The season of noise, malice and charity...

DISCLAIMER: I will probably be roasted mercilessly for this particular piece. It must be stated and clarified at this point that I am not against festivals. I am not particularly opposed to the historical or mythological reasoning behind them either. If you are easily offended or belong to the BJP, please turn away now.

Noise, has rarely bothered me. I've had most of the music to which I listen, described as "noise" by various parties. I don't particularly find the noise of traffic grating or tiresome. Noisy little babies on aircraft don't annoy me very much either. Hell, I can even put up with those blithering idiots in Yorks bellowing at the top of their lungs (like gladiators in a contest to ascertain once and for all who is the stupidest in the coliseum of idiocy), as if the slightest decrease in volume would trigger their immediate demise.

Crowds at a football game or cricket game or the audiences at metal shows, people goingclickety-clack with their pens or sucking on the end of them, folks yawning loudly or cracking their knuckles in my midst. None of this bothers me. This time of year, however, is one of those rare occasions when noise doesn't just bother me. It irritates me to the point of frothing at the mouth and spewing venomous insults at the men and women who brought those imbeciles into the world that are ruining my peace and tranquility with their noise. I refer, of course to fireworks.

It was the autumn of 1997 in Delhi-... well, I'm not sure it can be defined really as autumn, because in Delhi, it feels like there's only summer and a few months of winter. Anyway, I'll call it autumn, because it was then that I took the decision to not just stop "celebrating" anything with fireworks, but to sever my ties with them forever. Child labour practices, the toll on nature and the impact on general health and well-being drove me away from them.

Ever since, every Diwali, it seems to be a case of people trying to compete with one another (just as they do with weddings, birthday parties and such) to see who can be bigger, louder and perhaps, even more lavish in their "celebrations". The bottle-rockets are cool. At least, they look pretty. The anars or flowerpots as they are sometimes called, are pretty as well. Rammstein's pyrotechnic display — now that's good fireworking! But what is the point of those hydrogen bombs, cherry bombs or those infernal colossally long braided strings of flash bang crackers or ladis? Honestly, what part of Ram's homecoming to Ayodhya has anything to with being noisy?

TANGENT: The Simpsons were, as always absolutely right:
"Celebrate the independence of your nation by blowing up a small part of it," says a store clerk (not Apu) to Homer as he buys an M-320 firecracker in the episode titled "Summer of 4ft 2". Admittedly, Diwali has little to nothing to do with the independence of any nation, but you get the point of the reference. END TANGENT

Then, the government sets forth and the High Court passes some stupid order about no crackers after 10pm as it is detrimental to peace and quiet. As if to rub it in your face, you then have a police van patrolling the area, with some paandu hollering at the top of his lungs at 11pm urging the public to keep it down as they will be fined if they keep up with the noise. What about his noise through his crackling speaker? Finally, a representative for Mumbai Police has the audacity to throw figures around claiming x number of arrests. But how many of those were actually for disturbing the peace and how many were unrelated, possibly drunk and disorderly charges?

Therein lies the source of my malice this season.

On a different note: Shoaib Akhtar, Pakistan cricket's bad boy, as the media would have you believe, (and why? Because he whooped a wussy teammate's leg with a bat?) is going around India performing acts of philanthropy with children's charities. He went to meet the underprivileged, the differently-abled and now, he's talking of adoption. I don't know whether it's a PR stunt to clear up his image and project him differently or not. Frankly, I don't want to know. What I do know is that PR had little to nothing to do with the looks on this children's faces as he held them, played cricket with them or just talked to them. For all the talk of "Jung ke maidaan mein.." and L.O.C (Lions of Cricket, apparently) and what a "Ghamaasan Yudh" there was going to be when India and Pakistan "locked horns" on the cricket field, I've yet to see a happier little non-Pakistani kid in a Pakistan jersey than the one Mr Akhtar draped his jersey over. The kid proceeded to wear it and run around. Why, you may well ask, should that be so surprising? After all, you see a lot of Indian kids wearing England football shirts, Australian cricket shirts, South African rugby shirts. The writer of this article was even considering, at one point, buying a Togolese football jersey! But an Indian wearing a Pakistani team-shirt?
HEAVENS FORFEND (!)

Never mind the philanthropy, never mind the PR, never mind Togo. The image of that kid makes it seem like the holiday season to me and brings a smile to my face. A smile that blowing up half my eardrum and about 3 square feet of land, in a plume of noxious, sulphur-tinged smoke never could.

Pictures courtesy:
Wikipedia

Rise up! Rise up!! SEPULNATION!!!

After what seemed like a wait that spanned all eternity, — considering the April 1 gig at MMRDA, Mumbai didn't come to fruition — here it was!

SEPULTURA IN BANGALORE!!!
November 3, 2007

This is not the detailed blow-by-blow account of the show, although that will be posted on a different blog soon and will be linked via this website. Worry not! This is more of a pictorial summary of the show and its periphery.

Firstly, how in God's name did I get there? See that bad boy on the right? That was my ticket into the show and into the absolute front, beyond the barrier and among the security guards, support band members, band crews and my arch nemesis-turned-nice guy of the tour there, Andre, as represented pictorially below. This was basically the go-to-guy for any and ALL matters pertaining to Sepultura.
So, this ends a large chunk of the written part of this account. Be assured that you haven't heard the last on this topic from me, for there are tons of stories, not just from the show, but from the two days in Bangalore, that must be told, stupid as they were.




For now though, enjoy ze photos!

Ominous clouds overhead. We're in for some rain, chaps!

The changing face of Andreas Kisser



Derrick Green unleashes another gut-rumbling growl


Sepultura's banging rhythm section. Paulo Jr. above and our good buddy, Jean Dolabella below.

Setlist complete with the plectrum thrown very kindly at yours truly by Paulo Jr.


"Thank you, Goodnight!"

PTM

It comes along every few months and each time, its effects seem to be growingly crippling. This is the fifth time I have encountered this syndrome (because technically the fourth time and fifth time were squashed into one). The syndrome I refer to is what I like to call Post-TwentyFour-Melancholy or just PTM for short. Some of you will doubtless be screaming, "Yeah? Well why isn't it called PTFM?!" The answer to that is dual-fold but fairly simple. First of all, it's my abbreviation and I'll make it the way I want and secondly, it's much catchier. Season six of Fox's amazing TV show 24 drew to a close for me last week after I marathoned all twenty four episodes in about two and a half days.

For the uninitiated, 24 is a television show starring Kiefer Sutherland, Mary Lynn Rajskub, James Morrison among a smörgåsbord of ever-changing cast members (thanks to death and all that). Each season revolves around one day, with twenty four episodes that each depict one hour of the day. The whole thing is set in real-time, complete with snazzy editing, multi-screen action as well as a nifty little clock.

Aside from all that, the program itself depicts some crazy situations, all centred around Los Angeles, it must be mentioned and some remarkably cool lines and ways of getting around problematic situations. The twists and turns of every one of the six convoluted stories depicted so far, have been unpredictable and at times, shocking, creating some seriously rivetting television. Sure, a large amount of the stuff depicted therein is fairly improbable and implausible. The violence is doled out in extreme quantities and at times, to greatly exaggerated and grotesque levels. Plotholes are rife throughout the show and some idiots will take a certain sense of pride in pointing these out, no matter how obvious they may be, just to show how cool and non-conformist they are and perhaps in their feeble minds, even ABOVE 24 and its makers they are.

Right there is where the beauty of this show lies. In its sheer ability to entertain you, if you are willing to suspend disbelief or your own predilections, the series is unparalleled and unsurpassed and will probably be for a long long time to come.

That being said, it's obvious not everyone will be able to relate to the show. Hell, at times, even I can't relate to it. But to me it represents that immersion into a different reality and state of being that has been matched to this point only by Hideo Kojima's seminal game Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty and Haruki Murakami's Kafka by the Shore. The point is, when something can immerse you in its essence so much as to debilitate you entirely, leaving you numb and walking around senseless, it ceases to be a film, game or a book anymore. It becomes incredibly hard to pinpoint just what it is that was powerful enough to leave you so depressed once it's gone.

The saddest part is that that feeling can never be replicated, no matter how many times you read, play or watch that which left you so numb. Not sure where I'm going with this, but yeah...

Patriot Games

After all the hoop-la of *that* bus ride and the teeming legions that thronged the sides of the roads that the open top vehicle drove through. After all the televisual, printed and real-time imagery of the saffron, white and green to which we were subjected for as long as that Twenty20 tournament lasted and a few days after. After enduring random blasts of that infernal Chak de India song, newscasters going ga-ga about random things to do with Indian cricket, money being hurled here and there for "bringing honour to India", mastheads of newspapers being splattered with the tricolour and so on and so forth. After all that overtly cheap showiness, I find me asking myself, "Is THIS what constitutes patriotism?" Is coming together during cricket matches and high-fiving strangers when the Indian team gets a wicket, patriotism? (Note: The Australian demolition machine seems to have put paid to a large amount of the showiness, that's for sure) Interestingly, I also find myself wondering where this patriotism disappears when the team is whomped by another.

Moving away from the construct of "patriotism" in sport, where is this patriotism when pushing and shoving people to get into public transport, when selling second grade goods to fellow Indians, when neglecting roads that need repair, schools that need establishing and pretty much any basic civic duty that needs to be carried out and isn't, time and time again? Where is this patriotism and love for one's country at that point?

Where does all the gusto of the pledge I was made to (and am certain a number of others were too) memorise in school, go?

"India is my country. All Indians are my brothers and sisters. (Sisters?! A glance at any daily newspaper will say more than I ever could about *that* little irony)

I love my country. I am proud of its rich and varied culture. I shall always strive to be worthy of it. (This part never fails to make me crack up — how exactly are we striving to be in any way worthy of it?)

I shall love and respect my parents, teachers and elders. (Meh. It COULD happen)

To my country and my people I pledge my devotion. (Loosely worded sentence that helps no one in any way whatsoever. I could be devoted to violence and carnage and could pledge the delivery of that to my country and its people. In other news, Gujarat elections are just around the corner)

I solemnly pledge to work with dedication to preserve and strengthen the freedom and integrity of the nation. (Gujarat. 'Nuff said)

I further affirm that I shall never resort to violence and that all differences and disputes relating to religion, language, region or other political or economic grievances should be settled by peaceful and constitutional means. (Aaaaand with an unprecedented, hat-trick of references... that's right, it's Gujarat again! If this were Neo Sports, we'd cut to an ad break just as I said "that's right")

In their well being and prosperity alone lies my happiness. (And the Easter Bunny will be participating in a Hungry Hungry Hippos Showdown with Santa Claus, a leprechaun and Shaft... John Shaft at the Wankhede stadium on October 19. All ticket proceeds will be donated to charity by Niranjan Shah)"

Amid all this, have any of us actually examined the concept of patriotism? "Love and devotion to one's country" is a great definition and answer to give a school teacher at the age of 5 and receive a round of applause from the class. But what is it, really?

Looking at it very very objectively, doesn't it seem like a bit of a stupid concept that one patriotism requires one's love and devotion for a land one was born in with no choice whatsoever? It's not like one had any means of selection in terms of which country to be born in and which people one would have to refer to as one's brothers and sisters. So by virtue of pure dumb luck, I was born in a country home to a pluralistic society, without any prescribed religion or way to live (minus the "don't be homosexual" which Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code states, but the Fundamental Right of Life and Liberty under Article 21 of the Indian Constitution contradicts). Call it freedom. Call it tolerance. Call it secularism . Call it whatever the hell you want, but it’s the bedrock on which this nation was founded and from which we stray at our peril. It’s what has defined us as Indians and no flag-waving, chest-beating nonsense will act as a substitute for.

As far as something one has no direct control over goes, patriotism seems to me, to be a very personal concept. I can choose not to be patriotic, just as easily as I can choose not to. If I complied with the former, I could very happily put up with "anti-national" and "desh-drohi" jibes from people, if I knew inside that I did not believe in the country or what it stood for. Similarly, I could choose to be "patriotic" and brandish my face paint, my flag and my appropriate headgear every time a sports event came along, as a number of those people with the "desh-drohi" remarks do, I suspect. OR, I could choose to be patriotic (not the lack of inverted commas here) and actually live according to the tenets laid down by the constitution and in essence, be a good person, thereby, be a good Indian.

Exhausting as this diatribe was to put down and I'm sure will have been to read (read: Moid), it is nowhere near as exhausting as it was to watch the absolute unashamed exploitation of little children on the altar of "patriotism" on the blog of a ermm... person some of us have had recent interactions with. Children, barely 4 or 5, being made to sing "patriotic songs" and being exalted as being brave for being Kashmiri and singing that. You think those kids even had a clue as to what they were singing? I refuse to endorse such exploitation and will not be linking that travesty. Although you are most welcome to look it up yourself. (Hint: Numerous hints as to the blogger's identity are liberally strewn all over this page).

To bring this sporadic, free-form and fairly stream-of-conscious spray of words to a close, I'm not sure what level of patriotism I find myself on, if any. But I do know this — patriotism to me does not represent bringing Pakistan down at any opportunity or getting all worked up when Narendra Modi is denied a US Visa.

Pictures courtesy:
Kwik Essential
Benjamin's Worldview
Worth 1000

What Steady Eddie says and more...

Steady Eddie says a lot.
It matters not whether you pay attention to him or not.
He just harps on and on about the virtues of consistency, moderation and steadiness.
Maybe he has a point — who's to say he doesn't?

At the end of the day, Steady Eddie, aside from being an Australian comedian and a stupid looking toy truck, is only a device I'm using to illustrate a point. He's merely a pleasant and happy enough mascot working for an evil corporation (in this case, my blog and NOT the good people at Disney), if you will. But I digress... Steady Eddie feels, as he mentioned earlier, that consistency and steadiness are man's (or woman's — Eddie's no misogynist) best friends.

I find it hard to disagree with him. For the exclamation point on this theory, I only have to look as far as the jingoistic celebrations after the Indian cricket team returned from their triumphant campaign at the ICC World Twenty20 Championships (or whatever the bureaucrats like to call it to avoid calling it a "World Cup"). I need not go into the details of the five-hour open-top bus ride, the hordes that thronged for a glimpse of their "all-conquering heroes", the insane hold-ups in traffic that Dhoni later expressed immense pride about achieving and the ridiculous demonstration of political hob-nobbing executed by Sharad Pawar and his buddies to curry favour with the masses.

But wait, that wasn't all. The board and individual state governments lavished tax-payer money all over the winners, showering them with cash, cars, property, the works! This after threats of cutting their pay after a lousy World Cup... Honestly, these guys should write a book on parenting. How to beat the living daylights out of your kids when they screw up and buy them a Rolex after performing one good deed by the BCCI! Hell, I'd buy a copy of it. Still, that's not all bad, considering the fact that renowned (erm... honestly insert own word here — communal instigator, mass manipulator or just a simple cocktail of expletives; take your pick) Narendra Modi was humbled into giving Irfan Pathan and his brother Yusuf some sort of a monetary gift. So, all's well right?

Well, not entirely. Look at the braying idiots who danced alongside the bus and spared no opportunity to yell out, "Chak de India" (more on that later). These very idiots were the same fickle minded oafs who burnt effigies after the World Cup campaign in the West Indies earlier this year. They were the same ones talking about how the whole team should be sacked. They were the same morons lining up to burn down the houses of people whose only fault was being outclassed, outperformed and outdone in a game. That's right, a game. So they were defeated, big deal. I'm sure they were plenty disappointed themselves without having to face the misplaced wrath of millions of fools vicariously living their lives and ambitions through the fortunes of a sports team. That may seem harsh, but if you look at it really objectively, it really is that way.

As for Chak de India; a fun movie, no doubt about it — the "misfit team with a disgraced coach" Mighty Ducks construct meets socio-cultural differences a la Saturday Night Lights meets the phenomenon of match-fixing like Mean Machine or The Longest Yard meets the fish-out-of-water antics of Cool Runnings. Mesmerisingly confusing, non? Anyway, the film is about hockey and women's hockey to be more precise and heralds the coming of age of a team of prima donnas, recluses, violent apes and many more as they take on the world in a sport that is being smothered into remission by cricket. The film takes some brilliantly scathing potshots at cricket and this nation's obsession with it. Marvellous stuff! What is silly is that the film chose to promote itself via the India-England cricket series. What is ridiculous is the fact that the title track from this film blasted throughout the aforementioned Twenty20 series (and the Ind-Eng one) whenever the Indian team did something applause-worthy. But what is downright idiotic is the way the song has arguably turned into India's official sports (read: cricket) anthem. The film is about bringing another sport to life and this is how these idiots use it? (Editor's Note: "Use" is very apt in this context) Not only does the original message of the film get downplayed, but the BCCI unwittingly (and now I am convinced they have no wits, only sackloads of money) uses a film with a message like this for their jingoistic "cricket spirit".

Steady Eddie, therefore, recommends a lighter touch.
With overly extravagant adulation comes borderline (or in some cases, real) psychotic criticism. Steer clear of both and find some middle ground. Let the boys enjoy and savour their (that's right, THEIR) win and provide constructive criticism when they lose, in a forum conducive to discussion and debate and not a witch hunt (which means, Bishen Singh Bedi can count himself out).

But Eddie's not done yet... Alongside a call for greater discretion, moderation and restraint from the board, politicians and "fans" (yeah, fans of a "W" in the result column and not a team), he almost forgot to mention the need for consistency and steadiness from the main actors in this, the theatre of cricket — the players themselves.

Far too often these days do we witness the ugliness of a bowler gesticulating, mouthing off and generally going way over the top with his on-field antics. Certainly, a bit of fiery aggression is always healthy, but when it turns into a spectacle — whether crude, unsportsmanlike or just plain immature — and overshadows the game, it turns into a problem. A problem like the one we're witnessing at the moment with a few players in the Indian team, including but not restricted to Shanthakumaran Sreesanth and Harbhajan Singh. Both bowlers have snarled, glared and indulged in various amounts of posturing with little to no gain in this current series against Australia (so far anyway). Truth be told, they've been overtly aggressive ever since they started playing in the team. Sreesanth's already felt the burn of fines and warnings from match referees during a number of series. As for his effectiveness, it's clear that his accuracy and abilities are being undermined by his shenanigans. Whether or not he can bring out his A-game in this series remains to be seen. But what is certain, is that if Mr Sreesanth fails to incorporate Steady Eddie's views on moderation and restraint, we can look forward to seeing him warming the bench a whole lot, as he serves his match bans.

More on aggression and its practitioners in the next post...

Pictures courtesy:
The Hindu
www.cricbuzz.com

End-game Bliss and the power of Machine Head

What, I ask you, gentle readers, do the following concepts have in common?

• The winning runs being completed after Sachin slaps the ball through the covers off the last ball of a tight match and scampers up and down the pitch.
• The appearance of the black screen and credits sequence at the end of James Cameron's Titanic.
• A quick glance at one's academic exam results that reveal that one didn't do as badly as one initially thought.
• The sigh that one emits as one relieves oneself after sprinting out of the bus, into one's building, up the stairs, into one's home and then, the bathroom after holding it in for ever so long.

The answer (in my book, at least) is the notion of End-game Bliss. Relief. "Oh my sweet Lord, it's finally over". I experienced that earlier today and not because of any of the reasons above, it must be added. It has more to do with the conclusion of something pointless I found myself trapped in.
Essentially, I am a born-optimist. I've always been optimistic in my outlook to life, whether to do with interpersonal relationships, the weather or even about a film being good/better than the reviews suggest.

This week I found my optimism smashed to bits about a tiny and rather inconsequential matter that I thought reason held the answer to. Reason is and always has been touted as man's greatest gift and one that seemingly makes him smarter and better off than all other organisms. Bigotry, narcissism and narrow-mindedness brings man back down to the levels (or perhaps lower than that) of other organisms. But, back to it. Reason failed this time around. It's like Navroze Behramfram (aka Living Legend) always said: "No product appeals to all consumers".

So it isn't a big deal really, more so because I'm relieved that it's all finally over. But what was it that really really pushed that sigh of relief out of me? An acquaintance I had the misfortune of making recently established his intent to finally leave me alone in the following message:

"It would be better if you have a control over your language . It has run amock like your mind has.
Life is much about discipline....
Good Bye .... Have peace.....This is my last visit to this Blog....the blog whose author have Zero knowledge about a subject but would still care to be a master in that .
You did not deserve my time ...."

I certainly didn't deserve the time and energy you lavished upon me — all those beautiful comments, messages, tips, nuggets of advice and miscellaneous information. I really am flattered, touched and tickled that you saw fit to spend your precious time heaping all this upon me (would have rather that you didn't, but it's alright), when it's abundantly clear that you have so much earth-shaking work to be doing. *Sigh*

Right! Now that that's out of the way, let's move on to more important things...
Like Machine Head! I am not referring to the Deep Purple album here, although that's good as well, but the Robb Flynn-fronted, Adam Duce-bassed, Dave McClain-drummed and Phil Demmel-lead guitared band from Oakland, California. Six albums later — each replete with its own unique sound and vibe, it must be added — the band are finally getting their due as one of the most respected in their field.

And why not, blasting The Blackening, Through the Ashes of Empires and Burn My Eyes — or albums 6, 5 and 1 for simplicity sake — from my phones and into my ears all weekend, I rediscovered that propulsion effect their music has on me. In that, it literally propels me skyward, by enhancing whatever emotion I'm feeling at the time, be it agony, rage, ambivalence, unfettered joy, glee and indeed, every other entity on the spectrum of emotions.

There's just something about certain pieces of music, artistes or bands that do so much to a person, from sending a chill up one's spine to comforting one when one is down in the dumps. Heartbreak, stress and uncertainty become a thing of the past when that song (or artiste/band) is on and all is well with the world. For me, it's Machine Head who head the list of the few that can do that to me, with the vocals (that range from soothing to downright visceral), the drumming (tectonic plate-shift inducing), the guitars (silky smooth and piercingly quick coupled with slow meaty chugging) and the ever-present rumbling bass.

And it's listening to Machine Head after one of those mentally-exhausting experiences I mentioned above that sends the relief through my system, flooding it with wholesome goodness, contributing to my End-game Bliss.

An open letter to one Mr Pawan

In light of the fact that a certain person has decided to take on my response to his/her buddy's self-righteous claims with some more bull-honkey , I am compelled to respond with this polite letter.

Dear Mr Pawan

After baiting that notoriously self-obsessed little man or little woman (some Louisa May Alcott there for you) that is little indian, I finally got a response, from you, one of his cronies, no doubt (Or maybe little Indian is you and in fact, called Pawan, in which case, a warm View from Beneath hello to you, Pawan).

As the first time visitor you no doubt are, allow me to familiarise you with how this place works. First of all, we don't work under any pretenses here — everything is done with a view to present ideas (new and old) in a different form. Getting under one's skin in a playful and jest-laden way is part and parcel of this particular blog and its author. But, at some point, the author would also like the readers of his blog to give a bit (teeny weeny bit) of thought to his ideas and views, ergo, to consider where he's coming from, no matter how right wing, elitist or plain authoritarian he may seem. Legitimising his quest is the fact that he offers mere opinions, not gospel truth and nor does he claim to.

Sidenote to non-Pawan persons: Please check the post titled Of self-righteousness and glass stomachs for a clearer understanding of why "Pawan" is so riled with the creator and preserver of this blog. Now, without further ado, here is his response:

Pawan said...

You confronting to "little Indian" in a way shows that you like to argue without anything to support your arguments. Since his post maybe against your ideology , you have gone ahead and ridculed him and also not proved anything .I hope you lear from Little Indian of how to present the facts,instead of Yellow Journalism

Pawan

www.thekashmir.wordpress.com

Now, I did say earlier that the aim was to get under everyone's skin in jest. There is, however an exception and that would be the self-righteous jackass (really hurts you when I call you that, doesn't it?) that is little indian. There is no jesting with someone as screwy as you — a creature who believes his research is the final word on all research and that all opinions that differ from his are baseless. Speaking of baseless, I'm yet to see any official evidence of his "facts". Yeah Pawan, where does he have anything to support his arguments? At least I have reason behind me. What does that moron have, minus pig-headed self-righteousness and atrocious grammar? Not that yours is anything spectacular either, Pawan. After all no one "confronts to" anyone else. You confront someone.

As for proving anything, that wasn't my point. Not all of us are here to convince ourselves that we've proved something and pat ourselves on the back about the fabulous job we've done. "Yeah! That'll show them! They'll never mess with me and my immaculate understanding again." Maybe that helps you sleep better at night, but some of us like to question and dig for answers, as opposed to buying second hand views from a second hand guy wearing second hand shoes (I can only assume).

Furthermore, Pawan, are you aware of what "yellow journalism" is? I didn't think you would be, so here goes... More than just a buzz-word that you and your "revolution-making" buddies love to employ (along with the word "propaganda", of course), it refers to sensationalist, jingoistic and scandal-mongering journalism. Where, in what I can only assume to be your infinite wisdom do you find any hint of jingoism, sensationalism or scandal-mongering in my post, Pawan? Or are you going to respond to that with another stream of gibberish along the lines of "The Indian media has you brainwashed, you are a victim of propaganda!!"? However, your gibberish will be very poorly worded, I'm sure. Here's something you should look up, though: Scientology. Their PR officers are just as idiotic as you when it comes to responding to people who express disagreement with their ways, just as I'm doing with your "holier than thou" claims.

Finally, onto my ideology, which "his post" allegedly went against. You're damn right it did! I believe in free speech. I believe in awakening. I believe a person can see something that can change his/her perspective. Unlike you and your little indian friend who believe that they came out of the womb with an encyclopedia on Kashmir. Obviously, you did. There's no point denying it. Some of us were born as normal babies, who grew to be normal human beings, with human tendencies to seek out information and adapt our responses accordingly. I believe I have wasted enough time ruminating on your anal-retentive blog and your moronic response.

My advice to you: Buy an English grammar text book and get a life!

Hugs and kisses,

Karan Pradhan

P.S. - Just thought that I'd let you know that I had a wee tête-à-tête with your hero, little indian and his take went as follows below. Oh yeah, so that you don't get confused, the red annotations are mine, Pawan:

To

Mr Karan Pradhan

As I have stated earlier,
I have the right to refuse to publish any comments on this issue.

I am NOT publishing yours. (oh, boo-hoo!)

You have a platform (that you call your “blog”) (and a damn good one at that; check out my cool tunes) where you make your feelings offensivly clear about any person who opposes your propaganda on Kashmir (last time I checked, I wasn't guilty of your deeds, so don't tag your failings onto me)

Instead of fouling (I believe it's "befouling" and it would be tough to do that after you've done such a great job of it yourself) my blogspage, please use your ownsite with whatever you wish to say; or anything against my writing There it will be better appreciated by your likeminded friends, the Pakistani sympathisers. Not on my site.

As I have said before,
I have full trust in my readers to decide for themselves
what is unbiased and true and what is propaganda.
(And as I have said before, you are a jackass)