Biology was always my favourite subject in school. Shame then that I never really pursued it further, but there were reasons and we shall not go into them right here right now. Regardless, I was always fascinated by biology — not so much plants and trees, but animal biology... the zoology stuff.
I believe it was in Class 7 (Seventh Grade, or Year 8 depending on where you’re from) that I was given an assignment to make a presentation about the most vicious creature in the animal kingdom, according to me. Now, half my brain figured the teacher had been watching some TV show all morning and it happened to be called America’s Most Vicious Animal Attacks or something like that and in her infinite wisdom or unabashed lethargy, had decided to turn it into an assignment.
Still it sounded like fun. While all around me, voices emanated about whether a tiger was more vicious than a lion or whether a bear would survive an octopus attack, my mind was trying to establish parameters to decide on viciousness. After all, even a harmless skunk can be quite a vicious little piece of shit, spraying that vile stink-juice like it does. So I asks the teacher. I asks, “Who decides what is vicious and what isn’t?”. She says, “You do”. I says, “Oh”.
There could be a bit more to this assignment that I previously imagined. So I did a bit of research and whittled the list down to 3 strong contendors — a shark, a vulture and a boa constrictor. After an hour or two of deliberation, the jury that sits inside my head decided to vote in favour of the vulture. Circling dying animals and starting the process of picking them clean to the bone, as they’re dying, is about as vicious as it gets. And besides, I figured that a ton of people would go with the shark, on account of its total bad-assery. As for the boa constrictor? Well at the end of the day, the boa constrictor is just a jerk.
Presentation day rolled around and you know how every class has those one or two (or sometimes more) kids who will basically put in the minimum mental effort required and come up with something like “Tiger has claws and sharp-sharp teeth, so he is most vicious. Thank you please.” Yes I’m a bloody elitist, but that doesn’t invalidate my point. So, a bunch of tigers, lions, panthers and even cheetahs (wussies by nature) went by. Then I did the vulture thing. Wasn’t too shabby. Some of the ones that stood out were jellyfish, polar bear and a good friend on mine’s bid to be ironic with a presentation on why the mosquito was the most vicious creature.
It’s only today, well maybe a couple of days ago that I realised that we were all wrong. Every single one of us was dead wrong. Even Will Ferrell was wrong and Gavin Lyall (author: The Most Dangerous Game) couldn’t be more wrong if he tried. Fuelled by observations made over a lifetime and triggered by an interesting comment made by a colleague of mine, I have now realised that the most vicious animal known to man has always been none other than the Goddamn pigeon, which is also known by its latin binomial nomenclature Shittius motherfuckeris. And you that the braconid wasp (Verae peculya) had it bad?
But seriously, these vile creatures aren’t called flying rats, for cuteness sake. Pigeons are unequivocally, the scum of the earth. You know the phrase “to shit on someone’s work”. Well, I bet the person who coined it made it after watching pigeons drop a slimey smelly one on the world the good Lord created. But, I hear some of you argue, so their personal hygiene sucks, but that doesn’t make them vicious.
These people have clearly never been crapped on by these aerial shitmachines. Their viciousness stems from the fact that they will hunt you down and drop their load on you. It doesn’t matter where you are, they actually find ways to position themselves above you. Your next argument, I’m certain will be “Why you pickin’ on pigeons, you pigeon-hater? As REM says, ‘everybody poops... sometimes’.” Sure, other birds crap from a height too. But if you’ve noticed carefully, it’s usually only by accident that you get crow crap on you (say you’re walking under a tree) or if an eagle or something happens to crap on you. No other bird goes out of its way to score a direct hit everytime it needs “to go potty”.
Take my office washroom for instance. Due to the ingenious design of said washroom, there’s no ceiling overhead and the nearest thing to a ceiling is the roof of the shed that houses this monstrosity of architecture. After being tired of getting crapped on by pigeons while on a visit to the restroom, someone decided to put an asbestos sheet over the top — albeit one that covers only half the men’s room. For around two or three days, the plan worked. But soon after, the pigeons actually relocated themselves so as to be able to “bombs away” away from the sheet and on people in the washroom. Those vicious bastards!
Back to what I was talking about earlier... My colleague once happened to comment, while shooting the breeze, that for pigeons, strategically launching their waste so as to hit high-value targets is probably a sport. And in their sport, they too have their Sachin Tendulkars, he said. Why just Sachin I wondered, surely they also have their Shane Warnes and Muttiah Muralitharans and obviously, their Harsha Bhogles, Richie Benauds and yes, sadly, Ranjit Fernandos (check dis) too. You didn’t honestly believe that the whole “Grrrrooooo Grrrooooo” sound they make was just bird calls, did you?
It’s obviously their commentators describing a particularly strategic relocation that a pigeon just indulged in. Or they’re debating the pros and cons of dropping a fluid missile on an old woman, as opposed to say, a little boy running around in a field — faster moving target equals more points, you see. Or they could even be discussing how long it’ll be before that hotshot Leroy the Pigeon’s prolific scoring rate sees him overtake the established veteran and senior statesman of the game Ernest the Pigeon. Commentator 1 goes “Ghhhrrroooooo Ghhrroo” to state that it’s too early to say something like that, to which Commentator 2 fires back “Ghhhhrrroooo.. Ghrrooo Ghhrooo” which means NEVER! It’s never too soon, given our short life expectancies.
And you honestly thought they were just making noises to pass the time? You gullible fool.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Snippety-snip snap shenanigoats
I was never particularly in love with a festival to the extent that I’d wait impatiently for it to arrive. As far back as I can remember, it’s always been the festivity in the air that appealed to me. And by festivity, I don’t mean long poojas and prayers, fireworks, coloured powder, eggs, halls decked with boughs of holly... Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la and so on and so forth. Festivity to me is the unpredictable mood in the air around those times of the year. You never can say for certain what someone’s going to say or do next.
Sometimes you get doses of great unpredictability like a different city’s bureau of your publication sending you pages early in the night. Sometimes it’s shady unpredictability with a friend pissing all over your collective plans because of a family function he/she simply must attend. So yeah... that’s why I like festivity.
In the festive mood that I presently find myself, I decided to walk on down to the ol’ barber and get a haircut for the whole “ushering in the New Year” thing. It’s times like these that I really hate Hollywood for selling me a false dream. I’m talking about the films Barbershop and Barbershop 2, where said barbershops are bursting with conversation, people cracking jokes
and odd characters throwing down some heavy socio-political discourse. The barbershop I frequent, which for some reason is called Air-Cool, is nothing like that.
In fact, Air-Cool is so damn cool that some geezer has immortalised it with this black and white photograph I found online. Upon looking closely at it, I found that the man posing at the front is the same idiot who cut my sideburns too damn short this morning.
As I’m getting weary of repeatedly pointing out, I’ve just gone and digressed again. Now this is one of those places where piped instrumental versions of old Hindi music plays over the chorus of clicking scissors, the hum of electric clippers and of course, the swishing sound of the sweeper clearing away freshly cut hair from the barbershop floor. Peaceful and calm is great, but where’s the conversation?
Faced with that predicament, you sometimes try and engage a barber in a conversation, but the high-levels of stress that emanate from him, with each word you say seemingly adding a wrinkle on his forehead, the desire to talk disappears pretty damn quick. Sometimes the barber is too lazy to respond in any more than monosyllables. So whatcha gonna do? You sit and look around at the people, see if they’re having more fun than you.
Some people make faces as they’re being shaved, others have their faces buried in magazines and a third group just glare at you for looking at them. Fortunately, as I was waiting for my turn in the chair, I got a fair bit of entertainment as well as an important lesson in human psychology and I do believe I’ve come up with some sort of theory that would be admissable in scientific journals.
I’ve seen toddlers get haircuts before. I’ve never before seen two toddlers getting haircuts in the same barbershop at the same time. So naturally, curiosity got the better of me and after sharing a sympathetic half-smile with a seriously harrowed-looking dad, the show began. Toddler A was with his dad (the harrowed guy) and Toddler B was with his mom and dad. Toddler A was first off the mark and unlike any wee ‘un I’ve ever seen, this guy was wide-eyed and wore a wider grin and followed the electrical clippers as they buzzed around his head. I think it’s safe to say he was loving it.
Meanwhile, mom and dad put Toddler B into the chair after a lot of coercion, including a promise to show him crows after the haircut. Seeing the barber wield some long scissors, mom asks him to swap the scissors for electric clippers. While in the red corner, ol’ Toddler A is gurgling to himself and the harrowed dad suddenly seems at peace.
Just then, the peace and quiet is interrupted by a piercing little scream, followed by the loud bawling of Toddler B. He’s not liking it. Not liking it one bit. Thrashing his neck from side to side to avoid the buzzing machine. His little hands clench into tiny baby potato-size fists, while his toes curl up with irritation. Toddler A’s peaceful reverie smashed, he turns to see what all the commotion is about. This is the crucial moment.
He sees Toddler B crying his little lungs out and looks down, Toddler A that is, looks down at his hands and sees little wisps of hair. Hair that’s just been cut from his head. His eyebrows very slowly turn from a flat line like a calm sea to a growing wave and finally a raging tsunami. Running concurrently to all this, his lip starts to quiver and KABOOM!! The weepy bomb explodes. Now, we have crying and screaming and weeping in stereo surround sound.
By then of course, it was time for me to be seated and Toddler A was done with his haircut and Toddler B’s parents had given up. But one thing really stuck out for me. Go back to that crucial moment I spoke about. Toddler A was perfectly happy and then when he saw Toddler B crying, he suddenly started crying. My theory is that it is at this age where the concept of peer pressure or the herd mentality (I’m not sure which) is built into the human system.
Maybe if babies were isolated from one another, they could grow to be individual ladies and gents with their own sets of views, not just some noise about bitches and Nike shoes. You know? Think of the potential for advancement in all of life’s fields. More focussed human beings. Like androids. Or cyborgs.
Then again, maybe Toddler A just got scared.
Sometimes you get doses of great unpredictability like a different city’s bureau of your publication sending you pages early in the night. Sometimes it’s shady unpredictability with a friend pissing all over your collective plans because of a family function he/she simply must attend. So yeah... that’s why I like festivity.
In the festive mood that I presently find myself, I decided to walk on down to the ol’ barber and get a haircut for the whole “ushering in the New Year” thing. It’s times like these that I really hate Hollywood for selling me a false dream. I’m talking about the films Barbershop and Barbershop 2, where said barbershops are bursting with conversation, people cracking jokes
and odd characters throwing down some heavy socio-political discourse. The barbershop I frequent, which for some reason is called Air-Cool, is nothing like that.In fact, Air-Cool is so damn cool that some geezer has immortalised it with this black and white photograph I found online. Upon looking closely at it, I found that the man posing at the front is the same idiot who cut my sideburns too damn short this morning.
As I’m getting weary of repeatedly pointing out, I’ve just gone and digressed again. Now this is one of those places where piped instrumental versions of old Hindi music plays over the chorus of clicking scissors, the hum of electric clippers and of course, the swishing sound of the sweeper clearing away freshly cut hair from the barbershop floor. Peaceful and calm is great, but where’s the conversation?
Faced with that predicament, you sometimes try and engage a barber in a conversation, but the high-levels of stress that emanate from him, with each word you say seemingly adding a wrinkle on his forehead, the desire to talk disappears pretty damn quick. Sometimes the barber is too lazy to respond in any more than monosyllables. So whatcha gonna do? You sit and look around at the people, see if they’re having more fun than you.
Some people make faces as they’re being shaved, others have their faces buried in magazines and a third group just glare at you for looking at them. Fortunately, as I was waiting for my turn in the chair, I got a fair bit of entertainment as well as an important lesson in human psychology and I do believe I’ve come up with some sort of theory that would be admissable in scientific journals.
I’ve seen toddlers get haircuts before. I’ve never before seen two toddlers getting haircuts in the same barbershop at the same time. So naturally, curiosity got the better of me and after sharing a sympathetic half-smile with a seriously harrowed-looking dad, the show began. Toddler A was with his dad (the harrowed guy) and Toddler B was with his mom and dad. Toddler A was first off the mark and unlike any wee ‘un I’ve ever seen, this guy was wide-eyed and wore a wider grin and followed the electrical clippers as they buzzed around his head. I think it’s safe to say he was loving it.
Meanwhile, mom and dad put Toddler B into the chair after a lot of coercion, including a promise to show him crows after the haircut. Seeing the barber wield some long scissors, mom asks him to swap the scissors for electric clippers. While in the red corner, ol’ Toddler A is gurgling to himself and the harrowed dad suddenly seems at peace.
Just then, the peace and quiet is interrupted by a piercing little scream, followed by the loud bawling of Toddler B. He’s not liking it. Not liking it one bit. Thrashing his neck from side to side to avoid the buzzing machine. His little hands clench into tiny baby potato-size fists, while his toes curl up with irritation. Toddler A’s peaceful reverie smashed, he turns to see what all the commotion is about. This is the crucial moment.
He sees Toddler B crying his little lungs out and looks down, Toddler A that is, looks down at his hands and sees little wisps of hair. Hair that’s just been cut from his head. His eyebrows very slowly turn from a flat line like a calm sea to a growing wave and finally a raging tsunami. Running concurrently to all this, his lip starts to quiver and KABOOM!! The weepy bomb explodes. Now, we have crying and screaming and weeping in stereo surround sound.
By then of course, it was time for me to be seated and Toddler A was done with his haircut and Toddler B’s parents had given up. But one thing really stuck out for me. Go back to that crucial moment I spoke about. Toddler A was perfectly happy and then when he saw Toddler B crying, he suddenly started crying. My theory is that it is at this age where the concept of peer pressure or the herd mentality (I’m not sure which) is built into the human system.
Maybe if babies were isolated from one another, they could grow to be individual ladies and gents with their own sets of views, not just some noise about bitches and Nike shoes. You know? Think of the potential for advancement in all of life’s fields. More focussed human beings. Like androids. Or cyborgs.
Then again, maybe Toddler A just got scared.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Boab Mar-lay’s Greatest Hits
I think we’ve all had shitty days
We’ve all had times when we dread the thought of going to work
Or even sometimes, dread the thought of going home.
We’ve all fought with people and come out of the fight angry, hurt or depressed.
There have also been times where it seems as though we’ll never smile again.
In those particular situations, music tends to pick me up, cheer me up, fire me up or whatever the need of the hour is. But there are a few times when even music falls sadly short. What do you do then? I don’t know about you lot, but one thing that never fails to cheer me up is the manifestation of a WTF? Moment before my very eyes. It could be anything, from a man falling over to someone shouting a dorky name out loudly across the street. It could and very often is some obscure phrase a colleague of mine comes up with before jiggling his belly to the beat of the universe (I like how it sounds, I don’t know what it means).
Right, so now that the jibber-jabber of the introduction or lead as it were, has been dealt with and is out of the way, we can actually get to this latest WTF? Moment I experienced. After a fairly ratty day a week or so ago, I found myself on the train heading to work, with my earphones tucked in. As I was sifting through my tracklist to find something to fit the mood, I was shaken out of my dreary state by the sound of three youths yelling and screaming about something.
Sensing a fight about to kick off, I moved to the side to avoid being in the firing line. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you feel after reading this story), it wasn’t a fight at all as it turned out and was just three collegians having a “conversation”.
Before I get into it, let’s meet the characters...
1) A is clearly the leader of the gang, but not in a cool Top Cat kinda way. More in a creepy, “Yeah my brother is drug dealer and I think he’s really cool. Hopefully, he’ll let me deal for him too, so you guys know just how cool I am” kind of way. Spiked hair, an ear piercing, a Ché Guevara t-shirt and a mouth that is filthier than Chris Rock’s.
2) B is A’s little lackey, his little yes-man if you will. Bespectacled and sporting a truly honourable attempt at using hair oil to imitate his leader’s spiked look. Slightly less mouthy but equally annoying.
3) C is the new kid. While A’s trying to show him the levels of coolness he can aspire to, B’s doing his best to reinforce A’s cool credentials and how C’s life would be so much better if he joined this gang.
I tried to ignore them and switched on some Therapy?. Sadly, the trio drowned out any semblance of sound in my phones. So I figured, hey, why don’t I just listen in. After all, it’s not eavesdropping if you’re listening to a loudspeaker, in this case, a human loudspeaker. I can’t be bothered to write out what they said in Hindi and then translate it, so I’ll just transcribe it in English. I’ll try not to lose the essence in the translation.
A: C, You should come to this party we’re going to, over the weekend.
B: Yes, it’s going to be great
A: And don’t worry. You’ll get everything there *brings his fingers to his mouth and takes a drag from an invisible joint and then takes a swig from an invisible bottle of booze*
C: Really?
A: Of course, we only go to great parties... like this one
C: Wow.
A: And don’t worry about the money. We’re always taken care of. My brother—...
B: Yeah, his brother has contacts...
A: But the best kind of parties to go to are rave parties
B: Rave parties are the best
C: Rave?
A: Yeah, there’s all the drinks and drugs you want and once you’re buzzed, the best kind of music to listen to, is trance. Tu pagal ho jaayega (You’ll go insane)
B: True. Tu pagal ho jaayega (You’ll go insane)
C: I’m not quite with you. Rave?
A: Yes, they’re great. But we only go to this one farm in Amboli. The cops never catch us there because they join us at the party.
B: That’s right.
A: But the best music when you’re high is trance. Tu pagal ho jaayega (You’ll go insane)
B: Tu pagal ho jaayega (You’ll go insane)
<At this point, I am totally hooked. Whether or not I remember to climb out of the train at my stop, is immaterial right now>
A: Trance is the best. You should listen to some.
B: Yeah. Totally
C: But what is it?
B: You know that Goan guy with a long white beard? He makes trance music.
C: Which guy?
A: Have you heard of Boab Mar-lay? [prounced: Bobe (rhymes with hope) Mar-lay (rhymes with parlay)]
B: Yeah yeah yeah! That’s the Goan guy with a beard.
A: No, it’s not.
A: Boab Mar-lay is from Mexico and he got kicked out from there. Now no one knows where he is but he’s still making great music. I have 40 GB of music on my harddrive, of which 13 GB is only Boab.
B: You listen to his music, tu pagal ho jaayega (You’ll go insane)
C: Sounds quite good. I’ve never heard any though.
A: I’ll rip some for you. You see Boab Mar-lay was kicked out from Mexico by the government. Why? Because of his message, which is the thing I love the most. His message is that you should enjoy every moment and have a great time all the time. So do all the drugs you want, drink as much as you want, because life is about enjoying yourself. He has a few songs about cocaine and how it’s something everyone should do. We’ll get some cocaine at the party.
B: Yeah, you’ll love it—...
We’ve all had times when we dread the thought of going to work
Or even sometimes, dread the thought of going home.
We’ve all fought with people and come out of the fight angry, hurt or depressed.
There have also been times where it seems as though we’ll never smile again.
In those particular situations, music tends to pick me up, cheer me up, fire me up or whatever the need of the hour is. But there are a few times when even music falls sadly short. What do you do then? I don’t know about you lot, but one thing that never fails to cheer me up is the manifestation of a WTF? Moment before my very eyes. It could be anything, from a man falling over to someone shouting a dorky name out loudly across the street. It could and very often is some obscure phrase a colleague of mine comes up with before jiggling his belly to the beat of the universe (I like how it sounds, I don’t know what it means).
Right, so now that the jibber-jabber of the introduction or lead as it were, has been dealt with and is out of the way, we can actually get to this latest WTF? Moment I experienced. After a fairly ratty day a week or so ago, I found myself on the train heading to work, with my earphones tucked in. As I was sifting through my tracklist to find something to fit the mood, I was shaken out of my dreary state by the sound of three youths yelling and screaming about something.
Sensing a fight about to kick off, I moved to the side to avoid being in the firing line. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you feel after reading this story), it wasn’t a fight at all as it turned out and was just three collegians having a “conversation”.
Before I get into it, let’s meet the characters...
1) A is clearly the leader of the gang, but not in a cool Top Cat kinda way. More in a creepy, “Yeah my brother is drug dealer and I think he’s really cool. Hopefully, he’ll let me deal for him too, so you guys know just how cool I am” kind of way. Spiked hair, an ear piercing, a Ché Guevara t-shirt and a mouth that is filthier than Chris Rock’s.
2) B is A’s little lackey, his little yes-man if you will. Bespectacled and sporting a truly honourable attempt at using hair oil to imitate his leader’s spiked look. Slightly less mouthy but equally annoying.
3) C is the new kid. While A’s trying to show him the levels of coolness he can aspire to, B’s doing his best to reinforce A’s cool credentials and how C’s life would be so much better if he joined this gang.
I tried to ignore them and switched on some Therapy?. Sadly, the trio drowned out any semblance of sound in my phones. So I figured, hey, why don’t I just listen in. After all, it’s not eavesdropping if you’re listening to a loudspeaker, in this case, a human loudspeaker. I can’t be bothered to write out what they said in Hindi and then translate it, so I’ll just transcribe it in English. I’ll try not to lose the essence in the translation.
A: C, You should come to this party we’re going to, over the weekend.
B: Yes, it’s going to be great
A: And don’t worry. You’ll get everything there *brings his fingers to his mouth and takes a drag from an invisible joint and then takes a swig from an invisible bottle of booze*
C: Really?
A: Of course, we only go to great parties... like this one
C: Wow.
A: And don’t worry about the money. We’re always taken care of. My brother—...
B: Yeah, his brother has contacts...
A: But the best kind of parties to go to are rave parties
B: Rave parties are the best
C: Rave?
A: Yeah, there’s all the drinks and drugs you want and once you’re buzzed, the best kind of music to listen to, is trance. Tu pagal ho jaayega (You’ll go insane)
B: True. Tu pagal ho jaayega (You’ll go insane)
C: I’m not quite with you. Rave?
A: Yes, they’re great. But we only go to this one farm in Amboli. The cops never catch us there because they join us at the party.
B: That’s right.
A: But the best music when you’re high is trance. Tu pagal ho jaayega (You’ll go insane)
B: Tu pagal ho jaayega (You’ll go insane)
<At this point, I am totally hooked. Whether or not I remember to climb out of the train at my stop, is immaterial right now>
A: Trance is the best. You should listen to some.
B: Yeah. Totally
C: But what is it?
B: You know that Goan guy with a long white beard? He makes trance music.
C: Which guy?
A: Have you heard of Boab Mar-lay? [prounced: Bobe (rhymes with hope) Mar-lay (rhymes with parlay)]
B: Yeah yeah yeah! That’s the Goan guy with a beard.
A: No, it’s not.
A: Boab Mar-lay is from Mexico and he got kicked out from there. Now no one knows where he is but he’s still making great music. I have 40 GB of music on my harddrive, of which 13 GB is only Boab.
B: You listen to his music, tu pagal ho jaayega (You’ll go insane)
C: Sounds quite good. I’ve never heard any though.
A: I’ll rip some for you. You see Boab Mar-lay was kicked out from Mexico by the government. Why? Because of his message, which is the thing I love the most. His message is that you should enjoy every moment and have a great time all the time. So do all the drugs you want, drink as much as you want, because life is about enjoying yourself. He has a few songs about cocaine and how it’s something everyone should do. We’ll get some cocaine at the party.
B: Yeah, you’ll love it—...
***
It was then that I had to tear myself from my seat and alight at Lower Parel station. How I wish I could’ve heard more of that bizarre conversation that left me with numerous WTF? Moments and a bemused half-smile across my face. Now I need to go and check out some Boab Mar-ley, if you’ll please excuse me.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Hostages at Home
Warning: It’s been a while since I issued any disclaimers. Let’s see if I remember how to do one. The views expressed below are not as part of a political debate about states or languages. The views are not to pass judgment on what is set to happen in the near future. If you read and interpret them that way, then you’re really really missing the point... and you’re a moron too. Enjoy!
Apparently, a hostage is “a person held by one party in a conflict as security that specified terms will be met by the opposing party”. In other words, the safety of said hostage hangs in the balance and the hostage-taker poses a threat to the hostage’s life. Agreed? Good, then I’ll continue. Now, holding someone hostage in most parts of the civilised world is tantamount to an act of terror, or at its very least, an act of crime. In India for instance, as per section 364 of the Indian Penal Code,...
“Whoever kidnaps or abducts any person in order that such person may be murdered or may be so disposed of as to be put in danger of being murdered, shall be punished with imprisonment for life or rigorous imprisonment for a term which may extend to ten years, and shall also be liable to fine”
I shall safely assume at this point that you, good reader, agrees with me that errr... taking hostages are baaaad... Mmmkay? There’s a funny story I once read that some small hick-ass town in the United States punishes an unsuccessful attempt at suicide with the death penalty. Whether that’s true or not is immaterial. What matters is that it’s a damn funny story. Anyway, as far as an unsuccessful suicide attempt is concerned, the Indian Penal Code says...
“Whoever attempts to commit suicide and does any act towards the commission of such offence, shall be punished with simple imprisonment for a term which may extend to one year 1 or with fine, or with both”
People all over the world will tell you that it’s not the destination, but the journey that counts in life. One shouldn’t be preoccupied with reaching a point, instead one should take in the sights, the sounds and the smells along the way. Well your journey is over, dear reader, because here comes the point.
In the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh, a movement of secession has been ongoing since God knows how long for a separate state called Telangana, which as Wikipedia will tell you, means Land of the Telugus. The demand for a separate state has been on for a while and most recently, one of the most vocal advocates of a separate state, Mr Kalvakuntla Chandrashekhar Rao launched a fast-unto-death, demanding that the government create a separate state called Telangana.
This standoff went on for around 11 days and his health grew steadily worse, just as his supporters turned increasingly violent until the government finally blinked and said that the process of creating this new state would begin in January 2010. Well, now KCR (as he’s better known) is a hero to his people. Once he recovers his health, he will be garlanded, praised, poured milk upon, cheered etc. etc. Indian cult-of-personality and all that.
But what about the fact that what he effectively did was hold a human being hostage? What about the fact that his threat was to effectively kill a person if he did not get his state of Telangana? And what about the fact that what he was doing was really a case of attempted suicide? Albeit a very slow attempt. Will there be any imprisonment for him? Or a fine, even? Hell no.
For you see, the act of going on a fast-unto-death or a hunger strike has been a part of India’s cultural history, ever since its inception. Gandhi employed this particular tactic to great success and since then, numerous politicos have taken his cue and gone on these hunger strikes. Where does it all stem from? I don’t know.
But I have a theory. Threatening to kill oneself is merely a branch of a tree rooted so deeply in humanity’s collective mindset, that it’s often hard to imagine life without it. Each and every one of us has had a branch from that tree brush past us or whack us across the face at some time or the other in our lives. The name of the tree? Emotional blackmail/manipulation. Not really one of those Latin kingdon-phylum-class-species type names, but it’s a real tree.
The profundity of that last paragraph has just left me speechless, so I shall end here. As for you, gentle reader, you are advised to comment and share your views about this here topic with me... or I’ll never speak to you again.
Apparently, a hostage is “a person held by one party in a conflict as security that specified terms will be met by the opposing party”. In other words, the safety of said hostage hangs in the balance and the hostage-taker poses a threat to the hostage’s life. Agreed? Good, then I’ll continue. Now, holding someone hostage in most parts of the civilised world is tantamount to an act of terror, or at its very least, an act of crime. In India for instance, as per section 364 of the Indian Penal Code,...
“Whoever kidnaps or abducts any person in order that such person may be murdered or may be so disposed of as to be put in danger of being murdered, shall be punished with imprisonment for life or rigorous imprisonment for a term which may extend to ten years, and shall also be liable to fine”
I shall safely assume at this point that you, good reader, agrees with me that errr... taking hostages are baaaad... Mmmkay? There’s a funny story I once read that some small hick-ass town in the United States punishes an unsuccessful attempt at suicide with the death penalty. Whether that’s true or not is immaterial. What matters is that it’s a damn funny story. Anyway, as far as an unsuccessful suicide attempt is concerned, the Indian Penal Code says...
“Whoever attempts to commit suicide and does any act towards the commission of such offence, shall be punished with simple imprisonment for a term which may extend to one year 1 or with fine, or with both”
People all over the world will tell you that it’s not the destination, but the journey that counts in life. One shouldn’t be preoccupied with reaching a point, instead one should take in the sights, the sounds and the smells along the way. Well your journey is over, dear reader, because here comes the point.
In the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh, a movement of secession has been ongoing since God knows how long for a separate state called Telangana, which as Wikipedia will tell you, means Land of the Telugus. The demand for a separate state has been on for a while and most recently, one of the most vocal advocates of a separate state, Mr Kalvakuntla Chandrashekhar Rao launched a fast-unto-death, demanding that the government create a separate state called Telangana.
This standoff went on for around 11 days and his health grew steadily worse, just as his supporters turned increasingly violent until the government finally blinked and said that the process of creating this new state would begin in January 2010. Well, now KCR (as he’s better known) is a hero to his people. Once he recovers his health, he will be garlanded, praised, poured milk upon, cheered etc. etc. Indian cult-of-personality and all that.
But what about the fact that what he effectively did was hold a human being hostage? What about the fact that his threat was to effectively kill a person if he did not get his state of Telangana? And what about the fact that what he was doing was really a case of attempted suicide? Albeit a very slow attempt. Will there be any imprisonment for him? Or a fine, even? Hell no.
For you see, the act of going on a fast-unto-death or a hunger strike has been a part of India’s cultural history, ever since its inception. Gandhi employed this particular tactic to great success and since then, numerous politicos have taken his cue and gone on these hunger strikes. Where does it all stem from? I don’t know.
But I have a theory. Threatening to kill oneself is merely a branch of a tree rooted so deeply in humanity’s collective mindset, that it’s often hard to imagine life without it. Each and every one of us has had a branch from that tree brush past us or whack us across the face at some time or the other in our lives. The name of the tree? Emotional blackmail/manipulation. Not really one of those Latin kingdon-phylum-class-species type names, but it’s a real tree.
The profundity of that last paragraph has just left me speechless, so I shall end here. As for you, gentle reader, you are advised to comment and share your views about this here topic with me... or I’ll never speak to you again.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
“What have you achieved?”
Long long ago in a city of steel far far away...
A smokey student hostel room
A tiny television set with a PS2 plugged in
Four pairs of eyes glued to the screen
A burly and hairy beast of a man crushes the PS2 controller’s keys to within an inch of their lives
A relatively smaller and yet almost as hirsute man with a taste for things profane nimbly taps the keys of his battered old PS2 controller.
Enough mood... Now on with the story. The beast man known henceforth as GC and the littler man called AMSTM were playing Pro-Evolution Soccer and were in the middle of a hotly contested match — That being said, most PES matches played in said room were fairly hotly contested anyway. This time though, it was personal... If memory serves, it was the 82nd minute and AMSTM pulled off a screamer of a goal, much to GC’s bitter disappointment.
GC’s anguish was compounded moments later, when one of the carefully crafted onscreen sprites scored another goal, doubling AMSTM’s lead. Being a sporting loser isn’t one of GC’s more well known qualities and so he stood up, like a gorilla in battle (making itself large) and bellowed at AMSTM, “WHAT HAVE YOU ACHIEVED?”
Silence....
I’ve been thinking of that line since the time I woke up this morning. Not for the same reasons as above obviously. For what it’s worth, I recall AMSTM being stunned witless by that outburst and the rest of the room cracking up with laughter. But anyway, back to the point... As we roll into December, the last month of this , the double-O decade, I found me asking that question of myself. “What have you achieved?”.
For sure, it’s been a tumultous and exciting decade, which saw me do a ton of foolish, fun and worthwhile things (sometimes all at once), it saw me meet a wide array of people; from the weird to the downright bizarre (you know who you are). I read a number of good books, saw some brilliant films, heard some awesome music — saw every single live music show I’ve ever been to, in this decade.
There’ve also been disappointments, failures, times that I’ve let myself, my family and my friends down, times I’ve been despondent, times when I felt tomorrow would suck even more. But none of this really amounts to having achieved anything. Educational qualifications happen. I don’t consider them achievements. News stories too, happen. They’re hardly achievements.
So what have I achieved? That being asked, what the hell have you achieved lately?
A smokey student hostel room
A tiny television set with a PS2 plugged in
Four pairs of eyes glued to the screen
A burly and hairy beast of a man crushes the PS2 controller’s keys to within an inch of their lives
A relatively smaller and yet almost as hirsute man with a taste for things profane nimbly taps the keys of his battered old PS2 controller.
Enough mood... Now on with the story. The beast man known henceforth as GC and the littler man called AMSTM were playing Pro-Evolution Soccer and were in the middle of a hotly contested match — That being said, most PES matches played in said room were fairly hotly contested anyway. This time though, it was personal... If memory serves, it was the 82nd minute and AMSTM pulled off a screamer of a goal, much to GC’s bitter disappointment.
GC’s anguish was compounded moments later, when one of the carefully crafted onscreen sprites scored another goal, doubling AMSTM’s lead. Being a sporting loser isn’t one of GC’s more well known qualities and so he stood up, like a gorilla in battle (making itself large) and bellowed at AMSTM, “WHAT HAVE YOU ACHIEVED?”
Silence....
I’ve been thinking of that line since the time I woke up this morning. Not for the same reasons as above obviously. For what it’s worth, I recall AMSTM being stunned witless by that outburst and the rest of the room cracking up with laughter. But anyway, back to the point... As we roll into December, the last month of this , the double-O decade, I found me asking that question of myself. “What have you achieved?”.
For sure, it’s been a tumultous and exciting decade, which saw me do a ton of foolish, fun and worthwhile things (sometimes all at once), it saw me meet a wide array of people; from the weird to the downright bizarre (you know who you are). I read a number of good books, saw some brilliant films, heard some awesome music — saw every single live music show I’ve ever been to, in this decade.
There’ve also been disappointments, failures, times that I’ve let myself, my family and my friends down, times I’ve been despondent, times when I felt tomorrow would suck even more. But none of this really amounts to having achieved anything. Educational qualifications happen. I don’t consider them achievements. News stories too, happen. They’re hardly achievements.
So what have I achieved? That being asked, what the hell have you achieved lately?
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