BMC to Rope-In Mark Zuckerberg to Work on an Algorithm to Count Potholes in Mumbai.

BMC has taken a serious note of the flak that it faced on social media, over the conditions of Mumbai roads in monsoon. And in an unprecedented move, it has decided to get help from none other than Mark Zuckerberg. No, it is not asking Facebook to delete the profiles of all those who have dared to question BMC’s competence. In fact, they are collaborating with the founder of Facebook to help them crack the code of accurately counting the number of potholes in Mumbai. Sources close to us have informed that the idea was sparked from the scene in the movie The Social Network (based on Mark Zuckerberg’s story behind making of Facebook) where Mark is seen (along with his friends) cracking an algorithm for Facemash. The idea is to not only accurately count the total number of potholes in Mumbai, but also to rank them. No, the ranking is not according to the attractiveness of a pothole (that was for Facemash), but according to their depth and severity. The potholes, would be classified in one of the following three categories:

A – The Adolescent Khadda 

It is not a full-fledged ‘pot’ yet, but just a small ‘pit’, a small indentation, the size of a small katori or a cutting-chai cup.

    

B – The Backache Khadda

This is the medium category pothole. It is potent enough to cut the life of your suspensions and spine by half, each time your vehicle falls into it. The BMC is in the process of putting up some of the best orthopedic doctors on its medical panel, especially for this category of potholes. You just need to log in the pin code of the area where you encountered this pothole, and you will be directed to the nearest orthopedic doctor (or a bone-setter, depending whether you are in the West or the East).

C - The Galactic Crater (or The ICU Khadda, like some call it)

Our thoughts and prayers with you, if you happen to fall in one of these. It is the biggest of them and it is further divided into two categories: a) Casualty Ward Pothole, & b) ICU Pothole

We have also heard from our trusted (BIS approved) sources that some noted wildlife experts and tiger conservationists have also been roped-in for the pothole counting project. Mr. Magarmachwala, a renowned wildlife enthusiast said, “Counting potholes is like counting tiger pugmarks, raised to the power of n (where n ≠ no. of seats in BMC)”.

  

The project has been accorded top-priority and shall be undertaken by BMC as soon as it is done taking offence at the song by a popular Radio Jockey and the anguish of a countless other not-so-popular citizens!

India Antisocial

I am an atheist. So if I were extol the virtues of religion that I was born into, as being liberal enough

to allow me to disown it (and disown the very concept of religion and god), it would be blasphemy of sorts - how can I praise religion, when I don’t acknowledge it? Religion to me is purely man-made. And there’s no two ways about it (my conviction). And if any of you readers wants to disagree with me, I won’t give you the pleasure of engaging me into that debate. I will just agree to disagree.

The word ‘secular’ (meaning: irreligious), to that extent should be something that I believe in or at least identify with. Sadly not. I abhor it. And while I believe that, as a non-English speaking nation, India has done exceedingly well in equipping itself with the language, it has got the meaning of the word secular absolutely wrong. This, in spite of giving the word a sacred place in the preamble of its constitution. Or maybe, because of it.     

For if India were to be truly secular, it should never engage with or involve any religion, in the matters of state policy. But because one of the biggest banes of Indian polity is oft-encouraged and unabashedly practiced encroachment of vote bank-politics into constitutionally-defined democratic process, sadly that is not the case. Politicians and state (by the virtue of being the sanctioned executive tool in the hands of elected politicians) have proactively involved themselves in the matters of religion. And when that happens, the biggest causality is the concept of fairness. In the garb of being righteous, we have steadfastly undermined one religion more than others. The reason? The practitioners of that religion happen to be in the majority. By practicing this congress (and probably the left front) brand of secularism, as a nation we have steadily moved away from the concept of secularism in its true sense to that of ‘minority-appeasement’ and/or ‘anything-majoritarian-bashing’.

While the society and its institutions are not bound by any such constitutional mandate, and are free to practice and show their allegiance to any religion of their choice, this twisted notion of secularism has become so pervasive that the whole ideology now seems to be lost on us. To our credit, as a society we do practice secularism, but it is our collective failure when we choose to do so only selectively.  

Coming to the point (a long-winding and predominantly-academic-in-its-tone argument is never an ideal way to do that), last week a popular pub in Mumbai (Goregaon Social) and its owners came

under  attack over the use of Christianity-related motifs in its interiors. In what seemed like a highly-warranted and unprecedented collective damage-control, not only were the interiors swiftly removed, but the owners were made to apologise and criminal offence case was initiated against them. Surprisingly, not an iota of opposition was raised by the sentinels of secularism. No intolerance banners came up, no prime-time discussions happened, no placards were waved, no black armbands tied and no awards were returned. Why was the secular society too eager to apologise? What if the matter pertained to the majority religion?  

I don’t know what the offending material was, and frankly I don’t care. Because, for a country so obsessed with religion, there can be as many definitions of blasphemy as there are number of people residing in it – to each his own thing that offends! But I am absolutely clear on one thing – secularism in this country is a sham, and I refuse to be one of its proponents. I am far better off displaying my unmistakable preference when it comes to religion. And I choose atheism.

I Object!

Every monsoon, Mumbai (or for that matter, any other big city of India) gets washed away with first major

shower. As if the crumbling infrastructure and drowning cities were not enough, India’s oldest political party is hell bent to washout the monsoon session of the parliament as well. Under the misguidance of Rahul Gandhi, the congress has been holding the whole nation to ransom. (Honestly, I doubt whether he is competent enough even to misguide?!)

Just yesterday, a parliamentary delegation from Bhutan was in India to witness the workings of Indian parliamentary democracy firsthand. Well, if ‘Disruption and Opposition of the Incumbent Government’ was the chapter that they were here to learn, then I am sure they’ll all go back as highly enlightened souls. True, parliament is the prescribed venue for dissent, but here is my principal discomfort with the way congress is going about it.  

1) It doesn’t have the mandate.

No, not the mandate to govern, that they obviously don’t have, but the mandate to oppose. They returned with historically low seats in the last Lok Sabha elections, and officially they do not have the numbers to be named as the opposition party in the house. So it should stop giving itself that privilege. Yes, I called it right. It is indeed a privilege given by the voters of the country to sit in the opposition and be a bulwark against the ruling government’s excesses and misdemeanours. So forget ethical or not, to that extent, what the congress is doing is downright illegitimate.    

2) India doesn’t care about Lalit Modi

Seriously, we don’t care how he got his travel documents. Or who helped him. Whether it was on human grounds or whether any rules were subverted in doing so. And how grave were those rules. The only instance I would ever be tempted to give Lalit Modi a serious thought would be when someone asks me who is a bigger national liability, him or Rahul Gandhi? That would be the only instance I would bother to think about him. What bothers me, and the nation, is economy.  What bothers this nation is infrastructure, potholes, railway safety, flood relief, power supply, basic medical facilities, literacy, poverty, and many such issues which I don’t believe that Congress as a party would be unaware of. That’s because, most of these issues are indeed its own legacy. A legacy of its misgovernance.      

Because if it really mattered, the nation would take to the streets. Like it did during the congress’s misrule and unprecedented corruption and rallied behind Anna Hazare. Or like it did during the unfortunate Nirbhaya episode. Trust this nation to give you a hint when we really feel for some issue. It will tell you when it wants you to stall the parliament and bring the government to its knees.

3) The country is suffering   

Because of this absolutely unwarranted disruption of parliament, a lot of important bills are left pending. The GST bill for instance. I am no expert in economics, but a whole section of economists and industrialists know the importance of this bill. On the issue of the pending GST bill, and how the passing of which is in the interest of the nation, this is what Adi Godrej had to say: “We hope that the GST will come in by April 1, 2016. India can have five years of double digit growth if the GST is introduced”. (Read the article ‘India Inc. signs petition urging congress leaders to let parliament function’ for more details:

http://www.ibnlive.com/news/politics/india-inc-signs-petition-urging-congress-leaders-to-let-parliament-function-1038421.html )

So here’s a plain and simple message to the Congress. You had your fair share of chance at governing this country. Ok, may be it wasn’t a fair share. You were at the helm of this country, for far longer than you probably should have been. But that is that. This nation has voted for this government. Not you. You don’t have the mandate even to sit in opposition. So let this parliament do its job and if you want to fare any better in the next national elections, I suggest you do your job to. That of some constructive criticism and not just opposing for opposing sake.

Shit just happens. But chutiyapa strikes.

I simply cannot get over the image of Sarita Devi in tears. And I am not even going by the reports in media. I saw the bout myself on TV. I am no boxing aficionado. Hell, I haven’t even seen a proper boxing ring in my life. But whatever little of the sport that I have followed on television, I can at least make out who is winning and who is losing. Unless it’s an evenly balanced fight. Laishram Sarita Devi was the winner of this bout hands down. Alas, the referee raised the Korean’s hand after the end of the match, leaving Sarita Devi shattered.

“Today, it seems I wasted two years of my life. I stayed away from my baby and my husband for two years just to concentrate on boxing. My resolve is broken…I don’t think I will be able to return to the ring soon”, said a devastated Sarita Devi. The resolve, dedication, and skill of this fighter woman got washed out in a singular moment of ‘Chutiyapa’.

Chutiyapa is not to be confused with ‘shit happens’. While shit just stinks for some time, chutiyapa can have more far-reaching consequences. Chutiyapa is something that shakes the foundations of your value system. It strikes at the basic tenets around which you have been living your life. Logic and reason can explain neither of it. But shit absolves itself by tagging along the suffix ‘happens’. While chutiyapa shows no mercy or has no intention of hiding its intentions. Chutiyapa doesn’t happen. It strikes in cold blood.

I am reminded of a scene from the movie Aamir, where the villain/terrorist has kidnapped the protagonist’s family and is now coercing him to do as he says. It goes like this:

Protagonist (Aamir): “aadmi apni taqdeer khud likhta hai………”

Baddie: “acha…….toh is waqt kaun likh raha hai tumhari taqdeer?”

So be it your profession or your personal life, there would always be some things that would give the concept of fairness the middle figure and ruin your life. Or at least a part of it. These are random acts of chutiyapa, which are completely out of your control. You simply can’t do anything about it. When chutiyapa strikes, you can only stand there and wonder what just happened. Because as long as there are chutiyas (like the three judges, who chose to give their judgment with their eyes firmly shut), this world will have more of such chutiyapa.

(And just as I write this, news is coming in that Sarita Devi might be banned for not accepting the bronze medal. That’s Chutiyapa 2 : Sanity 0)

Sannabhai, stay alive and kicking!

Sannabhai is no more.

I didn’t know where to begin this piece. In such situations, the best way invariably is to say it like it is. Yes, Sannabhai is no more. Only, it is not as plain, as ordinary, as it sounds. You got to know who he was and what he meant to us, to decipher the profoundness of this statement. That’s why for me, a simple RIP message won’t do.

Here’s what Sannabhai was not:

A business tycoon

A celebrity

A politician

So who was he? Sannabhai owned a small decrepit stall selling tea and bread pakodas in a nondescript university campus. If you right click to check for the synonyms of the word nondescript, it gives you unremarkable/ ordinary/unexceptional/dull/uninteresting/commonplace/characterless/plain. The said campus was all this and more. Every year, 40 odd godforsaken students descended on this campus to pursue a B. Tech. course that almost all of them wouldn’t even have heard of before.

But the four years that followed, made something special out of each one of the miserable lot. There was some sort of bare, grueling magic that brought the best out of them. There was something fascinating about the whole experience. And Sannabhai was at the heart of this entire experience.

There was nothing exceptional about the bread pakodas that he dished out. Neither was his tea something to die for. The place’s ambience was rustic with a capital R, U, S, T, I and a capital C. It was a smoker’s zone full of borrowed fags and secondhand smoke. It was a food inspector’s promotion badge and a hygienist’s test of wits.

Yet, it was also a place where GRE was spoken of much before it became a default qualification. It was a place where future IIMites, MICAns, Symbiets would sit and feel humbled as they dreamt big. In fact, nowhere in the world is a place more unpretentious that was a meeting ground of a future so promising.    

It was our ‘adda’, but we certainly never called it that. It was more like a hangout for us wretched, frustrated yet insanely hopeful souls. But I wouldn’t call it that too because of the prejudiced, chic connotation that the word carries in my mind. And in any case it was much more than that. It was a Freudian couch, an agony aunt’s column, a career counselor’s table, a dear friend’s shoulder, a poet’s work-in-progress notepad, a strategist’s war room. We simply called this place by the name of its owner – Sannabhai.

Sannbhai is a part of the most beautiful phase of our lives. And today, though the man himself is no more, Sannabhai will always be around. Sannabhai, don’t rest in peace. Stay alive and kicking.

Birthday Bumps

“Ghadi (Clock) Main 12 Bajte Hi,

Ab Mujhe Birthday Bumps Dega Kaun?

Waise To Naam Main Kya Rakha Hai Yaaron,

Par Phi Bhi, Ab Mujhe ‘Sutho’* Bulayega Kaun?”

These were the last two lines of a ‘poem’ that I had recited on stage on the day of my farewell. It was way back in 1999. Year 2000 was knocking on the door. ‘Millennium’ was the latest addition to the vocabularies of a lot people around the world (just like the word ‘Tsunami’ became a household name after that unfortunate incident off the coast of Indian Ocean), and Y2K was building up to be this Loch Ness monster that it eventually turned out to be.

But the mention of ‘millennium’ and ‘Y2K’ is just to set the context. It is definitely not intended to be a red herring. Because the words that I want to draw your attention to, are right there in the second line of the poem - ‘Birthday Bumps’!

If, I mean really if, by any chance, you have no idea what it is or have not experienced it firsthand, don’t kick yourself in the butt. Wait for your next birthday to come up and allow others to have that pleasure instead. This seemingly well intentioned (more often than not) ritual was in the news recently. IITB HAS BANNED BIRTHDAY BUMPS. Ouch!

Two boxes (besides a few others of course) according to me, if you haven’t ticked in your life, you have deprived yourself of a definitive dimension of a meaningful life: 

        Experienced a hostel life

        Rode a bike (no, ridding pillion doesn’t count) 

While it will be difficult to give birthday bumps to someone while riding a bike (although it will make for an interesting new ritual), it is not so uncommon to get that kick in the butt if you’ve had a chance to live in a hostel. Having experienced some of the most beautiful time of my life in a hostel setting, I find this ‘ruling’ by IITB particularly amusing.  

There are two immediate and only plausible planks of justification for this ban. One, it could prove to be perilous. Agreed. I myself got hit on my tailbone on one occasion, as my pals lifted me and started throwing kicks indiscriminately. But by that measure and logic, kissing someone could well be suicidal! Just imagine the amount of bacteria that you so gleefully and magnanimously allow to enter your buccal cavity when you smooch someone! Mostly, things like birthday bumps are just well intentioned frolic. Little crazy yes, but well intentioned. It’s a part of the brotherly dhamaal masti, without which hostel or college life would be as regimental as the life at home that precedes it or the work life that follows!     

Second and bit more sensitive reason, could be that it is associated with and/or encourages things like ragging. Lately, some unfortunate incidents have maligned, what was supposed to be an ice-breaker between seniors and juniors or even between classmates. Yes, ragging in several cases has resulted in mental and physical trauma for a lot of students. But again, it is the wrongful, abused and twisted version of the act that results in such incidents. Well-intentioned ragging (it’s not an antithesis, believe me) is only meant to ease freshers’ anxiety and act as some sort of light-hearted initiation ceremony. But what’s the connect between birthday bumps and ragging? Let’s say, what’s the connection between kissing and rape? Zilch. None.   

   

They say hostel life is a learning institution like none else. Especially an engineering college hostel, where you get students from across the geographies, culture, religion and even race. Like me, hostel life is the first real taste of freedom for a lot of students. It’s probably for the first time that you make your own bed, or do your own laundry. It’s for the first time that you realise how liberating it is to live outside of the care of your parents, yet how perilously difficult it is not to get carried away in the process!  

Hostel life is a time when you explore. It’s a time when your adaptability is tested, in return of a bonhomie that you don’t get anywhere else in the world. It’s one of its kinds. It’s that time of your life when you make friends for life. Even if it entails getting kicked in your butt once in a while! 

(*Everyone has a nickname in hostel. ‘Sutho’ is how my friends addressed me, and still know me by that name!)