The stamp of a tiny lesson on the love handle

The lockdown has spared a lot of energies with us. We are just looking out for the ways and means to unleash the reserves. My brother decides to use his extra stock on an abandoned, old and archaic water cooler lying in the barn. He is eager to set it into motion again. He finds it the real creative thing after the boring spell of work-from-home software engineering endeavor to get us more and more lost in the dehumanized world of software applications. So last night he raised a plume of dust, almost a mini desert storm, sneezed and laughed triumphantly as the rickety thing was dragged out of its grave.

Like any storm, the dust-storm left a casualty also. A stinging yellow hornet nest was dislodged. These days they survive on our garbage and left-outs. Whatever is of no use to us, turns of full use to them. But then we consumerists try to salvage the last utility even from our own dumps. Since it was night, the odds were against them. They droned angrily for a few moments. One of them even took revenge. It bit him on his finger. The salvo left him with a painful wince. He rubbed his finger and then all gets back to normal. The insulted insects took to hide and somehow see through the night.

In the morning, they are seen droning around angrily. They are aggressive and come very near the target, our foolish faces. ‘Don’t just take a swipe, even if it perches on your nose! It won’t have a reason to bite!’ I set out the instruction, having enjoyed the benefits of this approach many times in life. The principle struck very fruitfully even to ward off the angry hoard of the deadliest bumble bees, the big rascals of the stinging wasp family. Their group strikes kill humans even till date. And who can vouchsafe their deadliness more than my own family, having suffered directly. My great-grandfather, a tirelessly hardworking huge farmer, was returning in the evening after a day of ploughing the fields. The pair of bullocks had spring in their step as they mildly galloped back home for fodder and rest. The bells tied around their necks chimed the verve and happiness to get back home as early as possible. The sturdy great-grandpa had his plough on his work-beaten shoulder. An angry nest of bumblebees attacked them with full fury. The sturdy young farmer was bitten viciously. Well, that was almost hundred years back, my grandfather being just a child when he lost his young father. His terribly swollen body had hardly any chance of survival during those days when people hadn’t seen hospitals and doctors in their entire lives.

My ancestor’s soul must have nailed it in my little brain, I mean the instructions that I mentioned above. I was once cycling in my childhood and an angry scout party of bumblebees chased me down. They probably wanted to repeat the family history. But times had changed and even farmers had started to have some common sense. I had little common sense not to take a swipe or shake my head in any way. I just kept on cycling like before. They tried their level best to find any chink in my armor, and hence earn a right to attack. They devilishly teased the hell out of me. I could feel a few sitting on my hair. My face could feel the angry whispers of their drones. I but kept stuck to my credo. Thank you great-grandpa! You must have driven this little sense in my tiny farmers stock brain after having learnt the lesson in a tragic way yourself. So guys non-reaction saves lives. After a kilometer or so of them seeking a reason to strike, they were disappointed and left me on my fun ride.

This morning over tea, the topic turned to hornet bites. ‘These days bees and hornets have hardly any bite in their stings,’ my brother said while looking at his finger which looked almost normal. And both of us had our own share of horrible bites of master stingers in our childhood, when a bite would bloat the face and eyes for days. ‘Poor insects, they seem to have lost the battle! Harmless hornets and biteless bees!’ I had my Buddhist consolation and musing.

The talk then turned to our mother. A very strong peasant woman, who could walk 4 Km with 50 Kg fodder load of twelve feet long stalks of Jowar on her head, she had the softest, divine feminine heart of golden lotus and strong hands that could tame a male buffalo by holding its neck cord. But Mother had a weakness against stinging insects. We saw her crying after getting bitten by a hornet leaving me wondering, ‘How can Ma cry over a bite while she has the power to lift so much of load and tame buffaloes!?’ Lost in the fond memories of our Mom, I pointed out this fact about Mother in a little jest. She is part of everything now. I know she feels our pain for her leaving us. The moisture of love and gratitude for her must also be reaching her. In her lifetime on earth, she was too soft to teach even the littlest lesson to her children even at the grossest provocation! Well, now she must be looking at us in totality, and as a Mother must be feeling like mildly tweaking our ears for all our funny flaws. So she must have decided to teach me a little lesson about hornet bites after getting irritated over my remark. I would come to know about it an hour later.

I am doing kapalbhati pranayam in an effort to channelize my physicality to get it in sync with my spirit to raise my mundane awareness. My funny baby bump in the belly undulating with efforts to manage my prana. I have eyes closed and in fine rhythm. The smile is ravaged suddenly. I wince with terrible pain. My hand instinctively takes a swipe at the still funnier love handle by the side of my belly. I have been taught a lesson in a painful way. Hornets are painful man and no surprise Ma had tears of pain after getting struck. The rascal offending yellow stinging hornet has literally struck with full force. It seems to have fallen in Dracula type craziness after tasting my blood. I have to tear it away. Either it’s a love bite on the funny love handle or a kiss of revenge. Both mean the same if it’s a stinging yellow hornet. I am rolling in pain on the yoga mat, writing in funniest of body contortions, rubbing the raped love handle, doing God knows what type of asnas in pain. I would call it ‘Hornet-sting-asna’. The side of my belly getting a bump, as if in some asymmetrical pregnancy brutally sired by the rapist evil hornet.

Lesson has been learnt Ma! They are indeed painful and give tears after getting struck. Love you, and thanks for gently holding me by ears and still being there to keep guiding me in the lessons of life and living.    

A Chapter from a Farmer’s Old, Dog-eared Book of Spirituality

In the rudimentary science of a peasant, matter is that energy which has slowed down from its free path of liberated flow to coagulate into a visible lump. It’s sort of speed-bump on the energy highway. Or it’s that energy which has slowed down to be visible in comparison to the fleeting invisible torrents that beat our senses. The super-paths of energy need these speed-breakers to define the path. Without this Maya, it would be pure nothingness. A void! By its very existence, matter appears like a sort of burden on the free-float of dimensionless energy. I take matter as the shadow of energy, a kind of resting stage for it. It’s a very trivial, limited dimensional stage of the dimensionless potential.

The unconsciously existing lumps of energy, the so called lifeless and tremendously slow to change matter, such as stones lie like dormant spring seeds of energy, taking years and years to transform into other forms of matter. The consciously existing lumps of energy, the so called living beings like plants and animals, are little flexible, open and closed in their own ways, reservoirs like a pool in the stream of energy. Here energy slows down at a more dynamic level. It’s a kind of transitory stage between a stone and pure, free, unbound energy. This dynamism to retain the matter, the living body, is fuelled by an inherent consciousness. Now, from stone consciousness to the living body consciousness, there is an upgrade in the dimension and level of consciousness. Doesn’t it mean that at the still upper level of energy forms, or transitory levels of material existence about which we aren’t aware normally with our limited sense perception, the quotient of consciousness will be still higher? It will become pure energy and pure consciousness at the highest level. Well, I have calculated as per my farmer’s logic.

In living beings, consciousness manifests through thoughts, feelings and emotions.  These are mere properties of consciousness. How will the sunlight know of its own existence? Well, it manifests through warmth. Possibly, thoughts, feelings and emotions are the effects of consciousness. Or the ways and means of the attribute-less energy to halt, pause and feel its own warmth for some time.

What about unconsciously surviving living bodies, for example, someone in a coma? Probably consciousness stops seeing through mind, but it exists nonetheless. The ego-construct of mind stops operating, but deep down consciousness thrives in cells because if it’s driven out even from there, the body will take the shape of an unconscious matter, leaving it to decay as per the natural laws. So is coma something like Samadhi? Strictly no!

I would compare, again using the logic of my farming ancestors, coma and Samadhi with two fruits lying on the ground. One is unripe and raw and is thrown onto the ground by a storm. The other is the ripe fruit simply dropping down of its own on the soft grassy land with a musical plop. Both exist on the same plane. In the former there is trauma, a pain, a cutting short, a sorry tale. In the latter, there is the divine spontaneity of completion, harmony, grace.

In pure evolutionary terms, the path charted out for human beings is: how much of consciousness we can salvage from the matter at our disposal. The ladder, of course, goes from rudimentary consciousness born of our senses to super-consciousness to pure energy, with many other forms of material bodies attached to the heightened consciousness between our human level and material nothingness or pure energy form or super-consciousness.  

For human beings, the path of evolution goes not through the negation of our thoughts, feelings and awareness, but accepting them. A denied thought, emotion or feeling turns a ghost to torment virtually. Thoughts, emotions and feelings are the carriers of our consciousness. Problem lies if we allow them to scatter in all directions to go from nowhere to nowhere, to be caught in the same material pool, in a sort of meaningless eddies. Mother Nature has given us the skill and awareness to manage our thoughts, emotions and feelings. By practiced awareness of our thoughts, emotions and feelings, we learn how to put them on the path leading to a specific destination. We ought to read our own thoughts, feelings and emotions as much as we focus on the external things. Under the stern look of the warden, that is, the real self, they learn how to behave well. They pass out as aware citizens. Keep journeying. Keep raising the bar of your consciousness!  

Life Lessons by a Child Monkey

Well, some lives are led extraordinarily. This type of living stands out like when a frog somehow pops out of the well and croaks in chronic freedom and licentious liberation of spirit. The adventurous song of their living echoes for some time, encouraging others for the same.

Many farmers, peasant women, laborers, servicemen, male, female, young and old have completed their innings in the village. We have witnessed their life, living and death. Most of them, like yours truly, lived the same rutted way, facing the same problems, arriving at the same solutions, happy for the same things and sulking for the same. It seems like only ONE life going like a river.

From the river of sameness, of collective pains and same ecstasies, a little creature jumped out and rocked and rafted its life in its own freeways. It was no ordinary life. The reason I still recall it with perfect vividness and not the scores of farmers, who have perished during the interval, vouchsafes its outstanding substantiality in life and living. Even after two and half decades, I can see that adventurer perfectly clearly in my memory chambers. Whatever I recall and tell about the gallant has been witnessed firsthand by yours truly.

Well, he was a few months old monkey, a terribly funny, mischievous, ever-hopping little creature. At that time there was a little group of monkeys in the village. When the people found him spending time on his own, separate from the group, everybody assumed he was motherless. He may really have been a motherless monkey; otherwise, a living mother monkey won’t condemn him to this type of fate. She would have kept him stuck to her belly till  the end of this world.

So this little funny faced flunkey started creating anecdotes that still chime in my brain. He was friendly and not scared of we humans. However, at the same time, he won’t surrender his freedom by hooking ownership to any particular Homo sapien. He belonged to all and none at the same time.

There was a funnily shriveled, oldest of the oldest farmer named Kannhi in the village. He himself appeared like the grandest king of the simian world. Parallels were drawn and to fetch jocular fun from both ends—I mean, the old man and the little monkey—the little bundle of mischief was christened Kannhi. To give you a clue to little Kannnhi’s standard and style of living, the crudest of farmers discussed his chronicles in chaupals around hookah. He must have been terribly funny to raise the bar of peasantry humor because we farmers are ourselves nothing sort of exquisitely funny and rowdy apes.

When Kannhi felt like going for a pony ride, he would hitch an uninvited and unsolicited climb on any farmer’s shoulder. Initially, people got shocked as the miscreant suddenly was seen poking his little fingers in the ear-waxed head handles of the farmer. Then all accepted that this little errant kid has a right to come from around any corner and hold anyone’s ear by sitting on the shoulder.

In the evenings, he preferred to loiter around the main path leading to the pond. The farmers drove their buffalos to the pond for wallowing. The nuisant Kannhi knew there was hell lot fun hidden in the mine of tomfoolery with cattle and buffalos. He would hide among the path-side bushes and suddenly come in front and jump onto the back of one of them. It would lead to a stampede as the panicked buffalos thought the God of death has arrived to drag them to hell for their sins of wallowing, drinking and defecating in the same water. I remember many such dusty stampede episodes.

One summer evening, as I was stoically sitting around the pond, waiting for my buffalo to be finally mindful of my miseries at the waiting game, Kannhi broke all tensions of life. A sturdy peasant woman was holding the rope of her Ox, as the diligent, hardworking cattle drank water, standing on the shore. Now, cows and her offspring simply detest water. They won’t be scared of even the hardest whiplash as they would panic about jumping into water and getting wet. Kannhi, fresh from a great swim and ride on the back of buffalos in the pond, had seen the little nick for another round of fun. The dripping fun-beast—he looked squeezed to invisibility with his fur all wet—walked along the shoreline. The sturdy peasant woman, who had the power to pince down even her rowdy farmer and tweak his beard while sitting on his chest, got scared like a robust buffalo. Kannhi pulled at the rope. He looked a menacing molecule of daredevilry. She let go off her hold on the rope. Now the sturdy Ox had his life stuck in his nostrils. Kannhi wanted the hardworking beast to take a bath perhaps. Now bathing and Ox don’t match. They simply prefer a nice scrub on their coat by rough hands and still rougher metal scrubber. The ox went numb with fear. The jocular zealot was pulling the rope from the water. He seemed so damn determined to pull the ox into the water. The ox appeared to have surrendered to its fate like they do when taken to butcheries. Its eyes popping out, its muzzle flared up in fear and nostrils puffed out saliva laden breath. Many a farmer had to run to save the poor ox’s life, as the culprit dived to safety and pop out its mocking face from among a group of buffalos deep in the waters.

One day, I was walking pensively dawn the path from the fields. I walked like a robo who is passive to the beautiful summer evening. You could expect Kannhi anywhere. He must have enjoyed a joyride on some farmer’s shoulder, so must have been returning to the primary scene of his fun, that is, village. I saw him a few paces ahead of me as it suddenly jumped from the branches of a tree. To go just like any other journeyman wasn’t in his metabolism. While we would walk simply lost in our little set of problems, he would squeeze the last drop of fun with his frail little fingers. The idiot terribly insulted me for my human commonness. Doing things as others do was the most difficult thing for him. My footsteps were mocked at. I saw him going somersaulting in front of me. A horribly ecstatic whirlpool of energy as the tiny creature whirled and hopped in an amazing series of somersaults. To be frank, I have never ever witnessed such gay abundance of free spirits in my life, never! So the funny ghost left me in peals of laughter almost doing the same on the dusty path.

By the village bus stand, there was a mossy water puddle by the road. There was a big crowd as I walked. I apprehended some mishap but then peals of laughter left me assured all was well. And fun and jestership had every right in the village as long as Kannhi was there. The scene opened as I reached. Kannhi was enjoying his life with master backstrokes in swimming in the puddle. Its funny little face out of the water, the upturned funny little turtle, it expertly floated around and would have ashamed many a fish and swimming champions. People whistled and clapped. Those were the days when there was no mobile phone with people; otherwise, Kannhi would have become an internet sensation with his funny antiques.

Like the black bugbears of rascality and tomfoolery, crude farmers take liberty to urinate with as much freedom as a bear does in a forest. The peasant woman however face disadvantage in this regard. During those times, older peasant woman wore long and heavy cotton kirtles, the tedious great-skirts having many folds. In full measurements it weighed up to 5 Kg. What a feat to carry it. It but also served as the mobile toilet box. Like a peasant woman had the advantage of suddenly sitting down on her haunches right in the middle of the sandy path on the pretext of picking something or fixing her leather footwear, papooshes, and pee. The wet earth will give a clue to what had happened in reality. One such old peasant woman got down to sit and go for multitasking, as she fixed her papoosh and attended the nature’s call. Kannhi but couldn’t beat the temptation of taking shelter under the tent like sprawl of the huge long-skirt. The peasant woman was lucky not to have died of shock. Kannhi too got equally scared as he ran away from the scene of crime.

There are numerous other episodes when he would sit on the charpoy and rummage through the sparse silver hair of some retired farmer, pretending to pick lice and even tweak his ears. People even tried to make him learn to smoke hookah. They held him by throat and tried to put the pipe into his mouth. But he had no taste for such vices and he sniffed and even bit a few hands so that they mended their ways in this regard.

As the village women made chapattis on their open hearths, he would go and sit with so much of obedience and innocence that it could even bring moisture to their eyes. He would melt their hearts with his suffering silent expression. He went there for a piece of chapatti but would come back licking his whiskers after drinking pure buffalo milk.

These are just a few of the funny anecdotes that I remember from my personal experience. If a research is done in the village, many more people will have still funnier episodes to share.

Well, in a span of just four or five months, he lived life so enthusiastically to create so many outstanding anecdotes that their echo reverberates even after two and half decades. Meanwhile hundreds of farmers have lived and died in the same manner.

The village wasn’t lucky to have this angel of fun for too long. One day, the news of his death spread. Street dogs killed him. Perhaps they felt left out and jealous because Kannhi was drawing all attention. But I am sure, even before death the fun-loving rascal must have done something horribly funny to arise canine fury and say a funny faced buy to this innings. He lived and died for fun and frolics. God knows, what hilarity he must be committing now in some corner of the cosmos!         

The gallant dance of a warrior princess

There has been another Covid-19 release, Lockdown 4.0. It is a far milder version of the previous lockdowns. The regional satraps, the state CMs, will get the primary power to set-up the norms in their territories.

How long people will stay indoors, so even though cases are increasing at the rate of 5000/day to take India precariously close to 100,000 mark, people have started venturing out. They come out like half-excited, half-afraid toddlers. And totter gingerly like they are learning to walk. The precautions against Corona have been crammed to the gill in our scared brains, so they take these measures and leave the rest to destiny. We are the most hygiene conscious generation ever in our history. Let’s hope our clean hands get used to doing cleaner deeds. That will be the real take away from the adversity.

Passenger trains, metro rails and air travel still remain out of bounds, leaving people skipping and hopping within little zones to gather the scattered sinews after the storm. In fact, the storm is still blowing around as much earlier, but then we have to start believing at some point that the worst is over.

The stranded migrant workers literally revolted and pushed against the check-dam. Miserably herded sheep leapt over the fence and go bleating out their unnoticed miseries at full blast. You have to sing out your song of misery, otherwise nobody cares. They have blasted out a loud chorus of their collective miseries. To them life with or without Corona hardly makes any difference. They have hardly anything to lose. Their fistful of identity has been blown away to nameless specks I the dust of poverty being trampled against the running boots. So the sheep panicked and broke the ranks as a clueless central and state governments watched helplessly.

One can stay indoors is he has something to give a sense of belonging. They hadn’t anything. Their only identity was their native soil which they had abandoned in crisis to earn a living. Now they remembered the kind, old mother and run helter skelter.  Instead of staying hungry and jobless inside their shanties, they set out. All governmental measures failed as they revolted in hundreds of thousands. Many are perishing in accidents, fatigue, exhaustion and psychological trauma. We are calculating Corona losses in infections and casualties and monetary losses. Who will measure the indivisible un-chronicled tales of the agony of these destitute people? They just took a leap of faith and set out on foot to somehow reach there little hamlets and villages hundreds and even thousands of kilometers away. Untold and unmeasured miseries!

China is as usual behaving like the rascal bully in the class, although cornered for being caught red-handed, threatening those who raise voice against it with tariff strikes and flexing its military muscles at littoral little nations around South China Sea. No need to stoop to their level in combating their menace. There is a very simple technique of irritating the hell out of China. The communist regime has 70 years of grisly skeletons of secrecy in its ideological cupboard. Demand facts, ask clearance of all the enigmas that they have built up. Train them in the art of being accountable. That will be the preliminaries to democracy. Start a worldwide movement ‘Democracy in China’. Ask them where is Panchen Lama? Ask what happened at the Tiananmen Square. Give a voice to millions of Chinese whose forefathers perished in concentration camps with the stigma of the enemies of the state. There is no need to bay for human blood anymore. Corona is sufficient for that as of now. Luckily, China and America are busy in the cute war of firing salvos through filing law-suits. In the US, Chinese linked researchers are being picked up for interrogation.

The US is formulating Plan 18 to beat China over Covid 19. To gain numerical superiority, it should have been Plan 20. It involves a host of military and economic measures in alliance with China’s neighbors to tame the rampant bully. In and around the South China Sea, an embittered and aggrieved USA is encouraging Japan, Taiwan, South Korea, Vietnam and India to create a stranglehold against the mighty red bully by supplying these intimidated neighbors with most sophisticated weapons in its kitty. Also, about 120 countries at the WHO have demanded an impartial probe into the Corona issue in China. And how many allies China have? A few rogue states like North Korea and Pakistan. Doesn’t it speak volumes about their international standing?

Even India is in a position to fire innocuous salvos at China as it gets ready to head the WHO executive board for the next three years. Many countries are now vying for an observer status for Taiwan at WHO meets. Ironically, those who have failed to manage the virus, and even the one that is possibly deliberately responsible for unleashing the pandemic, are the who’s who of the world health body, while a small island nation that has beaten the virus fair and square through expert management has to fight even to sit on the sidelines in the observer chair.    

We Indians have huge faith in God. Billions of rupees of holy money are lying unquestioned, untouched and untaxed in religious trusts and organizations. Why not ask God for help? He won’t mind blessing some liquidity to the cash-starved market!

Corona has shaken the social fabric in remote coastal hamlets. A fishing boat is heaving lugubriously near the coast. The fishermen are stranded as their fellow hamlet dwellers won’t allow them to return, lest they bring Corona along with the fish. Government has allowed strict local watch guards to take control of the affairs at the street and locality level. In the huge maze that India is, it’s unthinkable to manage the invisible enemy without their stern eye against any outsider in their locality.

In a hospital, a soldier has won a battle in an unfamiliar territory. He has beaten Corona. He is triumphant and rightly so. He is dancing to Bhangra tunes in the hospital corridor on getting discharged. A nurse in PPE also dances as the triumphant battle marshal to have won it for the soldier who turned civilian in the current war. The PPE is the august coat of armor in this war.

To give you a clue to how things have toppled down in slope. The world’s second largest cigarette maker, British American Tobacco claims to have made Covid 19 vaccine. Tobacco is the leading cause of lung cancer. Does it mean people need to be saved from Corona to die sometime from cancer? The only competition as of now is the race to develop the first vaccine against the virus to turn gold out of the gloomy coal mine of Corona. This is the only competitive game going on at the moment.

Corona is really helping our security forces in managing the clamp down in Kashmir in the aftermaths of the state’s changed status. At least here, Corona seems in league with the state to help impose and further legitimize the curfew.

Media is now fed up with the cumbersome ‘always righteous’ kind of reporting that we saw for the last two three months. To be frank, media is best when there are real news and problems; but they carry over their momentum quite funnily even when there is hardly any real news and they create silly news with their ever-boiling reporting temperament.

The cute weather war between India and China

The world definitely has to look beyond Corona. After all, it cannot just be a Corona-centric world forever. Lockdown 4.0 beginning from May 18 will definitely have easing of restrictions. As more and more countries have come to terms with the existence of the Wuhan virus, the easing of lockdown measures has begun. The real test of individual precaution and immunity will happen when we come out of the trenches and face the enemy in the eye. Let’s hope we have the vaccine when we decide to fight in the open.

If at all there has to be a war among we humans, let it be a cute war. Mind you, a cute war avoids bloodshed and gratifies our egos almost in the same way a bloody war does. Winning in a street pebbles game and at Olympics has the same parameters qualitatively. There is just quantitative difference. So why take animosity to the level of blood-bathing when we can have our innocuous brawls. Sanity has sunk in Indian and Pakistani minds. We have decided to engage in a cute war, the Weather War. Instead of going for surgical strikes in the POK, we have issued weather bulletins on the Pakistan occupied territory of Kashmir, thus implying that it belongs to us. Pakistan also hits back by broadcasting weather report of Ladhak. They but misfire even here. The hilarious goof-up: they say maximum temperature is  ̶ 4 ͦ C and the minimum is  ̶ 1 ͦ C. What a lovely and cute weather soldier they have at radio Pakistan. He is right as far as digits are concerned. But there is a thing called minus sign also. Pakistani government, kindly train them well for the weather war!

To prepare us for a much transformed Lockdown 4.0, the honorable PM addresses the nation for the fifth time during the tough phase. His address isn’t Corona centric this time. He exhorts Indians to move ahead and become self-reliant. I think it’s the best way to cut China to its size by robbing them of such a huge market that we have offered them on a platter. The trade deficit is too much: we export worth 60000 crore; and import 425,000 crores. Do you still need to know where we should aim to hit. Again a cute war! Make their exports to India redundant.

The PM has laid down the foundation of a self-reliant India by announcing an economic package worth 20 lac crores in 2020. ‘Be vocal for the local!’ he gives the clarion call. He exhorts we Indians to look beyond Corona by coming out with basic precautions and see through the transitory Lockdown 4.0 to move ahead with reasonable protection to full scale progress and development.

We have the potential to become the manufacturing hub of the world. With 20% share, the Indian generic pharmaceutical industry is literally the pharmacy of the world. Let there be a vaccine developed anywhere in the world, they have to depend on the Indian generic pharmaceutical industry for mass production and supply.

In a globalized world, wars will be primarily economic in cold phase and biological during the hot phase. The heat of the hot phase we are all bearing currently. The cold phase in economic terms will follow. Australia has been vocal about international investigation to look into the virus issue in China. An angry China hits back by cancelling a beef order worth 2 billion dollars from Australia. Again cute salvos in a cuddly war. Let’s continue doing that. It’s funny and interesting at the same time.    

The one-party system in China has all that it takes to misuse power. There is hardly any balance of power. At the grossest level of existence, 'Truth' is a little candy held tightly in the fist of the hand that is 'Powerful'! A dictatorial regime twists ‘Truth’ to scatter it to dust around. It blinds the masses with the rising dust of ideology. Let’s—through cute wars only—ask them to have at least one opposition party, however weak it might be to begin with. It will help us to forget our injured democracies, if even the fake opposition in the Red bastion takes comic salvos now and then at the real power center. One cuter salvo in the cute war against China! Put Taiwan on the forefront at WHO meets to discuss the effective measures to stop and handle the pandemic. It’s better to throw chili in the enemy’s eye instead of throwing grenades.

Now another theory has surfaced. It says Wuhan had Corona cases as far back as September last. A team of doctors in masks and PPEs had thronged the Wuhan airport after getting the reports that an airplane passenger had collpased suddenly. They made it pass as a military drill to manage emergency medical situations. In October, Wuhan hosted the world military games in which 10,000 military personnel participated. Many participants now tell that they felt sick with influenza type symptoms. In fact, France has tracked its zero patient to be a woman who visited the store operated by the wife of one of the military personnel who visited Wuhan for the games. It was way down the line on December 31 that China announced the outbreak. If that is the case, it makes it equally serious to the theory of deliberate or accidental leak from the lab.

A smile is just one breath away, provided we give it a chance. Even in the fiery pits of burning summer, a blossom awaits our cool, caring shade to smile for life and living! Enjoy the smile of a sun-shaded rose! I have put the rose in a shade too give it a chance against the merciless heat. It dazzles the hot air in the shade. A winsome smile! This is what I do to stay meaningful to life and living within my premises. Creation is creation. I facilitate the creation of these little smiles. And when the afternoon sunrays come to kiss the shy, shaded beauty for a brief flirtatious moment, she opens her heart and gives a full smile. Guys, don't miss to smile even at those who mean to rob you of your smile. Our own frown eats our smile, not other's intentions! When you come out of the trenches, be your better version! I suggest a recipe as well. The recipe of a perfect human being: strong body, sharp mind and soft heart. I mean Shiva! Try to be Shiva!

At the personal level, it has been the worst time in my life. Here are the most meaningful words spoken to me during the last few months---as I tried to steady my feet after the most irremediable loss of my life---by a Tibetan Buddhist Friend. Truth seems to have showered her with the ultimate grace during her months-long meditations in the snow-clad caves in Ladhak. Thanks O seeker of truth for balming my bruised soul through such simple and succinct words:

"We have been born to learn about the love and impermanence of life, and we will have to learn this lesson again and again until we have eternal peace before every injury!"

The cute fight between a porcupine and an ant eater

With his humanistic Covid-wartime measures, PM Modi has earned much appreciation internationally. And rightly so! He has the potential to emerge as the most influential world leader. He has so much to offer not just to India but to the entire world. The Indian PM’s voice is keenly anticipated at the NAM virtual summit. The group of 120 non-aligned countries has the potential to emerge as an effective block in the coming times as geopolitics will be churned vigorously to produce various permutations and combinations.

Humanity takes an evasive stance as the hordes of migrant workers offloaded by Shramik trains at their native railways stations get welcomed with jet sprays of disinfectants like you spray a lifeless chair. They get the cleansing spray holistically, their bundles, sacks and all possessions and their bodies. Little do they realize the virus may be safely cocooned inside the system, this beating both the temperature guns and disinfectant cannon fires. The human body is too sturdy a battle gear for the errant Corona.  

Out of job barbers are making up for their loss of business. There are many who don’t have a trimmer of their own. So barbers help them in harvesting their crop for an all-clean ground at 100 rupees. Profits! People have to make money despite all that is happening around. Illegal and illicit liquor is warming many a pocket. The ubiquitous beedis are in shortage. One little packet of beedis is selling at 10 times its normal price. It is the mere grassroots level manifestation to make profits out of the pandemic. The rat race to make profits will cascade upwards at higher levels to include corporations, countries and organizations, who will come forward to earn quick bucks in the name of alleviating humanity’s pains.

A guy in the neighborhood created a mini storm in the locality. He and one other guy had gone to repair the tractor of a farmer. The farmer turned out to be Corona positive. Surprisingly, he turns out to be an aware farmer also. A rare combination indeed! He informs the tractor agency about his status and asks them to get their mechanics tested as well. One of the guys immediately ran to the city for testing along with five other guys with whom he was smoking hukka when the news reached him. The other guy but thought of dodging the issue and was heard saying, ‘I will infect all people in the locality!’ Scared people called the village head and the police to get him tamed. His house now bears the Covid 19 quarantine status poster. He is seen sitting by his house like a chained sullen monkey.

Those who can’t help the urge to punish China for the Corona curse, there is a non-violent way to hit the dragon where it hurts the most. The war threat in future will be biological in nature mostly and retaliations will be in the form of economic skirmishes. Much as we suffer with our social distancing, China can be made to pay with economic distancing. Intending countries should systematically cut down their trade deficits with China. Now, funniest of the funny thing in this tragedy! China is open to international investigation into the issue of Corona origin in its territory. Massive surprise, how can they be so open! Wait, the air of surprise will pass out with their condition. They want the international probe to be undertaken by the WHO! It’s like a thief asking the judge to allow the investigation to be done by his friend thief.

Long before China, it was Taiwan that informed WHO about the mysterious influenza and its human to human transmission. Ironically, the WHO doesn’t even recognize Taiwan. So they didn’t even listen to what the tiny island nation was pointing to. China still wields an immense economic clout. As long as it has the economics to shield its sins, it’s safe. If not for this, the EU—the worst sufferer block in the pandemic—won’t still be willing to accommodate China despite their terrible losses. Their helplessness is understandable, but give Taiwan the status they deserve. They are a democracy. Nurture them and shield them directly now, don’t feel shy.

Small countries around the South China Sea are holding with courage against the fire-spitting dragon as the bully grabs disputed islands in the sea. The communist hunger for land is insatiable. The world is almost dying with the pandemic, they but are still blood-shot sure about their hegemony. To give another clue to the Chinese hunger for land, a Chinese expert has published an article on a reputed Chinese website. He has dug a bit deeper into the history to say that Kazakhstan and Kirgizstan belonged to Changez Khan Empire, so now they should be included in the Chinese territory. Nothing wrong with the logic! But by the same logic, Somalia has the right to the entire globe because the first band of Homo-sapiens started from East Africa to colonize the earth. So Somalia has a better right in strictly legal terms.

The superpower’s woes are not bowing down in the least. It seems like bugs from the East have taken a liking for the land of the opportunities. Asian Giant Hornet (Murder Hornet) has been found on the American soil. It kills honeybees and destroys agriculture. To make it worse, a group can kill a human with multiple bites. Let’s hope they don’t take a fancy for the luch gree White House premises. If that happens, the radars will be busy in picking out bees instead of Chinese and Russian missiles.  

ZARA is manufacturing medical supplies. Who cares for luxury fashion, when locked inside the house one pair of funny boxers and crumpled T-shirt can give the Kingly feeling. Inside the house, there is no image to maintain. There is hardly anyone to pass judgments. If at all, one’s sniggering spouse will say something, which still would be the same even if one gets attired in the world’s best wares. So who cares for high end luxury fashion!? So ZARA makes face masks. Hasn’t the world come upside down? Our skulls had gone reverse earlier, so now dangling like bats may be we will read the message straight.

Russia is now rapidly evolving to the level of Europe and America. Great progress! By Corona I mean. There are 240,000 cases. Surprisingly, only 2000 people have fell to the virus, while with the same number of infections, other countries have lost 30 to 40,000 people. Either the Russians have the best immunity—in that case their platelets can save many lives outside Russia—or the errant kid China has given them some vaccine. In the latter case, the errant kid ought to hand over the vaccine to the outside world. But who trusts the quality of Chinese products these days.

Far away in the Naxalite infested forests of Chhatisgardh, thousands of migrant workers are walking on foot from Telangana to Jharkhand. They carry their Covid quarantine status stamps on the back of their hands. Status is quarantine strictly but they are free to roam the dangerous forests to find their path to survival. I hope the forest animals and tribal people won’t object to their entry there as possible Corona carriers. As they move ahead, hungry, beaten and thoroughly bruised, the Indians outside splurge 1000 crore on liquor purchase on the first day of opening of the wine outlets. Huge celebrations at least in one section of society! Of course, our king boozers have set the economic wheels spinning again. God keep their drinking appetite for they are the saviors of our economy at the moment.   

The Corona knot gets strangled further. A top Corona scientist of the Chinese origin has been murdered in America. The US has accused China of stealing Covid-19 vaccine research. There is much-much more to this Corona affair than it meets the eyes of a commoner like you or me. Let’s wait till things become public. Or do they ever become public? I mean the version that reaches us is filtered selectively to the extent of being a gossip-worthy puny thing over tea. The facts are kept under the carpet. What we believe to be reality is simply a convenient assemblage of doctored facts to churn out expected opinions and rumors. Well, the art and craft of leaders to rule over the meek horde of sheep.

Along the India-China border, across the rugged terrain, the volatile relationship between the two Asian giants takes serpent curves. The actual lines of control are sprawled across immense stretches of inhospitable land. The patrol parties from both ends push against each other through cute skirmishes usually. They shout foul words, throw lewd gestures, throw stones and in the worst case scenario they scuffle and push each other like wrestlers. I think massive bodied Sikh troops can heave around many a small Chinese troop. So another cute front gets opened in Sikkim. India China troops throw stones at each other leaving 7 Chinese and 4 Indians injured. We Indians take solace in defeating them in the numbers of injured. A victory at long last! Why make missiles when we can cutely fight with stones?! Chinese choppers are seen near the LAC in Akshai Chin. The bored Indian Air Force pilots get some adventure and they rush to shake our own skies with the latest warplanes. Very cute warfare these are, I tell you. How I wish all our wars ended at this level only. Like a porcupine stretching up its needles and staring at an ant eater and both of them going their own ways after gratifying their egos a bit.  

          

A poor pregnant mother gets kicked in her belly

The worldwide Corona infection cases stand at 4.5 million with 300,000 fatalities. Stealthily the number is creeping up in India also, like water oozes out of the cracks in a dam. Let’s hope the dam doesn’t give away altogether! India is almost like a raw fodder for the fiery virus. If it goes out of control, the loss in other countries will lose its meaning. They will consider themselves lucky, if god forbid the virus actualizes its full evil potential in India.

As of now, we have 75000 cases with 2300 casualties. On a positive note, a third of these have recovered completely, making the recovery rate at 33%, which creates many hopes. May be, the exposure to bugs, bacteria and virus in the filth and squalor of routine struggle on the mundane stage of life has bestowed herd immunity to we Indians. The virus appears to have a sadistic pleasure in tormenting the sanitized, cleaner cultures. Well, the poor have their own diseases, so have the rich. But that doesn’t mean we should go all dirty. The importance of hygiene and cleanliness has been understood well, even by those who barely understood the difference between latrine box and altar.  

Pop Diva Madonna is reported to be very happy after months of sulking and suffocating the interiors of her house. Tests have given the good news. She has the antibodies for the ill-famed virus. It means the bastard may not be fatal to her. She is thus ecstatic to go on a long drive in the scary Covid-19 air. She can now afford to roll down the windows and feel the kiss of air on her youthful cheeks. She has the protective gear inbuilt in her system against the enemy, which will fail to ambush her. Happy for her that she is going to have a sip of freedom at last! Haven’t we turned freedom too costly? The freebies of nature—the air, the water, open skies, pristine forests—have been chucked out in greed. Now is the time to pay for the loot. The rationing has started. Take care!

In India, the swashbuckling Lockdown 3.0 is a hugely costly affair. There is a categorization of red, green and orange zone. Life is supposed to take to cautious steps first in the green zones without any known Corona cases, followed by Orange where there are just few cases to be followed by the lugubrious steps in the scary red ones. But it’s very dicey. Let there be the slightest mistake and the lights may change colors. Well, we have been used to the play of lights at traffic signals. The green gives such a sense of relief. Let there be a green signal for all to move again. The red light has been too long and tortuous. Well, traffic rules sometime help in running the country also, apart from managing the road traffic. It means all this is a mammoth journey only.

During the lockdown, every life saved comes at the cost of crores of rupees. Life has been undeservedly too much monetized. Let’s now learn to define life and living in non-monetary terms also. It will help us, believe me.

Those at the lowest rung in the socio-economic ladder are suffering miserably. Their painfully set up homes and hearth are gone in a jiffy in the cities. People are walking back to their roots. A horrible reverse migration has started. How long we can expect them to stay stranded in ghettos without job and other basic minimum facilities of common life. Poverty has been pushed further into a darker corner. Even the miserable life of earlier appears rich in contrast. Only after losing what we possess, we come to realize the importance of the tiny blessing we earlier had!

Government has started special trains to take them home. They are the fatigued, defeated and lacerated soldiers who fought for our development in cities. Millions and millions want to escape from the imperiled urban fronts in the war. A train can adjust only 1200 passengers, where will the rest go? Getting a ticket appears like the biggest lottery. There is a provision for online booking. Even among the poorest of the poor, the luck will favor the better ones. I mean those selected few who have a smartphone and know how to make an online booking. So the moment the booking opens, the seats are taken by the more privileged among the poorest of the poor. It leaves millions who don’t have a phone. They have to choose other options by default. The best option by default is to start walking to one’s home that is more than a thousand kilometer away. A leap of faith! An escape from the ignominy of being stranded meaninglessly! At least you walk. You do something at least!

People get driven by rumors and stand in front of railway stations. They wait for the train that isn’t even scheduled. They but have to keep their hopes alive. Corona cannot rob them of their hope of a train. They stand in miles long queues for days. Social distancing loses its meaning. Poor migrant workers are paying lump-sum from their miserly savings to hitch clandestine rides in goods trucks. Sometime police topples the cart. Stranded in the middle, they hardly have any clue to what and why of future. We can measure loss in monetary terms, but who will calculate the silent, unchronicled miseries of millions who suffer in the dark, unknown chambers of this battlefield.

Destiny plays cruel jokes. You pay for an illegal travel in a goods truck, brave all legal risks and pay like you are paying airfare. You are lucky to cross almost a 1000 Km and just 350 Km away from the sweet native soil. You are ready to forget the miseries for that safe and secure feeling of reaching your place. Corona-infected destiny but still plays the spoilsport. It derails the journey indirectly. The vehicle meets an accident. Many get injured and those able to walk continue with their journey on foot. Can you believe, autos have been hired to travel 1200 Km. A family had just started counting the countdown Kms to home and the tiny three-wheeler meets an accident. A woman and a small girl die and others grievously injured lie in a hospital. We definitely reach home, but which ‘home’ it is always decided by some mischief mongers that stay invisible to us.

A small group of workers spends their entire savings earned through the soot, grease and grime of an urban toil to purchase cycles. People would still not lose a chance to earn money. Profit and loss is the only way we can think these days. Under distressed purchase, the rickety cycles are sold at an exorbitant rate. They don’t have any option. The poor workers buy and start on the arduous journey, going hungry, and being harassed by police at borders. The most they can ask from God at this juncture is that the tyres bear till they reach their villages. Humm, some migrant workers are caught hiding in the concrete mixer. I pray they don’t start the mixer by accident and mix human flesh with concrete. Well, it always has been mixed to set up the shiny edifices. But all that is done in subtle manners, indirectly. Doing it in letter will turn out to be too gory a sight. Let it stay in spirit only.

The house owners throw away the laborers for not paying rents. A house owner thinks in a typically legal way that he is entitled to the rent at any cost, under any circumstances. Well, law is on his side. The law is helpless beyond the strictly theoretical boundary on the paper. Is it Law only that we need to manage our society? Well, machines have an all-Law society, not humans. As the mechanics of Law take over our functioning, our mechanization will surely take us to the threshold of a dehumanized, artificial intelligence driven society. It would then be better to do archaeological search for the real man like we search for dinosaur skeletons now.

People walk on foot. The soles blistered. The already misshapen, abused feet getting lacerated to take crooked animal shapes! A hard crust of misery and helplessness stuck to their faces. Will they be able to smile at ease in future? It will take a long time if ever they will. They have few provisions, so few that a house will look empty with them. But whatever they have is the unavoidable essentials without which one can’t survive possibly for more than a day. So they cannot afford to abandon even these. They stack up their provisions in gunny sacks and begin on foot. The provisions are too little for a little house, but these are too heavy for a human head. They look like famished beasts of burden. They lumber ahead impassively, like jombies. Smallest feet learn to walk. Toddlers held in their arms. The bitter lessons for the youngest generation. Pregnant women walk with the extra load of maternity. A woman gives birth on the way and still has the courage to walk another 150 Km after the delivery. Salutes O Mother!

There are still luckier ones among this unlucky horde. Some have bikes. They load their entire family and provisions on the bike, yank a jibe at a small car, and move out on thousand plus kilometer journey. They have to dodge Corona. They have to dodge police also. Some have carrier rickshaw loaded with their sacks and take turns to ride and the rest run by the side. We have been condemned to move. We are shifty and restless. We have the curse to move at any cost.  

Those were the happy days when the Caravan had stopped by the busy outskirts of Sonipat. The caravan of wandering nomadic ironsmith is bigger than you expect these days. They are the stateless subjects of India. They still survive on the fringes without most of the rights that we take for granted. They still have sturdy wooden ox carts. The trace of modernity, however, is visible through their well-hammered bike carrier contrivances. The torso of a bike is welded to a tiny carrier behind. The carrier frame has their typical nail-headed gypsy pattern. Well, we give it all to retain our identity. How do they survive now with their movement, their life literally, stopped? It’s like a fish without water. I hardly have any clue. Their only right is the right to move. Corona has taken away even that. Right opposite the road, the district administration allows vegetable stalls during the early morning for 2-3 hours. That is the time when the gypsies smell the scent of humanity. People hurry across the city till 7 in the morning to muster up enough to see through the day. And the caravan lies on the fringes, bearing the slap on its face for a sin that it isn’t even involved in. The curse is born of the sedentary culture. What do they have to do in all this?  

All health establishments from a quack to a Harvard returnee doctor are usually crammed to the gills with patients, throughout the year, all ways, almost all hours and even minutes. It would make one wonder how come literally everyone is sick. Under the lockdown, my only query is: where are all those perpetual patients? All these neighborhood clinics and nursing homes and quack shops are empty and out of business. And surprisingly, the mortality rates haven’t gone up due to the shortage of these services. Haven’t we got habituated to fall sick and run to get medicines? I mean, you have the markets crammed with consumer items and most of the times we just buy even when we don’t need the things urgently. With health services scattered all around, possibly we itch like a consumer to avail their services somehow in a consumerist mode.

Well, silver lining at last. The big, fat, cumbersome and earthshaking Indian weddings are postponed. Less population growth rate at long last. Hail Corona at least on this! But then you have gallants still out there to hit the bed of matrimony. There are virtual marriages through Whatsapp video calls. The groom then takes his princess on a bike. Some take pheras in masks. Well, in a typical arranged marriage in India, the bride and groom hardly know anything about each other. With masks on, it must be like two aliens getting married, I mean a Maritan and an Earthling! And where is social distancing on the conjugal night!?

WHO that has turned into CHO is again and again parroting about the natural cause of the virus. It’s a well fed parrot that has been crammed to the guts with monetary chilies by its patron China. The WHO is praising China’s efforts in managing the pandemic—can you believe it, the world’s premiere health body is praising a country whose secrecy and mismanagement has brought humanity to such a disaster. Their economic clouts will help them more than their nukes. Why then waste so much of economy over redundant whales that are buried in bunkers. Use the same money to strengthen the economic clout.

They but won’t even mention Taiwan, the country who has set up the best example how to manage the virus: Just 400 plus cases and only 8 deaths. Can you believe it? The WHO but, under Chinese influence, doesn’t even invite them at meetings to share their expertise. All those who are eager to bring China to the dock should recognize Taiwan as a sovereign nation. The redgurads aren’t as much afraid of a nuke strike as they are of a sovereign Taiwan. There are always better means to bring the evil to book because the evil leaves many chinks in its armor through its own nature, inevitably.

People hardly have the guts to visit the friendly neighborhood barber. His effacing smile is hijacked by the Corona sinister grin. With his hands twisting your chin, cheeks, nose and head, he appears like a Corona-hobnobbing yamdoot. Hair styling is gone down the winds. People are no longer dancing on the excited stage of life, so glitz and glamour has frizzled out. Bald is the most popular hairstyle. And people manage it with their own trustable trimmer. And believe me, going bald hasn’t shaken the universe as one apprehended earlier. Doesn’t it mean that most of our sophistication is born of our mind’s construct? Convenience fetches simplicity and more peace. Saloon keepers beware; you may be required to take up other professions.

Well, the communal spinoff of Corona keeps doing the rounds now and then. Media launched a well-managed witch-hunt for finding the Corona and Islamic links. There were a few mischief mongers, but their over-enthusiasm resulted in the entire community being maligned. Who suffers? The common Muslim by birth who has to come out for a living and who has no role in the greater games of religion. In Lucknow, hotspots have been named after mosques. It’s an effort to throw chilies into the smoldering fire. Far away in the UAE, two expatriate Indians are sacked from their jobs for posting Islamophobic social media content. The OIC also puts up a notice against India for the current Islamophobic environment in India. They may have sensed something to arrive at the conclusion. But how can they stay blind to what China is doing to Uighur Muslims? Business is the only belief and faith of mankind. All other kinds of religion and Gods are merely the conceptions to sustain the business god.

Federalism is at its best as of now. The central cabinet is gone into a huddle and virtual instructions are almost symbolic. The states manage their fiefdoms and so do the district administrations. With politicians gone into a pondering huddle, the bureaucracy is functioning at its best. We have seen a little glimpse of a non-politicized bureaucratic functioning for some time. It isn’t disappointing I tell you. With the political mind just focused on Corona, the honest officers get a lucky lease to operate as per their talent. Karnataka state government must be feeling very relaxed and unchained as they issue an instruction for the online application to enter or exit the state. Aren’t all these boundaries our mind constructs? Now Karnataka border is as good as an international border, at least in effect.

Kim Jong has been seen. Or was it is his double? There is speculation. Well, whether it’s fake or real, the medal he receives is surely genuine. President Putin has awarded the North Korean dictator a World War 2 commemorative medal. Is it an honor from one pseudo dictator to another real one? In effect both are the same. But just imagine, wearing one’s heart on sleeve gets one into? Pseudo has benefits of a world leader; real face gets bricks of tyranny.

At long last, the African countries are realizing the parasitic relationship with China. Trapped in debt and attacked with racial slur, there are voices of dissent. Hope better sense will prevail and the rulers there will think of subjects instead of just getting Swiss accounts hitting the vaults in hobnobbing with China.

Well, misfortune of millions usually results in the fortune of the few. Same will happen post-pandemic. The stampede tramples the weakest. The fortunate ones usually stay afloat to mint more money out of the miseries. The international drugs and pharmaceutical cartels will of course make huge money. The poor will just think of gathering their scattered sinews after the storm. The wealthy ones find new opportunities as life and living will take onto course again.

And finally the booze gets unleashed. How long it could have been contained? A liquorless India is almost unrecognizable. It’s no India at all! The masses lynched by the agonies of survival hit the bottle to forget past, present and future after the back breaking toil and the state mints money. No wonder all drunkards contribute so massively to the cause of nation building. The revenue from the liquor is too massive for the government to even think of people going without the potion of forgetfulness. With all industries closed during the lockdown, and the sources of revenue drying up, the government fell back upon the kind, old booze. Now all social distancing norms fell flat. Where is the Muslim-hunting media? All of these are Hindus? Is a crowd of Hindus less risky for Corona than a Muslim crowd? Think of it. And please save yourself from the sins of sowing the seeds of another partition of the country down the line.

So the happiest news of the past few weeks hits the screen. Wine shops open. The boozers hit the ceilings in ecstasy. Worried wives and children meanwhile curse the government. Many women even protested against the opening of the wine outlets. But modern society means business only. No one can stop the wine industry. The customary rounds of domestic violence start again. The peace is broken. A man may think for ten days about spending money on his children’s books, but instinctively runs with all his savings to purchase wine. Empty pockets suddenly get money from somewhere. There are miles long queues. The business has started. India is back on the track. The economy has taken up. The wine has the power of drawing money out of the most miserly pockets.

A man is showering flowers at our nation-builders as they wait in hot summers with money in their pockets and the will to make India great again. ‘You are the economy of our country!’ he says. They stand with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. The government is also eager to help them contribute more for nation building. There is an extra cess to the tune of 70%. They are happy to pay. Let there be a 10 paisa increase in petrol prices, many voices cry foul. The wine pandemic has the capability to beat the poor Corona Pandemic.

Geeta and Ramayan are to be shown on JNU campus. Mythology pill served to cure the ancient scourge of communism on the campus. As the world frantically searches for a cure to Corona, the government is helplessly trying to find a cure for the indomitable campus bug at the JNU. It’s very obstinate and is stuck up at the political khadi like an angry nettle thorn.

                

           

The Kind Old Major

Sad times for a jailed writer! A Covid 19 quarantine poster on the neighbouring house. And a curfew-imposing bully threatening me to stay inside. Will our world, I mean the world of humans, see better days?

This bully who fully understands that we are on the back foot—and hence tries to claim more space in the human settlement, intimidating people and setting himself like a curfew guard—draws my memory a decade back. How I wish we had our kind old Major with us. The memory acquires even sharper notes as I see this ruffian sleeping in the open along with his clan —on the ground itself—unconcerned and unmindful of any transgression by we humans. To put it plainly, the criminal, goon bully cares a damn about us anymore. He is free. Corona is helping him copiously. How I wish we had our kind, old Major to teach this misbehaving tramp a nice lesson. Well, Major would certainly have dispensed justice for us, without delay, right there on the scene of crime.

The village was taking convulsive, irritated and helpless turns under the simian onslaught. The red-faced, red-bottomed and red-balled Rhesus tramps had bred profusely. All the females had babies stuck up to their tummies. To cock a snook at us, they mated shamelessly on rooftops, grimacing hideously at the onlookers. Then they would muster up more courage to molest women and girls, harass them, get after them, and snatch things from their hands. I specifically say that they took more liberty with women than men. I wonder was it simply their instinctive realization that they are softer sex and hence less threatening, or was it blatant sexism involving some raw sadistic pleasure in putting human females at discomfort. If it was the latter, the crime then turns unpardonable. 

So instead of stooping low to their rascally level and fight on their terms, someone had a more elevated idea. Get a Langoor man! If the offended Homo-sapien in you can’t get over the feeling of taking revenge against the errant ancestors of ours, wait! Before you think of any drastic measure—thus degrading you to the level of lawless goons themselves and thus go into regression to be what we were sometime back in the chronological book of evolution—think like a human. Get a Langoor!

An enemy’s enemy is my best buddy. I just love this majestic silver-furred black-faced angel. It’s far bigger, more on the stoic side, doesn’t waste its energies in unnecessary shit like the recklessly red-faced, shamefully red-bottomed and funnily red-balled smaller Rhesus does. Its tail can hold multiple pink balls of the shameless Rhesus macaque and throw them to winds. The forever law-breaking Rhesus is terribly scared of the stoic grandpa of the simian world. He usually holds them by their tails, tosses them around and gives hard slaps by holding their ears. Vow, ahha, what a sight! Mere visualization gives me multi-orgasmic pleasure. I would abandon most of the luxuries of life to re-experience the scene. A cowardly Rhesus isn’t as afraid of a AK-47-wielding funny human as it is of the saber-rattling grimace of a Langoor.

So our kind, old Major arrived on the scene. Well, he didn’t arrive as Major. He arrived on the scene as a nameless Langoor as the sturdy fun-loving farmer got it more out of fun and less to alleviate the women’s woes in the village. Had it been about the alleviation of female miseries in the patriarchal society, most of the men would have been summarily executed long before the red-balled rascals.

So the stoic grandpa on the scene, and LO there was a panicked stampede among the cowardly Rhesus horde. They ran helter skelter. The little battles were no match for the majestic Langoor. He won the battle. One enthusiastic uncle, who had the glory of winning the war for India against Pakistan in Kargil found real camaderie with the Langoor. Uncle had fired one solitary shot in the famed war. Well, it was shot in the air in celebration, far down inside the Indian territory as the advanced platoons pushed back Pakis at a great cost to their own lives. But then Uncle’s shot in the air must have scared a few Devatas of ours hovering midair to congratulate on our victory. Uncle was proudly rewarded with the honorary title of a Major on his retirement. Now the proud soldier thought it suitable to put up the strips of valor on our Langoor friend also. So the Langoor became Major. People just loved to call him Major.

Victory brings laurels and rewards also. The farmer’s sun passed his evening in the spacious barn. Now, something about the Jat boys, the majestically proud farming clan who keep their ego always on Mount Everest. As they get heaved by the hormonal storms of youth, they do wrestling, drink pitchers of milk, eat mounds of butter, loaf around with all the air stuck up in the chest, eve-tease girls, think of sex 24x7, drink liqueur, play cards, smoke hukka and spend the still left out surplus energy in lewd funniest talk.

So the young peasant and his cronies were no different. They created ruckus late into the night in the barn as a sullen Major, tethered by a rope to the charpoy, would watch sullenly, his sleep disturbed, the proud medallions of his bravery not sufficient to tame the rampantly straying energies of the farmer youths. On one occasion, in the diluted spirits of mischief and forgetfulness, one rascal found sympathy on the face of a sleepy Major. ‘Major also wants to drink!’ he proclaimed. They cackled with consent. The best thought of their lives possibly!

A peg was made for the brave Major. Like a soldier has a right to drink anywhere in the world, our brave Major also availed the facility. One of them took a heavy Patiala peg in a glass. Major simply took it as matter of factly. Was it in irritation, or had he been waiting all along for this, I don’t know. He simply gulped it down in one terrible swig, shook his head vigorously, gave a few rounds of sneeze and threw the glass onto the ground breaking it. They didn’t mind the glass at all because they had an addition to the drinking party. They just hugged him like they hadn’t hugged anyone in their lives.

Next day, a solution was hatched as even in their free spirits they couldn’t afford to lose a glass every day. A steel glass was reserved for our retired Major. He would of course gulp the nectar in one big swig, shake his head profusely, sneeze and throw the glass on impulse. The metal glass would just give a musical background to their hideous rounds of laughter. So our Major, having won the battle for us, wining the medal of bravery and rationed with whisky spent his evenings in the barn. What a retirement! Peace be on his soul!

How I wish we had our kind old Major even now! This intimidating rascal would have turned a sissy monkey and gone running out with its funny shack of a tail stuck to its red balls!

PS: The curfew man has already misused his powers by throwing around the bricks. Well, he has a right. We are on the backfoot, eh!