One Year Hence!!!

It was exactly an year ago when I was indulging in the most extravagant and larger than life activity that I could ever imagine. One year down the line I can look back and say it all went gurgling down the drain. I found no sleep in the train that night, too excited to sleep lest I miss my station. Such was the madness in the moment that it did not allow me to see logic. Delhi was 8 hours away and I fretted that I was still too far away and that the dawn had been taking so much longer to come that day. The passion was overwhelming. I was engulfed and consumed in it. The heat did not matter, my empty stomach did not matter, the uncomfortable second class berth did not matter all that mattered was that I was going to find bliss, that Delhi was approaching, that I was going to be captivated in the fragrance of the persona. Such affection, such madness, such impatience, such a long night.

One year hence, I look back, contemplate. No regrets. I did what I thought was right. I wanted to do it. That smile that had taken my breathe away time and again, it was worth more to me than anything I could imagine. Looking back I think what a fool I was, such naiveness, such puerility. I can forgive myself for I did nothing wrong. I kept my part of the story, it is unfortunate the other part was discarded without minimum fuss. The same place where I thought I would find bliss was inaccessible, all for want to a damned rickety steel object.

It is over and for good. The story has ended. The game is over. I am glad I played with a lot of heart. The past is over and looking back is sin. I do not look back for that is not the way I am taking. Perhaps I will indulge in the same madness and the same passion or perhaps in more madness and more passion just that I shall delay it by a span of 27 dawns. The darkness is at its deadliest best. For me the dawn is approaching.

But Still

Simple words are powerful. I realized this in the most uncanny yet a very unforgetableway. It so happened that this friend of mine and I were deliberating on the concerns of the Indian Economy.

She believed that the Indian Economy was doing excellently well. I, however, refused to agree with her. Both of us then put forth our arguments. Her argument was that since there was so much activity on the Indian stock exchange, India was doing well, that the glitz of Gurgaon was a tell tale sign of India's coming of age and that cheap airline tickets proved that India was taking off.

I brought to her notice that the activity on the stock exchange was inconsummerate with what was happening to the fundamentals of the economy, that the glitz of Gurgaon was due to captive gensets and not real power generation and that the low cost airliners were reeling under heavy loses. She refused to see the point. I seconded my arguments by giving her all the developments that were happening on the poverty and develpoment fronts. I told her that inequality was on the rise, malnutrition levels were higher than in Africa, rate of decline of poverty had slowed significanlty, the ICOR had increased realtive to the 1980's. After much effort and pain I managed to convince her, or atlesat that is what I thought, that India was not doing so well.

She was begining to see the point and I thought that I had won. Just then two simple words stole away my well deserved victory. She said " You know Anand, India has all these problems that you have just pointed out and I agree that the scenario is not as rosy BUT STILL....

I was defeated by the ill famed BUT STILL argument. Come to think of it, 'but still' may sound very harmless but when used in the right context and at the opportune moment they serve to be deadlier than any nuclear weapon. I found this out in a way I would like to forget but the impact of those words was such that even today those words ring in my ear every waking and somnolent hour.

A Bird Called Me!!!

Another one flew away today. I stood there, in silence, dazed. A part torn away from me. It flew away. There were many like me there. Most were dazed some unfazed and some stood with emotions that were hard to tell for my dazed mind. It was all finally coming to an end. One of the many stories that end with a hope for the future. This one seemed to have got the plot wrong. Time stood still and a tear drop stationed at the corner of my eye rolled down. I wiped it off before it was noticed, lest my emotions gave me away. Irony and contradictions clouded my vision. I wanted to take refuge in tears, in the soothing bosom of my helplessness to which I had surrendered my self hoping that I would be taken care of. Torn was I with emotions pulling me in different directions- to help it soar higher or to keep it close to me. Time had begun it journey. Before I could decide on whether to help or to baulk, it flew away before my eyes. Not too keen on leaving but not too sad either to leave.


Like all else it is so fleeting, momentary and elusive. I am here today. Grieving the flight and celebrating the freedom. Wisdom dawns on me and I prepare myself for my time. My wings are growing and tomorrow is my turn to fly.

Riddhiculously Yours!!!!

DKD is my prof from college. The following is a small part of my conversation with him. Only later did I realize that sometimes overtly commonplace conversations can be extremely hilarious. DKD was trying to recall the name of this very good friend of mine. He did not succeed in recalling her name but in the process discribed her in ways that perhaps suit Riddhi very well. Expression was the Literary and Debating Society in College. Alongside is Riddhi's picture.

DKD: Tumhari English Hons wali dost kaisi hai?

ME:(Looking lost) Kaun si dost Sir?

DKD:The woman who was always with you and was a very good freind of yours.

ME:(visibly stunned thinking does he know about me and Mhk) Sir many women were good friends with me.

DKD: Arrey wahi jo staff room mein hamesha rehti thi.

ME: Ankita, Maddy, Vaishali?

DKD: No no. The one who walked with a sense of purpose all the time.

ME: Sir can you be more specific.

DKD: Wo jo chasma lugati thi!

ME: Sir bahut saare log chasma lugate they!

DKD: (looking pensive) Wo jiske baal bikhre rehte they.

ME: Bahut se loogon k baal bikhre hote they Sir.

DKD:(Almost frustrated) Arrey wahi jo "Pagli" si thi Expression mein.

Me:(laughing hysterically) Riddhi.

DKD: Haan Wahi...Where is she?

Mess!!!

Why would you want to call it the Mess? I mean really!!! I have always wondered and in the process I have managed to use up quite a bit of my free time (not that I am seriously busy anyway). It is the last place you would expect to find in a mess adhering to the fact that people eat in a Mess. A place that can ill afford to be in a mess.

Such was the gravity of the question that I submitted my self to its investigation for hours at a stretch. It was one of the more perplexing questions that I had encountered in a long time. After much perseverance I have somewhat managed to decipher the code in question. I may be grossly off the mark but allow me to conjour up the answer for it is one that befits the situation at MSE and the timing of the discovery of the answer emaculate.

The discovery of the answer was even more breathtaking. I woke up one morning feeling a little wiser and probably a little more enlightened. With long white locks and white whiskers that reached his stomach an elderly man looking quite young for his age appeared in my dream.Such was the radiance of his face that I was nearly blinded. However I remember his baritone clearly. He told me that there once lived a man in the middle ages who had perfect foresight and is credited with the discovery of the word Mess. Before he could finish his story the alarm went off. I woke up feeling wiser, now i had one vital piece of information that had the calibre of answering my question. I put much thought in to the fact that the man with perfect foreesight had coined the word Mess. After hours of contemplatation, rumination and a little confusion I arrived at the answer. It seemed to fit the bill just about perfectly and also its timing was perfect.

I figured out that the wise man had forseen that a boy would be born in God's own country. He would dawn the name of the Gods but his conduct would put the demons to shame. This boy would then grow up to be a bigger demon and then run a catering service in the sleepy suburb of Cheenai in an institution called MSE. This catering service would be one of its kind. It would not only earn the ire of the inmates of MSE but also defame the South Indian cuisine. This would not entail the food being bad becasue it is South Indian but becaue it would be very badly made. The choices that this service would offer would be a little different, a choice of not what one wants to eat but what one wants to avoid more.

Ramdasa's catering, in all its philanthropy, would intend to serve humans but the even the cows would refuse to eat the uttapam from this catering service. To top it all rice would be served with slimy looking, white harmless, well cooked worms. The management of the kitchen would be in harmony with nature, cockroaches would have full access to the refrigerator and the storage. The water cooler would be well protected from an invasion of flying insects with a series of cobwebs serving as the first line of defence and King Spidy would over look all assults on insets and humans alike that dared to infiltrate the boundaries of the water cooler. Ramdasa would be the Indian manifestation of Shylock-miserely, unscrupulous and clever. He would be allowed to steal water from the cooler with the help of King Spidy, his close accomplice. The curd rice would be Ramdasa's secret weapon against the inmates of MSE. With a liberal use of chillies, far more than what humans would like to eat, he would often prove a point. The dosage of Sambahr rice would so good that even the ice cream would taste like it. All in all, this would be a perfect Mess!!! One in which one had to be there to fully undertand that the origin of the word, for the first time in history, was not in the past but in the future. God bless the man with foresight. He gave us subtle hints, it's a pity we could not see it coming.

When I Died

The light is fading away, and dusk is approaching.
Flickering and unsteady the light goes out………
A story has ended, a lifetime spent.

Wails, cries and frantic howls.
In a state of possession she sits by my side.
Can not be comforted by any aide.
Too shocked and stunned, he can’t believe
His son has taken his last worldly leave.
Never to come again and never to go away.

He had never imagined; he would see this day
On his shoulders he carries me away
One last hug; her momentary comfort
Smell of incense and some holy chant
I enjoy the ride on my father’s back.

A pile of wood and a river near by for the common good.
I am laid on it, on top of me some more wood.
His eyes are teary and red,
He can’t see I am cozy and comfortable on my bed

I am set ablaze, like a stone he watches me burn,
Soon it will be somebody else’s turn.
Hands, legs and torso turn to ash,
And the rancour odour rising from my burning flesh.

From the material into the sublime
I pass, and it’s time.
They go back and try to forget in vain,
They knew that I would never walk at home again.

Another tear, another cry
No smiles and another sigh.
Dull, dark and grey all around
Not even the shadow of joy to be found
The birds don’t sing, nor do the flowers bloom
The music also never plays at home.

I go near and try to comfort her,
All I manage to soothe is air.
In different worlds we live, but yet I care,
She is my mother; I can’t touch her, is it fair?

Now the sun never rises for it never sets,
The air is soothingly warm; I go to Him on his behest.
On a new journey I am sent.

A bud on my own shrub, I blossom and I grow
The caressing wind pushes me to and fro.
Another tear in her eyes, she holds me close to her
Now I feel her comforting touch, he watches us.
In dazed silence he takes her away,
Quite aware, this momentary reunion is here to betray.

My days are done again,
It’s winter, fury the winds gain.
Blown away am I
On the cold earth I lie.
Withering and wilting
Pismires are also working
And it is the time for another journey.

The Warrior of Oz.

The twenty seventh day of January 2008 marks the end of an era.

Climbing up the stairway with measured steps he disappeared in to the dressing room perhaps never to wield the willow in white and baggy green ever again. With his departure from the 22 yards at the Adelaide Oval the curtains have come down on the career of the greatest wicket keeper batsmen in the history of the game. He redefined the role that the wicket keepers had to play in the game of cricket. Prior to Gilli's era, wicket keepers were perceived to be fielders who kept wickets and were push over batsmen.

With the advent of Adam Gilchrist all that changed. He not only mesmerized the cricketing world with his magical glove work but also captivated millions with his maverick like batting prowess. Who will ever forget those fierce cuts, the bludgeons to the cover fence, the pull shots in which the ball was picked up from outside the off stump, those slashes that went for maximum and the mid air collections behind the stumps. His game was simple-see the ball, hit the ball. Never fazed with burden of having a sound technique, he wore his heart on his sleeve. A team man to the core, he bailed Australia out of many precarious situations. Gilli is a fierce competitor but never in his career has he ever crossed the line. Opponents not only feared him, they revered and respected him. Perhaps his greatest contribution to the game is his dauntless spirit and an uncharacteristic simplicity.

It would not be improper to stand up and salute this champion cricketer who not only entertained but also mesmerized and enchanted spectators, Aussie or non Aussie alike. There are many who play the game but only a few like him who uphold its spirit. Above anything else Gilli will be known for his unparalleled sportsman spirit. He never waited for the umpire to rule him out , he always, without fail, walked if he was out. Unlike some of his fellow Aussies he is a glittering star that shone amongst the heap to battered, rotten and decaying sportsmanship. Adam Gilchrist will be missed and while i pen down these lines i can not contain myself for affection.

They say cricket is a gentlemen's game, if at all there has been a gentleman who has played the game, allow me to say it is Adam Gilchrist's game.

India Poisoned.

Optimism, undoubtedly, is a contagious disease and it is spreading very rapidly. The euphoria about India’s high growth rates never seems to cease. However, the prospects about India’s future are not as rosy as they are being made out to be. The quantum of celebration about the growth rates is totally unwarranted. We have been blinded by the glitz of pomp and show, forgetting to look at all the gross ills that exist in India and worse we even think that India is ready for take off the radiant heights of becoming an economic super power.

To put things in perspective consider the facts. Firstly, around a third of India’s children suffer from under nutrition. About a fifth of them will lose a major organ before they attain the age of 25. The malnutrition levels in India are higher than many nations in Africa. Children are supposed to be the future of a nation and by looking at India’s under nourished children we can safely conclude that India’s future is quite bleak.

Secondly, a third of the people in India do not even know how to read and write. Quite a few of the 2/3 who are literates can barely read and write. Coupled with it is the fact that not many people pursue higher education. Besides higher corporate salaries have added to this trend and thus pure science and basic research have taken a beating. Without R&D a nation can not develop and sustain its growth rates, leave aside the dreams of taking off and becoming a superpower.

Thirdly, the rate of decline of poverty in the post reform era has been lower than the rate of decline of poverty in the pre reform era. This has invariably led to an increase in relative poverty and inequality. If this trend is not reversed total consumption may fall and this will lead to fall in the growth rates of GDP.

Fourthly, the India’s growth is highly skewed and looks unsustainable given the state of affairs of the economy. The manufacturing sector is growing at over 10% while the electricity sector is growing at barely 7.6%. There is already a mismatch between the two and the gap is increasing. Therefore the growth can not be sustained unless alternate viable sources of fuel are recognized soon.

Fifthly, the agriculture sector which employs about 60% of the workforce continues to grow at very low rates. This has made agriculture an unviable activity for many. Thus there has been an exodus from the rural areas to the cities. More than 100,000 farmers have committed suicide in the last ten years. Blatantly put this amounts to one farmer suicide per hour. The growth process has by-passed this sector. In short, the trickle down has not happened. Development has not taken place.

No doubt that the growth rates in India have been bullish but India still ranks very low on the Human Development Index. The buoyant stock exchange reflects the state of the corporate sector and not the economy as a whole. It is corporate India that is “poised” for a take off, India as a nation isn’t. We still have quite a few problems to solve on earth first, why take off and go to the moon then?

Who Am I?

Perhaps, you know me, perhaps you don’t. Well I don’t blame you for the latter because I didn’t quite know myself until recently. It may sound strange or even dumbfounding that how could have I not known myself for two and twenty years of my life. Yes, it is unusual yet true.

Only a few days ago a child enquired about my identity from me while I was engaging myself in some hedonistic activity in the nearby community park. I heedlessly blurted out my name. It was only later that evening that the question struck me like a flash of thunderbolt, colour from my face seemed to have slipped off like a garment from a body. You will certainly ask me what was so emphatic about the question adhering to the fact that this question must have been put before me, I suppose, a trillion times already. It was not until that particular evening that this question dawned upon me. I will not give you an answer, rather I will put forth a question and that will be my answer. Is my identity merely confined to my name, my permanent address or perhaps even my PAN which the government shall shortly furnish? You will concur with me that most of us, if not all, or let me insinuate, accept our name as our identity or our identity as our name. Whatever be the case, the case is serious.

All right, let me not inundate you with a volley of non mundane questions and come to the point straight away. My friends call me different names, my mother does so, and my father, he too has his own set of names for me, basically I am an individual with many names and by common definition an individual with a multitude of identities. It baffles me and now you say it baffles you too. With so many identities I definitely have much ado to know myself. The basic question is who am I?

When I look into that question I don’t find a straight forward answer but what I do find is an agglomerated yet, if I might add, distinct answer. I am a son to my parents, a friend to my friends, an enemy to that uncouth fellow with long hair, a crazy admirer of that cherub whom I simply adore. But do these relations define my identity even in the broadest of terms? Am I all about being a son or an admirer, an enemy or even a prospective economist? I guess I am all of it and perhaps I am none of it. Some of the identities I have created and some have been imposed upon me.


I am aware of the fact that history shall remember me for what I have done or even what I have not done. My name will be lost in the pages of history, but let my identity live on long after I am gone. Let it not be lost with my name. Ah! that reminds me, will I lose my identity if I am unable to furnish my identity card which has my name and my permanent address scripted upon it? That is a good question, isn’t it? Dear sirs and madams protect your identity cards; you never know when it might just rob you off your identity.

I am mindful of what I like or what I loathe. I am mindful of what makes me happy and what makes me sad. I am aware of my goals and what I want to achieve in life. I am cognizant of the love around me and, possibly even more, the hatred. I do feel the sun, water, wind earth and ether, every waking and somnolent hour. I am aware of where I am and where I want to reach. I am aware of being a son, a friend, an enemy, an admirer and I am aware that I am aware of what I am aware of….I am conscious of my milieu. I am conscious of what I intend to do. I am conscious of the unconsciousness that I have had about my self. It was not until that day that I found my self… I realized who I was. Today I am conscious of who I am. I am nothing else but consciousness.

The Welcome Note.

Allow me to welcome you to my new blog. Well to be honest this is my only blog therefore you can disregard the aforesaid statement but not entirely. I still want to welcome you to my blog. The purpose of this blog is quite unclear to me. It will not educate you nor will it entertain you. At best it might just overwhelm you. I am sure you are, by now, quite aware of "TAKING STOCK", well it is this very blog that you are reading now. As the name suggests i will take stock of everything that catches my fancy, from the moral policing in Chennai to the stagflation that looms large over the world economy and probably everything in between. I have chosen such a plethora of varied topics so that i am able to update my blog very frequently. Sticking to a topic does not quite interest me for then i run the risk of being inane, insipid and probably mundane. Well nothing comes free of cost thus if you want to read my blog you have to agree to give me a feedback if you disagree then i request to leave without reading my blog. RIGHT NOW... Just in case you decide to give me a feedback you have to concur with one rule regarding the feedback-your feed back has to be blatantly honest. However instead of simply telling me that I SUCK, constructively criticizing my writing will really help me.
Before I end I would like to thank George J.P, Nidhi G, my end semseter holidays, Central Park New Delhi, my train journey from Delhi to Patna and finally the watershed year 2007 for enabling and urging me to write on my blog. Thank you one and all.

With Lots of regards and honesty,
Anand.