Azaadi (Freedom)

Naukris and Chokris

More personal rambling

In March 2000, a cocky young Punjabi man studying Computer Science & Engineering at the University of Pennsylvania was lying on the grass on a hillock on the Swarthmore campus in South Philadelphia. He was lying down, with his eyes closed, on a beautiful sunny spring day, waiting for the suburban train to arrive. There were only two words going through his head at the time, and they were – I’m Happy.

Why?

The gorgeous Trinidadian woman of Indian descent, with that cool singsong accent, had reciprocated his feelings for her, the previous day.

And that day, he had just cleared the final round of interviews for an internship with Amazon.com. They were offering him what in hindsight looks like a humble amount of money, but at the time was the largest amount of money he had ever seen against his name!
How do you think this interview has gone so far? he was asked, mid-way through the second round. His response: So far so good, I think. I made it into the second round, didn’t I?

In other words, he’d got a naukri and a chokri

He went on to work for Amazon.com, but hated his life in Seattle. Seattle, while a beautiful, beautiful city, can be very, very lonely. The young engineer still remembers those days of solitary confinement with some trepidation. Eventually, the loneliness led to misery, and the engineer’s work suffered. Add to this, some damn fools decided to ram airplanes into buildings on the other side of the country. All of this meant that after the Engineer’s OPT ran out, he would not be able to get an H1-B work visa. So he was laid off, and made his way back to India, no longer the cocky young engineer of March 2000.

In other words, no naukri, no chokri.
(Er.. the Trinidadian woman had disappeared a long time ago).

So returning to India in 2002, the young man remained unemployed for bit, but did not ever lose hope, because in the back of his mind he knew he’d get out of it somehow somewhere, sometime. He went to the gym and wrote common e-mails to his friends, showing pictures of the “New India” complete with angry rants (a pre-cursor to the Voice From A 2.5-World Country days). Then one day he got a call from HCL Technologies, they wanted to interview him. He went for the interview, and they turned him down. Then they called him back, and interviewed him again, and this time, he was accepted as a Stipend Trainee.

A Stipend Trainee?? After working for Amazon.com?! Well you see the thing is, in India, only 6 months of work-ex, even at the #1/#2 online retailer in the world isn’t really valued…Plus this engineer spoke with a strong accent (not quite American, not quite British, but definitely not Indian), and everything he said wasn’t really comprehensible. Further, they were afraid that, coming from America, he wouldn’t fit in, and probably expected a Mercedes(Benz) to ferry him between work and home.

Why did he say ’sweet’ of products and not ’soot’ of products? And what’s up with the letter Double-Yoo? Everybody knows it’s Dubloo.

But still, one of the managers had faith in him and decided to try him out. So began a new chapter, in a new company for the young engineer.

One day at the end of 2002, he went with his sister to a book launch – some Old White Dude had released some Kama Sutra-related book. Here he met a tall thin dark Jain woman, with her English boyfriend. He blanked out the English boyfriend, and concentrated on the woman. This must have had some mystical effect, because the English boyfriend went off to Costa Rica the next day, and thus began a ridiculously long (and ridiculously painful) relationship with the Jain woman.

So in effect, he’d got a naukri and a chokri

Three years, and one “Star Performer” award later, we move to 2005. The not-so-young engineer has stagnated in his job, and his relationship. The woman’s long gone, and almost forgotten too, with a little more time. The job? Well, he quit yesterday. Two months of being unemployed before another chapter begins, in a business school on the other side of the equator. Where you celebrate Christmas on the beach, and Shrimp-on-the-barbie has nothing to do with sea creatures on dolls.

No naukri, no chokri!

The cycle keeps spinning…

*Naukri, Chokri = Job, Woman in Hindi

Auto-Gratitude

Gratitude To My Car Pool Partner (I hope you’re not reading this)

When I joined HCL Technologies, I used to get to work by the company bus. This was the pre-Private Radio days (2002-2003). No Radio Mirchi, no Red FM, no Radio City (City Bajao!) – which means we were forced to listen to the driver’s cassette, with classic songs such as:

Lal dupatta Mal Mal ka
Main tumse milne aayi, mandir jaane ke bahaane
Chadti Jawaani
Kaanta Laga
Chod do Aanchal
Laage Chhute Naa

The very observant of you will have noticed that around the same time, EVERY ONE of these songs (except Laage chhute naa) was remixed, with naked bimbos squeezing their back sides, and sticking their ..ummm assets… in your face. Coincidence? I think NOT!

Anyway, our company withdrew the subsidy on the bus service, so instead of paying 500 rupees a month, we had to pay 1000 rupees.

(I should warn you at this stage that there is no point to this story. Just writing stuff down).

1000 rupees to listen to Main tumse milne aaaaaaaayeeeeee, Mandir Jaane Ke Bahane everyday for 20 days?!…I think NOT!

So another guy on the bus, a nice Surdy dude called DP decided to try and organise a Car Pool with me and a 3rd dude who lived nearby. We call had cars, so could alternate every day. We picked up two extra stragglers and a happy time was had by one and all.

Then one day, one of our car pool bunch resigned. His spot was taken by an attractive Bong woman, whom I shall call M.

The change in the Car Pool was drastic. There were no more Hindi cuss words while driving. The driving itself improved (marginally). There were no more perverted comments about the women in our company. We had to restrict our conversations to the weather, politics, movies, e.t.c. In effect, the presence of the woman had transformed us from Men into Ogres (or is it vice versa, I can never tell ).
I was the first one to break this new unspoken agreement, when we were driving one day and a cycle-wala decided to defy the laws of physics, with a loud “FUCK!”. There was then a tense silence for the next 4.29 seconds when the other guys were wondering what the M’s reaction would be…there wasn’t any.

Emblodened, the next transgressor of Traffic laws received the title “BASTARD”. The next one I named “BITCH!”. (Yes, maybe this borders on Tourette’s Syndrome…).

Anyway, I took that brave step, the men in the car loosened up a little, and although M never cursed herself, we took to it with gay abandon. It was a decent victory, in the War of Sexes.

Anyway, as time progressed, our Car Pool members resigned, one after the other, so that finally it came down to just me and M.

And I just wanted to say thanks to M, because M is forced into being cooped up in a metal cage (with me behind the wheel every alternate day) for 2.5 hours every day.

The dialogue always runs as follows:

ME:”Good Morning Ma’am”
M: “Good Morning Sir”
ME: “So how was your weekend? Mine was awful”
M: “Mine too. I saw ‘No Entry’ over the weekend”
ME: “Ah, yes, but the Question is…did the MOVIE…see…. YOU?!”
M: “Argh. yes the movie saw me”.
ME: “BASTARD, GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY!@@!”
M: “So are we taking MG road or the Highway?”
ME: “NH 8 of course, FUCKING MOVE, BITCH!#^@$%@! MG Road sucks”
M: “No it does not, NH8 Sucks”
ME: *Squeezes steering wheel really hard, attempts to rein in exploding vein* “WHY DO I ALWAYS get the idiots who want to drive at 2 km/h”
M:*Starts singing the opening to “Life is a Flower” by Ace of Base* “We live in a free world…”
ME: “Ah yes, but the question is..does a free world live in-”
M: “No, a free world does not live in me”
*Song ends*
M: *points at radio* “Why are we listening to this?”
ME: “There’s nothing better to listen to”
M: *Flips through the stations, comes to rest on a Punjabi song I start singing, quickly changes. “This is all your fault.”
ME: *45 minutes later, stuck in a traffic jam on NH8(The Highway)* “This is all your fault”
*Finally get into Kapas Heda (otherwise known as Hell on Earth)*
*Almost get hit by two Tata Sumos, 1 Qualis, 1 Innova, 3 cyclists, 2 motorbikes, one scooter and 8 pedestrians
ME: “Have I ever told you how much I hate this place?”
M: No
*5 minutes and 2 near-accidents later*
ME: “Have I ever told you how much I hate this place?”
M: No
*5 minutes and 2 near-accidents later*
ME: “Have I ever told you how much I hate this place?”
M: No

And then finally, we get to Work:
M: “Bye”
Me “Goodbye Ma’am!”

Anybody who can tolerate me for 2.5 hours everyday, not out of choice, for 3 years, deserves some thanks. So Thank You M. Especially for the past 2 months, where you’ve given me the support I needed the most. Thanks for tolerating The Vengaboys, and various other injustices to the word music, which were stored on my iPod.

And finally, M, it’s a shame you’re married. I’d be hitting on you, left, right and centre if you weren’t! :-p

Again, hope you don’t read this!

Reading between the lines…

Invoking Godwin’s Law…
Hmmm….Bird Flu Pandemic

“…On the other hand, the Black Death may have fueled the burst of human creativity known as the Renaissance. At the time plague struck, medieval society had fallen into economic stasis, caused in large part by the “Malthusian deadlock�? of dense population. The plague broke that deadlock by decimating the population, liberating land for diverse uses, creating the need for laborsaving devices, and unleashing the ingenuity of Renaissance society. …”

India will be changed. How I cannot guess. But it could be possible that the shock to the system may jolt it out of the rut it appears to have got stuck into for the last 60 odd years.

Translation: I hope the Bird Flu does strike India. I hope lots of people (hopefully 100 million of them) die. This would be a Good Thing, because who knows, it might lead to a Renaissance.

Singapore

….No such luck in India, of course. We have Christian missionaries from all over the world having a grand old time converting heathens and soon enough you have the neo-converts pissing on Ganesh idols to show their new-found faith. News gets around and finally out of desperation and plain old brutality, a few missionaries get roasted and this gives the country an ill-deserved reputation of being intolerant. Madrassas funded by Saudi money flourish by the thousands where apparently the mullahs teach the young that killing kuffars is a pretty practical way of arranging society.

In reaction to this ocassionally, a few of the normally tolerant Hindus band together and retaliate. This hits the international press and India is tarred as a society full of murdering morons….

Translation: The Godhra massacres were justified. Normally tolerant Hindus, lol.

When were Hindus tolerant? When their women were comitting Sati? When they were parading low-caste people naked? When they kill any young couple who elopes in a “love-marriage”? We Hindus have been wronged, for sure. But we’ve wronged enough ourselves.

I am sure there are those who will immediately retort that the Singaporeans don’t have the freedoms that are normally associated with a liberal democracy. And I am also sure that the person making that statement is sitting comfortably well-fed in his nice office or home accessing the world wide web for knowledge and entertainment. For the average schmuck in a third world country, he would any day trade in his imaginary freedoms for a decent shot at a full stomach, a roof over his head, and a chance to get his children educated. After the average schmuck has achieved those basic necessities, he would ask for all sorts of goodies that a liberal democracy provides. And that is when the society should become a liberal democracy.

The sequence is important.

Translation: Dictatorship is ok, if it helps the “Common Man”. All this freedom of speech stuff, and voting people into office/power stuff, that us stupid bloggers take advantage of everyday, is all hogwash for elitists.

One of the reasons Hitler was able to gain the following he did, was because he dressed up evil with logic, with nice words, with “research”. This gave the masses a a justification for their baser beliefs, and so flocked to his banner.

It’s ok to want revenge, even elitists with an education are saying so. <SARCASM>(I mean c’mon, in our heart of hearts, we all know we want to kill all the Muslims right? They deserve it right?)</SARCASM>

If lots of Indians lose their life, it might lead to a Renaissance. (Don’t we all secretly advocate a nuclear war or something to take care of India’s population problem?)

If India has a dictatorship (well initially. We can always implement democracy later, right, like in Pakistan, and in Germany of the 1930s?). then the country will improve, especially the life of the *puke* Common Man *puke* (When faced with the daily traffic war, the lazy government officials, generally rude & crude people peeing on the streets, spitting on the walls, don’t we all secretly wish we had our own set of Goondas who would walk in, intimidate everybody and get the job done, keep the city clean?)

This is “Calling a Spade a Spade”, and “Telling It Like It Is”(TM). God (if there is one or 2 or 10000) Help Us.

A Dandy March

I’m a ‘Marathon Man’!

Heh, despite all the arguments to the contrary, I don’t think Delhi is very (air-)polluted. In Mid-October (now), the wind cools you instead of burns you, it’s actually cold in the morning, and trees loaded with ‘Rath ki Rani’ are in full bloom, so the place smells BEAUTIFUL.

Anyway, this is a city of “broad, tree-lined avenues” and is one of the few Indian cities where green cover has increased over the last few years. So, why not hold a Marathon here? Well, a Half Marathon, to be exact. So between 7 and 9 in the morning on a lazy Sunday, they closed up the roads of Central (otherwise known as ‘New’) Delhi, and held three races. The first was the 21-point-something kilometre Half Marathon, which 5000 people took part in. The winners (who took slightly over an hour to complete the course) were almost all African – some Kenyan, some Tanzaniyan. The first prize was a nice and tidy US$20,000

But that’s not the race I ranfast-walked in.

After the pros, came the Senior Citizen Run (5 Kilometres), open to everyone above 55, I think. 5 kilometres long, and some very fit, and not so-fit seniors going at it. Finally came the Great Delhi Run ( 7 Kilometers). Me and my sister took part in this, and although we learned we’re not cut out for the next olympics, we also learned we can brisk-walk 7 km without stopping.

The weather was good, and Delhi was out in force, around 25,000 people in all. There were cheerleaders from Radio Mirchi and Standard Chartered , egging us on. 2 Helicopters, borrowed from the Military, patrolled the area, kept an eye on us for security and hovered low to wave at us. Kingfisher (of the Beer and the Airline), supplied all runners with free bottled water, ever kilometre or so. People lined the sides of the streets, to cheer, to watch, to enjoy (and probably to wonder what’s the big deal?).

And of course, Hutch’s brilliant advertising campaign. WHO is their agency? Those guys are truly brilliant. “Bunty bhi bhagega, Dadaji bhi bhagenge. The Colonel will run, Spot the Dog will run. Delhi will run”. Banners lining the marathon route read “Run.Jog.Walk.Crawl. But Finish”. “If you think you can’t run, stop thinking!”

An all round good time!

Divergence

Just some more personal rambling

Read only if you’re totally bored

So the way it works is that, in my mind, I have this vision of the woman I happen to be “seeing” (for want of a better word). When things are good, my mind’s vision and the actual physical woman converge, superimposing each other. When things go bad, they head in the opposite direction. When things end, there is complete divergence. There is the woman in my mind’s eye, as I want her, and as I would like her to see me. And there is the real actual physical person, who no longer has any relation or bearing to the woman in my mind. Eventually, all the memories get blocked out, a few stubborn ones persist, and some crop up at random times – when a song plays, when I drive a little too rashly, when I feel especially sorry for myself e.t.c. All this falls through a sieve, until only those memories which match the criteria defined by the woman in my mind’s eye remain. The result is a little pantheon of women in my mind, which share the same names and physical features as real living beings who’ve basically moved on with their lives. Like the mostly-pathetic person that I am though, I continue to rever the women in my mind, even though they no longer exist as I wish to see them. I don’t think I ever really get over them…

I have a theory, and the theory is that sometimes, there is only 50% convergence, but you keep optimistically hoping that the convergence will increase. In this hope, you spend 6 months, 1 year, 3 years, some people even get married, hoping for a convergence. If you’re lucky, maybe the convergence actually happens, not so lucky, you see the two different images diverging slowly, and realize it’s time to discard the image and “look for a new model”, as Vulturo says.

But how do you forgive yourself for ignoring the fact that from day 1, the images were divergent? That you kept trying to superimpose your mind’s vision on the real person, with usually terrible results. When your brain keeps telling you “these images don’t fit!”, but you keep telling it, “They will, they will, eventually!”. And then one day, you wake up and finally see jusy how far apart those images are. Divergence.

There ya go RTD2, my response to The Milkshake Challenge