Princilpeless Politics

You know why the UPA government has managed to survive the grisly tantrums of coalition politics? Simple: It has no democratic principle, ethos, morality and specific guidelines of political righteousness. The only principle it follows is just sticking to power at whatever cost. Be it allowing ministers from the coalition partners to plunder the country through scams like 2G Spectrum and Common Wealth Games or disgracing its own railway minister by rolling back the budgetary provisions just after the railway budget, the UPA just sticks to power like a dirty fly in bazaar hallucinated by the saccharine aura of cheap sweetmeats. And now they eat their cake and have it as well. It is no secret to what extent the top-boss in India helped the Sri Lankan army to wipe out the culprit Prabhakaran. It was a sweet revenge--and may be justifiably so given the sanctimony of human relationships and cause of justice for the victim. But now that very action is condemned at the UNHRC meeting to again appease the viruses of coalition politics, i.e., India has condemned the military action and violation of human rights in the events leading to the decimation of Prabhakaran who was eagerly following the polling scenario in India while bombs (many of them sent as avenging gifts from the bigger neighbour) burst around him. The gorilla leader was hoping for a government change in India and hence the possible lessening of heat from the Indian side. But fate had decided otherwise. While the LTTE leader awaited the declaration of Indian parliamentary results and the war zone came to be dangerously confined to bullet shot range around him, the UPA again came to power unexpectedly thus closing all his hopes. It was a typical Hindi movie end. Well, you guys can just imagine why and how all this happened.

Brown Jugaris

As Indians we need to learn that sometimes sticking to some more feasible (and more Indian sounding) means and mechanisms does not essentially indicate the signs of a poor, third world country. We just need to come out of this age-old British Raj habit that anything said, done,contrived or any product, service or technology do not necessarily become the reference scale for excellence to provide our own stuff with relatively poor marks. 

Western toilet seats are great! They serve a great purpose in countries where the people to loos ratio is pleasantly equal to 1:1. You use your utility and any unbecoming fallouts are still digestible because its more or less personal like your underwear. But in India,a single loo bears the burnt of so many gastronomical furies as would not be suffered by the combined total of a whole Western settlement. Still the Indian way served its purpose as well. Now coming to the grafting of Western loo concept in India. Big families, big offices, big crowds at public toilets in malls, cinemas and elsewhere make it nightmarish even for No.1 type, forget about putting your ass down for No. 2. And if the urgency forces you, its just like perching upon somebody's great work just seconds ago. But putting our asses to so many eager bacteria and viruses we draw solace in the fact that we are doing it in the Western way. 

Another example is the poorly creaking state of new Greenline buses in Delhi. It is modeled on the Western kind of public transport: smart, sleek, used by just as many passengers as wont even fill up all the seats even during the rush hours; and last but not the least meant for malai jaisa roads for best jerkless rides. Now here is the concept dumped in India: the poor thing travels sluggishly with thrice or fourth of its carrying capacity; its low floorboards hitting the road while it jumps painfully over potholes; technically inefficient DTC staff not having any clue whenever the poor thing runs into troubles. During the old days, the drivers were half-mechanics and sorted out most of the problems themselves. We have to accept that we Indians are jugaris (contrivers): the jugglers and contrivers who muggle up various unrelated elements to meet and resolve uncountable, ever-opening problems and issues. And this trait has seen the Indian elephant slugger ahead slowly but steadily on the path of growth. If we just graft the Western concepts outlandishly and slavishly we will just put our asses to risks. 

Materialism is Cool

Web of bondage! It has been a great topic of discussion between the materialists and spiritualists. Much as the spiritual guys will crib and advise against mankind's fruitless run after the so called 'physical fruits of bondage', the materialists on their part do have apparently justified arguments of this being the logical conclusion of the very story of our evolution and growth. With my limited perceptions, I look at the physical world as a sort of cozy room sheltering you from bad weather elements--your den that closes your being and gives it a physical identity. If the spiritualists call it a web of bondage which stops my soul shooting off into the hitherto undefined cosmos, then I am pretty much comfortable with this. Deprived of all the physical confines around me, I will just feel like a tiny speck open to the infinite risks looming around in only God knows what directions. My room, my set of comforts gives me a direction. I am pretty comfortable with that. I am its maker. It gives me a sense of pride for creating something out of nothing. Yes I do see through its windows that there is a larger meaning beyond the self-derived confines of the walls of my room. The feeble, but steady, light of faith tells and ensures me at least this much. But I am a human being. And pretty much in love with my identity and roof. If the spiritualists take pot-shots at me, I can just give them one humble and practical promise--I will try to raise the ceilings of my room to allow more of space of which they are so possessive. But I will retain the cozy confines of my room, my material bondage. Because that is being human! Its good to be materialistic as long as my soul can take comfortable slumber in my room; as long as I do not steal from others’ rooms; as long as I do not throw mudslings at others' rooms. One more logic, how can I walk the tightrope to infinity in the cosmic womb, unless I steady myself at a point with the bamboo of the physical fruits of my labour? It’s just like traveling in your car. The journey might be into the unchartered corridors of space, but you need a shelter, a roof. I am happy with the materialistic room around me. It defines this phase of my evolution. Without it I will be lost.

Rallying the poor

The Prince was furtively rallying the poor and destitute in U.P. For a moment it became probable that Indians will once again rally blindfolded behind his regal aura. And for good reasons! After all we have been such nice, gentle, almost non-challenging followers for the last millennium. The results in Uttar Pradesh, however, show some light at the end of tunnel. The mute masses in India are now slowly rising to their own feet to chart out their own courses. These might be the struggling initial steps like toddlers, but will surely translate into calculated, purposeful and independent walks to well-set destinations. The democracy in India may come to age after the hopeless six decades since Independence. Well, Yuvraj (the mightily beneficent Brahmin) blessed huts after huts of Dalits! But surprise, poor people understand the politics behind it. So they won’t faint of delirium and ecstasy at the touch of his rich slippers on their mud floors. For too long they have rallied behind the clarion call of the Panja (the Congress 'hand' as they call it). Surprisingly, they called the hand as 'panja', i.e., the claw. 'It will hold the rich and upper castes by throat and make their lives better', they digested their horrible tales in free India with this optimistic thought for six decades. Now but they realize that this is in fact the hand that has been spanking their bums, making them dance to hopeless winds from all directions. You need not waste your time to appease them anymore Yuvraj! They have more approachable, more earthy messiahs. Maya is there! Mulayam is there.Where the 'panja' goes now! Devoid of traditional low-caste votes, it might now become the ferocious agent of communalism in the country. Muslim appeasement fella! Congress might be 127 year old, but its penchant for swaying the conscience of masses still survives. Gandhi wanted its safe and respectful cremation. But it denied to be laid to rest. The mutations in it are strong enough to undo all the natural laws that ordain the death of all physical and biological phenomena through birth, youth, old age and death. Let us see what are the policies adopted by the oldie now!

Politics and Anna

Either it was stage-managed or happened due to natural causes, but Anna sahib's suddenly aggravated health problems mean that the possibility of Civil Society leaving some dent on the prospects of certain political parties, largely Congress, are ruled out for the time being. Mind you, it is the same great old man who braved the heat and humidity during North Indian summers for 13 days and still came out hale and hearty and in high spirits to promise to undo Congress' interests in assembly elections across India. The sudden deterioration in his health, and some skeptical talk of intentional wrong diagnosis and treatment, force a habitual cribber like me to inculcate some concerns about the human hand in all this. So while the sleaze and swindlery unfold in UP elections, the Civil Society lies sidelined in hospital. The Yuvraj and Princess have glamorized the gloomy scenario prevailing across the underdeveloped regions of the state where masses have been strategically kept in the same age-old poverty clutches so that they can just see as much as it is planned to show, majorly at the time of elections. Salman Khursheed talks of Muslim job reservation; Diggy Raja also takes jibes at anything smelling of Hinduism....This is communalism at its worst. Ironically, communalism in this country has come to be defined just as any insecure voice for the interests of the majority. While anything said and done to garner minority sympathy, and thus garner votes, becomes ineligible under the clauses of ‘communalism’ to stand out as an act of piety perfumed with all genuineness and goodwill. Mind you, under the objective clauses of the definition of 'communalism', Congress may qualify as the worst communal political branch in the country. Its pro-Muslim outpours are forcing the Hindu consciousness to be tilted towards BJP almost by default. Coming back to Anna Saheb and Civil Society, whether his health problems were natural or man-made, it is at least an opportunity for the movement to keep away from the political mud. He possesses the moral force and needs to invigorate it far away from the mucking political cauldron. Wish him good health! If the great man recovers to be capable of keeping fasts--his major force--then we can just hope for bigger movements. We should not forget, a morally clean and hospitalized Anna is far more effective in the long term than the semi-politicized version of the great man throwing mud-lumps at semi-goon politicians and getting smeared himself as well. He earned mass following through sheer moral force and integrity at all levels. He has done penance for it. It is a lofty pedestal. His penance will further take him vertically above and enlarge the aura behind the icon. He need not get into a hand-to-hand scuffle with the plunderers of this country. From his lofty moral throne he can breed energetic gangs of conscious citizens who will turn his vision into reality. Let us just pray for his coming back to health and regain the control of Civil Society movement.

Lion and Deer of the Social Jungle

Lion and Deer of the Social Jungle

Dharma of Social Jungle: The greatest punya of the social jungle is to protect one’s own interests at any cost.

Sin of the Social Jungle: Pap of the social jungle is to allow one’s own interests to be harmed under any obligation, duty or weakness arising out of the hypotheses of religion, morality, ethics or any other type of socio-religious injunction.  

Anti-socials, politicians, business magnates and others of their ilk are the social lions—a suitable personification of those fierce lions roaming in the jungles. Their ravenous appetite for power, perks and status needs and requires them to prey upon the poor weaklings, i.e., social deers. The social deer comprise the abject and still poorer personifications of those grass-grazing herds of deer in the jungle who just nibble at the grass blades; who are inherently weak products in the game of evolution. So the social deer are intrinsically weak and churn out virtues of the lameness and moralist talk, by creating the great facades of evil and sin (these are mere hypothesis), constructing the majestic and disillusioned citadel of religion and ethics—the fearful songs of the escaping and the fleeting hordes of masses.

All this also boils down to the question of being practical or impractical. As simple as that! If somebody is brave enough to defy the blinding hypotheses and naturally nurture his self interests at any cost then it is just a simple occurrence of a social lion. While the one who is constrained from following this duty to the self due to the weaknesses arising of physical, mental, social or family and compromises the real duty to the self, he then becomes the fodder to satisfy some lion’s appetite; becomes a mere inconsequential step in the staircase of somebody’s ascension to the peak of power and glory.

Judges—the so called upkeepers of justice on earth—are the most efficient and practical men (thus a fantastic breed of lion who are untamed and unchecked in any manner. At every step of the ladder of dispensing justice, they have to pamper injustice just to reach higher and higher. The talk of justice is too idealist and impractical. The hypothesis of justice survives to act as a sort of opium for the masses. Practical judges very soon realize that the elements like integrity, honesty, morality, commitment to the so called virtues are no aids to one’s entry to heaven; rather in the field of social jungle they are simply the antonyms for armour, swords, shields and lancers to cut down the fellow self-interested fighters. Just imagine the fate of a soldier devoid of all these weapons! He is just there to fulfill the natural function of getting slayed. Our day to day social survival is simply a battle for protecting self-interests in which deepest, mostly invisible and sometimes blood-soaked, cuts are inflicted on fellow human beings.

Here is this social lion, all adorned with the impressive mane of justice and crowned with the duty to protect the deers! He is still hungry to ascend a few more steps on the social ladder. To become a bigger lion, he is simply required to eat more and more deer. And he has done exactly the same! Very cleanly, smirkly and without batting an eyelid! He smoothly feasted on 102 deer. The very same poor herd of weak, impotent, cowering, justice-lorn group that had pleadingly looked at his face for two years in the Court of Justice. The poor group always unaware that it was nothing but the morsel for the satisfaction of his gluttony. In one merciless stroke—as all practical steps must be to qualify for success—he ate 102 lambs and burped away to further glory with new, vigour, health and criminality (the most virtuous trait to become a bigger, stronger lion), to eat still fatter preys at the higher seat.

For full two years, these poor lambs had looked at his indifferent face seeking some tiniest trace of mercy. But how can a lion go against its nature? They never realized that the wise owl perched on the highchair found them just tiny frogs to be eaten to muster up more nocturnal hunting prowess. Suddenly, swiping away all the gibberish, hypothetical talk of the weaklings, and bravely bracing himself up with the tidings of war weapons, he gave smart piece of winsome battle skills and mowed down all those disillusioned fools and weaklings who had come running to his cave, seeking life where only death had all the business to do. So to escape from one line they landed up in the den of another lion. And lions will be lions. If sheep run from one den to another, then it saves energy for the lions as well. So the Assembly of this lion, amply proving its status of being the regal court of the mighty canines, just sanctioned the luncheon of the grassy subjects under its domain. The King lion just proved his ruling status—an able commander of a still mightier Lioness eating still tastier livers in the higher capital. Her Highness, the top-most lioness, has longer teeth to taste even the mane-covered flesh of these lesser lions.

Jungle lions fight to keep their territories and the bunch of female cats. Social lions, especially the political social lions, are pitched against a tougher task. But they have far more chickened humanity to lunch upon and then wage the battle.

While the bull fight it out for the higher stakes, the grass tufts at their feet get inevitably trampled and mowed down and mix in the dust of nothingness and ignominy. Similarly, this group of 102 hardworking lambs, always pleading that it will be of great Civil Service to the lion got trampled upon.

The advisers and soothsayer rushed to preach that still there was a mightier den with stronger lion to get the injustice undone. But they forget that mightier lions perched upon still higher seats are still more efficient hunters. After all they rose through the same battle. Even if they unnaturally have some pity for the battered, bruised and blood-soaked horde and say ‘Mercy grated!’, then that will still rub chilly on some lonely conscience left out in the joint humiliation. What is the use of reaching the spring of justice if every step on the path forces you to forget the fundamentals of your life, the very sinews that grew with you? You just become identity-less. It is just like peeling off one’s own kin. What is the use of getting justice if on availing it—if one is lucky to avail it after all—you turn blind and spiritless by the time you are shown the make-believe fruit?                        

Was our freedom movement as free as we think it to be?

Colonists who had the power and efficiency to rule and exploit the

lands thousands of miles away from their homes cannot be supposed not

to possess anything about the exit strategies. With the beginning of

20th century, it was written on the wall that the coming decades of

the century will see the cascading effects of freedom movements. As

great managers they started planning exit strategies. This strategy

was meant to minimize the losses at their end and leaving the least

ill-will. So amidst all the freedom movements that were naturally

evolving, they facilitated the platforms that best suited their

interests in the post-independence scenario. They were ruthless

against the true nationalists who were branded as terrorists. They

were wiped out literally. Thousands were sent to Kala Pani in India in

this context. Now do you understand why Bhagat Singh was allowed to be

hanged? Why was Subhas Chander Bose kicked out of the mainstream

freedom movement even though his confidante was legitimately elected Congress

president? Why more efficient Congressites like Sardar Patel remained

in the shadow of Nehru? Simple fact is that the Britishers were

cleverly facilitating a Western-educated class of leaders who were 75

percent Westerners and would be the safest options during the critical

decades before and after the Independence. It was a well-managed

transfer of power. It was a well-managed first ring of

Western-educated leadership that did not allow the real black, native

nationalist of India to take the hot seat of the freedom movement and

the chair after independence. Just see the decades after independence

and you will realize the great undercurrent of British in particular

(and Western in general) facilitation profitably flowing under the so

called native black river of independence.

Legitimate Tears

When your dreams lie shattered around you, do not cry. If you do that you do injustice in more than one sense of the term. One simple mathematical fact: Shedding tears would not help in anyway. Understood that there are scattered pieces of the diamonds you had been working on. Now they are broken, sharp and may cut through flesh if you just close your eyes and prefer to cry. Kids have a copyright over crying and rightly so. We elders can spare this copyright infringement. Just look around the dashed diamonds, your so called broken dreams. Just see the glimmer in still shapely left out pieces. The dream is the soul; it just cannot die if some hammer momentarily dislodges its outer shape. No hammer in the world has the luck to kiss the soul of your dream. Its always safe. That’s its fate. Simply. Plainly. Why cry if the thing has not died. If you do, its just like mourning the death of someone who is still alive. I think we can simply avoid this irrational act. Broken shards of your dreams are, let us say, the blood-thirsty and hard chisels. They can help you in cutting through such mighty rocks as you could have never imagined. So it is simply better to cut bigger rocks for larger prospects instead of allowing the pieces to cut through your physical and mental selves.

Storms

Storms are storms. Just storms. Nothing else. They do not have much to offer both to nature and humans. They swirl, shriek, shake and prance occupied by an illogical spirit. It is just like nature throwing tantrums. But tantrums are never substantial man; they are just a fragile symbol of something going out of loop for some moments. Look at nature, storms are just temporary, tiny speed-breakers on its peacefully laid out benevolent road of survival, sustenance and evolution. It applies to our lives as well. So when the ship of our being gets jolted by the angry winds just remember this is not the substance of your life. It lies in miles of peaceful, dreamy and majestic waters waiting to kiss the hull of your ship. Coming back to the poor storm. It is just a puny piece of funny quirkiness possessed with suicidal and self-consuming dispirited and rampant self. It dances in pain. While it fizzes and fumes, it burns in its own fire. It dies. While its cremation takes place just be a good pyre-keeper and fulfill all the rights diligently. But keep a safe distance from the fire. It is sure to die. And, more importantly, you are sure to survive to see the flowers blossoming in that very dead ash. So please believe in peace, in tranquility, in harmony, in noiseless distances waiting for you while you feel the heat of the burning aberration. Be a spectator. Be a valiant survivor. Do it for the sake of normal, undisturbed nautical miles lined up to allow the passage of your ship to a lush green island of your destination, where you can drop anchor and enjoy the stillness of life for sometime. It has to be done. Because the course of normalcy is self-sustaining, kind, beneficent, forgiving and parental. The storm just burns in its fury. Allow it to do it. Harmony, orderliness and tranquility draw life-giving sips from their own substance, from the core of their own essence. So be a good businessman. Join the latter's’ bandwagon. For you own gain.

Congress Vs. Anna

Congress has derailed Anna movement to a great extent. The old hag of a party! The party and its handlers are too clever, witty and power-lorn to be outsmarted by the social worker. Anna's movement jolted it, to begin with. It was a social movement, a mass movement. Blatant corruption and nepotism had left big scars on the conscience of well-to-do middle and upper middle class of India. Fortunately these literal scars were equal, if not bigger, to the real scars of the poor masses, the aam admi who gave the Honourable Italian-born iron lady a decade to wield all powers without any responsibilities. And what did they do? They just redefined the contours of coalition politics in almost criminal manner. Shared interest policy became just a policy of blindfolding the conscience and constitutionality to allow the allies and cronies to amass as much wealth as possible. They just eyed successful completion of a full term. But at what cost? Who paid the cost? We did it man! We the struggling and toiling masses of India, silently and law-abidingly continued to add to our struggle to match the horribly rising monthly budgets. On the other end of the tunnel, our political akaas just stashed the money of our labour in Swiss accounts. It was an open secret. All of us knew what was going on. But what can a bread-earning bunch of frustrated souls do. It can just grumble. And we just grumbled till Anna gave a voice to all these harmless bickerings. Lo! The sinewy tributaries merged to form a tidal wave at Ramleela ground. It literally submerged the wrong-handlers of our well-meant parliamentary democracy. But Congress is Congress my dears! It will just stick to its ways. At any cost! Under public bombardment, the Congressites dodged, feigned nonchalance, pretended even concern; but all along the way they were up to a smart plan to change a mass social movement to a political one so that it loses its savioural social identity to become a big political gimmick like its own. They know that they can outsmart any group on the political platform. So poor Anna has been systematically dragged into the political arena where the fight is not going to be one-sided like earlier. There will be punches from both sides. Anna was fighting on a holy pedestal where even the semi-goons of Congress were afraid to take direct or indirect pot-shots. Now they have dragged him into a muddy field. The same familiar game. Best wishes Anna sahib! You are up for something new now! Good luck! But please do not feel disheartened by smaller numbers at the next chosen venue of your agitation because the sharp edge of typical tricky Congressite political wit has punctured the high-flying balloon of your ideology.

Salutes Delhi

Salutes Delhi! You are two-eyed. But they have different visions, different dreams, different destinations. One of your pan-shots swankily zooms on the glizz-nd-glamour of resurgent India. Whether it is right-eye pan-shot or left-eye, I do not know. But yes the other eye's camera shot pervasively covers the classic tragedies spread out in black and white. Its a grizzled, murky screen having classic comicities and tragedies spinning, whirring around the same axis. Its Muhharram today. Many a offices are closed. It just means you can drop your purse on the DTC bus floor and still left with a realistic chance of retrieving it. So at least you could see a fee feet around you. Great solace. The air too was not stuffed with guffaws let out by infected throats and lungs, disordered stomachs, cheap scents and Deos from Palika Bazaar and above all the usual individual and collective frustrations. See when TATA offered these buses (along with the kickbacks per piece and which was more important to our rampant governmentvallahs ) the real cost of the machine was just meant to carry this type of load. The festival load. Once in a time load when people do not travel on account of holidays or some other emergency.

On this observable stage a 14-year-old man-kid jumbled into the finally justified interiors of the poor green line. Boy he was the man! Carried a pole that would tower above the poor bus if their vertical components competed. He slanted it, his small hands manoeuvred it smartly and the camel was safely in the room. The pole was the dancing axis of so many types of cheapest kid toys as you might say can be afforded by the childhood mushrooming in slums. All fellow-riders watched him in half amuse and half irritation. Lampoons like yours truly even laughed at the free show. Anyways, coming back to this character valiantly playing its part in the grizzly black and white ever spooling movie. He rushed to the conductor seat after killing all the apprehensions and objections of the busvallaha about the pole falling and the kids-stuff getting a playground on their heads. The boy-entrepreneur got DTC day-pass costing 40 rupees. Man o man! How much this kid earned to afford the pass. Anyways that is none of our concern like most of the Delhi things should not be. One fact was inescapable: the well-meant boy was well-prepared for the day. The way he had tied the muffler, the way his cheap jacket was buttoned up to the collar, the way trouser well-fitted his thin legs and the way well-cleaned shoes purchased from the road-side hawker, all these portended a good successful business plan.

One problem with new DTC bus is that its door opens too invitingly with a hiss, as if it is specially inviting you for a joy-ride. Carried by the swift winds of one such invitation, an Advasi family raided the semi-occupied bus. The conductor baulked, 'Not without tickets you thieves!' 'Hutt you miser, we have money!' the black old lady draped in a big raggy blanket shouted. God knows how many of them were! It was a collectively lampoonish unit cocking a snook at the organized hordes of Delhi. One monkey-like infant immediately grabbed the hand-rails overhead and tried gymnastics. One of its hands also busted the balloon tied at the upper end of the toy pole. Both its owner and conductor shrieked painfully. So many raggish kids carried their unsuspecting selves to the empty seats and dumped the gypsy spirit for a while. Their neighbours almost vomited. A sleek lady carried a toddler on her shoulder, one infant in her lap and most probably the another one inside her as the glossy black bulge of her abdomen shone from the short kurti she was wearing above the gracious folds of a dirty long skirt. It just became a thoroughfare. The conductor fought for tickets. They stood their positions, gibberishly, savagely. And where were they going? Whole of NCR was their destination. It was just a matter of holding onto the ride till the fight with conductor acquired serious colours. And the moment it did, they just dumped themselves with the same teasing indecency like they had raided the bus and vanished from the scene. Delhi, salutes! You bear witness to the two movie-makings by the camera lenses in your eyes!

Early winter musings

Farmers are always done in...fucked in fact. Either it’s the impersonal hand of God that simply holds them by ears and smilingly makes them see the mysterious spectacle of undoing all their hard work. If God gets ready to do some more important undoings somewhere else, thus sparing the tillers for some time, Government does it from His side. Low prices hit the farmers even worse, because here they complete the crop cycle with certain dreams but return almost empty-handed from the market. So caught between these two supernatural forces, the poor farmer gets just one weather-saved and market-saved crop in four seasons. And that surplus keeps him on the path of survival. This time paddy has been fucked by the Govt.-cum-market forces. I have seen light in an old farmer's eyes, 12 years ago, when he sold Basmati rice at Rs. 2600/quintal. Mind it that was more than a decade ago. Can you believe the same stuff fetched a paltry 1400 to his son? Almost half! Meanwhile costs of farming inputs have skyrocketed. It just defies logic. Capitalism how can you leave a certain section in lurch like this. A landless farmer from my village had taken a portion of my land on rent for paddy farming. The sum we agreed upon was just on the basis of expected price of 1800/quintal. He returned from market and did as you can image. It was just a sentimental landvalla and a crying landless farmer. So I had to share his loss. But this act of philanthropy left a hole in my pocket. If market forces and the shining economy of India, for their survival, presume such acts of kindness from semi-poor guys like me, then to be hell with such a system. I think those who have lakhs of crores in Swiss accounts are better for this task. But you beat the Swami who talks of getting that money back. Another farmer, nursing the market insult, was just hatefully staring at the stunted growth of his winter tomatoes. An ex-serviceman, in late forties, this farmer has been working with all his army ethics on his small landholding. 'This country is up for bloodbath, I tell you!' he fretted. Gosh! Guys there was real fire in his eyes and practical intent in his words. 'The fuckers have stashed all the money in Swiss accounts. That’s our money man. While they cheat us through low agricultural product prices and very high cost of livelihood. The behen****s... ', sorry guys an angry farmer cannot do without gali-sali, 'have fucked farmers at all fronts.' 'Unemployment...these graduate farmers of 21st century India are not dumbos like their forefathers. Believe me man the day will come when they will just barge in Parliament and just kill the lawmakers there!' Dear-o-dear what a stormy spectacle it became. He was literally shaking as if we just had the first leader of peasant uprising from this part. Just imagine what if Anna-type movement is caught in the whirl-wind of such disgruntled hard workers! The future seems really up for some jerks and pulls.

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Why does truth pinch most of the time? Simple! Because it is no chocolate, sugar candy or mellowable sweetie-pie lump of ice cream. It is hard, sour, iron ball guys. It has pinching rough stony edges to its surface. Come into contact with them and they will take a few flakes from your skin leaving a red or purple bruise depending on the intensity of truth contained in it. Now the question arises, 'Why does it almost always leave a grimace on our face instead of a smile?' The simple fact that all of us almost always rub cold shoulders against this ironed ball having thorns for our soft skin, proves on fact: that we are not subjectively inclined to accept the objective reality as it stands in abstract. But does not that mean that we have moved poles apart from truth and its manifestations while going on the path of individual and collective improvisations at the subjective level. May be the reason for our success in emerging at the top of food chain in the game of 'survival of the fittest' is that we have institutionalized ourselves to negate and defy, and do without, certain basic truths that form the core of creation and nature. Nothing wrong with that! It, however, is paradoxical that most of these scions of truth--against which we have always been taking cudgels--form the core of our moral, humanistic, religious, spiritual and aesthetic vision enshrined in preach books. Strange!

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Early winter mornings are fresh even in the polluted and dirty sections of NCR. Heavily encumbered sectors in Noida do have their share of early-morning charm as they try to find out the order and symmetry meant for them in master plans. They cannot see much among the defecating, exciting, commercial, crash and crying hulla-bullo going around. The buildings are semi-daunting: a curious mix of residential-cum-commercial styles. You see a bit of house, a bit of manufacturing unit, a bit of service industry, a bit of business, a bit of exploitation, a bit of comfort, a bit of pain, a bit of life and a bit of death. It is a self-absorbed world, a cesspool, a whirling system drawing so many survival-lorn masses from nooks and corners of India. They live identity-less here. The enterprise thrives here. The malik goes smirk in his big car. The labourers go pitifully, deeply shackled by the duties and falling bodily and mental notions of being a human--and how can you expect to be Ganga-clean if you eat, drink and sleep at the very place where others and you defecate and procreate at the same time. You find a kid left alone in this non-caring world. A small sack on his back. The rag picker. He has manly eyes and a kid’s stature. When you are left alone so early in your life to enjoy or suffer life on your own terms, you just become one of the thousands of flies fighting for as pace on shit and sweets with the same relish. You just know one side of life--survival. By any means and at whatever cost. And what does this survival produce: stunted, frail. sick, dehumanized, spiritless multitudes who just add to the census sheets of India. But they serve a purpose. They carry the shining tag of economic boom and growth on their frail shoulders. They survive by any means. That is their biggest achievement. The widow, the prostitute, the raped girl, the mad women(carrying the sex toy for so many frustrated and hungry souls). They beg, pickup rags, sell their diseased bodies, operate tea stalls, try to pick out the moments of the day while someone ignores the cancer warnings to buy those poisonous sashes carrying gutka and tobacco. They even cock a snook at the great plans in the plan books for this great Delhi suburb, the pride of Uttar Pradesh. They just settle down at any place in between the industries. Their tiny hovels,a curious world of dwarfs. But they live as tall people who sleep and fuck proudly in congested hiccuping afraid air and bring about additions to their world like ant swarms. You will see their holy places as well. A drop of gangajal in the sewage nullah gurgling with puss and bacteria of uncaring humanity. The mandir stands nonchalantly. It’s Gods having forsaken it. It was never accepted as their earthly shelter at all. Anyhow a poor man's God is no God at all. It has been proved. The mosque minaret too sulks over this majestic swarm lost in a terrifying fatality just somehow holding onto faith like their broken spirit holds onto their more broken bodies. A mere purposeless appendage. They have their open shit plots. The stench too overbearing and thus fighting to retain its status and repel any encroacher coming with a non-shit purpose. Just imagine what will be the garbage dump site of this bigger garbage pit—it is literally a hell hole. It but serves as the playground-cum-business-cum-schooling arena for the orphans, half-orphans, bastards, urchins, nameless boys and futureless girls. In this hell of a hole, a fat pig brushes its shit-smeared muzzle against the holy mouth of a robust bull chewing the half-shit fodder and lying at ease in this kaliyuga playground. Well, well...you just have to pass through just one street and get the gist of life in these perilously throbbing veins. The blood is poisoned. The organs are diseased. What is its future? May be even God does not know. Probably, He is not concerned at all. And why should he be! Because He is the king of heaven. Why should He have any business with such hells?

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Always there are easiest of routes to the toughest of destinations. Every hard situation has the softest of a solution. So there is no hard problem in the real sense. Our solutions make them so. When in the face of a tough situation blame your solution not the situation. Isn’t life all about taking smart short-cuts to beat the puzzling array of problems randomly cropping around us? So be the solution provider. Behind most complex of a phenomenon there is amazing simplicity. Read that. Those cute fundamentals will tell you that every situation is a living being. It has a soft and sympathetic message for you only. Listen to these delicate murmurs and it will help you in breaking hardest of superficial, outer cores.

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For the lovers of freedom, responsibilities sound as prison chains. Responsible people on the other hand find themselves squeezed in a tight corner by responsibilities which do not allow them to enjoy freedom. The question is: Are freedom and responsibility inherently contradictory in nature? Is it really possible to make them complementary to each other by melting the contradictory edges? 

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HOLLLAAAAA!!!!!!

For good people its very difficult to enter a relationship and still more difficult to come out of it! For bad people its very easy to get into a relationship and still easier to come out of it!  

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I think it always (without exception) helps not to lose your temper. When you lose your temper, you not only deprive somebody’s chances for more happiness; you in fact deprive yourself of the same. So why fall in the trap of such a bad bargain. If nobody gains anything out of it (except perhaps that hypothetical and flimsy enemy of ours, called “ego”) why invest in such a loser scheme?  —Sandeep Dahiya

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May be there is a fixed quota of suffering in the cosmic account book of karma to be doled out to the humanity. If that be the case then feel proud for bearing the heavier load from the destiny’s side, while so many others trudge ahead with unjustifiably lighter weights on their shoulders. Feel proud that God considers you as a tough guy capable of handling the issues on the wrong side of the fence. While you sweat it out with the larger issues, possibly your each and every step paves the road for some easy stroll by a frail fellow human being. Just carry on mighty guys! No use in browbeating now! You have been chosen for breaking the tough nut so that many a weak teeth can munch survival crumbs.    —Sandeep Dahiya

Chanakya

Machiavellian manager believes in the principle 'the end justifies the means'. Very smartly such an individual follows the principle: 'I will do anything necessary to achieve my objectives. 'Such a manager runs after this credo like fish swimming in the waters. With every breath he inhales the tendency to manipulate others and force them to perceive things in his terms. Utterly self-serving and duplicitous, the Machiavellian manager is made for success during these not-so-good times. The cold hard steely rationality in him reaches a peak to become almost amoral. Ever driven by these tendencies such a manager engages in more political behaviour than anyone around. The mind is always ticking to plan such schemes as will allow him to take advantage of others. Well, believe me I speak from personal experience. Each and every bit of this write-up bespeaks a thorough lynching by the Machiavellian hunter. It's a manager in Engage Learning! Gosh! Inherently spiteful, his designs are just meant to achieve certain objectives like a computer. There is not the least bit of human element. Haa...haaa just visualize the keema being made of a soft flesh like me by such a heartless, stony juggernaut! Buddies, just count your stars lucky that there is just one such Dhananjay Pandita in Delhi and that too is playing all his cards in the basement corridors of Engage Learning. He has inhuman, brown, snaky eyes. They just monitor the basement to strike poisonously at anything not matching his designs. God, this man's mind ticks 24 hours a day to plot, plan and do away with everything to his dislike like weeds in a farm. Well, well, well....this modern pseudo-chanakya will do such insidious things that people have been led to terrorism! Are yaar, I do not mean gun-totting explosives-laden ones. What I mean is that such an individual will force you to pick up guns against the real you...the real good self...pump bullets into you softer flesh to become better equipped in surviving in the mud. Ohoo this man serves a good purpose yaar...never thought about that earlier.

Life

Contradiction is inherent in nature. Positive–negative, acidity–alkalinity, dark–light are all manifestations of a homeostatic balance. You know stars are held by this same dual, contradictory nature. Gravitational force pulls the molecules to the core; at the same time super-temperatures force the molecules to stay away from the core at a feasible length. The stars smile and shine just because of the contradictory chemistry of these two opposing forces. Remove either of them and the star meets its death. Remove gravitational pull, the star will explode as a supernova. Remove the escaping force born of high temperature, the star will suck into its own core as a black hole. So survival means a fine zone in the twilight of creation and destruction. Natural laws apply to humans as well; they hold the same validity if we treat an individual as a system. A human life is a wonderful phenomena sizzling like a shiny star in the twilight of humility and pride, altruism and selfishness, good and bad, faith and atheism, etc. So greatness lies not in casting off one side of this undercurrent. It lies in just tilting your balance just a bit on the side of so-called good aspects in the pair. Why? Because we are social phenomena as well, apart from being the natural ones. Our consciousness equips us to shine and survive like a star–but with a definite purpose. The purpose of general well-being; of helping others in maintaining the same balance of survival; of contributing proactively to the overall balance hung between two contradictory frames. We can contribute more than our natural states have defined for us. Believe me! It works. Just help someone in need. It can be a tiny bit. You will feel yourself elongating your natural self a bit to the positive side. This is being human.

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Individual is for the social system; social system is not for the individual. System is always larger and will prevail when it comes to protecting its common interests in opposition to the individual ones. If the individual finds the system suffocating and intolerable then he has to bow out of the system and take natural state of freewill in jungles, which is just going backwards and denying the evolution of culture and socialization. ‘Individual will’, mind you, is always determined by the ‘general will’. Perfectibility of individual is not a totally hypothetical concept altogether. It is attainable. Man can give a full throttle of individual freedom on the platform provided by the social system. He has to obey certain laws nonetheless. There is no chance for him to escape the arena. To play the game and win it, you have to stay in the ring with your status of a social player. The system is too big. If he attempts an escape, it becomes a suicide morally, socially, physically. The attempt to escape is futile. Just by taking birth on this earth, the individual surrenders his right of a totally free individual will. He has the irremovable tag on his conscience, on his physical self, on his convictions: the tag of a citizen of the kingdom of social system.

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Guys, individual freedom has always remained a fundamental ideal and belief since historical times. However, it is not to be achieved by casting off all society and civilization or by going back to a so-called 'natural state'. The perfection of man, his freedom, his liberty, his happiness, and the growing mastery of his own destiny, all are dependent upon a clear understanding of certain laws of nature and society. We have to accept that both nature and society have worked according to these laws to enable us to get the idea of this so called 'freedom'.So pursuit of the interest of baby should not turn us blind to the interests of the mother.

Stringless Kite

We can fly and rise higher only if we are tied to certain responsibilities and commitments; our freedom-lorn spirit tamed to an extent by social conventions, individual values, family setup, the sweet-sour tides in our offices, etc. But most of the time we find it as a drag on our real enjoyment of life. We just feel how great life would be without all such traditional stuff. But guys tell me, can a stringless kite fly? The kite flies because there is a string pulling it to higher skies. It also tries to negate the limitations set up by the string. It shakes its head in negation. OK! What happens when its dream to be string-free become true. It just takes a few ecstatic circles in air and falls onto the ground. Those free dives of its dreams prove to be its death dives. We are the stringed kites fella. We fly and rise high only because our destructive passions and traits are tamed and tied by a string. So love your commitments, your responsibilities, and your struggles for small small things in life.

Empty book -- the mother book

Congress

I was just packing my common stuff to join the duties of Subdivisional Magistrate when the Congress Chief Minister in Haryana got loose motions over this tiny 'coming to power' and used all his majestic powers to piss at the hard work of all we batchmates. After being a first-hand witness to all the Congress-like corrupted ways of judicial manipulation, I came to Delhi to earn my livelihood in the ruff-and-gruff of private sector. Lo! Hee…hee Gandhi-Nehru geenies would not leave me in peace. In Delhi it is a local Congress pimp of criminality. Why he turns out to be my enemy? He is my landlord's enemy yaar! So he takes revenges by forcing down nails into the new tyres of my old car....Congress....U just make a staunch anti-national element! Guys please throw these goons out of power because if they get another chance, I fear this law-abiding common citizen of India will end up as a terrorist! So save country, save humanity and save this common man! Pleeeeaaasssseee!!!!!

Random reflections

Coming through a lower class locality in Delhi was revealing. A little kid, barely 7 or 8 came pulling the rickshaw carrier. Empty plastic cans at the back and the lad was just going almost half way down on each side to complete the circle. More child self-bread earners washing dirty plates by a kulche stall. It was early in the morning and instead of getting breakfast before going to school they were earning their tit-bits. Littlest of lids taking a bath at a public tap after a late night stint at the eating point. Childhood had withered in them. These were dhaba boys. Getting their skins hardened with antisocial strains...fed by the scorns and abuses of their merciless masters. Well Delhi has so much to cheer about....but far more to ponder about sadly.

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Thank God life is not just a smooth road, taking us uninterestingly to a plain destination! Guys be thankful that it is pot-holed and bumpy. The vehicle of our life gets jolts and jerks which are in fact the lifelines for our material being. It tests the vehicle of our being. The latter responds and this see-saw battle releases energy for the engine of our survival. So guys if your road appears bumpier than others, just feel the sea-storm of energy your system is creating not just for your own survival but for the common cause of creation and survival at the universal level as well. As a struggler you contribute far more to a great unseen cause than it appears on the common plain of our material existence.

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There are times when our long-held beliefs sound untrue. It is however just a smoke-screen. If we just project our hands over our eyes and try to look into the haze with a bit of more focused look, we will see the faded glow of the sun of reality. It not only consolidates the beliefs very close to our soul, but allows more perspectives to our struggle to see through the cloud. Long-held beliefs are generally true. Their mere survival around the epicenter of our being authenticates their validity. Temporary ones just glow for a short time and fade out in jerks. So do not allow you long-held beliefs to die or fade out during the periods of crisis. Believe it or not, they are like life-belts tied to our endangered selves during the sea-storm.

God: Beaten and Banished

God comes to me in my dream (or was I awake early in the morning, I am not sure) and says, ‘Seem to have gathered lots of guts these days fella. U no longer cringe before me like earlier. Don’t pamper me through daily worship anymore. Why have you changed all of a sudden son?' 'No I haven't changed Old Man! My present is born of those penanceful meditations I did before your stony avatar for years on end,' I said softly. But God was visibly irritated. Even at this early time in the morning, when all His statues and stones were being bathed with milk, dahi, scented with perfumes, getting redecorated for another hard day in office. 'No you have certainly changed!' His tone harsh. 'No Sir! Earlier I was just doing my duty like a helpless beggar. Constantly haggling, bickering with you. Bombarding you with relentless questions from across the fragrant smell of incense. Darkness spread around me even though the lamp of my faith lit by me flickered and tried to light my path and show me the way out of my pathetic situation. But there I sat like a donkey on its dirty ass....floundering...falling....running helter-skelter,' I had almost tears in my eyes. 'So you think that was in vain!' God was still terser this time. 'No Sir...no plz....for heavens sake...don't jump to such early conclusions...It’s humanly to make such a judgment. I mean that my present shape was begotten only on the anvil of those very moments. At least I considered right and wrong parameters while I sat before thy Scriptures. And spending a lot of time in Puja saves you from putting you head in earthly shit. It gives you the heavenly fragrance and a dream to get blessings by you.' 'Mark your words well fella...you seem to make comments on me....,' His eyes had started to burn now as if I was some demon on my path to shake the religiodom and His status. 'Plz mighty father...plz...am I worthy of disturbing you so much as to make your eyes fiery like this,' I pleaded remembering well from those TV serials when supernatural powers of Gods burned the daityas to ashes. Humans are humans after all. If those very Gods whom you have been trying to appease for so long show you eyes instead of giving their blessings straightaway to prove their powers, then you feel irritated. Well, my dear human beings don't think that I commit a sin here. I just prove my human status by getting irritated with God for showing such a human tendency. So I also got my own share of humanly fire in my eyes. 'Mr. God I was always right in my suspicions that even your powers have been diluted during the present Kaliyuga age. You too are afraid of the bad ones who cock a snook at you and never ever put feet in a temple...nor spare even the least time for you out of their immensely fruitful time in worldly success and pursuits. You just act to scare weak ones who are ever pleading by your temple gates. And now you get offended with me because I too have been gaining some irreligious muscles.' Dear o dear, I never intended to speak in such hot terms to my once0-dear-God. But his humanly behaviour facilitated my becoming a bit overconfident of my newly gained worldly muscles. Here I threw a challenge to him. 'Do u have the guts to even disturb the sleep of Mr. ---(sorry cannot name the fellow because I fear him even more than the God I am arguing with) who has been to nasty things till a moment ago and is now spread out as a robust stud....can u…,' God became even angrier. His facial expression told me man. I got a bit scared. Man is still more fearsome these days. At least God is supposed to have some limits to indecency. With man you just cannot take the chance. 'These days you just scare weaklings who throng your citadels in the blind hope of getting redemption,' my courage was dangerously hurtling towards a pernicious peak. His hand tightly squeezed the thunderbolt he was holding. OMG! Sorry have been used to blurt out this latest crazy phrase about him, the God! So in order to avoid sounding to plead I stopped it somehow from escaping out of my scared guts. But then if God is really God then he is not supposed to be aware of all these slangs doing rounds on earth. ‘Oh My God’ I won’t say at any cost. So I took my chance with OMG in a low, half-afraid voice, staring at the supernatural weapon in his hand. 'OMG!!!' I blurted in a strange voice. Lo man! Even God gets his moments of self-doubt. His grip loosened around the weapon. I took my chance. ‘That is not justified God…it just isn't done…you wander around to clobber human beings with this mighty weapon of yours. Be a man when you are dealing with man,’ I baulked. Like a real man he dropped his demon-slayer. I salute you man! Everything is fair in love and war, they say. All love lost between us, we had war staring us. Believe me I would have preferred to fight him as God instead of a plain human. But anger takes us in strange directions. Out of his majestic, divine aura he jumped out like a worldly being...ready to crush me like a worm. Having flexed my muscles I had no chance of a retreat. Self-respect man...it has to work even if it gives you a few broken bones. 'Well, I hope his ruffled soul will be satisfied ones he gives bone-rattling blows. After all, at the core he is still God...cannot be demon and murderer,' I counted my hopes on this presumption. Man...he was still powerful...even in manly avatar! He gave such a nasty blow in my groin. I cried foul, ‘This is not allowed man.’ Really he was the man…in pain I called him such. In terrible pain, I gave a swipe at his legs. God is God after all man...it takes few really serious blows to even think of hitting any of his other parts. He was agile like a cat. 'The God of cats!' I cursed meaning to hurt him through words now that I had failed to do with my blow. By non-God! That was self-injurious! He roared like a lion and gave such a feisty blow in my ribs that I fell like a log. Element of surprise! That’s what I was thinking while his proud figure approached me. I pretended to be faint. His vaunting figure approached me, prodded my body like a cat pawing a dead mouse. God as a man you are not omniscient, I mused. He was standing oblivious to my plans. 'Yes God when you decide to come down for man to man duels…be ready for humanly surprises as well,' I pounced up like a still better cat and hit him as hard as I could. God grimaced with pain. In that momentary phase of a temporary victory I mused, 'God...the painless, attributeless entity...now feel what it means...the pain...feel the feeling to be a human being!’ But even in his humanly avatar you cannot keep God in that position for too long. He fired on all cylinders. Do not worry humans…I too gave a valiant fight. For his 10 mighty blows I gave 1 mild one. For his big blood-drawing gnawings at my skin, I gave at least visible bruises on his holy skin. But God cannot be a murderer man...he just cannot. So my presumption was OK. 'I will force you to commit a sin of murderer!’ I was adamant. He was thinking that after some time my pains will force me to plead for mercy. 'He will be the same tamed devotee,' he must have been thinking when he degraded himself to the status of a common human being just to satisfy his ego. But I was a tough nut to crack. Knowing that he cannot kill me, I took my guts to extreme and clung to him like a mad dog. I clung with so much force that the only escape route for him would have been slaying me right there. 'You fool why do u want to die at my hands?' he sounded pleading. 'God why in the first place you should have so much of time to disturb early in the morning a former daily puja paaath vaalah of yours? At least I had stopped haggling you with my beseechings. I had decided to take care of my own interests by developing a few muscles. And this you find irreligious1,' I blurted. 'But this is wrong path son,' human-God became a bit emotional. Damn it, wrong path, if this is wrong then who is right there in the world presently. All successful people are doing this Mr. God! He let me go and sat brooding in a corner. His hair disheveled and the Godly aura totally missing. Scratch marks faintly visible on his face as a testimony of his worldly war. I also brought up my bashed up bloody body and came to him. I appeared smashed and meshed up at the physical level only; he but sounded meshed more seriously at many higher levels. My heart melted for him. The invincible God sitting so dejected in the corner of my filthy room. 'Do not be so sad God!' I consoled. 'If a weak and helplessly pleading-before-you-worshipper is better than a muscled social lion ready to take on this world on his own terms, then I need to seriously rethink my new-found logic.' 'No son...you are within your rights to take on this world on your on terms...I should not dictate terms in this regard. Anyways now I do realize that humans no longer need me to lead their lives in the modern times,' he was teary-eyed. 'Yaa Old Man its better that you leave we humans to decide our fate on our terms now. And do not feel dejected. You started all this and for thousands of years you have been taking so much of pains for your creations’ cause. You need rest now old man.' 'Ya you are right man, I am no longer required. A weakling like you gives me such a tough fight. I fear if I continue meddling in you peoples' affairs then some real bad one even might slay me some day,' he realized. So without caring for this world anymore he bid adieu to take rest somewhere in cosmic cave and I stood there as the first person having the knowledge that it indeed was a Godless world now.                 

Friends and Foes

My time slips out of my pocket and takes vicious circles around me. Its horrible whizzing leaves me in a maddening frenzy. I run around and around to catch it. It leaves me dizzy...drunk....dead. I open my eyes to find it still buzzing around like a nasty bug. Well..I will definitely try to get my buddy time safely in my pocket.

Time now runs back...fastly in reverse mod. I run out of my present skin to catch up with it. Well both of us might crash into a muddy gutter. or worse into a bottomless well out of which it might b impossible to come out!

Well fall into a gutter any way...nd come out like fools...muddy...dirty. Grinning at each other. He blames me and I him. And then we fight. He is worth hi ba*** this time buddy of mine. Fool pinces me down where my nose has no business to be in..into a shit. I plead for mercy. He lets me go. Bt man see what you have done to me!

Man u r no longer my time, I say. I hve nvr been anybody's, the idiot beams. Bt I thought u were my buddy. Dnt cry red-nosed fool, he consoles wiping the shit off my face. Anyway I am nvr fools and weakling's friend. At the mst I can e a slave. I like strong masters not soft buddies. I am paranormal..those who lynch me most..i like the most.

Well this is a revelation man. Time u fool. now i give u what u deserve most. A hard punch..and that too on ur nose and make it meshed up even more than mine. I do the same...hard..bloody. It staggers falls down...gets up slowly.. embraces me nd says..oya man u r worth ur ba***.

Now we walk forward. Tired...dirty..shit nd blood on our faces. V can no longer run..only walk with failing strength. He supports me and I support him. Well forced to support each other. We hesitate...initially support each other with cold hearts. A fight is after all a fight man...it takes time to forget bloody noses.

U fool why in the first place u escaped out of my pocket to run wild like this and that too in reverse mod. It grins...wiping blood and shit off its face...I put out my hanky with sympathy...It gets teary eyes. U were killing me man, it weeps. U were jst busy flaunting ur status that time is my best buddy and doing nothing in practice. So jst felt like giving u a hard run.