Musing of a verbose mind. It borders on all that takes a skeptical and highly critical view of whatever is happening or has happened in our world..... do read it and post your comments..... discourse is welcome.....

Dark Matter


Posted on Monday, February 07, 2011 | By Gautam | In ,

I remember when all the games began / Remember every little lie and every last goodbye / Promises you broke, words you choked on / and I never walked away / it's still a mystery to me.

Well I'm so empty / I'm better off without you and you're better off without me / Well you're so unclean / I'm better off without you and you're better off without me.

The lying, the bleeding, the screaming / Was tearing me apart / The hatred (deceiving), the beatings; it's over.

Paint the mirrors lack to forget you / I still picture your face and the way you used to taste / Roses in a glass, dead and wilted / To you this all was nothing / Everything to you is nothing.

Well you're so filthy / I'm better off without you and you're better off without me / Well I'm so ugly / You're better off without me and I'm better off alone.

The lying, the bleeding, the screaming / Was tearing me apart / The hatred, the beatings (disaster); it's over.

As wicked as you are, you're beautiful to me / You're the darkest burning star, you're my perfect disease.

The lying, the bleeding, the screaming / Was tearing me apart / The hatred, the beatings; it's over.


The lying, the bleeding, the screaming
/ Was tearing me apart / The hatred, the beatings; it's over.


It's over now...

- The Bleeding, FFDP

A snap of fingers startled him from a state of suspension. The lyrics were making perfect sense to him. The walls of the cubicle started to come down on him. Everything’s imploding. The rage started to flow in his veins. He felt bitter. He tried to get up. Slump! A lil’ part inside him died.

Nothing much was left inside anyways save for a bitter heart and tar filled lungs. He tried to speak. Squeak! Meek was him. His laptop screen was staring dead into his eyes. He tried to make sense of the gibberish on the screen. The words seemed to come together to make an amoeba like figure. It’s color, dark. Darker than the heady cocktail of bitterness and tar in his lungs. He wanted the figure to spawn around him and suck him in. Killing the last breath of humanity in him he had saved for his coup. It would be a bloody coup. The figure moved. He wanted to be in unison with the dark matter. The matter seemed to writhe and twist changing its shape. It was doped. It made a crying sound, a pitch which would deafen mortals. He was barely alive. He wanted to be in unison with the dark matter. Spit! The dark matter just spat on him. The defeatist in him had won.

Snap! again. He tried to come to terms with his surroundings. The walls around him had collapsed. He couldn’t move himself. He was being crushed under his own weight. So this is how a black hole would feel like, he thought. Betrayed by the dark matter already, he now wanted to be crushed under this immense weight. But he felt no pain. In fact he wanted this to continue.

Pat! The last stick was successful in breaking his neck, again. He mumbled under his breath and turned his neck. His colleague was holding a telephone receiver. He felt as if he wanted to shove the receiver down his throat. He couldn’t hear anything. He knew the routine all too well. The receiver was cold. He liked the numbing comfort it provided. After a while, he returned the receiver to his colleague. Looking at his face made him feel disgusted. What a sorry excuse for life, he thought. It made him think about his life as well. But he is morally subjective. He wanted to retort. He wanted everyone to retort. No one did. And this fueled his bitterness. He wanted to smash the receiver on his face, spurting blood. He wanted to be drenched in his blood. Maybe that’ll wash away some of his sins. He was true to himself. He knew the defeatist in him wins every time. And that made him feel nauseated again.

Or maybe it was the smell of his office. Yes, it was the office. He hated the stench of conformity all around him. He hated it. But he hated himself more. The nausea was making its way to his throat. He looked at the cold and numbing telephone receiver. He wanted to shove it in his throat. Maybe it’ll stop the snot of defeat. He didn’t want to be defeated. He rushed to the washroom. He passed numerous cubicles. His hands felt numb. He punched himself in the throat. The snot that had built was pushed down, but only momentarily. And he knew it.

Each step of his was growing heavy. He felt cracks were developing on the spanking clean office floor. He hated it. He wanted the fissures to burst open and engulf him in the molten matter that was brewing beneath. It wasn’t red. It was dark. And it was cold. Dead cold. Yet it was boiling. The matter was following him everywhere. And he lunged into the washroom. The snot was now being flushed. He felt week.

He splashed water onto his face. The topology was gone. It was flat. He felt it was slippery and shiny like a manikin made of steel. He looked up into the mirror. But it was already painted black. He had already painted all mirrors black for the fear of not recognizing himself. He was no more human. He didn’t even look like a demon. He felt pathetic. The black paint on the mirror was slipping down. The dark matter was back again. He wanted to be at unison with it. He could now feel the stench of his office. He took a deep breath. The stale re-circulated air was cold. It smelled of dead dreams. He was hearing voices. Of dying men and dying dreams. The voices were too shrill for him to take. The rage inside him was making its way to the far ends of his limbs. He felt alive.

The black paint on the mirror was gone. It was lying plump on his feet. He looked up into the mirror. Yes, his was an expressionless face, shiny like cold steel. He looked down at the dark matter. Rage was throbbing against his veins. He nodded. He felt the dark matter making way up his feet. He felt good after a long long time. Rage had now taken over his senses. His brain was long gone. The dark matter had now taken over him. He was black. Pitch black. He sighed. Clasped his fists. And then he made a war cry. He felt glass shattering around him. Shards of glass were flying towards him. They stuck themselves in his flesh. But there was no blood. He took out his baseball bat he had hid years ago in this washroom for his coup. It felt good in his hands. He smirked.

The coup is here.

He emerged out of the washroom and made way to his cubicle. He struck the bat with the worst fury known to him on his colleague’s head. He felt a sweet cracking sound. This was the best stroke he had played in his life. He stood there looking at the motionless body. It was soaked in its own blood. The blood was not red. It was colorless. He felt good. He looked around. No one cared. Everyone was busy in their own cubicles staring into their monitors mindlessly punching away at their keyboards. Slaves. He thought. He looked at the bat and then at the room again.

The coup was here.

He felt overwhelmed as he went on a rampage indiscriminate between human life and machines. But were they alive anyways? No. He was simply freeing souls. It would have been hours. Or days. He barely remembers this now. But it is immaterial anyways. He went out of the building and lit a cigarette. He took a long drag. The smoke hit his lungs. He got his kick. There was an explosion. The building collapsed. He was caught in the aftershocks. But he stood his ground. It lasted for hours. And he kept on lighting a cigarette after another. He threw away the last butt. Blood was trickling out his flesh. And it was red and warm.

He stood there for a while and gulped down the red pill. Darkness spawned around him.

Sometimes your darker self is your true self. Darkness isn’t absence of light. Black isn’t lack of color. Light isn’t strong enough to overpower darkness. Colors, collectively, cannot overpower black.
For Sir James Alan Hetfield.

Polygamy? Will have!


Posted on Thursday, January 20, 2011 | By Gautam | In , , , ,

Statutory warning: Stop judging. This post has more to do with polygamous thoughts than absolute polygamy.

Polygamy. It's a dirty word (I'll continue at the expense of being booed as a Mahesh Bhatt clone). Or so you believe because the social construct around you has programmed your thoughts in a certain way. Here I am, claiming polygamy, something deeply detrimental to the moral-social fabric, as the truth. It is an antithesis to the very institution of marriage which is more of a system to prevent family wealth to squander away. Or in some, err most parts of India, an instrument of amassing wealth. Yes, dowry. But that is not the bone of contention here. Man is a polygamous animal. Our 'thoughts' wander all so routinely. No? Maybe you're a reincarnation of some yogi or you need to see a doctor.

As much as we hate to accept it, polygamy creeps in our daily lives. Traveling in a bus, I can't but appreciate how a certain lady carries herself. Oh! I should've talked to that cute boy, a female's tweet proclaims on Twitter. A lil' bit of flirting is harmless, isn't it? And why or rather where do we gather the courage to indulge something as ungodly as that? We're alone. It is our zen of solitude. And our thoughts wander. To the unholy, unacceptable evil. Cocooned in our monotonous 9 to 5 lives, maybe we do look forward to that bus ride, that air travel or what have you. Platforms like Twitter have given masses a medium to vent out or confess, as the case may be. It lets you be anonymous yet true. And I see more and more rants, confessing. In our secret lives, we all want to be Barney Stinson or as the older generation would have said, Hugh Hefner.

How or why is beyond my comprehension. We just do. A rather pathetic example witnessed is of a certain moral broker of how certain birds like penguins stay true to only one partner for their entire life. Lest we should forget, we're talking about an animal, a brain which hasn't evolved. Most of the activities that animals indulge in are either out of their sheer instinct or they're wired in a certain manner. Have you ever witnessed any animal procreating beyond its mating season? No. Humans, on the other hand with their highly evolved brains and a false sense of morality mate all year long. And that is why you see so many of them around you eating away resources at will. The parallel drawn is flawed. The underlying logic beneath this example would put a Systems Theory professor to shame.

Pick up any lifestyle magazine, TOI or whatever you read, a self professed relationship guru will be doling out suggestions to save marriages / relationships. Most of them will suggest couples to indulge in role plays and pornography. Such voyeuristic pleasures. If it was for your monogamous behavior, traffic to pornographic sites would be minuscule instead of a Goliathesqque 80% of the total traffic. Avenues like Facebook has married / in a relationship partner stalking. If you need to imagine someone else while procreating, are you really monogamous? The fact that we accept it as counseling to save marriages is a step in making polygamous thoughts legal in our moral fabric. Men are openly polygamous. Ask any woman from Delhi about her plight to cover herself from lecherous looks and you'll be opening Pandora's box. This is not to suggest that women are absolutely monogamous. All these years of my existence have taught me otherwise.

Morality isn't absolute. It evolves with time. It is influenced by many factors. But most of it is rooted deeply in either Victorian era or is defined by the clergy or the moral police of that region. But morality is flexible. It is subjective. It varies from person to person. So should be the construct of monogamy.

Christopher Nolan's Joker indulged in a social experiment. And he did expose the frailties of a morally strong yet weak people. We indulge in such experiments daily. And we keep the results to ourselves only to look forward to another such result. As far as morality goes, I like to baptize with the following adage, "Make a stew out of your morality and have it".

French - a subset of Bengalis?


Posted on Wednesday, January 19, 2011 | By Gautam | In , , , ,

A few thousand of years ago, some 'adventurous' Bengalis went to Europe. We now have France~ Gautam

Atrocious is the word brewing in your otherwise uncultured mind (cultured if you're a Bengali). Atroce if you're a French. But French are too lazy to read anyways. Right? Now I've come across a plethora of blogs dedicated to decoding the rather peculiar race of Bhadralok aka Bengalis. Some of them like Dhoomketu's - The Bong give an excellent insight into a shy community. Which presses me to digress momentarily into 'Bongs'. Bongs is the culmination of the process of anglicizing which began a couple of hundred years ago. I see more and more Bengali kids referring to themselves as Bongs. The problem is a widespread one. Mallus, Tams, Bongs et all. The said communities are easily the ones aligning themselves to English education. And it is a well documented fact. Now before you get ready to shatter my mistaken-to-be-a-communist-posterior with your capitalist kicks, it is a case of mistaken identity. I hate communism as much as Lenin did.

Coming back to the issue of a highly anglicized race, Bengalis take pride in the fact that they're Bhadralok - the reminisce of ruins of Gora Sahibs. Perhaps that is the reason we take pride in distinguishing ourselves from rest of India. Heck, give us our own country. Viva la revolucion! And for those from UP / Bihar / Jharkhand / Chattisgarh / MP (see what I did there!), we group you as Hindustanis. For a Bengali, Hindustanis represent a brazen, uncivilized, loud, manner-less set. Which brings us back to the topic.

Yes, the French may very well have emanated from the Bengali gene pool. And I have proof. Gaping, in your face comparison to ensue. Read on!
  • Bengalis are known to be lazy. Lazy shudders at the mere mention of a Bengali. French laziness is well documented. The only active French was a corporal called Napoleon. But I doubt his pedigree. Yes! We're lazy because we are thinking. Of politics, of art, of wars, of culture, of nations, of Obama's policies, of Pamela Anderson's D-cups, of what-have-you. Period.
  • Culture - If it's one thing we can shove down rest of India's throats, it is Culture. Bengalis are the sole custodians of India's culture. It is safe with us. Look what people with frail will power from North and West did to their culture. Our's? It is still intact. Desh aka Kolkata is still the cultural capital of India. So it'd be in the best interest of our nation to officially appoint Bengalis for the upkeep of our culture. French? Oh, that is their only export. Apart from a few over sized jets and particle colliers. Who cares for these anyways?
  • Coffee houses - Picture a place frozen in time, full of the sweet clutter of china, smoke and intelligentsia of Kolkata thronging for their daily shot of adda. Yes, I'm talking about the National Coffee House on College Street. You can hog in under 50 bucks (yes, hog). Intelligent discussions free. Adda is a daily activity without which a bong cannot sleep. Discussions. From politics to what have you, even porn, is discussed. And believe me you, it can get heated. France? Can you imagine France without it's cafes? No. QED.
  • Art- A Bengali is a born connoisseur of art. Since his birth, he is exposed to varied forms of art. What other race in India can boast of influencing their kids by sending them to learn music, painting, dancing, film making etc? At the same time? None. Hindustanis are simply happy watching their kids become barbarians to continue with their business of extortion and stuff. India, we have given you your best directors, actors, singers, poets, novelists, what have you. French, their love for art is well documented.
  • Food - A Bengali lives to eat. A Bengali will attain moksha only if he dies choking off on a generous morsel of machcher mudo and bhat. Sweet tooth? Well a legend goes that early British settlers decided to immortalize a Bengali's love for all things sweet by coining a phrase for this phenomenon - sweet tooth. French love for good food is unparalleled in Europe.
  • Smoke - Now the next best orgasm a Bengali experiences other than the now much cliched macher jhol, is a drag of Navy Cut post a heavy lunch. Unlike primitive races, we don't depend upon sex alone to experience orgasms. Salted biscuits, strong tea and cigarettes is what has kept Communism alive in West Bengal for so many years. French are avid smokers. Too bad, they now have ban on smoking in public places and cafes. Bengalis, on the other hand showed a big-collective-middle-finger to deliver a very simple message to the Central Government - Fuck You! We smoke in offices, restaurants, cafes, banks, railway stations et all. As suggested, we are a nation unto ourselves.
  • Unionbaji - Unions in West Bengal are legendary. So are their Union Leaders. French Unions are legendary. Their Union Leaders are pale compared to Bengali leaders. 'nuff said.
  • Women - Bengali women are dusky, have curly hair (or not), are voluptuous, are cultured, cook excellent food, make excellent mothers, etc, etc, etc. French women are said to possess similar qualities albeit in lesser potency. A gene pool will depreciate with years of intermixing.
Bengalis. Whattey race.

And yes, Bengalis shall inherit this earth.

PS: The post is a result of a drunken discussion with one of my elder cousins who wishes to stay unnamed for the fear of getting raped by Hindustani barbaric women.

20 reasons why Texting is better than making calls


Posted on Thursday, October 07, 2010 | By Gautam | In ,

Here are 20 reasons why making calls suck. And messages are a better way of communicating.
  1. You live in Mumbai.
  2. The recipient lives in Mumbai.
  3. Your service provider is Airtel/ Vodafone/ MTNL/ Some-random-new-entrant.
  4. Your recipient's service provider is Airtel/ Vodafone/ MTNL/ Some-random-new-entrant.
  5. You're in a Local/ Bus/ Auto.
  6. The recipient is in a Local/ Bus/ Auto.
  7. Because you're in a public place, you don't want others to get a whiff of what is going on. Privacy FTW.
  8. The recipient is in a public place and does not want others to get a whiff of what is going on. Privacy FTW. (Personally, I feel this point sucks. We don't give a fuck about others privacy, do we?!!)
  9. You can sext. Yes, S-E-X-T. It's like phone sex. But you can read the conversations later and get a hard on. Plus, it can be done sitting in the middle of a corporate presentation (they suck donkey balls anyways), Local/ Bus/ Auto. Although you can have phone sex sitting in an auto, but that pervert of a driver will have fun. And charge you instead.
  10. He/ She can sext.
  11. You're talking to a Gujju girl, in which case your phone will be on mute but you can still hear her shrill, irritating voice. Soft spoken Gujju girl is an oxymoron.
  12. The recipient hates talking to a Gujju girl because of aforementioned reason.
  13. You could flaunt the touch interface of your latest iPhone or an Android phone while texting (No, I don't give a fuck if the recipient has an iPhone. God, please make his/ her iPhone crush under the merciless Local. Amen.).
  14. You could listen to a song while texting and cut out all the ambient noise.
  15. The recipient can listen to a song while texting and cut out all the ambient noise.
  16. You can text while you're getting laid. But that'll make you a sore loser. Get a life instead.
  17. The recipient can text while getting laid. And this makes him/ her a sore loser. FUCK YEAH!!!
  18. It IS easier to abuse a person in written text. And maybe he/ she will retain the message and feel humiliated. *imitating Jaquin Phoenix as Commodus* A-G-A-I-N and A-G-A-I-N and A-G-A-I-N.
  19. The recipient wants to humiliate you. Where did I keep my Colt?!!
  20. I LIKE TEXTING. Period.

The poke


Posted on Saturday, September 18, 2010 | By Gautam | In , , ,

An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind~ Gandhi

A poke in the eye will make Mumbaikars blind.

Picture this: A street strewn apart with construction, clogged gutters, ankles submerged in water, a continuous supply of humans from either side, rains lashing and wetting masses with whatever paltry means they have to protect themselves (rain gods must be having a good time watching all this, live). Everyone just wants to get into or out of the local station. And then you have a beautiful, petite figure walking towards you with a sense of urgency. There's an unmistakable ruthlessness in her strut. But that innocent face hides a sinister secret. A secret that you're going to find out soon.

Very soon.

The Mumbai mob pushes you forward towards your destiny. There's a poke. Pain starts to grip your entire head. Soon you feel it all over your body. There's a moment of blindness (pray that it isn't permanent). Giddy, you come back to your senses with rage getting the better of your rationale. You turn around to catch hold of your attacker. But the cold, wet, emotionless mob pushes you further. Your femme fatale is long gone. You curse her, the rains, crowd, the infrastructure, government (maybe even your birth!!!) et all.

But you vow to take revenge. A revenge against the system. The crowd. You walk like a man who has found meaning in his life. Pushing aside and cursing, somewhere in the crowd your figure disappears; nudging, elbowing and pushing aside fellow humans. Humanity died today. You are now a part of a vicious cycle, engulfed by the monster that is Mumbai. At a poke. The weapon of choice: A rather innocent looking umbrella.

Gandhi died today.

Based on a true story. No humans were harmed during the course of writing.

Middle Class Elitism


Posted on Sunday, August 29, 2010 | By Gautam | In , ,

Scene 1: Look Maa!! All those semi nude tribal are fighting against Vedanta (read Imperial power) which is going to usurp them from the mound they worship.

Scene 2: A hip SoBo type woman in my home town lecturing a vegetable vendor in Anglicised Hindi, "Bhai sahab! Aapko paataa naahi ki polythene bags se environment ko harm pahunchta hai. Chhi, aapko yeh practice band kaarni chaahiye."

After watching Avatar and the ass kicking Na'vis received at the hands of humans (guys, I'm proud of you) and relating with their immense suffering, the middle class humane quotient is at a rise. Yours truly witnessed it at The Indian Coffee House in Kolkata (not that Bongs have anything worthwhile to do except debate at addas anyways). Any ways, in a mundane town like mine, the middle class is baffled at what is happening in Orissa. How can the government do that to those unarmed tribal people. It is supposed to protect the people. It is acting against the very people who elected them. Arnab 'the-I-won't-let-my-guests-speak-for-more-than-23-seconds' Goswami is behaving on the show as if he's suffering from PMS stress due to all that mining. Environmentalists and those GreenPeace terrorists are behaving in their now rehearsed 'I told you so' manner. (I've taken a jibe at all the usual suspects or did I leave someone?!! Feel free to add in comments)

So the middle class blood is boiling (accept it guys, it can only boil. It's not potent enough to get your Trans fat fattened ass to get out of the couch and do something). The timing for all this couldn't have been worse. What with all the public outrage against Bhopal fiasco, Mumbai oil spill (die biatches for you have made my drive to Marine Drive hell) and now the Nuclear Liability Bill. Naveen Patnaik amidst all this, is going to Delhi and asking why he, like all the other CMs shouldn't have the right to pollute and destroy and plunder the natural resources of his state. After all Orissa is hit by a cyclone every other year. Let there be some man made disasters too! BTW, Patnaik should sack his PR guy.

So what is my problem with all this? Well for starters we won't stop driving our cars. We won't appreciate car pooling (Ideate this to a Dilliwala and you may find yourself under his BMW's expensive Bridgestone radials. I won't ride in the locals or the Best buses (moving up the social ladder FTW). I'll board only the AC buses with loads of CFC. I want my iPhone chiselled out of a single block of Aluminium.

In effect, I want all the luxuries of life. Luxuries which somewhere down their value chain pollute the environment. But I'll turn a blind eye to that. Akin to 'I enjoy pork but can't see a pig being slaughtered'. We, as a people want to come down heavily on all these projects which seem to uproot locals and destroy nature as we know it. It's in vogue after all. But do we ever realise why these projects never cease to exist? Such evil (if I may) corporations exist? Oil spills continue to occur? Nature being destroyed?

Only because our insatiable need for all things material and luxury. Think about it, the same middle class complaining about all this is sitting in his flat in Bandra or some suburb. And mangrove vegetation in Mumbai was destroyed to provide him his housing.

And yes, Na'vis will continue to get their ass kicked. Atleast in India. All this IS middle class elitism.

PS: The author is in no way prejudiced against the Na'vis.
PPS: Vedanta has not paid the author. Although he would have liked it.
PPPS: For me, GreenPeace will always remain a terror organisation.

Us v/s them


Posted on Friday, February 19, 2010 | By Gautam | In , ,

Disclaimer: The following post is very harsh on 'artists'. Feel free to feel offended.

  • Is artistic freedom everything?
  • Doesn't the audience count for their presence?
  • Does being narcissistic and claiming I-do-it-for-my-happiness-only not amount to insulting the audience?

These are but a few questions that come up inadvertently between artistes(?) and audience alike when one is defending his/her work (crap in some case) and one is criticising. We've all been privy to 'art' and the lingo and air associated with the artists. The stand that they take. The way they (mis)behave. The way they question the intelligence of the audience when it comes to understanding their masterpiece. Yes, the same audience who would wait patiently for hours before these artists would start their performances, would sit through their tantrums, would stand their arrogance and believe me you, some of their so called performances are a tolling on the senses of a common man. But then we are dismissed as not having that knack of understanding art. Lesser mortals, us commoners.

But who are these people performing for? Who are these people displaying their talents to? Why do they want to be recognized, receive awards, be cheered at? Ego. As much as anyone on this world may like to deny, ego is the underlying reason for many of our endeavours. It may take different forms, it may be dubbed as inspiration by many but one cannot deny the existence of ego. For me, my self esteem emanates from ego. For someone else, ego may mean something else. Appreciation is something we all crave for. As kids, we would be more than happy when we'd be patted on our backs. We all like it when we're appreciated and appraised. It's the basis of a meritocratic society. It satisfies our egos. Maslow wasn't kidding when he proposed the need hierarchy theory.

Then why such despise for the common man? Why differentiate stuff as artistic and non-artistic? The so called performer who revels in his own glory after taking a higher moral ground when he says I perform for the love of performing, wants to see the auditorium/ cinema hall/ art gallery brimming with people. Why does he/she crib when not selected for a national award or some sort of recognition for that matter? The answer is ego.

The notion of some people being gifted with a heightened sense of some form of art is the basic premise that gives rise to what I shall term 'art-feudalism'. Similar to feudalism, some minds (demented in some case) take unto themselves the onus of saving the world from the absence of art. Their works are critiqued and applauded within their own fraternity, given fancy names such as neo-progressive, cubism (Picasso. See I know my art!!!), et all. What do you and I understand? What do you and I care?

If it was not for the common man, whose senses and intelligence are sometimes loathed at by artists, thronging the cinema halls, theatres and art galleries, these people would have been jobless. Fancy gimmicks apart (like roaming barefoot and all), belting out crap in the name of art, innovation and invention cannot be a valid logic. We all can tell how something is pathetic. Instead of taking in the criticism and improving upon, some artists sit back and blame the public on their lack of sensory perceptions.

Art isn't running around the trees but it isn't for sure, capturing scenes form weird angles wherein one has to tilt his/her head 120 degrees to make sense. Art isn't being so damn abstract that only the one conceiving it understands. People, universally, can make out what appeals to their aesthetic senses.

It's not always about exclusivity, it sometimes borders around abnormality.

Artistic freedom is epic fail when one does not appreciate the audience.

Pliss be excusing.....


Posted on Tuesday, January 26, 2010 | By Gautam | In , ,

Cricket is a religion. There are the demi gods. And each religion is run by clergymen. That the hierarchy of power in Indian cricket is complex is no new news. That BCCI contributes 70% of ICC's expenses is stale news. That Kevin Pietersen earned $1.55 million in the last edition of IPL is an indicator that people will kill to be a part of this extravaganza. So the news that Pakistani players are crying foul over their exclusion should not flutter wings in the Indian news circuit. But it is. And that is what is appalling!!!

It has been a few days since the latest auction for this year's edition took place and the baseline was that no Pakistani player was bidden for (The glee on my face gives away my happiness!!!). There have been n number of comments, counter comments, people displaying their dismay at the turn of events, et all. Things, for me become farcical when celebrities owning circus teams jump in the fray to gain some cheap publicity. And who other than I-want-to-hog-the-limelight-all-the-time, SRK, jumps the bandwagon and indulges into some introspection wherein he feels that he felt humiliated for the simple fact that Pakistani players were ignored for the bygone auctions. Humiliated?!! Yeah, right.

Lets get some facts straight Mr. Khan, shall we? That your team did not bid for tells a lot about your feeling bad. Where was your sportsman? Why did you let the businessman in you overshadow the sportsman? It all sounds good when we talk about how cricket unites the people of the two nations. But sample this, a now legendary pacer of yesteryears from Pakistan stated this category that for him, playing against India is like going on a jihad. That sports are modern war format, devoid of all the weapons of mass destruction, where the pride of a nation is at stake is common knowledge. But jihad? Seriously sir, you need to reconsider your choice of words.

The PCB is crying fowl now. Some politicians are doing the same on both sides. Celebrities on both sides like SRK are feeling humiliated. Because big money is involved. Call this post jingoistic rhetoric, but its not going to change facts. Things sound very rosy when we all say that cricket unites hearts. And in a few days, those united hearts carry out attack on the Indian soil. Those united hearts harbour terrorists. And the list can continue. People like SRK sometimes forget the simple fact that we call the shots when it comes to cricket. We are the El Dorado of cricket. And till the time the other country in contention cleans up its acts, boycotting them is not a bad idea.

I love cricket. I love the in-swinging, toe crushing yorkers of Pakistani bowlers. Us v/s Them matches are epic. But I also mourn the deaths of fellow countrymen dying in incidents like 26/11. So if the money can be a thorn in their flesh, so be it!!!

Cause!!! What cause???


Posted on Saturday, January 09, 2010 | By Gautam | In ,

Picture this: A person rushes to you to get your signature and email id on a petition. When you ask about the cause. They just shrug their shoulders and nonchalantly answer that its for PETA something and their 'cause' for doing it is because they'd been promised a t-shirt!!!

So much so for a cause.

I was privy to this scene at my ongoing college fest where PETA people have put up a booth and are promoting in their now well chronicled jingoistic rhetoric. The fact that I disagree with their ways is a different story and more on it sometime else. The point here is that the conscious of supposedly educated people is so darn cheap that it can be bought with a measly dirt cheap t-shirt!!! That PETA resorts to such gimmicks is a concern for me. The youth is happy when given badges, stickers and t-shirts is really hilarious considering the fact that we call ourselves 'concerned citizens'.

The signatories too will not be unscathed in my verbal assault. Non-vegetarians sign the petition without giving it a thought that killing animals for food is antithetical to the PETA philosophy and that this act of theirs is no more than a farce. The same criticism is associated with this set of citizens too. That being associated with a cause or for that matter an NGO is cool is a mockery of any movement. Most of the youth takes up such seemingly cool causes only to leave them mid way is a pattern I've observed and no amount of vociferous denying can turn the facts head on. This, not taking away from those who really feel for some matters and devote time and efforts should be respected though.

We live in an era of politically correct statements where a big number of grey haired men and women would like us to believe how we, the younger generation, are more into social causes than their generation was. The fact though is that the number of devoted people is really really small.

Fellow countrymen of yore, let us respect the spirit of social causes and movements and the people who are driving it. Unless we feel very strongly for them, lets refrain from joining them just for the reason of looking cool or peer pressure for that matter. Your just abiding laws and paying taxes on time does not make you a second rate citizen.

At-least don't sell your souls for a cheap t-shirt to look cool!!!!!

PS: This one's for my pup Milo who I'm missing too much :(

Beer equals happiness!!!


Posted on Monday, December 28, 2009 | By Gautam | In ,

I know you guys would have seen it earlier too, but it somehow never fails to tickle my funny bone. As such its the festivities that are having the better out of us and this might just prove handy!!!