पल भर की कहानी है

ये वक़्त हैं, जो पलों में कट रहे,

एक डोर और टूटे हुए कुछ मोतियों का गुच्छा

बड़े चाव के

झूठे रिश्ते,

वह सब झूठे चेहरे

एक गहरा सा निशान

मुखोटे में छिपाते।

ये भी बदल जायेंगे, ज़रूर।

फिर एक लम्हा होगा,

सिर्फ मैं होगा, मेरी कुछ यादें।

खोखली आँखों से हम भी देखेंगे।

A Bastille Gone

The Sea of Maramara of Istanbul divides the Asian plateau from Europe. The roman king, Flavius Valerius Constantinus or ‘Constantine the Great’ was the first of the Roman Caesar who converted his faith and adopted Christianity. His mother, Helena, [in]famous for the spread of Christianity worldwide after she discovered a crucifix from a cave while on her Pilgrimage Tour to Bethlehem. [Today, the Church of Nativity stands at the place.]

Anyways, Constantinus commissioned to create Sophia Hagia—a Greek Orthodox church near the small Pontic shore surrounded by the waves of Bosporus like a maiden’s necklace. The Orthodox Church stands on the place where once lies a temple dedicated to Aphrodite. According to a Greek chronicler, ‘the gilded roof of the church flushed with sunlight such brilliance that it seemed gold flows from the dome in a molten stream’. Precious metals were carved into its four arched joists. A silver Holy table with its border glided in gold was put as the Altar. Sophia Hagia was a sanctuary to look for, but in 532, the construction gutted in a fire.

The last Roman king, Justinian, decided to reconstruct the church—more elaborately, and more extravagantly. On the day of the inauguration, Justinian riding on his state chariot driven by four horses came for the ceremony. He sacrificed nearly thousands of oxen, six-thousand sheep, hundreds of stags and innumerable of birds of different species before inaugurating. Some thirty-thousand people attend the ceremony. A hearty meal was laid for the poor and needy.

Extending his arms towards heaven, Justinian cried, “Glory to God, who has deemed me worthy of fulfilling such a work. O, Solomon! I have surpassed thee…” With time, it all waned-off.

Sultan Mohammed II, after he triumphed over Constantipole in 1453 visit the monument. He dismounts from his horse, bent down, scooped a handful of dust and pour over his turbaned head before entering the church. A few priests appear from the secret passage behind the screen, kneeled before the Sultan seeking mercy. The Sultan [pretending to be benevolent] set the parishioners free as he walks through the hallway in his high military boots.

The cavernous interior was mixed with blue tiles and the arched hallway to amalgam the Turkic and Roman architecture. The polished Anatolian marble floor compliments to the wooden doors or the walls made of Syrian bricks and other parts of Eastern Africa. With his eyes fixated to the wooden ceiling extravagantly lighted with sunlight, the Sultan ordered, “…the church be converted into a mosque’. An ulema, climb into the ambo and call-out the azaan.

The 269-feet church, now converted, to a mosque by king’s order. Haga Sophia was stripped off all its Christian ornamentation. Massive circular discs with Quranic verses inscribed affixed to its pillars. The pulpit was taken down. A sultan’s box was placed at the centre. A mihrab facing Mecca was installed to one part of the church. On Friday of the first week, the people of the city were called for prayer. No bell was rung. A muezzin cried aloud the glory of Allah and Muhammad—the azaan.

But, why am I narrating all these in 2020? Erdogan, President of Turkey, a few days back signed a decree annulling the status of Sophia Hagia as a museum and revert it to a mosque. Defending his decision, the President stressed that the country had exercised its sovereign right. The Pope from the Vatican along with others from the Papal organisations, express their condemnation, angst, and grief. But, the 1500-year-old Christian bastille is now gone.

And, then some who will cry, ‘Islamophobia’. Sigh!

The Buck Stops when the Cash Counter Stops Ringing

It is more than a month or two that a certain dumbass suddenly realises that he knows a little. My opinion, however, remains contradicting—‘He knows nothing.’ Anyhow, at a wee-hour, the person called me to inquire about ‘Ughyurs’. What?

‘Ughuyus!

We-gears…! Arre, those Muslims who are in Chinese concentration camps…how do you call them?’

‘Uighurs’, I replied.

‘Haan, haan…wohi…what is the fuss about them?/

‘What is the fuss?’

‘Arre bats na! I was hearing about them on the television for a while; some concentration camp, human surveillance, forced eating pork…’

‘The television people can say it better.’ I retorted. ‘Moreover, YouTube got lots of videos on it; I am no expert.’

[Silence for a while] ‘Ok, I thought you might be knowing or having information about the Uighurs so, I ask you because I did not understand all that is written or talked.’

So, you looking for a concise, abridged version?’ I quipped.

‘Abri…what?’

‘I mean a shorter version.’ The dumbass does not have a command over vocabulary too.

Not exactly. I am looking for someone to explain in a simple, relatable way; and I thought you might be knowing. Sigh!’

[My man got my back. He knows how to trap me, gets my inflated ‘intellectual ego’ punctured, and make me blabber for hours. Boy, I can speak 15-hours on any topic without any stoppage. One has to be a patient listener, thankfully, the person is.] So, let me begin from the start.

Uighurs are the Turkic-speaking people settled in the north-west frontiers of China, in the arms of the mountainous—the recently, warring Galwan and Aksai-Chin. Remember, Genghis/Chan-giz Khan of Babur’s ancestry, I believe, Uighurs belongs to the fraction of the early Mongols. They have their territories from Kashgar to Hotan—one of the industrial belt that attracts ancient traders travelling on the Old Silk Route. Many of the Qing and Hui pieces of literature refers to them as “turban-headed Hui”.  Overall, the Uighurs were the aboriginal and quite ancient community.

Hmmm…so, what went wrong?

Nothing. It is same as the formation of Palestine. Jews were the original inhabitant of Israel; in fact, they consider it as ‘Holy Land Gifted to them’. A city on the southern spur of Judaean Mountains and dry riverbeds (wadis). Even the historical data records that Herod [some pronounce Heron] and David in 4^th millennium who built the First Temple on the Temple of Mount in honour or Yahwa.  King Nebuchadnezzar II, with support from Egyptians, destroyed the temple. Later Jews fought with Romans, Greeks for their sovereignty till they were thrown out of their land.

In early-century, the spread of Christianity followed with Rashidun, Ummayids, and Ottoman consolidation in the region, Israel witnesses a series of people clashing with each other. The Moslem also built the Al-Aqsa mosque on the eastern side of the city on top of Temple of Mount and barred Jews access to the reconstructed temple. Constant skirmishes, stone pelting, and power fight for having consolidation over the Gaza strip made the border of Israel-and-Palestine, one of the contentious border followed by India and Pakistan.

Currently, three sects, Jews, Christians, and Moslems have their own quarters; China did the same with Uighurs after they lost, sometimes in mid-1900. The People’s Liberation inducted the region under its fold and enact the state’s religion as universal and absolute. Expansionist China and its Communist regimes. Since 1950, the Uighur identity remained somewhat fragmented, and China denies its autonomy.

So, an expansionist community or sect finding it tough to defend itself from another expansionist ‘big brother’…these Moslems and Chinese are such a scum expansionist’, he berated. I laughed.

‘Why was the world lamenting….”, he has more arrows in his quiver.

‘Well, I failed to analyse that.” I respond, ‘…maybe due to some human rights,”

‘Hmmm….,’ he responded with profoundly

I seriously do not know. A Hindoo man calling me at a wee-hour and listening to Uighurs but no Moslem acquaintance [on my Twitter or Facebook] ever discussed the topic, maybe they are not aware, or maybe it does not interest their agendas. Moslems of India who takes offences on every issue and expert in-making a molehill of nothingness prefers to remain silent.

Since 2014, Uighurs in Xinjiang are under extensive controls and restrictions of China. Political restrictions (I can understand) but, religious restrictions, police surveillance, movement restrictions… Approximately 120,000, people are barred from growing beard, naming their child ‘Muhammad’, using prayer rug, smoking, proper hygiene, kosher foods—an ethnic cleansing on the prowl and everyone turns a blind eye. Strange. Interestingly, a majority of these Uighyus are Sunnites [not Shia’s or Ahmmaddiyas].

Pakistan has its obligation; after all, it is a rogue and sold state. Arabs never consider Moslems from South-Asia as equals due to their colour, linguistic, and cultural differences but, ‘Moslems of India’—the Sharjeel Imams, the Rana Ayyubs, the Owaisi, the Ansaris, the dadis and nanis of Shaheen Bagh—they too didn’t speak, maybe it does not suit their agenda.

A Kashmirdoes, a CAA does, a fake and unnecessary Islamophobia does, even ‘Rohingyas’ do—but, Uighurs; abandoned by their own, it is the living example of how Communism, Islam and the mankind are evil if one belongs to a minority.

The buck stops when the cash counter may stop ringing.

The Untruth-full Indian HIstory

Every one of us, including the textbooks that we read, fantasise and eulogises the Moghul period. In fact, a few months ago, some so-called Islamic power-wigs garishly claimed that ‘Moghuls have given much to the generations by building a Taj Mahal, a Red Fort…’. Are you serious[?]

Let me list down what all did the Moghuls build [and, I am listing ONLY the famous one.]

Taj Mahal—a white marble mausoleum on the banks of Jumna at Agra, a red sandstone fort at Delhi; a white and red mosque near the fort, an octagonal mausoleum with arched gateways near to Dargah Nizamuddin, the Badshahi Mosque (one of the most substantial worldwide) at Lahore, and few baghs (gardens) at Kashmir, Lahore and other cities of India. *hmmm…*

If one deduce the mean of all these creations, one gets elaborate burial places, grand places of worship, elegant gardens and, residential houses. So, how did Moghuls made any contribution to Indian politics or administration or economy? What made them great? In fact, except Babor [despite being presented as unruly, and a despot], no other Moghul administrator showed any excellence, not even Akbar, who lifted all his administrative and military ideas from Sher Shah Suri.

Jahangir spent most of his time drinking cups of wine, Shah Jahan, (I would have hired him as Chief Architect if I own an Architectural House), and longest-living Aurangzeb was busy handling with the rising insurgencies at Bijapore, Malwa, Mahrattas, Rohilla, Sikhs. In fact, he has his eye on the Deccan and somewhat inclined to the western trading ports (on the Arabian Sea). The later Moghuls, after Aurangzeb died in 1707, were loose cannons—they splurge, they killed (Farukk Siyyar versus Sikh Gurus), lecherous homosexuals (read, Muhammad Shah Rangeela), or the tired, haggard (Akbar II and his son, Zafar).

On the other hand, Sher Shah Suri built a trading road, the Grand Trunk Road, connecting the prominent cities from Chittagong to Afghanistan. The new road was an alternative to Old Silk Route that runs from Khotan in China, Galwan Valley, Tibet, Kazakhstan, Badakshan to Central Eurasia. Five hundred years ago, a man from Bihar envisioned and challenged the Chinese Han and Qing dynasty plan. [That was the first CPEC project, got it.] Anyways, not only, the road but Suri built approximately 1700 caravansarais by the road to facilitate the traders, horsemen, and local marketers.

Suri revived the Ala-ud-din Khilji’s plan to have a central monetary reserve, government control on the military establishment, paymasters and salary hikes or the soldiers, percentile distribution (or remuneration) from the looted booty, and others. Alas, the man is known or portrayed only as thuggish, and coarse; and casting his roving eye on Padmini—a Singhalese princess married to Raja Ratan Sen or Chittaur. [Only a few aware of his devoutness for Hazrat Nizamuddin, the [in]famous Sufi saint.]

None of the Moghuls did any of the above…so, how Moghuls become great? [Now, I wondered.] Is it only because of Taj Mahal or a Red Fort? The problem [according to me] is the way the history was told or rescripted by the (allegedly paid) some historians.

The ‘Discovery of India’ [well, some will label me as bhakt or Nehru basher] serve as the template, and most historians don’t look beyond the Moghuls—a dynasty ruled before British. There are large numbers of research works by Jadunath Sarkar, B B. Lal, Sanyal, Elliot or Moore that NCERT never recommends to students. Famous travelogues by Forster, Tully or Fraser were sidestepped. Forget about the diaries of Megasthenese or Fa Hien or Hiuen Tsang or Al-Masoodi—hardly the junta even knows about them.

We are happy to be ignorant lest skeletons would tumble out of the closet and make us ‘think’. We are tired to think; hence, all that is said, either a truth or laughable (depends on the agenda we subscribe.) History makes us yawn, talk on ancient medicine or astronomy makes us laugh, customs makes us snigger; facts make us cringe—we are happy to be ignorant.

So, the next time, when somebody says, ‘Akbar is a Great King’ we would applaud, not realising he and his descendants have done nothing except building burial and pleasure houses. 

[Note: Some of the Moghul’s kins, however, are well-read; interestingly the majority of them are caged spinster daughters. They have different views on administration, religion, and even the social structure of society. Alas! There book, poems, and calligraphies either lies moth-eaten or locked in some unknown museum.]

All that Happened in Galwan

Last week, it was all about a skirmish at the Galwan Valley. A handful of twenty Indian army personnel including a colonel lost their lives battling with Chinese troops who holed at the Line of Actual Control (LAC). Tempers and sentiments soared nationwide. 

The ‘hawkish’ media turned into war strategists, and each treadmilling to make the best presentation. A lame-duck politicians call for ‘ban on Chinese food’ (facepalm) and another, [the namesake] busy criticizing with no or distorted facts, at his baseline. Anyhow, by now, both Congress and Communist parties in India have lost their steam, and no-one bothers what they say. 

Unlike, my [namesake], I waited for a while till the last drop of the news trickled down—one of the few sensible decisions that I ever abided. So, what happened in the Galwan? There are two parts to the answer. One, some twenty soldiers were martyred, their bodies were put to the coffins and flew to respective states for cremation. Well, everyone knows about it. The other part of the answer that a very few is interested is where lies my interest.

Sometimes in 1860, a British surveyor W. H. Johnson draw a line to demarcate the borders of India and China. He presented the map to Maharaja of Jammu and Kashmir, Pratap Singh (the grandfather of Karan Singh). His father, Gulab Singh in 1820 toppled the sovereign Tibetian regime and annexed the Gilgit region to its fold. 

Pratap built a fort the Sahidullah (modern-day Xaidulla) and stationed his troops to guard the eastern border of the country. The Black Jade River (Karakash) flows murmuring softly near the Xaidulla before it enters the Aksai-Chin. The route served as the main trading route to many ancient caravans who would carry silks and precious jades from the Khotan (or Hotan) to the west. [Trivia: Initially, Babur too want to travel to China and not India in the lure of these precious gems.] 

Anyways, the eighteen-thousand square kilometres of the eastern portion was identified as Indian territory under Johnson’s Line. 

Initially, the Chinese Qing administration did not object, but in 1878, the Chinese conquered the fort and terrain from the Dogra Army and erected a boundary mark around the Karakoram. Since then the borders of India of China remain disputable with both sides claiming Sahidullah (or Xaidulla) as their end-points. 

In 1962 (after Dalai Lama was granted asylum by the Indian government), the Chinese troops advanced in higher numbers and with aggression over the McMohan Line (a demarcation line between Tibet and the North-east region of India proposed by British colonial administrator.) Nehru, then Prime Minister of India along with his trusted Army Chief, B. M. Kaul were reluctant to attack the advancing Chinese troops; instead, Nehru had his eyes on ‘Panchsheel Programme’ and hopeful that the Mao Zedong would agree on a mutual treaty. The dragons differed. 

In October, the Chinese surrounded the Indian army at Chushul, and go offensive attacking the Namka Chu Valley, Walong, and Tawang. The Indian forces were undermanned, with only an understrength battalion to support them, while the Chinese troops had three regiments positioned on the north side of the river. 

A sizeable a portion (equal to Switzerland) of Aksai-Chin was surrendered to China. Nehru propounded that Aksai-Chin was “part of the Ladakh region of India for centuries” and that this northern border was a “firm and definite one which was not open to discussion with anybody.” 

Whoever thinks history is boring and irrelevant, by now, might have realized that it is neither. Foundation lies in history; it is same as you plant a sapling and fifty-years later, it grows into a fruit-bearing plant; and the generations feast upon it. [Note: Those claim or snidely remarks that why always blame Nehru for recent turmoils, hopefully, they would rest their case peacefully. ] 

Now, back to what happened to mid-June of 2020. 

Galwan, named after Ghulam Rasool Galwan—a Ladakhi explorer of Kashmiri is located on the west of Karakoram and stands at the northern-most border point of modern-day India. The Chinese call it  ‘Chang Chenmo’. The river is a part of Aksai-Chin. Up the Galwan Valley lies the Siachen, the second-longest non-polar glacier house where Indian sepoy stands at guard at freezing temperature. The adjacent Shyok river between the Indian and Chinese territories.

Four-kilometers of Galwan is the Daulat Beg Oldie. Just 8-kilometres from Daulat Beg Oldie lies the Chinese border of Aksai-Chin and Siachen Glacier on the other side. After 2014 and especially, the 2019 victory, the present-day government decide to infrastructure ramp-up. 

A 60-metre bridge was proposed over the Galwan River in eastern Ladakh to facilitate the infantry and supplies to the sepoys deployed in the cold, mountainous regions of Darbuk and Daulat Beg Oldie in Karakoram Pass. A military airstrip at an altitude of sixteen-thousand feet was also proposed. 

One of the media channel, with borrowed satellite images, demonstrate for hours the various outposts, Post 1-8 at Pangong Lake, the motorable and kuccha road that armies of both countries would patrol, the superfast construction and massive deployment at Chinese side but [possibly] overlook the nearby Tarim Basin, inhabited by Uyghurs where China notoriously created a concentration camp. So, erections on the Chinese side is natural and expected. Moreover, the distance between Pangong Tso and Galwan (where the skirmish happened) is approximately 7-8 kilometres. 

The present-day Chinese government, the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) and Xi Jinping feverishly object to the creation of the bridge, but the present-day Indian government pays no heed. The construction of the strategic bridge was seen as one of the triggers for the recent aggression. 

The construction of Bailey Bride allows the vehicles of the Indian army to cross the Galwan River against the aggressive PLA in case of a worst-case scenario. The construction was completed on June 12 or 13, 2020. 

At the Y-junction of the river where the two rivers—Syhok and Galwan meets lies an Indian army-base. Colonel Bikkumalla Santosh Babu, of 16-Bihar regiment and his platoon, was in-charge of the post. On June 15, a fisticuff between the two armies was reported and since, then onwards, the situation was on the escalated vein. While patrolling on June 14, the regiment noticed some of the Chinese forces holed in the region, near the bridge.

Babu asked the Chinese to push-back 2 kilometres from Line of Actual Control (LAC) as per the international treaty. Observing a lack of inclination, the troops burned down the temporary hutment built by Chinese. Next day, on the night of June 15, the PLA troops, appearing to have readied themselves and outnumbering the Indian troops three to one, attacked the delegation with sticks, stones, barbed wires injuring two of the sepoys, Havildar Palani and Kundan Ojha.  On June 17, Babu and his men patrolled further (closing to Chinese borders) to ensure that no Chinese were hiding midway. To their dismay, the unreliable dragons did, and they attacked.

Both sides succumbed a large number of casualties. Babu and 17 other lost their lives while China yet, not published their numbers. De-escalation started. 

Chinese Colonel Zhang Shuili, the spokesperson for the PLA’s Western Command, said that the Indian military violated bilateral consensus but the MEA, S. Jaishankar remarked “China had unilaterally tried to change the status quo and that its claims over the Galwan Valley were “exaggerated and untenable.” 

India struggling with its internal conflicts after the abrogation of Article 370, separating Ladakh from the clutches of Kashmir and declared as Union Territory. A Shaheen Bagh model erupts (coinciding to the hundredth year of Khilafat Movement in 1920), the communist and anti-India lobby working tumultuously but yet, to success. 

A close analysis of the events reveals that at the root of the raging unrest in India were the communist-minded Islamist groups. They have the support either from Middle-East (alike Khilafat) or China (the Communist-garbed into dictatorship). 

After the outbreak of COVID-19 that brought the world to a halt, China too was into a precarious position. Initially, the country tried to whitewashed by ramping an Industrial growth but soon caught with its pants down. Many of the nations, Hong-Kong, Taiwan, Japan, South Korea, opened its front against China. 

China’s main rival, USA, supports the growing aggression and India was one of the significant countries that every one bank. It is also the primary market for the American and Chinese traders. 

At such juncture, China needs a diversion tactic; moreover, its prized project China–Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC) hits a roadblock if Gilgit-Baltistan either gets sovereignty or make inclusion to India. China would have no direct access to Gawadar Port that allows the country to connect with the west without using the sea-faring trade routes where it has numbers of adversaries. 

Besides, the rising anti-China goods movement in India could bring down China’s monopoly on the world market. The world geopolitics is changing rapidly. 

It is foolhardy to look at the recent skirmish in Galwan as a standalone event or being over-passionate nonsensically. For twenty years, I have been a writer (may not be a fictional one but technical always) I understand, ‘a story contains a story within’. So, look deeper, look real. 

My Viewpoint: Un-necessary Row Over 'Nepo-kids'

The second-most favourite topic of the social netizens, after their ill-informed understanding of Galwan Valley, Line of Control and misrepresentation of Prime Minister's speech, is 'nepotism'. (Facepalm) It all started with a rising actor recently committing suicide. The entire nation gets obsessed with the rising nepotism, especially in Bollywood.

Now, visualize this.

A king wished his eldest son to become his successor. Everyone loves him, everyone is obsessed with his enticing personality, and he got himself a queen too. The king has other sons, [note, no daughter] but he wished only the eldest to govern. The young prince has no past experience or excellence except killing a few demeans or being a guard to sages as they perform homas. Yet, he was chosen as king-to-be.

Well, 'nepotism' was thence, not known. So, look at Google to find the word's etymology.  An Italian word (nipote, which means nephew) was made famous by the French in the mid-17^th century. Initially, the word was used as 'euphemism' when Pope Julius II, the second ruler of Papal states was chosen to lead not because he was suitable, but he was the 'nephew' of Francesco Todeschini—Pope Pius III, the first ruler-pope.

Has anyone ever heard the family in Windsor Castle have passed their mantle to an outsider? A Diana or Kate Middleton were inducted into the fold but not to the throne. The crown remained within the three family units, the Stuarts, the Hanovers, and the Windsors. So, it is difficult for me to understand the hoopla—why the outrage? Well, it's a foreign or Western concept. Okay, let me look at what is practised in India.

The kingdom of Magadha, for hundred and forty-three years, were with Haryanka, from Bimbisara (545 BCE) to Nagadarshakha (413 BCE). Later, the mantle of administration, whether the Afghan Lodhis or the Moghuls (that most take pride) were always within a dynasty; irrespective whether the successor is competent or not. The tradition continues. Nehrus, Yadavs (of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar), Gowdas, Thackerays, Scindias, Rao's of Telangana, Hoodas, Chautalas, Singhs, if have anything familiar—it is not the political ideologies but the bloodlines.  Even the [alleged and famous] spinsters Mamata or Mayawati prefers their 'nephews' to succeed them.  

Bloodline not necessarily flows within the politics even the house of industrialists, Wadias, Ambanis, Birlas, Jindals all have their successors from the family. So, if 'Bollywood' follows the same, 'hungama hai kyun barpa'? I recall, when I was in Mumbai, there was an Irani eating house on the other side of Andheri Station (West). I used to begin my day with their bun-maska or the keema bhuna with bun and the milky tea. The eatery at the prime location displays a board that reads, 'Since 1915…".

The gentleman on the counter was not ancient but in his fifties so, one day I asked, about the history. [Since it was raining heavily, I was not in a rush to office.]  Quite reluctantly and with a gruff he responds, the café was founded by his late grandfather [some] Mazban. He points his finger to the board and quite proudly introduced himself as the 'third generation'.

Later, I found that all the Parsis and Irani cafés in Bombay (the Marzban, Behrams, Bastani) and Pune is family-owned. The servers (waiter) working in these eating joints do not mind training the next generation—one day who will be their boss, with business errands or castigates the owner-kid as 'nepo-kids'. They continue with their job.

Similarly, in Calcutta, sweetshops and roadside eatways takes pride in their foundation year and the founding father. The sweet-toothed Bengalees would flock before the stores of Bhim Nag, or Sen Moshai or Bancharam for their doses. A Nobin Chandra Das roshogolla is often taken with a veneraton though the man sometimes died in 1925. His family, his nephews, now run the business at different quarters of Calcutta.  So, why nepotism is trending nowadays?

Family successions are quite a common practice. A Marwari or a Gujarati trader (no matter how small or big) would have his son or son-in-law sit in the galla.  I had a Punjabi college-mate whose father runs a junk-stall in Dariba. Reluctantly, he would go on every Saturdays and Sundays to the shop and then, would crib the week.

Once, I dared [as everyone aware I am moofat] 'why do sit the shop when you don't like to'?

He promptly responded '…well, it is our family business shop; my father is old and suffering from cancer. I am the only son in the family. Who will take care of the shop, whether I liked it or not?'

 A doctor wants the child to be a doctor, a lawyer wants his/her child to be a lawyer…everyone wants a successor that too belonging to the bloodline. So, if an ex-actor wants his child to become an actor, why label them as 'star-kids' or 'nepo-kids'. Agreeably, all are not talented but who goes to watch a talent in the movie theatre?

If talent or the story is what rules the public interest then a Sanjay Leela Bhansali's poor rip-off Bengali classic 'Devdas' won't be minting money, or an arthritic Peshwa queen won't jig her leg or do thumka in competition. The poor, mismatching representation of Ala-ud-din Khilji won't be blown the people [ironically, the man was an ardent follower of the Sufi saint Hazrat Nizam-ud-din]. Does that mean one needs to bear with it? Hell, no.

Ex-actors, who showcases or promotes his or her child [after nose-or-lip job or puffed] was once a commoner like you and me. So, there is room for everyone—whether talented or lacking. Everyone listened to their father or mother's childhood story. They would walk miles to schools, wear the old or lone piece of shirt, read under city-lights or save ‘annas’ by skipping the lunch to buy a book. 

Times have changed, and none [exceptions are always prevalent] can’t say the narrate the same tale to their grandchildren or children. Today, you may not be privileged, but tomorrow, your generation will be. Does that make your child—a ‘nepo-child’? If yes, go ahead and protest.

PS:

When we gift 100 or 200 crores to a puffed-up star who kills people sleeping on the pavement or imbibe his gesture to rub his nose [as a regular snorter] with the thumb; are we eligible to talk about about ‘nepotism’ or reason that forces SSR to commit suicide. The dead actor might have left with a few question unanswered, and a pandora-box opened but how logical it is to blame the gamut of star-kids for his untimely death.

A New Me is on Uprise...

This blog is dead because the one who used to write ...is oozing with pain and want to lay to rest. 

- From a wounded soul. (RIP, Myself)

I'm Gay Even When I am Asleep!

Eating the self-made fish patties for the lunch can causes mental diarrhea with severe dream constipation. It happened so that while I was having my afternoon siesta, like any other Bengali ‘bhadrolok’, after having 6-7 fish patties I dreamt:

My dead father woke me up, this morning, but I found him sleeping inside the car. My driver, Zia standing beside the car, pulls out a carrier filled with ‘chicken biryani’. Both men start feeding each together. What? My father (who is dead) and my driver (who will be dead soon). [...I’m the only guy who wants his father to be gay...]

Leaving both the old gentlemen to each other’s company, I start driving the car seating in a crumpled state. When I was at the flyover that connects Appu Ghar to Secunderabad Station, I realised that my seating position needs to be changed and start adjusting my seat by opening the door. A policeman helped me...(how unreal this dream could be?)

Finally, I parked my car in a forgotten place and decide to take the metro-rail to reach home. I left my car keys at home.

In the station, a gang of girls, playing with colours fell in love with me. I realised, I’m a not a straight guy [how melodramatic] and so, I dumped them all; except a fat girl with ponytails with whom I got married. [I seriously need to operate myself now...] Thankfully, the dream sequence repaired the reel soon, [I can never be a straight - not even in my dream...uhuh!] so I start running away from the fat-girl and finally, escaped through a tunnel to the flyover where Appu Ghar meets Secunderabad. [I saved my 'gayhood'....yeah!]

Now, I am awake. Can anybody tell me where I parked the car?

What A Year It Was!

Lying over my lazy bum, I’m waiting for the last few hours of ‘this year’ to close-by. Little have we realised that the ‘past 365-days’ was all-spent under the shade of ‘Doomsday’, as predicted by the ancient guys when they ran out of their scrolls. Then, when it passed without the world splitting into pieces, we realise ‘it was stated metamorphically’. Indeed!

Look around yourself. The country of peace and non-violence has suddenly awakened to the most violent expression of humankind; The Great Satan losing its title to ‘The MAN’ and phallus, became the most degenerated scar every grown on man-kind. In fact, the world order is assumable, set to change forever and hopefully, at the 24^th hour of this 365^th day.

It’s not only the world order, but each one of us, individually and personally has an irreparable loss to talk about. To me, there are reams to talk for. Wait a minute! In the initial months, you were counting a loss; in fact – a great patch-up headway. (Oh, yeah!) Under the impending shadow of ‘A’ heading far-away, it was a compromising situation to smoothen the catastrophe to hit on the forthcoming ‘First of July’.

Agree! It was a joyous moment for ‘A’, both financially and professionally, as he settled down abroad with a lucrative offer but, left me for-ever to be homeless once again. For past 37-years, I’ve pretended to be happy with four walls and a silent voice within me; except of those ‘four years with some A’ – the years when I lived as anybody else. Well, I’m happy for him, but to me; the doomed walls and silent voice returned. Now, with an unknown future, a gulp-on-throat, and forced smile; I start to make a living again.

Providence! Oh, don’t make me smile. No sooner did A left me forever, few carrots are offered by the Providence. An impending promotion, a car at throw-away prices; only to realise that the ‘I am to be doomed day-by-day’.

The promotion happened without a raise and the car take-away all that I’ve raised. Inflation found a new way as bills get doubled and subsidies subsided. Banking is no more a fun and life passed paying off the EMIs things that I have rented. I was still managing, till each month – there was a broke-age.

• First, the year-old laptop died and a new one is the only replacement. 
• The passion dried and the muse had left. 
• The house keys were lost and the door was broken.
• The taps starts leaking, the air-conditioner was misused, the gas cylinder leaked, and finally, the plants dried away.

If this was not enough, a series of bouts with families, friends, colleagues, relatives and domestic help followed throughout the year; as each month passes. Well, stop finding blame with me; if relations has got soured day-by-day. I could narrate their state, at length; truthfully, I sternly reacted.

• A bunch of colleagues promised a holiday-trip only to trip off, at the right moment. 
• A junior colleague asked for 2-hour break when the project was underway, and then didn’t turn up or informed to make the delivery happen. 
• A father-son duo, belongs to my extended family, stayed for 10-days at my expenses and left me a bill in an inflationary state. 
• A dear sister, always complain and blames me for things-that-happened years back; but decline to give an ear to my woes, when I wish to lament. 
• An aunt, howsoever good, always cribs, complains and nags like a ‘pain’.

Finally, the dear mother – she sided my dear sister and had the wrath for all-the-nonsense. Ugh, the year is finally lost and all my relations have doomed away. Sitting in these last few hours, with handful complains, I wish myself – a happy new year ahead.  

A Day Called 'Sunday'

September 09, 2012 – Sunday, Time: 05:10 P.M.

My home got no clock yet, I am punctual to core. I got no driving license yet, there is a car parked down that belongs to me. I can’t measure distance yet, have walked miles; and I am bored yet I trying to be funny.

What a Sunday?