Twenty Four

I trust I have no readers who assumed this was about some TV show. Right? It isn't . This is about me turning a year older.  Yes, thank you.

Our perception of birthdays varies every year, doesn't it? There's the longish phase where birthdays meant wanting to cut a cake and distribute chocolates in school. Then there was the Orkut era which, in hindsight makes one feel like a ragpicker, involved checking out scraps. I'd like to think we're all in a slightly better phase now. Sure, we all wish each other on social networking sites. Heck, some folks wished me on Google+ already! That's as personal a wish as it gets because those handful of people and I are the only who bothered to open Google+ today.

On a more serious note, birthdays are great days to make amends to friendships and relationships. If you haven't spoken to someone in a long time, a birthday is a great excuse to change that. I used to be very cynical and crib about how impersonal wishing on social media is, but hey people taking a few seconds off to remember you is what matters. No one likes to be forgotten, and by the time you're a couple of dozen years you've given a whole bunch of people reasons to forget you. It feels good to be remembered.

Twenty four is an age no one wants to be. Kids want to be 18 or 21(depending on the legal drinking age) and adults want to go back to college and be 21 or 22 too. No one wants to be in that awkward age between hitting on everything that moves and changing diapers.Having a January birthday means your new year resolutions and birthday resolutions are pretty much the same too.  Of course, none of my resolutions are as radical as that of my female peers who seem to have decided to make a new person after turning 24 instead of becoming a new person.  I, on the other hand, don't even want to be a new person. I want to be the same person, but I know I'm heading towards a quarter-life crisis and that I must avoid the quarter life crisis.  The world around me is divided into two kinds of people: those who think I'm too old and those who think I'm too young.

Ever seen those sitcoms where an entire year is condensed into an hour-long episode?  Going by the number of times I've been called a dog, and the famous adage which dictates that every dog has its day, my 24 hours just got over.


To take this like another day I'm no saint,
High I'll get but not the kind that makes you faint.
Every wish and blessing gives me positivity I'll need,
Foul advice I'll consider and the rest I'll heed.
Under the sun everything seems within reach,
North-bound treks and alone time at a beach.
Settling down- is a phrase I often hear,
That'll only happen once these heights evoke fear.
Am I at the stage that can be considered my prime?
Real-life conversations can't compete with a rhyme.
These my-own-muse moments make me feel like a king,
Sometimes I feel like acrostics have become my thing.
Neither my readers nor I have a problem with this,
Oh, you got this far? I won't give your wish a miss,
Well, today, I've got to act like I'm too busy to take a piss. 

One for the poets

Play we do with a limited set of words,
On a canvas riddled with myriad rules.
Each syllable must amaze you like soaring birds,
Their meaning must bear weight like the back of mules. 
Readers’ delight is but secondary to us,
Yet why would we write if not to be read?
If not for narcissism would we be thus?
Subtlety may be our butter, but acknowledgement is our bread.
Never do we swerve from our styles and schemes,
’Tis not in our nature to be blind to beauty.
Even the free souls among us have their themes,
Anglou speaks of African-americans, and Eminem of booty.
Some of us may seem eccentric or maybe even caustic,
You did well if you realised, that this is a sonnet that’s acrostic. 

Atal Sarige to Vajra

To those of you who have stayed in the real Bangalore for a while, both these terms are self-explanatory. To the rest of you, Atal Sarige is a scheme started by a previous BJP government here. It is named after my favorite Prime minister of India - Atal Bihari Vajapayee ji. These Atal Sarige buses are basically old buses which have refurbished seat layouts and paint jobs. They ply between areas which are frequented by the common man at half the normal rates
The Volvo buses which are a common sight all over the city go by the name ' Vajra.' These buses are filled with the IT crowd. They ply at rates that are about 3 times the normal rates.

I travel from one end of Bangalore to work and board both these buses in order to reach my destination. My co-passengers in the Atal Sarige buses are folks who use body parts other than their fingertips to earn a living. There are masons, painters, carpenters, garment-factory workers, vegetable vendors... I've even traveled with a couple of ragpickers once in a while. The conversations here are about rising prices of food, the rains which flood houses, an upcoming festival or fair at a suburban locality.

I switch buses and enter a Volvo and it is a whole new city in there. A whole new world. The woman who sits in front of me probably spends more on her hair and make-up in a month than the woman who was sitting next to me on the previous bus spends on food and lodging. The conversations here are about the exchange rate of the dollar and how it is tougher to get a H1-B visa now.

The Atal Sarige has real Bangaloreans. The city has not been protective of them. They moved to the city dreaming of big things and luxuries as did the IT crowd in the Volvo, however, the disparity is unfathomable.
The folks in the Atal Sarige feel comfortable talking to strangers about how they've stopped using onions in their food and are using cabbages instead. The poor folks in the Volvo don't have the time to talk to their own friends, strangers are out of the question. 

I see genuine smiles on one bus, while I see mostly knotted eyebrows on the other. On one bus, the school kid next to me wants to know why I'm chuckling to myself while looking into my phone; on the other, the guy next to me is too busy chopping virtual fruits though he's never offered to chop real fruits to help his mom prepare a salad. 

Me ? I gel equally well with both crowds. My commute is a journey. A journey toward finding the right balance between the two cities. This is Bangalore. The city offers you everything you need and sits back and watches while you imprudently pick only what you want.  Jai Karnataka.

Bro, do you even parent?

Ok, I don't know why I named the post that. I don't know if I'm "parent material" or if I will ever be a parent. What I do know is that it is a tough, and often thankless, job. Maybe it is because I'm close to my quarter-life crisis, or maybe it is because all the girls I crushed on in school are uploading albums titled "Mah louly weddin" on Facebook, but I've begun to observe details I'd often ignore.

This morning, I saw a college-going kid sitting next to his dad, who was driving, in a sedan and eating Upma out of a box. Apart from the usual pity and ridicule I reserve for those who eat Upma, I thought about what went into that. His parents sacrificed their sleep and time to make sure he got to college on time with a full, albeit Upma-filled, stomach. I saw a mother hold her special daughter's hand while crossing a busy street. A school bag in one hand and her daughter's hand in the other. I saw a dad with two kids, one in a uniform and another in a costume, waiting for the school bus. I saw an 'Akshaya Patra' van, with meals for kids who study in government-run schools, with pictures of smiling kids on it. There is a story behind every one of these people. Every day is a struggle. The routine they've become accustomed to, was once something they never dreamt of doing.

I don't know if you try to guess the stories and feel the love that goes behind every start to every day. I know not if I do it often enough either. All I know is that I wish there are people, who look at me or know me, who realize that when I have a well-set hairdo it is probably because a lazy adult is still a kid with disheveled hair to that one woman who takes it upon herself to present what defines perfection to her to the world in a perfect manner.

We know of these little things, and we know very well that no acknowledgement is expected of us. However, it wouldn't hurt to express it every once in a while. We need not do much. Ensuring that we dine with the family irrespective of what the 'White's, 'Morgan's, or 'Lannister's  are doing. Chatting up whoever is in the kitchen while they're cooking for you. Keeping those who care about you posted about your whereabouts, or even writing an arguably-cheesy blog post about the topic once in a while can help express your gratitude; or so I'd like to believe.

Ganesha chaturthi is just round the corner. Let us learn from the Elephant-headed one who chose to circumambulate his parents when asked to go around the world. Thank you, Amma-Appa. Also, thank you Silkboard traffic for letting me have these epiphanies on a daily basis.
Jai Hind!

On giving, selfishly.

This is an issue that has irked me for a while now. Every single time there is a mishap in the country, we outrage, the media digs up a million similar incidents and reports it, the politicians point fingers in a manner so blatant that it would shame the average Indian fielder and the guilty go unpunished while the wronged ones' tears are ignored.
We never get to the fucking root cause of any problem! We are happy to scrape it superficially and then yell on TV or type in ALL CAPS on Twitter.

The recent mid-day meal deaths have left me rattled. It is unfortunate that a bunch of parents who would normally employ their kids in their farms believed that the substandard education provided in a government school would be worth their kids' time because they would be fed well. What happened is not because of the negligence in a few schools or the jugaad attitude that is now synonymous with us Indians. There is a bigger problem.

We don't know how to give. Well, at least not wholeheartedly. We live in a society which says it is ok and maybe even commendable that you choose to feed your domestic help leftovers from last night's dinner. "At least they are getting breakfast. Jyoti Aunty's house they don't give her coffee also."
We are a society that does not flinch when people "donate" their old clothes to people affected by natural calamities.  " You don't use those old sneakers na? Grip is gone fully no? Next time that Gurkha comes...give it to him and don't give him twenty rupees also. Give ten ok?"

The saddest part is not that we are ok with this kind of an attitude. It is that we actually feel we are being "selfless" or "charitable."
Well, fuck you. That is not what being selfless means. If you truly are selfless, give what you would use; not something you have no use for. Do not mix garbage disposal and charity.

Do you think you are being selfless? Allow me to let you in on a little secret. Every single act of yours is selfish. You are giving your domestic help idlies hoping that she has incentive to stay or the energy to scrub the floors better. You are giving the Gurkha shoes so that he does not sleep in while the roads are slippery. If you are a special asshole, you probably "donated" your shoes to get two extra "salaam Saab"s. You may say that those two rupees you give a physically challenged old lady at the traffic signal has no ulterior, selfish motive. The lady smiles or thanks you, she moves away from your window; subconsciously, you are feeling good about yourself after parting with something that can't buy you a decent chocolate these days. That is selfish too.

Don't get me wrong. I am not saying being selfish is a bad thing; in fact, personally, I think there is no greater virtue than selfishness. Those of you who have read a few older posts or know me well enough personally, probably know that I subscribe to the karma theory. Therefore, I feel that I am accruing more karma points by giving the sweeper a new pair of Hawaii chappals that cost me a little over hundred bucks instead of a battered pair of Nike crosstrainers. I request my mom to throw away last night's rice and make some extra pongal for the maid. A hot meal that is fresh and nutritious gives me more karma points than a stale bowl of rice that weighs thrice as much as a plate of pongal.

The next time you are about to give someone less fortunate than you something, please pause for a while and think; are you indulging in garbage disposal or are you genuinely helping them?  If we thought of that, we would not read about soya curry being prepared in pesticide tanks.

Earn the right to outrage

Tomorrow, my state (Karnataka) goes into election mode. I just got back home after 4 years of college up north and this will be the first time I'm casting my vote. I have spent a major portion of my time ever since I attained adulthood, online. A major portion of this time has been spent criticising the government while observing and commenting on the daily ongoings of the nation, state and my city . Tomorrow, all of this changes. Tomorrow, I cast my vote and I choose my representative. I cannot recklessly point fingers without feeling guilt, should the candidate/party I vote for come to power. Tomorrow, I grow up.

I have always blamed those older than me for not being prudent enough to choose the right representatives. I frowned upon those who said they refrain from voting because their vote does not matter; today, I feel pity for them and some anger too.

I know not of a single person in this beautiful nation who does not wish to pass a comment on the headlines. Be it in my gym or saloon or in the bus or at office, people like to discuss politics. These people are strangers, friends , family ... On Monday, when I am on the way to office if I find an adult talking about anything other than the IPL or Bollywood , I will walk up to them and ask them if they voted. If they reply in the negative, I will politely inform them that they have no right to comment upon something they did not help build.

India may not be the perfect democracy, heck it may not be a decent one either , but that is partly because people like you and me, people who can read, write, think and analyse , fail to take an hour off our "busy" Sunday schedules to cast a vote.

You know what we do? Us middle-class educated folks. We over analyse. We think we're geniuses who know exactly how numbers work and that one vote does not matter. Good morning dear, it does ! Every single vote counts. The system may be rotten. There may be proxy votes and voting cards in the names of people who passed away ages ago. Know this, by not voting you are increasing the value of that fake, illegitimate vote . You are making
those crooks get away with their schemes. You are making that paid vote's value higher than your diligent, 9-5 working neighbour's vote count less.

So please, I request you, nay, beg of you to take a few minutes off your schedule to choose the person you can point fingers at and question for the next five years . This is what makes India a democracy. We outrage, we curse, we weep and we argue, but at the end of the day we are, all of us, Indians. There are several citizens who travel tens of thousands of metres to cast their vote ; all I'm asking of you urban folks is to move your posh asses to the nearest polling booth and click on a button, any button that seems like a logical choice to you.

P.S : If you are one of those pessimists who refuses to vote because you think it really makes no difference, I have a small suggestion for you. Vote for the independent candidate who campaigned the least in your locality. Your vote might just save him/her the deposit money and a great deal of embarrassment .

Jai Hind !

On patents, with the parents.

Background: My mom was a student of law and dad, a student of pharmacy who is now a quasi-judiciary authority with legal powers and know-how.

The recent judgement ruling out a patent for Glivec- a cancer drug, saw adequate coverage on MSM and my TL on twitter discussed it at length. I understood some it, some of it went over my head like a Shoaib Akthar bouncer.

So, I asked my parents what this meant and how it would affect the common man. I will attempt to put before you a few self-explanatory points that form the summary of this discussion.

1. Drugs (Medicines) are of many kinds, but those that prolong/save the lives of people on their deathbeds hold a special place.

2. The Indian constitution promises every tax-paying (or otherwise) citizen the right to life and good health. It is the duty of the government to look after its citizens in health and illness. (I made it sound like we're married to the GOI no? ewwww)

3. The aforementioned drug is being used by government agencies, smaller hospitals, NGOs, etc in its generic form. The patent would cause the withdrawal of these generic (read affordable) drugs from the market.

4. Glivec is but the tip of the iceberg. There are, dad's estimation not mine, close to 30 such drugs that are equally or more important and expensive that would've cited this judgement as an example and claimed patents had this ruling gone in the way of Novartis.

5. I saw people claiming that Novartis has funded 95% of the patients using this drug. these are unfounded, cooked numbers. We wouldn't be struggling to eradicate some very easy-to-eradicate diseases had the pharmaceutical companies been as ethical as they claim to be.

6. I observed many people observing that this judgement would discourage pharmaceutical companies from investing in R&D. This is absolutely true. However, this is not something sudden and unprecedented. The law which restricts the pricing of drugs and gives the governmental agencies control over pricing came into existence in 1970 and was amended twice, once in 75 (or 77) and the latest amendment being made in 1995. This law had, already, done most of the damage and the industry stopped investing in drugs with low ROI. In fact, they even reduced the production of some of the most vital drugs due to low profit margins.
So, yes, this will discourage them further, but the damage was done before most of the people who read this post were even born.

My take: We dodged a bullet. The government is trying very hard to provide as many people with treatment and healthcare. I am usually cynical about such things and so is the general public. Our image of a government hospital is a dirty place filled with quacks who will inject you with infected needles. It matters not that you and I think so, because we can, by hook or crook, afford private healthcare. Those who absolutely cannot afford healthcare try to avoid government too. But when they do, they deserve the best possible treatment that the government can afford. This judgement will keep these big MNCs from dictating terms and prices. There is a higher probability of lives being saved. We should be happy and proud of the judiciary in this case.

P.S: If you have specific doubts that are more technical or even #Deep in nature. Feel free to leave a comment or tweet to me @suar4sure . I hope this helped.