Farting Netas

(Humour)

Farting Netas

A neta can stoop to any extent to win the farting competition; when arguments cease farts begin

By Mukesh Sharma

Though all the Homo sapiens make wind and that everyone knows, exits from the right place, a neta is an advanced version of man, and he can fart not only from natural hole provided by the nature but also from the mouth. Over the years, the stock of such ‘super human’ neta is on the rise, particularly, in India.

Some fart like the hiss of a snake. It is a warning to stay away; the next move is to squirt deadly poison. Some fart like the sputter of fire-crackers. It is like a caution to be careful; a pre-emptive strike. Some fart loud like the sound of bugle; it is like declaration of a war on the adamant adversaries who are supposedly, responsible for their present pitiable plight from good to bad. The most dangerous of all these farting netas, is the one who while farting, doesn’t make any sound and releases such an ‘evil’ smell that can send millions into concussion without the aid of anesthesia.

Farting Neta

A neta has a phenomenal farting capacity. He can chew and fart out at the same time; a divine digestive powers! His fart is more threatening than gunfire; the bark is more harmful than bite. Unlike a common man, a neta can fart at anytime and at any place as per his convenience and comfort; he is ever ready like a terrorist who waits the chances to sabotage. A common man can face police, ED, CBI or any other agency but not the fear of fart of a neta.

To a neta, the best place to fart is the Press Conference. Whenever, he has an urge, he calls the press conference; TV channels and newspapers are always ready to get the whiff of the fart of a celebrated neta; a good fart is the staple diet of the media, for, it adds to TRP (television rating point).

Yet another right place for the fart is the rally where the people from underclass gather in return for cash and kind; it is a mobile crowd; one day it may be with one neta and the other day with another. Anyway, it helps a neta to create an illusory perception that he is a popular neta. What a neta doesn’t understand is a neta is temporary but the people are permanent.

The world over, India is known as a country of festivals – from Holi through Eid and Christmas to Kumbh Mela. But all these festivals are for the commoners. So-called hon’ble netas celebrate a very special festival that is called Fart Festival. Unlike the festivals of common people, which fall on fixed day every year, it comes after every five years. It is celebrated by the netas with all fury and fervor, for; it can make or mar the future of a neta.

This year, the much awaited fart Festival is being celebrated in five states in India –  Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan, Chhattisgarh, Mizoram & Telangana; assembly elections are due in the states this year.

Netas of all political hues are on the pitch; they think that their quality farts can get them to a seat of power to loot and boot people for five years. So a fierce competition is going on for the farts to demolish and discredit the opponents; the competition seems tougher than UPSC exam.

Succeed by hook or crook is the buzzword. A neta can stoop to any extent to win this fart competition; when arguments cease farts begin.

Though there is no dearth of good ‘fartmen’ in any political party, the so called Indian National Congress is the frontrunner; divested of power after 70 long years, it (INC) has lost its mental balance; bereft of real issues, it has allegedly started manufacturing lies with concoction and conspiracy to nail down PM Modi, the most ‘feared’ man by the opposition as ‘animals’ fear the lion in jungle.

Happy in the knowledge that India is the largest democracy in the world, and Indian constitution provides the guarantee for Freedom of Expression (Act 19), netas think they can ‘defecate’ and ‘piss’ anywhere as they want.

Mani Shankar Aiyar, a seasoned neta of Congress, decrepit by age  calls Hon’ble PM Modi “neech” (a man of base origin). A Congress MLA Praneeti Shinde (daughter of Sushil Shinde, the former Home Minister in UPA Government)  calls  Modi “Dengue Mosquito”. A protégé of  Rahul Gandhi and Vadgam (Gujrat) MLA, Jignesh Mewani crosses all the limit and calls PM “namak haram”. Angrez of India and so called Hon’ble MP Shashi Tharoor never loses the opportunity to use ‘invectives’ against PM Modi since the initiation of Criminal proceedings in “Sunanda Murder Case.” To top all, the “loose tongue” “Pappu” calls Modi “chor”.

 People know the truth about these farting netas. Farting netas have nothing to do with national or public interest. They fart rigorously and vigorously for self-preservation and self-aggrandizement. In fact, all these fartmen are scared of mystic Modi – a Yogi who knows how to control the ‘wind’, breathe in and breathe out. He knows how to romp a race.

Badhaai Ho

(Beyond smoke screen)

Sex Among Elderly Couples not a Stigma

The latest movie Badhaai ho seeks to expose the pseudo morality of middle class, scared of sex talks beyond bed room

By Mukesh Sharma

The story starts with a typical middle class family with an elderly couple blessed with two grown-up sons – one working with an MNC and the other still a school goer making preparation to take board exams, and a rough spoken grandmother, and as usual ever poking and peeping neighbors of a government colony. Head of the family, the father is a government employee working with Railways as TT, and he faithfully looks after his wife and family.

The little and limited world of two youngman in the family turns upside down when they learn from their hesitant father about the pregnancy of their mother. The startling revelation comes as a bolt from blue. At the age of becoming a mother-in-law and a respected granny, the mother of grown up sons of the family is herself in a family way. Unable to cope with the crisis of clashing generations, the grown up sons throw tantrums. The scene evokes laughters when the duo look at their parents as if they have committed some ‘heinous‘crime. The titillating and troublesome ‘news’ spreads like wildfire in neighborhood and among relatives. It becomes a talk of town in the small word of the family and around.

When the eldest son reveals this fact to his girl friend, she too bursts into laughters. And in turn, when she confides it to her mother, she expresses her dismay and disbelief. Quick to imagine, she says a baby at the age of retirement would become a liability on the eldest son of the family. However, the boy friend of the girl happens to overhear the daughter-mother private conversation. He reacts in strong words. As a result, the love birds fall out. They don’t remain on speaking terms for some days.

Here the story takes the turn. The grown up sons of the family realize their mistakes, and ask for forgiveness from their parents. And, of course, tense audience is also relieved. The grown up sons stand by their parents. Now the entire family including granny prepare themselves for the welcome of the new member of the family. In fullness of time, a baby girl arrives. The scene of united family becomes a tear jerker. It is the eldest son of the family who first takes the newborn baby girl in his hands and pampers it as an elder brother. And the story ends on a happy note like usual Indian story.

The theme of the story not only revolves around the sex life of an elderly couple but also two young hearts – the eldest son of the family and his girl friend. The young lovers don’t mind enjoying the pre-marital sex although it is a taboo in Indian society. The dialogues are written in Hinglish, a typical characteristic quality of middle class. With hunky-dory attitude, it always remains busy in playing good and upwardly mobile family that can’t talk without English sentences and words.

The critics have given this small budget movie 4 stars, and it has been successfully drawing the crowd. This blogger also watched the movie at Cinepolise theatre at Rohini in West Delhi, last Sunday.

The message is loud and clear that sex among elderly couple should not be looked at with squinted eyes, and be not frowned upon, by the young. Sex is a nature, and the world moves around it.

The movie which is every family story is a feast to elderly people in their third age, and also a lesson to young people who have aged parents.

Variety of English in India

(Humour)

Variety of English in India

Angles and Saxons, the original native speaker of English would have never thought even in their wildest dream that after US and UK, English would flourish in India; and now a Britisher contends  it may die in America and UK in distant future but would continue to survive in India and the last English knowing man on earth would be an Indian

By Mukesh Sharma

I

ndia is known for its varieties in the world for ages. Besides the people of different sizes and colours, awesome landscape, many religions, varied cuisine, plethora of political parties, qualities of corruption, 22 languages and 720 dialects, India has variety of English too.

Out of circumstantial compulsions, the British, officially, left India on 15 August 1947. But since then, the Indian have been struggling with English left behind by the English.

Perhaps, 200 years of slavery have gone down deep into the DNA of the Indian. Even today, English, a language of the English is held in high esteem. Quips a journalist, “Indians are scared of two things: white skin and English language. In India, English is not simply a language; it is symbol of status; a symbol of class; a symbol of intellect.”

A close study reveals that in India, English can be classified into four categories: Fake English, Hinglish, Elite English and Queen’s English as shown in the diagram below:

Out of no other option and resigned to their fate, over 55 per cent people have been struggling for independence from the prison of poverty. They live in famished villages. They toil from dawn to dusk to live off their small pieces of atrophied land. Still the bullock plough the field. Still the hapless farmers are at the mercy of rain God, Indra.

Happy with their respective vernacular tongues/dialects, they know nothing about English. The bitter truth is they are not even in the swing of the things. They are wooed only on the ‘auspicious’ day of voting, and after that they are just a scrap.

Fake English

To an outsider, it (fake English) sounds like English but it is not English. It is the literal translation of Hindi sentences into broken English. 25 per cent people speak Fake English in India. Blissfully ignorant of correct English, they speak fake English with all confidence and composure. They never miss the opportunity to show off their ‘command’ of English. Time to time, even Hindi movies have mocked at the craze and cravings for fake English. In one of the old movies, Namak Halal, the leading man Amitabh Bachchan playing the character of a country man, says:

“I can talk English, I can walk English, I can laugh English because English is very funny language. Bhairo becomes barrio because their minds are very narrow.”

In yet another movie, Bol Bachhan, playing a role of typical Indian, the hero, Ajay Devgun says:

“My chest has become blouse”:

(literal translation of Hindi sentence: meri chhati chodi ho gai hai)

“Brother-in-law will die Tommy’s death tomorrow”

(Translated version of Hindi: Kutte ki maut marega kal)

“When elders get cozy, youngsters don’t put their nosy”

(translated version of Hindi: Jab bade baat kar rahe ho to chhote beech mai nahi bolte)

Obviously, there are scores of such examples in real and reel life. What is more interesting, this blogger has overheard even a few so-called teachers, perhaps, grown up with this fake English segment, using the sentences:

“I will take test tomorrow, come ready.”

(translated version of Hindi: me kal tumhara test lunga, tyaar hoke aana)

“Tomorrow, I will not take class. So you are free.

(translated version of Hindi: kal mei class nahi lunga, islye tum free ho)

Of course, this kind of English may be described, linguistically, as English Creole to the comfort of this large flock.

Hinglish

It is a mixture of English and Hindi. It is popular among urbanities particularly, youngsters. Here English sentences are used with words and sentences from Hindi, and it is used in most of the strata of the Indian society. Study reveals that 17 per cent people use Hinglish in India. Stevan Baker who is resident of India for the last 10 years says:

“Hinglish, a blend of Hindi and English is increasingly common in India and beyond - novels have been written in the language. The Author Shobha De known as “Jackie Collins of India” began to use Hinglish in her writing in 1960s.”

Over the years, obviously, Hinglish has become the exclusive trade mark of the Indian. It has become the language of common parlance amount the socalled educated people. Based on mugged up standardized chunks, a conversation between two person is started off in English, as a stranger but soon, they switch over to Hinglish as two respectable Indians. A student reveals that in Hindi heartland even English literature is being taught by the respected teachers through Hinglish. It is common knowledge that the most of the self-styled teachers who call them language ‘trainer,’ give lessons in ‘English speaking’ through Hinglish only. YouTube is full of such vigorous videos. Hinglish is favorite of radio jockeys and film actors too. Speaks up a radio jockey, “Good morning listeners, I am your friend Ruby (name changed), and today, I have come with a bouquet of ever green old songs jo apke ke dil ko chho lengey.”

Hinglish also plays  an important role in advertisements in India. Almost all multinational companies coin their catchy slogans only in Hinglish. Commenting on advertisement trends, a Copy writer Ashok Chakravarty says:

“Earlier, originally, all advertisements used to be composed in English only and then just translated into Hindi almost as an afterthought; but that method doesn’t work for the vast majority of Indians who know only a smattering of English. You may be understood, but not vibe with. That is why all the MNC now speak Hinglish in their ads.”

Here is a few examples how the MNC blow their own trumpet through catchy tag lines:

“Yeh hi hai right choice baby”

“Yeh dil mange more” – Pepsi

“Come on girls, waqt hai shine karne ka” – Sunsilk

“life ho to aisi – Coca Cola

Needless to say, Indians would be Indians. Nothing touches the chord except mother tongue, Hindi. The Copywriters of MNC know that the Hinglish is the future of advertisement industry in India. Here misrepresentation  of facts which is tantamount to cheating remain only in law books not in life.

Elite English

What is right or wrong in English can better be judged by the native speaker of English only, particularly, the educated class of Londoners and residents of Eastern England only and that constitutes the RP (Received Pronunciation). If your English is not on a par with that English, it shall be rated as poor English or fractured English. The speakers of English as a second language have no choice or say. The second language always comes with ‘dependence.’ It is mother tongue only that makes one breathes independence. So, Elite English is used by the native speakers and the elite class of India – Professor emeritus, learned Amici Curiae of Hon’ble Courts; top flight journos, who take pride in reading and subscribing The Washington Post’ The New York Times,  Daily Telegraph, Evening Standard, USA Today, and so on, the reasons are best known to them; the Indian English newspapers that faithfully follow the pattern and pith of foreign English newspapers only, of course, with their partisan outlook to Indian, Indian political parties and netas; and of course, a few blessed netas who are said to have studied at Harvard University, Cambridge University etc, and had the opportunity to rub shoulders with native speakers of English.

The characteristic qualities of this elite English are: it is based on ‘phrases’ (group of words); it relies on standardized sentences; it defies translation into any other language; it can better be learnt by following and living with the native speakers only. To a second language learner, who tries to understand it through his/her mother tongue, it sounds very confusing and clamoring. Here are some examples:

‘Kejriwal is in the habit of jumping the gun’ (to act without due caution).

Be ready to pull your punches (to speak in an honest way without trying to be kind)

I want to get back to nature

(Return to simple village life)

Rahul Gandhi is yet to learn the ropes (to know how to do something correctly etc.)

Don’t drive under the influence (do not drink and drive)

The days are drawing in (daytime is getting shorter)

The taps are running dry (no water from taps)

The government will bleed the people dry and make them beggars. (Impose more and more taxes and make them beggar)

I have pins and needles in my left leg (a tingling sensation in a limb in Hindi: paer so gaya hai)

So there are hundreds of such examples that make the basis of elite English.

What is noteworthy, this elite English is also the base of almost all the competitive exams for government services like SSC, UPSC, Bank, Judiciary etc. The most of the aspirants who are from lower strata of the society, grapple with this elite English in exams and cut sorry figure, for, it can’t be learnt through translation; it can’t be learnt through mugged up grammatical rules or so-called vocabulary. Surprisingly, syntax and semantics that make the basis of Elite English, are not the part of curiculum for English language programme. And confusion goes on.

Queen’s English

It is reminiscent of the chaste British English, usually, used by the educated class of the British – in old time  by Viceroys and Lords. In his budget speech (March 26, 1903) as a Viceroy and Governor General of India, George Curzon says:

“We are ordained to walk here in the same track together for many a long day to come. You can’t do without us. We should be impotent without you. Let the Englishman and the Indian accept the consecration of a union that is as mysterious as to have in it something, divine, and let our common ideal be a united country and a happier people.”

To then highbrow British, Indians as a subject were no better than cockroaches and mices.

In India, by an estimate just 0.1 per cent people use this Queen’s English, and most of them are in judiciary (High Courts and Supreme Court), perhaps, studied in US/UK, and a few are in journalism and politics, and all these can be described as perfect progeny of Angrez (the English).

One, out of the herd speaking and writing Queen’s English (Macaulay rated them as ‘black English’) who seem like undesignated and unacknowledged Viceroy and Lords of the British regime, is hon’ble Shashi Tharror. His well imitated mockney accent, winged words couched in multifaceted sentences, make an average English knowing Indian strain his ears/eyes and scratch his head in order to make out what the great man intends to elucidate. Look at these Shashi Tharoorain expression:

”My new book The Paradoxical PM is more than just a 400 page exercise in floccinaucinihilipilification”.

Even in past, the over sententious Shashi Tharoor has used inconsequential words like: “lalochezia”, ‘farrago’, rodomontade,’ “wahaquoof” and “snollygoster”

Only he or God knows the right contextual meanings which are beyond the comprehension of this moron blogger.

Next comes the omniscient Oracles of law. Me Lords just pontificate and leave rest to the wisdom of the people to paraphrase. Not only to legal hawks but also layman, the interpretation becomes a subject matter of debate and discussion.

In sabarimala Verdict, Apex Court says:

“To exclude from worship, is to deny one of the most basic postulate of human dignity to women. Neither can the constitution countenance such exclusion nor can a free society accept it under the veneer of religious belief.”

Passing judgment in favour of passive euthanasia, SC says:

“The right to a dignified existence the liberty to make decision and choices and the autonomy of the individual are central to the quest to live a meaningful life.”

The blessed Angles and Saxons, the original native speaker of English would have never thought even in their wildest dream that after US and UK, English would flourish in India; and now a Britisher contends ironically that English may die in America and Britain in distant future but would continue to survive in India, and the last English knowing man on the earth would be an Indian.

Of Wayward Words

(Humour)

Of Wayward Words

More coquettish than the sulking girl friend; it is easier to persuade her than the words

By Mukesh Sharma

After the unseen so-called omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent god, the three ‘abstract’ nouns which remain incomprehensible and inscrutable to the most of moron men like this blogger too throughout their fugitive like span, are: World, Women and Words.

The Way of the World remains unknown to celebrated playwright like William Congreves. Renowned Indian scribe Khuswant Singh said to have died at a matured age with lots of confusions about women. And the words are still a mystery for the most of the people and populace across the world. Expressing his doubts, even a learned writer W.Somerset Maughm says:

“I often think how much easier life would have been for me and how much time I would have saved if I had known the alphabet. I can never tell where I and J stand without G, H to myself first”

like words, cocking a snook

In this man known universe, everything is a word. The man knows nothing that is not a word. The man tries to know and understand everything through words only. The knowledge is acquired through words; it is transferred from one generation to other through words. Even the almighty God is at the mercy of the words. The man can’t think of a life or existence without words. It is the words that separate this two-legged so-called man from other creatures of vast animal kingdom.

Words are nothing but the distinctive sounds. And sounds often dissipate in space. To stop this, the man has tried to give shapes to each sound what these different shapes are called words. It is the sound and shapes that have helped the man to get so-called civilized in comparison to other animals.

Love is a word. Sex is a word. Man is a word. Woman is a word. Marriage is a word. Child is a word. Family is a word. Society is a word. Government is a word. This world is a word. All celestial objects  are mere words. Even the God is a word.

The startling fact is that it is not easy to propitiate words, and earn their blessings. However, there are three categories of the people who are the blessed friends of the words -  Indian Baba, smart Businessman and  wily Neta, found across the world.

To a Baba (so-called religious guru), the words come naturally. In the choicest words, he evokes the emotions of the unsuspecting masses. His well crafted words couched in some parables and fables touch the chord. With the help of words, a Baba can make followers believe that he is God unto himself; he can emancipate them from all the ills of the life; he can make their life heaven. Mesmerized with the words of the Baba, the disciples listen the discourse with rather suspended disbelief as movies are watched, and surrender their soul to ‘devil’. The fall out of this all is many a Babas has been accused of sexual assault, sexual abuse and rape, and now incarcerated in jails. However, come what may, there is no dearth of their disciples who still believe that their gurus are god-incarnates and have been falsely implicated.

Next in the line is businessman. Blessed with words’ blessings almost all the successful businessmen right from small-time to tycoon, all know how to use the standardized words to get Yes Power. A businessman knows how to use words purposefully – if can’t convince, he confuses; if can’t confuse, he corrupts. His Yes Power is phenomenal. He is a practical Dale Carneige. Well versed with power of words, he knows how to use the right words  at right place and at the right time. And he touches the dizzy height just because of the undue favour of the words.

The second last in the list is the most blessed rather a blue-eyed boy of the words so-called Neta. He is the master player in using the words as a juggler shows his feats with the sleight of his hands. None can beat a neta in the art of circumlocution, elocution, sophism, rhetorics and demagogy. He lies convincingly. He can ‘die’ for the country without touching the ground. He can be declared martyred without firing or receiving a bullet. Even a PhD can’t stand against the gift of the gab. Like a warrior, a neta goes on the  stage; he speaks out and conquers the crowd. And analogy can be drawn from Julius Caesar: “He came, he saw, he conquered.” Not only that it is well said: “One who conquers the stage, conquers the word.”

A neta, perhaps, has an inbuilt qualities to tease out the wool and knit a sweater. He remains in full command of himself and his audience. As a dealer in ‘hopes’, he manufactures ‘hope’ faster than any mint plant printing currency. ‘Hope’ is a deadly weapon to tame the crowd. No need to fulfill. Hope often feeds on hope, and it is the staple diet of the common man.

Among all above blessed lots, the hapless writers/scribes are the least blessed. Like a pagan, a pen-pusher has to propitiate the words; invoke the muse. Despite all devotion and dedication, words don’t smile on them easily. Sometimes, words lay pliant in the arms of the thoughts of a writer but it is not necessary that they will reach the orgasm.

To a writer,  words never come straight. They come in the form of Simile – a literary challenge to bring a comparison between two objects of different kinds (she fought like a tigress). As a Metaphor, an implied simile but not simile (she was lioness in the fight). Lure of Personification is well known to all the scribes – treating inanimate object and abstract nouns as living being (laughter holding both her sides). Apostrophe, a direct address to the dead, to the absent or to a personified object or idea ( O Death, be my refuge). Hyperbole, to make an emphatic statement (if river were dry, I would fill it with tears). Euphemism, the description of a disagreeable thing by an agreeable name (it is a fairy tale). Antithesis, to bring about a contrast of words or sentiments in a sentence (man proposes, God disposes). Oxymoron, where two contradictory qualities are predicted at once of the same thing (people accept the kind cruelty of a surgeon’s knife). Epigram, a quip to attract the attention (child is the father of the man). Irony, where the real meaning is exactly the opposite if what has been conveyed literally (and Brutus is an hon’ble man). Pun, to produce the ludicrous effect (life depends on liver). Synecdoche, to designate the whole to designate the part (she has many months to feed). Transferred Epithet to transfer an adjective from its proper word to another (I passed a sleepless night). Litotes to convey an affirmative by negation of the opposite (the man is no fool). Rhetorical Question to ask a question for question sake (am I an Indian here). Exclamation to draw an attention to something. (what a piece of work is Modi). Climax to arrange idea in ascending order. And Anticlimax to show the sudden descent from higher to lower in order to satire or ridicule.

A writer always remains at war like India with its ever mounting population. Even Chanakya Niti fails in the matter of words. To an ever struggling scribe, words remain WAYWARD like a footlose teenager. It is easier to persuade a sulking girl friend than the words.

Playing # Me Too

Humour

Playing #Me Too

Not a new phenomenon, it is being played for ages under different names all over the world

By Mukesh Sharma

In the last couple of days, #Me Too has become the more popular game than cricket where, evidently, 11 players play the game on ‘ground’, and teeming millions watch it with all enthusiasm and exactitude. It is followed not only on ground but also on talking shops (TV Channels), nurturing newspapers and gung ho street corners, nothing sells like sex in the world.

With the nomenclature coined and phrased by an American social activist, Tarana Burke, the game started as early as 2006, and it got publicity and popularity when an American actress Alyssa Milano joined the game.  

Further, with the intervention of The Times and New York, it became the household name in US. Dozens of wishful women came forward with the accusations of rape, sexual assault and sexual abuse against the renowned film producer Harvey Weintein, the open secret, though known to all, surprisingly, was taken by the common people with awe and ouch. The itch of jealousy causes a deriding disease, # whynotme syndrome. Anyway, The Times and New York have won the coveted Pulitzer Prize for Public Service 2018, this year.

What is noteworthy, the # Me Too is being played for ages under different names, and the people know it. Like the game of cricket, it is being played in the confines of four boundary walls; it is being played in the serpentine lanes of dump colonies; it is being played in the abandoned parks; it is being played at every imaginable place of comfort and convenience. Apart from innumerable nonentities, there is long list of ‘notorious’ players from all walks of life. They are known for their sixes and centuries in this # Me Too game.

Selectively, it becomes talk of town when the people at very high places are exposed by chance, and are found complicit in the ‘game’. It is the only game where winner and loser are not decided by the pre-set rules of the game or by any umpire. The #Me Too has the right to change the rules even after the game on the basis of her calculated net profit or gains. If it is not as per expectations, # Me Too is free to cry foul. Nobody listens to batsman. The poor fellow is hanged even without hearing. And ever ready media is quick to catch the alleged perpetrator with his pants down, and cook up the story with all the needed spices and sauces. Readers are more interested in scoops than any national issue.

All men love this #Me Too game. They start it right after the development of secondary sexual characteristics qualities. They grow up with continuous practice. Officially, the most of the men end up with just one #Me Too or a few, and the lucky few reach the actual play ground –  the position of power and pelf.

The fortunate players come across many willing #Me Toos. They play them well without any discomforts. The loose ball is sent to boundary wall; the fast ball is played to slip; the bouncer sometimes is ducked. However, the game continues between wooing batsmen and willing #Me Toos.

Over the last few days, the ground rules of the game have been broken by some elite #Me Toos. They want to declare the batsmen out who played the balls and batted years ago, taking advantage of the fact that the PAST can’t be changed or tweaked. However, even their (# Me Toos) whisper and hiss have taken the toll of so-called an Hon’ble Minister very recently. Belief is stronger than reason. Indians go by the perception right or wrong and care damn for the reality. Legal luminaries doubt whether the well thrown balls of #Me Toos would stand the scrutiny of law, against the Principle of Acquiescence after the elapse of so many years of silence, in abeyance with the Limitation Act.

Nobody is interested in Future Indefinite. People are interested in simple Present. The #Me Too game must go on.

       

Rahul Gandhi God-incarnate?

Humour

Rahul Gandhi God-incarnate?

“I seek out those in pain and embrace them. I erase hatred and fear. I love all living beings.”

By Mukesh Sharma

In an interview to a vernacular newspaper, the Congress Supremo Rahul Gandhi is reported to have said: “Congress is the party of the Muslim.”  To take the political leverage of the seemingly catchy statement, ever ready the sharpest knife of BJP Samit Patra rushed to favorite and favorable TV channels and pronounced his speaking judgment that Rahul Gandhi had played the communal card and had tried to polarize the populace which was a threat to secular fabric of India, and it did debunk the pseudo-secularism of Congress party . . . .blah blah.

Smelling the perceptible danger of alienating the majority Hindus, Rahul Gandhi quickly posted a great and grand TWEET:

“I stand with the last person in the line. The exploited, marginalized and the persecuted. Their religion, caste or belief matter little to me. I seek out those in pain and embrace them. I erase hatred and fear. I love all living beings. I am the Congress.”

Virat Swaroop of Rahul Gandhi 

The tone and tenor of the tweet reminds me of Lord Krishna’s divine discourse where in X chapter of the Bhagwad Gita, Sloka 32, while revealing His Virat Swaroop (the colossal manifestation of the Self) to confused and cathartic Arjuna in the battlefield of Kurushetra, He says:

“Of creation, I am the beginning, the end and also the middle, O Arjuna; of the science (I am) the science of the self; of those who debate I am the dialect.”

Looking at the Virat Swaroop of Rahul Gandhi portrayed through the words, Rahul Gandhi detractors are in jittery. They fear Rahul Gandhi might don the garb of a saint in future. He may have the large following of disciples rather than Congress workers.

I too salute Rahul Gandhi with folded hands for his Virat Swaroop! May He be merciful to all the creation and creatures. Moral: nothing is impossible for a neta.

Mukherjee Nagar, a grand ghetto of coaching centres

Mukherjee Nagar, a grand ghetto of coaching centres

Entrance is the favorite house of stray dogs and they can poo and piss as a 'rightful owner'

By Mukesh sharma

With over 350 coaching centres being run from dingy and dilapidated structures so-called commercial complex at Mukherjee Nagar, North Delhi, situated at the ‘bank’ of ever stinking Najafgarh nullah, buzzing with effervescent and exclusive commercial activities from dawn to late dusk, it won’t be wrong to call it a grand and grandiose ghetto of coaching centers.

Reveals an old timer Ravi Chadha, “the most of the buildings are nearly 50 years old as the allotments to then applicants were made by the authorities way back in 1972”.

A local property dealer with 20 years of business standing says, “these buildings have already lived its age”. “The plasters have peeled off,  the large patches of bricks can be seen in the walls of the most of the structures.” Not only that iron rods are showing in the ceilings of the floors. “ Just one jolt of earthquake may raze these decrepit structures to ground” adds property dealer ironically.

Salient features of Mukherjee Nagar Commercial Complex, Delhi

The fact is neither the occupiers nor the owners are bothered about the upkeep of these structures. The most of the occupiers who are tenants, are coaching centers and interested in their teaching ‘trade’ only. And the owners are thankfully happy with their fat monthly rents.

Consequently, the buildings remain in utter neglect and ruins. A casual visitor is welcomed by the cluster of electric meters studded on the walls of very entrance with wires sticking out. The entrance is also a favourite ‘house’ of stray dogs. They can poo and piss as a ‘rightful’ owners. With worn away steps, the flight of staircase winds through floor after floors up to top floor. The corners of staircase are ‘lawful’ spittoons. Pinching nose and braving evil smell, the visitors continue to go upstairs – upwardly mobile ‘visitors’ seldom grudge or gripe.

What is noteworthy, the safety is not the baby of anyone here. As usual, the authorities concerned get wise only after the event in India –  cross the bridge when it comes. These commercial buildings are a public place. But still, there are no fire safety measures  no fire extinguishers,  non-functional fire hydrants and hose-pipes are missing from pulleys.

“God forbids, in the event of fire, these buildings may turn into an inferno –  no fire safety and no separate fire exit” opines a teacher Ram Nayak Maurya spitefully.

Mukherjee Nagar seems to be like a religious place. The government service aspirants from Bihar, Uttar Pradesh, Uttrakhand, Jharkhand, Haryana etc., including Delhites throng this place with heavy baggage of hopes and dreams as the Muslim bretheren visit holy Mecca for Haz.

Says Digvijay Singh, a teacher engaged in teaching for 15 years, “mere presence in Mukherji Nagar adds a feather in the cap”. “With Mukherjee Nagar tag, even a non entity teacher becomes hero in his hometown, and an unmarried IAS aspirant with Mukherjee Nagar identity starts getting marriage proposal in his village.” “The success in exams is immaterial but Mukherjee Nagar remains a blessed place for both teachers and students”, adds Digvijay Singh with a grin.

The day starts at Mukherjee Nagar with variety of breakfast dishes catering to the taste buds of students hailing from different states – poha, pakoras, kachori, chhole bhature, jalebi and milk, fruit salad, juice etc. Taste is guaranteed, not hygiene. The most of the vendors are squatters, selling their stuff from pavements, make-shift shops and rehris. Heaps of garbage can be witnessed beside ‘sober’ shops. The underground drains flow underneath the shops, emanating a filthy smell from the cracks. The habituated ‘customers’ don’t care. Brisk business goes on all the day.

A survey reveals that PG accommodation is a flourishing business at Mukherjee Nagar. The most of the house owners in the vicinity have converted their houses into so-called PGs. “In the name of accommodation, the needy students are provided cubbyholes, worse than the jail cells of western countries and that too for a sum of Rs 10000/- to Rs12000/- per month, of course, with what is called tiffin service” says Mamta, an IAS aspirant staying as a PG.

Those who can’t afford, take single room on rent  in informal settlements like Gopalpur, Gandhi Vihar, Wazirabad village etc,. adjoining the ‘posh’ Mukherjee Nagar.

Interestingly enough, the libraries without books is an improvised trade at Mukherjee Nagar. Under the garb of library, pigeon holes with a chair and a desk are made available to students to study daily for fixed hours in  so-called library for a sum of Rs 1500/- to Rs2000/- per month.

At Mukherjee Nagar, so-called booksellers are more interested in selling photocopies of notes. Name any exam, notes are available. Most of these so-called notes consist of past exams papers and contents copied from the acclaimed and acknowledged books of renowned authors. Says a UPSC aspirant student Kishan, “perhaps blissfully ignorant of Copy right Act,  the respected sirs who are in circulation at Mukherjee Nagar, with copied and lifted contents pass it off as their own creation”.

Amusingly, the most remarkable phenomenon at Mukherjee Nagar is the ‘poster war’ among coaching centres. It is fought at many fronts  ̶  from huge hoardings to A-4 size flyers. Since the posters and banner are removed, torn up and replaced on day-to-day basis, allegedly, by the ‘rivals’ and ‘duteous’ MCD men ‘ over conscious’ of ‘cleaning drive’, some coaching centers hire moving men and make them stand at ever  over crowded  Mukherjee Nagar main road with a ‘bill board’ fitted with the iron poll. It reminds one of the scene at airport where the air passengers coming out of the airport are greeted with placards, held by the messengers for giving specific information to passengers concerned.

Anyway, whatever is the fate of government services aspirants in this grand ghetto, coaching centers and landlords usually have the last laugh.

Self-employed youth – the victims of Justice

Self-employed youth – the victims of Justice

By Mukesh Sharma

It is a fact that only elite political class has been enjoying life in Indian democracy, loaded heavily in favour of netas. Irrespective of caste creed or religion, the most of Indians believe that India is country of the netas, by the netas and for the netas.

While the netas live a king’s life, the poor people wriggle through the devouring problems all the life. Resigned to fate, the people remain at the mercy of some divine providence or the netas.

With all prerogatives and privileges, the netas celebrate Independence day and Republic day with the usual euphoria and exactitude every year. And the fooled people watch all the celebrations on TV channels with the sense of helplessness.

The system is such that once a glib-tongue and street-smart person gets in the politics, and manages to become an MLA or MP, he or she becomes law unto himself or herself. The proverbial long hands of law think ten times before reaching out to these netas even if they are found complicit in some crime. The people contend that these demi-gods are above the law.

On the other hand, the hapless common man who has been struggling from dawn to dusk for his survival for the ages, is a favourite whipping boy. Even the lowest rung government official can kick his ass just for kicks. What is more, this confused common man often falls prey to so-called JUSTICE.

The classic example is the ongoing sealing drive by MCD in Delhi under so-called Supreme Court Monitoring Committee. The properties of innocent self-employed people who have even paid the conversion charges and parking charges against their properties in order to carry out commercial activities for their livelihood, are being targeted and sealed arbitrarily without any notice.

True to their element, the netas of all the political parties are trying to use the predicament of the businessmen to their political advantage. Mud-slinging, slanging match and buck-passing have become the part of debate. While the netas are busy in their squabble, sealing is going on day after day. If the government cannot provide the employment, it has no business to deprive the people of self-employment.

      Over the years, the coaching Institute Business across India has become a giant industry with annual turn-over in thousands of crores, providing direct and indirect employment to thousands of teaching and non-teaching  youths.

Among the famous places for the coaching centres, Mukherji Nagar in north- west Delhi has a distinctive reputation. It is the favourite destination for government job-seekers. The students from all the parts of India throng this place with their cherished dream.

But to the utter surprise of student community at large, the renowned Mukherji Nagar and GTB Nagar stand rather ravaged today in the wake of rampant sealing drive. Hoardings, signboards and bill boards have been pulled down. Furniture and fixtures have been removed from the premises to ward off sealing drive. Obviously, it has put a big question mark not only on the future of self-employed teachers but also on the dreams of hundreds of students.

Dejected and disenchanted these hordes of self-employed people contend that much touted ‘start-up’ India is just a political gimmick. “At Davos, our Hon’ble PM Modi lays a red carpet for the foreign companies and business tycoons” says  a teacher ruefully. “And here in India Modi’s men are pulling the rug of  the feet of thousand of self-employed youth”. “BJP is a party of talk talks and talk claims. And those who talk by yard, act by inches, deserve to be kicked  by foot” says a student spitefully.

Evidently enough, the self-employed youth of India, who are already overburdened with the propounded GST, Income Tax, Property Tax, Conversion charges, Parking charges and  ever running high commercial electricity bill besides the alleged monthly extortion by the local authorities, are  VICTIM OF ‘JUSTICE’

Ramshackle Wazirabad Yamuna bridge ̶ a disaster in waiting

Ramshackle Wazirabad 

Yamuna bridge  ̶  a disaster in waiting

       By Mukesh Sharma

NEW DELHI: The Wazirabad Yamuna Bridge in North-East Delhi which is over 70 years old, is the only bridge connecting North-East Delhi, and besides local traffic all the vehicles from Loni, Ghaziabad use this bridge to enter inner parts of Delhi, and today it stands in dilapidated condition. However, thousands of vehicles crawls through this neglected bridge daily, and perhaps the authorities are waiting for some disaster to happen.

Nearly three months ago, the bridge was closed for busses and trucks to ‘repair’ the so called cycle track, nearly 8 ft. wide abutting the bridge. In fact, it was just a footpath and meant for pedestrians. The vested interests changed the nomenclature and renamed it ‘cycle track’. The restoration work is yet to be completed. The shoddy manner the work is being done rises doubts in the mind of the commoner that the contractor and officials concerned have made a fortune. It is open secret that based on public complaints and notings of the top officials, the tender for restoration work is floated; it is awarded to the ‘right’ contractor; work is completed; the calculated and well bargained cut reaches the share holders and the file is wrapped up with  hip hip hurray . . . and three cheers.

      Waterlogged Yamuna Bridge

On last Friday, the heavy rain led to water logging on the bridge. The vehicles were wading through knee deep water. The drain pipe put up by the contractor were chocked with dirt and mortar. Nobody bothered to open it. Moreover, the road over the bridge is full of potholes. The vehicular movement of this rugged bridge is so slow that a long line of bumper to bumper traffic jam can be witnessed from both sides of the bridge  round the clock. Hats off to Delhi Police cops who try to regulate the traffic but in vain. In fact, the authorities concerned should have first mended the road over the bridge for the smooth flow of traffic. But who cares! Enjoying fat salaries with no accountability, the officials who act like demi-gods, take little interest in public work on ground zero  except in file.

Interestingly enough, all the drivers of passing vehicles while moving like a bullock-cart do look at the much-touted Signature Bridge just 100 meters away. The people do dream of the auspicious day when the bridge would be completed and thrown open to public and the people would get rid of this daily tussle of traffic jam. But the next moment, they curse the netas. . . and get going.

The signature bridge was conceived by the respected netas about 14 years ago with a budget of just Rs 700 crores. The work dragged on for years for one or other reasons. The budget continued to be enhanced years after years for the reasons best known to netas only. And now it is said to have crossed  a whooping sum for Rs 1500 crores, and still it is under construction. To raise the hope of people, every year ‘netas’ give a deadline for its completion, but it turns out to be as hollow as their election promises.

Fearing the worst, disgruntle people content that the authorities would wake up after some untoward incident. God forbids, if this Wazirabad bridge collapses, the netas would visit in hordes; inquiry would be instituted; next of kins would be given some solatium; some overactive NGOs would stage candle light protests and some enthusiasts would raise a memorial and lit the candle every year on the day of disaster. But no lesson would be learnt. In all the cases, as usual, it is people who have to pay the price, and remain at receiving end.