it may seem, became stronger, as though it was fueled by the futile machinations of the virus!
On Monday, even as I dragged myself to work, all my sinews screamed for mercy and the comfort of my warm bed. But as obstinate as I am, I showed up haggard and ill at ease to work. Much to my obstinacy and discomfort, the virus began to gradually take control over my body and just 2 hours into the day, I realized that I cannot pull a fast one over this virus. I decided to go home but decided to resist for a while. And then the downpour started...
As people passed by my cubicle, concerns about my failing health were galore. There were people imploring me to go home, take adequate rest, get to a doctor, stay warm etc. I am usually a skeptic of human sympathy (barring those expressed by near and dear ones). I was pleasantly surprised to see the care and attention that I was getting. I began to feel nice about my sickness. I thought at least this way I get to see the softer, comforting side of the people. People in general are nice and caring. The steely exterior that most show at work is just another piece of attire that they wear along with their formal clothes every day in the morning when they show up to work. Otherwise deep down, there is a fleshy pulsating organ in every person. And then the reverie shattered...
Just when I was gloating about my species, a man walked by and spoke those words that defined my next few "flu days". He said that I should go home lest I should infect him and everyone else. The comment is fairly honest and I abide by the logic. But what betrayed him was his eyes and shining steely armor. There was no emotion, the spasmodic vibrations behind his sternum was hardly visible. What came across was a very selfish homo sapien who basically cared about his own well being and him not getting sick. It was not my discomfort that put him ill at ease nor my shooting temperatures that concerned him. What concerned him was "HIM".
Should I blame my prism which sees more than what I should see? It is like a photo mosaic telescope that pieces a given incident into a complex picture which is multi-dimensional. I began to see the decadence of man kind when he is putting him before the other. But then now after much of the virus having flushed out of my system, I see this picture and think whether I am right about that emotion or not. Had the virus actually overpowered my malady? I really hope it had.
Monday, January 05, 2009
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