This post has been written by Citizen Kavitta
The reason for us to be there: To get an interview of the CM. We were doing this story on the Commonwealth Games Village. A story about how the banks of the poor Yamuna are falling prey to the greed of some influential well-connected people. A story about how the fragile, ecologically sensitive river bed is getting consumed, first in the name of God with the Akshardham and now in the name of development with the Commonwealth Games Village.
Anybody who is a Somebody was there. That was the day when the palatial lawns of the CM's house were open to the Khaas Admi. The vote bank or the people who could generate the vote bank. Some 500-odd people; young and old, politicians and political aspirants, men and women, industrialists and beauticians. Hindu fanatics and Musalman Fundamentalists. We were the only two people there who were the actual aam admi.
But wasn't this the same CM that we had elected five years back? Why was she available to only a selected people and that too only on a special day? Why did it take us a week to get an interview that we wanted to air for the public? Why meeting the same CM – who we, the aam admi elected – an almost impossible task? We were not there out of choice. There was no commonality – except perhaps one – in all those were present. They all had the same desire: Madam ke pair choone hain. Madam ke saath photo khinchwana hai. Sole motive: Madam ko khush karna hai. (Have to touch madam’s feet. Have to get clicked with madam. Have to make madam happy.)
The party went on. Silver-haired men and women, children in all sizes, their mothers, everyone had this sudden pang, to touch the CM’s feet every time she came out of her Special Enclosure (The enclosure: A brilliantly white shamiana, with twinkling fairy lights meant for the special invitees, the 'more' influential and the 'more' powerful). The aroma of good biryani and tender kebabs filled the air. It took special security services to protect this space from the visiting throngs and visiting bats.
I was in awe. Wondering what was everybody up to. And why? I always knew that ‘this’ happened. I always knew that the pair choona policy was the only way the politics of this country functioned. To see any, especially this performance LIVE was a warped celestial experience. Big stars and small, the politicians, were performing: Continuous, uninterrupted performances with utmost brilliance. One star falling down to another's feet and rising; shining brighter with the I-am-suddenly-more-powerful look. This repeated, bending-double action lasted for over four hours.
Caught between the shooting stars and falling ones were us.
I tried to justify: We are a country with temples for film stars and the Chief Minister should them belong to more hallowed circles. She was our leader, our big GOD. She had the power to turn, immortalise other non-Gods into smaller gods when they touched her feet. I wondered: Could I be the next youth leader if I touched her feet enough enough number of times at such iftars? The concept of Parmeshwar suddenly became clearer.
Maybe this is a country progressing. From the days of black and white movies with their pallu-covered, milk-glass bearing woman, a sati-savitri, now we have a woman as our CM, our God. She is neither sati nor savitri. She is a woman in power and the men touch her feet instead. My head was in a mess: Wanting to accept, to ignore or just wanting to forget about the interview and run. But we couldn’t: This was the Chief Minister of Delhi. We had pitched really hard for this interview. We stay.
We stand in a corner quietly while the others are busy putting up this act. She notices, walks up to us almost five in the middle of the chaos and insists we eat. There are biryani and kebabs goddammit. She invites us inside the Special Enclosure. We insist each time we need the interview first.
After her second invitation to join in the enclosure, even the others started approaching us. Primarily to find out who we were and WHY their God was so interested in us. Others came, some just to drop in their visiting cards others with their visiting stories. One needed to talk about other politicians, another one wanted to show off his community initiative and the third wanted to report a scam being perpetrated by a man in a green kurta. Apparently, someone really big’s son.
People now start to bend double for us, this time with their hands folded in a namaste. Probably I was mistaken about being the Aam Admi. Probably after the politicians the media is God. Probably they could not tolerate my harem pants anymore.(hahahaha) Probably they are showing us the way out. No. They were inviting us to eat! I did understand it was another trick to please the CM. Impress people she talks to.
We got the interview. The CM nearly convinces us that Delhi, now a developed city is the best place in the world to say. Water problems were a thing of the past. The year 2010 will see a new face of Delhi, courtesy the Commonwealth Games. We eat in the white enclosure, food perhaps bought with the taxpayer’s money. My money. I enjoy and appreciate the biryani and her charm and hospitality work on me. The charisma of the woman who had for years been a mother, a home-maker and a true politician hits me in the face. I feel a sense of her power too.
I don’t want to think of the Yamuna, it’s still flowing, can’t we eat first? The aroma of power and food was intoxicating me. I felt part of some episode of Star Wars. Colleagues from rival channels were curious to know our special status to be sitting inside the special enclosure. Overfriendly people, sweet people, nice people, they were going out of their way to socialise with us. As we leave, the CM gives us a little bow and thanks us for coming. And oh my god, I am not the part of the crowd... I am the new God. I too was bitten by the power bug. Thank you madam ji aap ki kripa hai; ab hum bhi bhagwan hain. Charansparsh.
Showing posts with label politician. Show all posts
Showing posts with label politician. Show all posts
Friday, October 26, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Lesson 19: Anger is the manifestation of Fear…?
And are you afraid yet? For till you don't feel the fear, you won't feel the anger.
Suresh* (name changed to protect identity) has old parents at home, he’s their only support. Like any other young guy, he also likes this girl. She stays in his colony. They don’t speak much, except he ensures he takes a round of her house when she is outside, drying clothes or sweeping the porch. He is an autorickshaw driver. Suresh and his family faced a severe money crunch for three years so that Suresh could buy his own auto. Usually, autorickshaw drivers work under contractors and pay anything between Rs 300-350 as daily rental charges. Whatever they earn in a day – or not – they have to pay that amount for using someone else’s auto. Once he got his own auto, the family saw happier times. You and I perhaps would still find their living conditions pecuniary, but they were happy.
Last week, another autorickshaw driver – a local goon of sorts – murdered another auto guy, with a sickle (darati, in Hindi). The police came to their colony and picked up Suresh. He had not even raised a finger. There is proof, there were eye witnesses that he did NOT do anything. Currently Suresh is in jail. His bail has been refused. The murderer is roaming free; he has local-level politicians for friends. Suresh’s parents don’t know what to do. They are scared. Suresh’s friends are angry. Because they are afraid. That despite their friend being innocent, he will probably be booked in a false case.
I am scared because despite knowing Suresh – I know him through Umakant, my favourite auto-wallah – and yet, I cannot do anything… As a professional. They called me, the auto-drivers. I know them, they have my card. I had said, “Bhaiyya, kabhi zaroorat ho to batana,” (if you ever need me, call me). They called. I am media. People are supposed to be scared of me. I am angry. I am scared. Can I do anything? Will my channel/editor take up the story? Will METRO NOW take it up? But then, Suresh is an auto driver and such things only happen to little people. Not news, nah. Not TRP.
On the colony gate of Green Park Extension – one of Delhi’s relatively posh areas – there is a notice. A missing person’s notice. The girl in the picture is pretty… and has been missing since August 8, 2007. The notice is in font size 8, hardly visible; and has other posters sticking on it. I wonder if the girl is alive. Or gang-raped. Or maimed. Or perhaps sitting in a minister’s bedroom somewhere, to be used and then sold off. But you see, that missing girl is not any Adobe officer’s child. So no one in the media will bother about mobilizing forces and cameras to find her. Can I help her? You? Ha ha.
There was a comment on my employee-website… We had broken a story on Ministers being part of a racket where MINOR GIRLS are brought as house-helps, raped and made to have babies. The comment read, “Can you please help us find my brother’s daughter? She has been missing.” It was written by a Doctor… not an anonymous Rupa sticking on a busy colony gate. And yet; is their family angry, because they are scared? And what if tomorrow someone from your family is kidnapped? Will you trust the police or will you hold a press conference?
As a macabre joke, interestingly, my favourite autowallah Umakant, was the man who brought Adobe Anant back home in his auto: It was out in the newspapers, please check. And today, his best friend Suresh languishes in jail.
I had mentioned a DJ-event sometime back (on the sprawling Garden of Five Sense, under the aegis of Delhi Tourism) in one of my earlier posts. The organizers had paid all taxes and taken all permissions to hold an event. Yet, the police interrupted the event much before the sanctioned-time. No one could do anything but go home. Meanwhile, this Italian restaurant flouts rules every Saturday. Why? Because they pay the cops. Tomorrow, when the same cops come and declare they are going to bulldoze the place, I wonder how much money the restaurant would shell out.
Does Delhi remember Turquoise Cottage? THE Media hub on Wednesdays? Quite interesting that despite frequenting that place and joining communities in its praise, I really did not see ANY media support IN the papers on or TV for “our beloved TC”. That restaurant too used to be open till 2 am. Any guesses how? And yet. Shrug.
Do you have a friend in the Air Force or the Army? What will you do tomorrow if you learn your friend was shot dead in Drass; trying to protect a post, the location of which was compromised BY another corrupt official or perhaps some buffalo-loving politician? Or because some extremely intelligent politico – usually with a criminal record and no education – decided that that particular post did not need many soldiers? Or what if your pilot friend crashes, flying the decrepit helicopter the Air Force has? Will you do a Rang De Basanti? It IS a real situation, the b******s really don’t care. And how many times, the Rang De Basanti... for each soldier? Each missing person? Each religious riot?
Ditto for those who might have seen ‘Crash’. It could be your girlfriend and a policeman’s hand under her skirt while you are held at gunpoint. Gurgaon Police nearly did it to me in 2004. We were waiting at a Gurgaon colony-crossing, waiting for another couple to come in their car and lead us to their house. It was 9.30 pm. So these drunk cops come and while they are talking to my male friend, are checking me out. I will never forget. This burly cop, spat, then cleaning his teeth with this little finger, was pointedly staring at my breasts. I could FEEL his look. Then pointedly looking at my crotch – jeans – he asked my friend, “It’s not safe for medam to be traveling with you. Leave her here. Go find your friend.” I took out my press card then, like an ass. It was a lame gesture. The cops started laughing and said, “Arre medam, biyaabaan main camera nahi hote.” (There are no cameras in the jungle.) I swear, IF a policeman EVER touches me…
Yes. I am angry BECAUSE I am scared. And I am thinking. I really did not like the ending for Rang De Basanti. Does it have to be that? What happens when josh (adrenaline) and hosh (intelligence) come together? If a handful FEW can find ways to tweak the law for their benefit… WHAT happens when an ENTIRE nation puts its head together? Joins hands? Or even a handful? Do we always HAVE to be the victims?
And for how long? And for HOW long will you live in fear… Turn it to anger. Yes, Anger is a manifestation of fear. Feel the fear. But GIVE me your anger.
I will be afraid; and yet I will transform that fear into potent anger. Anger that DOES something. But, I will use my brains. Josh aur hosh. That will be my contribution today. Yours?
Suresh* (name changed to protect identity) has old parents at home, he’s their only support. Like any other young guy, he also likes this girl. She stays in his colony. They don’t speak much, except he ensures he takes a round of her house when she is outside, drying clothes or sweeping the porch. He is an autorickshaw driver. Suresh and his family faced a severe money crunch for three years so that Suresh could buy his own auto. Usually, autorickshaw drivers work under contractors and pay anything between Rs 300-350 as daily rental charges. Whatever they earn in a day – or not – they have to pay that amount for using someone else’s auto. Once he got his own auto, the family saw happier times. You and I perhaps would still find their living conditions pecuniary, but they were happy.
Last week, another autorickshaw driver – a local goon of sorts – murdered another auto guy, with a sickle (darati, in Hindi). The police came to their colony and picked up Suresh. He had not even raised a finger. There is proof, there were eye witnesses that he did NOT do anything. Currently Suresh is in jail. His bail has been refused. The murderer is roaming free; he has local-level politicians for friends. Suresh’s parents don’t know what to do. They are scared. Suresh’s friends are angry. Because they are afraid. That despite their friend being innocent, he will probably be booked in a false case.
I am scared because despite knowing Suresh – I know him through Umakant, my favourite auto-wallah – and yet, I cannot do anything… As a professional. They called me, the auto-drivers. I know them, they have my card. I had said, “Bhaiyya, kabhi zaroorat ho to batana,” (if you ever need me, call me). They called. I am media. People are supposed to be scared of me. I am angry. I am scared. Can I do anything? Will my channel/editor take up the story? Will METRO NOW take it up? But then, Suresh is an auto driver and such things only happen to little people. Not news, nah. Not TRP.
On the colony gate of Green Park Extension – one of Delhi’s relatively posh areas – there is a notice. A missing person’s notice. The girl in the picture is pretty… and has been missing since August 8, 2007. The notice is in font size 8, hardly visible; and has other posters sticking on it. I wonder if the girl is alive. Or gang-raped. Or maimed. Or perhaps sitting in a minister’s bedroom somewhere, to be used and then sold off. But you see, that missing girl is not any Adobe officer’s child. So no one in the media will bother about mobilizing forces and cameras to find her. Can I help her? You? Ha ha.
There was a comment on my employee-website… We had broken a story on Ministers being part of a racket where MINOR GIRLS are brought as house-helps, raped and made to have babies. The comment read, “Can you please help us find my brother’s daughter? She has been missing.” It was written by a Doctor… not an anonymous Rupa sticking on a busy colony gate. And yet; is their family angry, because they are scared? And what if tomorrow someone from your family is kidnapped? Will you trust the police or will you hold a press conference?
As a macabre joke, interestingly, my favourite autowallah Umakant, was the man who brought Adobe Anant back home in his auto: It was out in the newspapers, please check. And today, his best friend Suresh languishes in jail.
I had mentioned a DJ-event sometime back (on the sprawling Garden of Five Sense, under the aegis of Delhi Tourism) in one of my earlier posts. The organizers had paid all taxes and taken all permissions to hold an event. Yet, the police interrupted the event much before the sanctioned-time. No one could do anything but go home. Meanwhile, this Italian restaurant flouts rules every Saturday. Why? Because they pay the cops. Tomorrow, when the same cops come and declare they are going to bulldoze the place, I wonder how much money the restaurant would shell out.
Does Delhi remember Turquoise Cottage? THE Media hub on Wednesdays? Quite interesting that despite frequenting that place and joining communities in its praise, I really did not see ANY media support IN the papers on or TV for “our beloved TC”. That restaurant too used to be open till 2 am. Any guesses how? And yet. Shrug.
Do you have a friend in the Air Force or the Army? What will you do tomorrow if you learn your friend was shot dead in Drass; trying to protect a post, the location of which was compromised BY another corrupt official or perhaps some buffalo-loving politician? Or because some extremely intelligent politico – usually with a criminal record and no education – decided that that particular post did not need many soldiers? Or what if your pilot friend crashes, flying the decrepit helicopter the Air Force has? Will you do a Rang De Basanti? It IS a real situation, the b******s really don’t care. And how many times, the Rang De Basanti... for each soldier? Each missing person? Each religious riot?
Ditto for those who might have seen ‘Crash’. It could be your girlfriend and a policeman’s hand under her skirt while you are held at gunpoint. Gurgaon Police nearly did it to me in 2004. We were waiting at a Gurgaon colony-crossing, waiting for another couple to come in their car and lead us to their house. It was 9.30 pm. So these drunk cops come and while they are talking to my male friend, are checking me out. I will never forget. This burly cop, spat, then cleaning his teeth with this little finger, was pointedly staring at my breasts. I could FEEL his look. Then pointedly looking at my crotch – jeans – he asked my friend, “It’s not safe for medam to be traveling with you. Leave her here. Go find your friend.” I took out my press card then, like an ass. It was a lame gesture. The cops started laughing and said, “Arre medam, biyaabaan main camera nahi hote.” (There are no cameras in the jungle.) I swear, IF a policeman EVER touches me…
Yes. I am angry BECAUSE I am scared. And I am thinking. I really did not like the ending for Rang De Basanti. Does it have to be that? What happens when josh (adrenaline) and hosh (intelligence) come together? If a handful FEW can find ways to tweak the law for their benefit… WHAT happens when an ENTIRE nation puts its head together? Joins hands? Or even a handful? Do we always HAVE to be the victims?
And for how long? And for HOW long will you live in fear… Turn it to anger. Yes, Anger is a manifestation of fear. Feel the fear. But GIVE me your anger.
I will be afraid; and yet I will transform that fear into potent anger. Anger that DOES something. But, I will use my brains. Josh aur hosh. That will be my contribution today. Yours?
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Lesson 16: Get. Up. Stand. Up. Rise for they are coming for Your child. Soon.
I have never voted in my life. I lost 10 years of that power. I WILL vote, I WILL find out about the right candidates and vote for them. THAT will be my contribution. Yours?
Goodmorning Readers and Fellow Citizens,
How did you sleep last night? Nice dreams, sweet thoughts, good sex? And where were your children? Do they sleep with you or do they have a nice little room for themselves?
For, while you were sleeping a 2 and a half-year-old was raped and her throat was slit. It was a very neat slitting, should be, a 2 and a half-year old child’s skin is very soft. She died. But before she died, can you IMAGINE how much she would have CRIED when she was raped? Have you ever pulled a child’s ears, they cry a lot. And here, the child was ENTERED into. How much it would have hurt her? But of course, sorry, so you HAVE a 3-year-old son and you are the big-time editor of some big-time newspaper. It cannot happen to YOUR son, na? Are you so sure? Do you trust your child’s school bus driver? Or the nurse in the swanky toilet of the swanky air-conditioned school your baby goes to…? Are you SURE that the ayah is NOT feeling up your child INSIDE that Rs 6 lakh per annum school? And the Ministry of Mayhem will NOT do anything.
Somewhere else, a man first strangled his two daughters, they were 12 and 16 I think. So he put his fingers around their necks and squeezed and squeezed till their eyes rolled in their sockets. The mother watched helplessly. She was helpless much before. NO, he was not raping his daughters, he was ensuring no one else did once he was gone. This father LOVED his daughters; but he knew that if he left them behind, they would be raped and perhaps sold to some brothel. So, once he killed his daughters…. He killed his wife. Then, he hung himself. Because since fathers are supposed to look after a family and he could not, how could he leave them for the hyenas? THINK… What was going on his mind as he spent all that time killing the Family he had created? But then, the Powers that be ensured that it was IMPOSSIBLE for him to provide his family with a simple meal. And you know what was said? The Ministry of Mayhem said that it was His mistake and the mistake of all those like him – poor farmers who give you and me the cereal we eat in our houses and the posh bloody restaurants – that he could not look after his family. The Ministry of Mayhem will NOT do anything.
Also, while you ordered your bottles of Evian, the Delhi Development Authority, the Indian Railways and the Ministry of Mayhem in Delhi are all set to RAPE the Yamuna. By the way for those who did NOT know, the Yamuna is the DIRTIEST river in the WORLD. And you and I are drinking that water. Swimming in that water. Once that Commonwealth Games Village is up and running and it forever FINISHES the little water we have in Delhi, you will STILL have water to drink and to shower and to have bubble baths and swim? NO. No matter how many restaurants you own, you WILL suffer. The water source is the same.
And ah, the Indian Railways is going to spend Rs 125 CRORES on sound-proofing the area. WHY cannot that money be used in launching new trains? Or even improving the horrible seats in existing trains? NO, no, the Indian Railways is concerned about the 5,000 athletes who might be DISTURBED by the noise. DUDE, WHAT ABOUT THE GENERATOR NOISE AROUND MALLS THAT RESIDENTS SUFFER EVERYDAY? You, dear Ministry of Mayhem, are FOOLING us, taking OUR money, making an IDIOT out us. Rs 125 crore for TEMPORARY sound proofing. You mean we HAVE that kind of money and are NOT using it? And using it for 5000 athletes?! Delhi has 2000 times MORE people than that who will NOT get water. ALREADY in Vasant Kunj, Katwaria Sarai, Chittaranjan Park there is water shortage. And those are just three areas I have mentioned.
AND THEY WILL NOT STOP AT DELHI. They will encroach on your farm house. They will encroach on schools. They will encroach on ANYTHING that is not theirs. And if you stand up against them, they will rape your wife, have an encounter and kill you. Simple. FOR HOW LONG? And WHY are you quiet?
So Delhi has this BIG time DJ festival called BAARISH. It means Rain. Ha ha. Really? There will be NO rain once that Games Village comes up. HOW ABOUT FLATTENING THE GARDEN OF FIVE SENSES AND USING THAT LAND FOR THE VILLAGE? Would cost much less and that landscaping can be recreated after the games are over. AND please, there is NO OTHER land around Delhi for that village? ONLY the Yamuna with it's sound proofing?
I am going for a meeting today. WILL get you details, and THEN, you tell me WHY you are silent. Ok? Many of you cry hoarse about NO ONE doing anything… HOW about YOU showing some balls? Shy, are you? So fine, SHOW me spine.
For your 3 year old son. For your wife. For your mother. For YOU. This is NOT talking country, THIS is talking YOUR interest. WATCH THIS SPACE.
And remember, if you vote for an ass, you will GET an ass. Gadhe ko baap banaoge, to gadha hi baap banega. The gadha does NOT become a horse if you give it power. Look at George Bush. Hah. And remember, the East India Company FIRST got the Princes AGAINST their own people and THEN they took the states AWAY from them. WAIT and watch as it happens to You.
THIS IS CITIZEN CRIMSON’S TAKE ON THE GADHAS WE MAKE KING:
My contribution today: I pledge to vote and vote sensibly, in the next general elections. However trivial one out of a BILLION may sound (read tagline above to DRILL this in your head), I realise that MY VOTE COUNTS.
I will carry out my homework by finding out the truth about each candidate and spread the information among my peers. Thus I will make sure that the next government is chosen by majority agreement and NOT by majority indifference.
I completely believe that the quality of leaders reflects the quality of the nation. WHERE are we?
Like we conduct our personal financial planning and tax research – and even ask 16 people, from a fighter pilot to a rickshaw puller about what car to buy – let us start researching into a politicians’ caliber and credentials. The MEDIA can behave like a dependable tax consultant (and if not, you WILL read it here).
Let us make it hard for a politician to fool us. Let us gather information on these guys, from confirmed sources and spread THAT among fellow citizens and finally VOTE when there is an election. Let’s not choose our Government through majority INDIFFERENCE, but through majority agreement.
Those who cannot lead, should NOT be allowed to lead. But that will not happen till you and I VOTE for the people who CAN lead. OR find those people who can lead. Or BECOME the people who can lead. Don’t stay silent, the Ministry of Mayhem does not spare anyone.
Goodmorning Readers and Fellow Citizens,
How did you sleep last night? Nice dreams, sweet thoughts, good sex? And where were your children? Do they sleep with you or do they have a nice little room for themselves?
For, while you were sleeping a 2 and a half-year-old was raped and her throat was slit. It was a very neat slitting, should be, a 2 and a half-year old child’s skin is very soft. She died. But before she died, can you IMAGINE how much she would have CRIED when she was raped? Have you ever pulled a child’s ears, they cry a lot. And here, the child was ENTERED into. How much it would have hurt her? But of course, sorry, so you HAVE a 3-year-old son and you are the big-time editor of some big-time newspaper. It cannot happen to YOUR son, na? Are you so sure? Do you trust your child’s school bus driver? Or the nurse in the swanky toilet of the swanky air-conditioned school your baby goes to…? Are you SURE that the ayah is NOT feeling up your child INSIDE that Rs 6 lakh per annum school? And the Ministry of Mayhem will NOT do anything.
Somewhere else, a man first strangled his two daughters, they were 12 and 16 I think. So he put his fingers around their necks and squeezed and squeezed till their eyes rolled in their sockets. The mother watched helplessly. She was helpless much before. NO, he was not raping his daughters, he was ensuring no one else did once he was gone. This father LOVED his daughters; but he knew that if he left them behind, they would be raped and perhaps sold to some brothel. So, once he killed his daughters…. He killed his wife. Then, he hung himself. Because since fathers are supposed to look after a family and he could not, how could he leave them for the hyenas? THINK… What was going on his mind as he spent all that time killing the Family he had created? But then, the Powers that be ensured that it was IMPOSSIBLE for him to provide his family with a simple meal. And you know what was said? The Ministry of Mayhem said that it was His mistake and the mistake of all those like him – poor farmers who give you and me the cereal we eat in our houses and the posh bloody restaurants – that he could not look after his family. The Ministry of Mayhem will NOT do anything.
Also, while you ordered your bottles of Evian, the Delhi Development Authority, the Indian Railways and the Ministry of Mayhem in Delhi are all set to RAPE the Yamuna. By the way for those who did NOT know, the Yamuna is the DIRTIEST river in the WORLD. And you and I are drinking that water. Swimming in that water. Once that Commonwealth Games Village is up and running and it forever FINISHES the little water we have in Delhi, you will STILL have water to drink and to shower and to have bubble baths and swim? NO. No matter how many restaurants you own, you WILL suffer. The water source is the same.
And ah, the Indian Railways is going to spend Rs 125 CRORES on sound-proofing the area. WHY cannot that money be used in launching new trains? Or even improving the horrible seats in existing trains? NO, no, the Indian Railways is concerned about the 5,000 athletes who might be DISTURBED by the noise. DUDE, WHAT ABOUT THE GENERATOR NOISE AROUND MALLS THAT RESIDENTS SUFFER EVERYDAY? You, dear Ministry of Mayhem, are FOOLING us, taking OUR money, making an IDIOT out us. Rs 125 crore for TEMPORARY sound proofing. You mean we HAVE that kind of money and are NOT using it? And using it for 5000 athletes?! Delhi has 2000 times MORE people than that who will NOT get water. ALREADY in Vasant Kunj, Katwaria Sarai, Chittaranjan Park there is water shortage. And those are just three areas I have mentioned.
AND THEY WILL NOT STOP AT DELHI. They will encroach on your farm house. They will encroach on schools. They will encroach on ANYTHING that is not theirs. And if you stand up against them, they will rape your wife, have an encounter and kill you. Simple. FOR HOW LONG? And WHY are you quiet?
So Delhi has this BIG time DJ festival called BAARISH. It means Rain. Ha ha. Really? There will be NO rain once that Games Village comes up. HOW ABOUT FLATTENING THE GARDEN OF FIVE SENSES AND USING THAT LAND FOR THE VILLAGE? Would cost much less and that landscaping can be recreated after the games are over. AND please, there is NO OTHER land around Delhi for that village? ONLY the Yamuna with it's sound proofing?
I am going for a meeting today. WILL get you details, and THEN, you tell me WHY you are silent. Ok? Many of you cry hoarse about NO ONE doing anything… HOW about YOU showing some balls? Shy, are you? So fine, SHOW me spine.
For your 3 year old son. For your wife. For your mother. For YOU. This is NOT talking country, THIS is talking YOUR interest. WATCH THIS SPACE.
And remember, if you vote for an ass, you will GET an ass. Gadhe ko baap banaoge, to gadha hi baap banega. The gadha does NOT become a horse if you give it power. Look at George Bush. Hah. And remember, the East India Company FIRST got the Princes AGAINST their own people and THEN they took the states AWAY from them. WAIT and watch as it happens to You.
THIS IS CITIZEN CRIMSON’S TAKE ON THE GADHAS WE MAKE KING:
My contribution today: I pledge to vote and vote sensibly, in the next general elections. However trivial one out of a BILLION may sound (read tagline above to DRILL this in your head), I realise that MY VOTE COUNTS.
I will carry out my homework by finding out the truth about each candidate and spread the information among my peers. Thus I will make sure that the next government is chosen by majority agreement and NOT by majority indifference.
I completely believe that the quality of leaders reflects the quality of the nation. WHERE are we?
Like we conduct our personal financial planning and tax research – and even ask 16 people, from a fighter pilot to a rickshaw puller about what car to buy – let us start researching into a politicians’ caliber and credentials. The MEDIA can behave like a dependable tax consultant (and if not, you WILL read it here).
Let us make it hard for a politician to fool us. Let us gather information on these guys, from confirmed sources and spread THAT among fellow citizens and finally VOTE when there is an election. Let’s not choose our Government through majority INDIFFERENCE, but through majority agreement.
Those who cannot lead, should NOT be allowed to lead. But that will not happen till you and I VOTE for the people who CAN lead. OR find those people who can lead. Or BECOME the people who can lead. Don’t stay silent, the Ministry of Mayhem does not spare anyone.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Lesson 9: Who is the Indian Shitizen?
I will be polite to the housekeeping boys and security guards, or will at least keep my mouth shut each time I want to be rude. That would be my contribution today. Yours?
Contributed by Citizen Mohit (on the Rocks)
Who is this Indian Shitizen? That’s the question I asked myself the first time I came across this term and that exactly was the question I could hear in my friends’ tones. I guess everyone who has been on our sites has their own interpretation of this term. Here’s mine!
Please Note: Using ‘he’ comes more natural to me but this generally applies to the ‘she’ too – unless noted otherwise.
The Shitizen's Past
He was brought up in a middle class house with middle class dreams. He is mostly the child of a government servant or a small business owner (the parchun ki dukaan types a.k.a the Mom ‘n’ Pop stores in the West). Not very long ago, he used to study in a school and dream of becoming an engineer or doctor and work hard to buy his own new motorcycle, not a Harley Davidson but a more down to earth Hero Honda Splendor or a Kawasaki Bajaj RTZ. It was supposed to be an upgrade from his father’s Bajaj Super/Chetak (or, as in my case, a Vijay Super!).
Maruti 800 would be the next step towards a successful life. While he was opening up with cable television in his home bringing an end to the monopoly of the monotonous Doordarshan with the advent of Zee TV and MTV, there was still no competition to the 20 minute news capsule (back to back at 09:20 PM in Hindi and at 09:40 PM in English) that would update him on all that was to know in the world of politics, states, sports and the weather. Entertainment folks never made it to the news unless they died.
He would dream of getting into an IIT and make it to the big companies which at that time meant Samtel (makers of picture tubes for almost all brand TVs in India, at least at that time) or one of the TV makers themselves (Onida, Videocon) or of course the core manufacturing giants like BHEL, SAIL (remember the “There’s a little bit of SAIL in everyone’s lives” ad before the news?), Tata Steel and the like. His career choice was made (or doomed) at the age of 16 when he was asked to choose Science or Commerce. Did I say choice? Ha … a big HAH! It was mostly on the basis of marks in the Class X Board exams (remember your parents and teachers telling you, “These are the exams that will define your life beta”?). Commerce was not an option; it was a majboori. People taking commerce were looked down upon. They were not seen as people who genuinely wanted to study Commerce; they obviously didn’t get science.
USA was not a friend; we were not aligned with any of the super powers. So what if we just had a fascination for all things Russian when it came to strategic defense infrastructure and know-how? To appear fair to the world, we did let US planes refuel their tanks in Indian airbases during the Gulf War. USA was supposed to be for Punjabi and Gujarati families who would sell off their assets in India to fly to Amreeka [America] to work in gas stations and motels. People looked at the angry-young-man of Bollywood and public leaders for inspiration.
Marriage between a Punjabi and a Madrasi was only possible in Ek Duje Ke Liye. Fair skin was the number one criterion for considering a girl beautiful. Amitabh Bachchan would be seen with Rajiv Gandhi. Anu Malik was the favorite whipping boy for his “inspired” music and outspokenness. Prannoy Roy with his Friday night program, The World This Week, was the favorite newsman while Vinod Dua had a similar status in Hindi journalism. Sardar+ music meant bhangra and Daler Mehndi, of course, TV serials meant a span of 13 episodes (for whatever reason).
Rules Back Then
There were some basic rules of the game in those days.
1. You never get into a fight with a government servant; he could be a line man, postman or a chapraasi but if he works for the government, it meant that he had control over a lot of luxuries in your life. You could say goodbye to your letters or telephone service if you so much as hinted of an altercation with the Sarkari Karamchari unless, of course, you were the offspring of either his boss or a policewallah.
2. A girl and a boy could never be friends. They were either brother-sister or husband-wife. Apart from that, a boy had to be a friend of the girl’s younger brother to be able to talk to her and that too only to ask her to call her brother. He would have to imagine the rest of the conversation later at night, in his dreams.
3. Sikhs were supposed to be Khalistan; Christians were peaceful and loving people as long as they stuck to teaching in English-medium convent schools. Muslims were supposed to be Muslims first and Indians later. Hindus were obviously the righteous ones because their political leaders were the ones setting the perspectives about all others.
4. Politicians cared and worked for their vote bank only: So what if a certain Rajiv Goswami burns himself alive to protest against their policies?
His Present
The Indian Shitizen of today is young and works out of plush offices not the sarkari daftars.
He suddenly found himself in this new world where Kawasaki Bajaj RTZ went out of production and Hero Honda Splendor became just another entry level bike. The Indian Shitizen can realistically buy an expensive Harley Davidson clone now, if he wants.
He can afford to buy a Ford Ikon as soon as he gets his first job (and a lot of them do buy one). Yes, loans are no more a social taboo they once were. Cable television is the only television for him now. News is now broadcast 24 hours a day for him on exclusive news channels. 20 minutes news? Are you kidding? That would be the time that is spent on just “our top story tonight” with everybody and their mommy chipping in with their analysis. Yes, news items became “stories”.
IIT is still a dream today but you can get into any of the big multinational software companies with a degree from your friendly neighborhood engineering college, which is only a little unfriendly to the pocket. Shimla and Ooty have given way to Phuket Island and Mauritius as top honeymoon spots… and New Year parties. You don’t have to pack your assets in India to go to US now – software engineers go for a few years and come back (or not); some even go just for vacations. The US consulate in Mumbai now has a dedicated separate counter for “Shahs and Patels”; the Delhi counterpart has one for those speaking only Punjabi or Hindi.
Angry young man is out; today’s Shitizen looks at reality show stars for inspiration. The Aneek Dhars (Sa Re Ga Ma Pa 2007) and the Amit Sanas (first Indian Idol ), coming from small towns to make it big on or behind the silver screen have made it to our drawing rooms (which are now known as living rooms, by the way). Atal Bihari Vajpayee was the most favorite politician of the youth of today; (With all due respect to Vajpayee ji) I will not be completely wrong if I say that it was because the youth did not know of any other leaders.
Marriages between a Punjabi and a Madrasi have come out from Bollywood movies to real life even as Bollywood itself gets more real than ever in movies like Satya. Girls are no more judged beautiful based on their fair skin. Amitabh Bachchan is now seen with Amar Singh. Baaju hat (move aside) Anu Malik; Himesh Reshammiya has taken over as the favorite whipping boy as he becomes bigger than Anu Malik ever was (and, as he claims, even RD Burman)! He espouses the Indian Shitizen like few other – does what he wants and likes to do and does not give a damn about what his detractors think of it, as long as he enjoys his work and knows that. Prannoy Roy is still respected but Rajdeep Sardesai (whom my father describes as “ek puraane first class cricketer ka ladka hai, achcha bolta hai, kaafi achche achche points uthata hai” [he is the son of an old first class cricketer, speaks well, brings out very good points]) has captured the imagination of the current youth. Sardar + music now also means guitar based Sufi-Rock! TV serials now go for so long that characters have to die because an actor leaves midway for another serial (also starting with K, of course).
The current Indian Shitizen has seen a world of change in his lifetime. Looking back now, it seems that till one fine day, it was the past and suddenly he came into the present with all its changes, for good or bad.
But some things didn’t change
So a lot of things changed for the Indian youth from his adolescence years to adulthood. But there has been little change in his attitude towards the government and vice versa. Public corporations, for the most part, have become synonymous with losses and red-tapism and corruption. A girl and a boy can be friends today (not all agree to this even today) but they run the risk of being pulled up and beaten by Shiv Sainiks or RSS workers, especially close to Valentine’s Day. Parents don’t mind if their daughter comes back from the college with her guy friend but the self-appointed custodians of Indian culture don’t care for what you and I think.
Religion is still a controversial subject. Sikhs have been absolved of the terrorism ‘charge’ but the Muslims have been put in that mold now. A normal Hindu and Muslim still don’t have any problem with each other but “Hindu-Muslim relations” as portrayed by the politicians are at an all time low with riots and bomb blasts occurring recursively. Politicians still make policies to please the vote bank –Rajiv Goswami is dead now and the striking doctors protesting against the govt are shown as heartless people not tending to their patients. Arjun Singh scares the hell out of the Indian Shitizen by recommending reservation in the private sector too.
Problems facing the country are frustrating but the common man has found alternate ways. For example - No electricity? No problem – get an apartment in one of the buildings selling two bedroom flats for 40 lacs with a clubhouse and 24 hour electricity and water supply. For every thing public, there is a private (and more often better, even if more expensive) counterpart. Schools, Hospitals, even roads (e.g. toll roads like the Noida toll road); the list goes on.
Since the common man found ways to circumvent the things that didn’t change, he lost interest in the nation. Talking about politics became passé. It was a surprise if someone knew the names of the chief ministers of more than 2 or three states. People today don’t know the number of states we have in the country. They know about the Osama and Clinton campaign more than the fact that we could be facing mid-term elections in this country.
But some of them have had enough shit from the politicians and people who have their own personal agenda in keeping the country backwards or in inciting revengeful religious sentiments. They are the people who want to bring India back into our mental frame; to at least increase the awareness of issues facing us and, where possible, take steps to help. Those people, I believe, are the INDIAN SHITIZENS!
(PS: It was difficult reading Mohit's piece in one go, simply because even as I was reading the story, I kept pinging Mohit to tell how this-has-happened-in-my-life-too. The Indian Shitizen could be a liquor baron and son, the next top supermodel, someone not just born with a silver spoon but the entire effing cutlery set in his mouth... and as Mohit has written, a HUGE population of our country, are the Middle Classes Children. Bajaj Priya was Papa's first scooter and I stood before him on that scooter for 12 long years before we got our first car - a Maruti 800 that was electric blue in colour, second-hand -- in 1991. It's funny and amusing how a LOT of my younger friends today and never-been-on-a-scooter types often say when they spot a "family" on a two-wheeler, "Oh my gaaaawd, HOW can they sit with kids dangling like that on scooters? It is dangerous, they should not. Seat belts bhi nahi hai!" Right. For those 12 years that Papa drove with me infront and Mamma at the back and bhai on her lap; we never had an accident. NEVER. Oh that scooter is STILL around -- and called Akbar -- I learnt gears on that and forever since, MISTRUSTED anything gear-less. It's like riding a goat.
Thanks Mohit: Very nostalgic.
Task Force: I missed a date today, please understand, my sense of time zones SUCKS. So I might be thinking I am uploading on 4th while it ends up becoming 5th. :| One post missed. SO PLEASE point out.
Contributed by Citizen Mohit (on the Rocks)
Who is this Indian Shitizen? That’s the question I asked myself the first time I came across this term and that exactly was the question I could hear in my friends’ tones. I guess everyone who has been on our sites has their own interpretation of this term. Here’s mine!
Please Note: Using ‘he’ comes more natural to me but this generally applies to the ‘she’ too – unless noted otherwise.
The Shitizen's Past
He was brought up in a middle class house with middle class dreams. He is mostly the child of a government servant or a small business owner (the parchun ki dukaan types a.k.a the Mom ‘n’ Pop stores in the West). Not very long ago, he used to study in a school and dream of becoming an engineer or doctor and work hard to buy his own new motorcycle, not a Harley Davidson but a more down to earth Hero Honda Splendor or a Kawasaki Bajaj RTZ. It was supposed to be an upgrade from his father’s Bajaj Super/Chetak (or, as in my case, a Vijay Super!).
Maruti 800 would be the next step towards a successful life. While he was opening up with cable television in his home bringing an end to the monopoly of the monotonous Doordarshan with the advent of Zee TV and MTV, there was still no competition to the 20 minute news capsule (back to back at 09:20 PM in Hindi and at 09:40 PM in English) that would update him on all that was to know in the world of politics, states, sports and the weather. Entertainment folks never made it to the news unless they died.
He would dream of getting into an IIT and make it to the big companies which at that time meant Samtel (makers of picture tubes for almost all brand TVs in India, at least at that time) or one of the TV makers themselves (Onida, Videocon) or of course the core manufacturing giants like BHEL, SAIL (remember the “There’s a little bit of SAIL in everyone’s lives” ad before the news?), Tata Steel and the like. His career choice was made (or doomed) at the age of 16 when he was asked to choose Science or Commerce. Did I say choice? Ha … a big HAH! It was mostly on the basis of marks in the Class X Board exams (remember your parents and teachers telling you, “These are the exams that will define your life beta”?). Commerce was not an option; it was a majboori. People taking commerce were looked down upon. They were not seen as people who genuinely wanted to study Commerce; they obviously didn’t get science.
USA was not a friend; we were not aligned with any of the super powers. So what if we just had a fascination for all things Russian when it came to strategic defense infrastructure and know-how? To appear fair to the world, we did let US planes refuel their tanks in Indian airbases during the Gulf War. USA was supposed to be for Punjabi and Gujarati families who would sell off their assets in India to fly to Amreeka [America] to work in gas stations and motels. People looked at the angry-young-man of Bollywood and public leaders for inspiration.
Marriage between a Punjabi and a Madrasi was only possible in Ek Duje Ke Liye. Fair skin was the number one criterion for considering a girl beautiful. Amitabh Bachchan would be seen with Rajiv Gandhi. Anu Malik was the favorite whipping boy for his “inspired” music and outspokenness. Prannoy Roy with his Friday night program, The World This Week, was the favorite newsman while Vinod Dua had a similar status in Hindi journalism. Sardar+ music meant bhangra and Daler Mehndi, of course, TV serials meant a span of 13 episodes (for whatever reason).
Rules Back Then
There were some basic rules of the game in those days.
1. You never get into a fight with a government servant; he could be a line man, postman or a chapraasi but if he works for the government, it meant that he had control over a lot of luxuries in your life. You could say goodbye to your letters or telephone service if you so much as hinted of an altercation with the Sarkari Karamchari unless, of course, you were the offspring of either his boss or a policewallah.
2. A girl and a boy could never be friends. They were either brother-sister or husband-wife. Apart from that, a boy had to be a friend of the girl’s younger brother to be able to talk to her and that too only to ask her to call her brother. He would have to imagine the rest of the conversation later at night, in his dreams.
3. Sikhs were supposed to be Khalistan; Christians were peaceful and loving people as long as they stuck to teaching in English-medium convent schools. Muslims were supposed to be Muslims first and Indians later. Hindus were obviously the righteous ones because their political leaders were the ones setting the perspectives about all others.
4. Politicians cared and worked for their vote bank only: So what if a certain Rajiv Goswami burns himself alive to protest against their policies?
His Present
The Indian Shitizen of today is young and works out of plush offices not the sarkari daftars.
He suddenly found himself in this new world where Kawasaki Bajaj RTZ went out of production and Hero Honda Splendor became just another entry level bike. The Indian Shitizen can realistically buy an expensive Harley Davidson clone now, if he wants.
He can afford to buy a Ford Ikon as soon as he gets his first job (and a lot of them do buy one). Yes, loans are no more a social taboo they once were. Cable television is the only television for him now. News is now broadcast 24 hours a day for him on exclusive news channels. 20 minutes news? Are you kidding? That would be the time that is spent on just “our top story tonight” with everybody and their mommy chipping in with their analysis. Yes, news items became “stories”.
IIT is still a dream today but you can get into any of the big multinational software companies with a degree from your friendly neighborhood engineering college, which is only a little unfriendly to the pocket. Shimla and Ooty have given way to Phuket Island and Mauritius as top honeymoon spots… and New Year parties. You don’t have to pack your assets in India to go to US now – software engineers go for a few years and come back (or not); some even go just for vacations. The US consulate in Mumbai now has a dedicated separate counter for “Shahs and Patels”; the Delhi counterpart has one for those speaking only Punjabi or Hindi.
Angry young man is out; today’s Shitizen looks at reality show stars for inspiration. The Aneek Dhars (Sa Re Ga Ma Pa 2007) and the Amit Sanas (first Indian Idol ), coming from small towns to make it big on or behind the silver screen have made it to our drawing rooms (which are now known as living rooms, by the way). Atal Bihari Vajpayee was the most favorite politician of the youth of today; (With all due respect to Vajpayee ji) I will not be completely wrong if I say that it was because the youth did not know of any other leaders.
Marriages between a Punjabi and a Madrasi have come out from Bollywood movies to real life even as Bollywood itself gets more real than ever in movies like Satya. Girls are no more judged beautiful based on their fair skin. Amitabh Bachchan is now seen with Amar Singh. Baaju hat (move aside) Anu Malik; Himesh Reshammiya has taken over as the favorite whipping boy as he becomes bigger than Anu Malik ever was (and, as he claims, even RD Burman)! He espouses the Indian Shitizen like few other – does what he wants and likes to do and does not give a damn about what his detractors think of it, as long as he enjoys his work and knows that. Prannoy Roy is still respected but Rajdeep Sardesai (whom my father describes as “ek puraane first class cricketer ka ladka hai, achcha bolta hai, kaafi achche achche points uthata hai” [he is the son of an old first class cricketer, speaks well, brings out very good points]) has captured the imagination of the current youth. Sardar + music now also means guitar based Sufi-Rock! TV serials now go for so long that characters have to die because an actor leaves midway for another serial (also starting with K, of course).
The current Indian Shitizen has seen a world of change in his lifetime. Looking back now, it seems that till one fine day, it was the past and suddenly he came into the present with all its changes, for good or bad.
But some things didn’t change
So a lot of things changed for the Indian youth from his adolescence years to adulthood. But there has been little change in his attitude towards the government and vice versa. Public corporations, for the most part, have become synonymous with losses and red-tapism and corruption. A girl and a boy can be friends today (not all agree to this even today) but they run the risk of being pulled up and beaten by Shiv Sainiks or RSS workers, especially close to Valentine’s Day. Parents don’t mind if their daughter comes back from the college with her guy friend but the self-appointed custodians of Indian culture don’t care for what you and I think.
Religion is still a controversial subject. Sikhs have been absolved of the terrorism ‘charge’ but the Muslims have been put in that mold now. A normal Hindu and Muslim still don’t have any problem with each other but “Hindu-Muslim relations” as portrayed by the politicians are at an all time low with riots and bomb blasts occurring recursively. Politicians still make policies to please the vote bank –Rajiv Goswami is dead now and the striking doctors protesting against the govt are shown as heartless people not tending to their patients. Arjun Singh scares the hell out of the Indian Shitizen by recommending reservation in the private sector too.
Problems facing the country are frustrating but the common man has found alternate ways. For example - No electricity? No problem – get an apartment in one of the buildings selling two bedroom flats for 40 lacs with a clubhouse and 24 hour electricity and water supply. For every thing public, there is a private (and more often better, even if more expensive) counterpart. Schools, Hospitals, even roads (e.g. toll roads like the Noida toll road); the list goes on.
Since the common man found ways to circumvent the things that didn’t change, he lost interest in the nation. Talking about politics became passé. It was a surprise if someone knew the names of the chief ministers of more than 2 or three states. People today don’t know the number of states we have in the country. They know about the Osama and Clinton campaign more than the fact that we could be facing mid-term elections in this country.
But some of them have had enough shit from the politicians and people who have their own personal agenda in keeping the country backwards or in inciting revengeful religious sentiments. They are the people who want to bring India back into our mental frame; to at least increase the awareness of issues facing us and, where possible, take steps to help. Those people, I believe, are the INDIAN SHITIZENS!
(PS: It was difficult reading Mohit's piece in one go, simply because even as I was reading the story, I kept pinging Mohit to tell how this-has-happened-in-my-life-too. The Indian Shitizen could be a liquor baron and son, the next top supermodel, someone not just born with a silver spoon but the entire effing cutlery set in his mouth... and as Mohit has written, a HUGE population of our country, are the Middle Classes Children. Bajaj Priya was Papa's first scooter and I stood before him on that scooter for 12 long years before we got our first car - a Maruti 800 that was electric blue in colour, second-hand -- in 1991. It's funny and amusing how a LOT of my younger friends today and never-been-on-a-scooter types often say when they spot a "family" on a two-wheeler, "Oh my gaaaawd, HOW can they sit with kids dangling like that on scooters? It is dangerous, they should not. Seat belts bhi nahi hai!" Right. For those 12 years that Papa drove with me infront and Mamma at the back and bhai on her lap; we never had an accident. NEVER. Oh that scooter is STILL around -- and called Akbar -- I learnt gears on that and forever since, MISTRUSTED anything gear-less. It's like riding a goat.
Thanks Mohit: Very nostalgic.
Task Force: I missed a date today, please understand, my sense of time zones SUCKS. So I might be thinking I am uploading on 4th while it ends up becoming 5th. :| One post missed. SO PLEASE point out.
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