Radio ga-ga

It was 5:30 a.m. The RJ had floored the gas pedal on his motorized mouth. Listening to him talk made me gasp for air. He bantered with his colleague in 5 languages as his breathless listeners tried to keep pace. I wanted to throttle him. How can you be happy at 5:30 in the morning? Between them, he and his colleague gave their listeners some pretty useful information. Like if you sprayed perfume on a grizzly, his fur would turn purple. Of course if you did that, everything would turn purple for you, so please don’t try it. I wondered why RJs didn’t come with a statutory warning. Their inescapable verbal violence was turning me into a palpitating schizophrenic with racing thoughts. For example: I was now imagining a perfumed purple-fur grizzly waltzing into the radio station and tickling the bejeezus out of the chattering RJ. Suddenly, Elton Jane began serenading us with “Circle of Life.” Just when he hit his highest note (suhhhhhh-kle), they cut him off and went into ad break. “Tonight, Shekar Gupta walks the talk with Karunanidhi” the announcer boomed enthusiastically. It was hard to get excited. DMK’s answer to Lord Rama could neither walk nor talk. The RJ bounced in. “And –duh-welcome back!” he yelled needlessly. Hello! You welcome back. I didn’t go anywhere. The RJ now had a caller on line who wanted to share his ‘most embarrassing moment’ with the world (isn’t anything sacred anymore?) for which he hoped to win a prize – can you think of anything more embarrassing than that? Dressed to the nines on his way to an off-limits celebrity event, the man had slipped in wet slush. “Nothing is slimier than wet slush,” he concluded soberly having learnt his lesson well. ‘You haven’t met Deve Gowda, have you?’ I thought. The RJ then brought on a spiritual guru, a life coach who began by saying, “Attachment to material things is the root of all misery. Practice detachment.” For a moment, I considered taking his advice and smashing the radio to smithereens. “Be calm in the face of provocation,” he continued. Okay, so I could play Beethoven while I gently pounded the radio with a hammer and a smile. There was only one problem: It was not my radio, I was in a moving vehicle on my way to work. I suddenly understood why Tarzan was such a happy man – he had his own transport and he sang his own songs. “Did you know mosquitoes have teeth?” the RJ asked brightly interrupting my thoughts. My mind raced away: Did mosquitoes get dental checks? If they bit diabetics long enough, would they have dental caries? Did they brush?.....
By the time I got to work, I was wide-eyed and dizzy and desperately need a nap...and that’s when you saw me. So, that’s the story. Now, please, I want my job back.

For Mozart, press 5

"For customer service, press 1.
For your bank statement, press 2.
For your account balance, press 3.
For money transfer, press 4.
Or wait for operator's assistance"
I waited.
"Sasha, Customer Service Executive. May I help you?"
"Hello?" I said cautiously.
"Hello."
"Hello?" I said again.
"Hello!"
"Hello?" I said a third time.
"Yes! Hello! What can I do for you?"
I exhaled. Satisfied I was talking to a live human being, I said, "My name is Aparna Muralidhar..."
"Yes Sir?"
I winced. "I want "stop payment" issued..."
"One moment, Sir" she said and put me on Mozart.
I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. A cheery image flashed across my mind's eye. I was skipping happily and singing "Joy to the World" in a brightly lit hall while I twisted Sasha's arm behind her back and held her head under water. I shook my head and the image passed. Mozart was interrupted.
"Raja, Customer Care Executive. May I help you?"
"Yes. My name is Aparna Muralidhar. I want stop payment..."
"Your account number Sir?"
"MISS!! M-I-S-S, MISS!!" I hissed.
"Sorry, there's no such number. Thank you for calling customer care. Have a good day Sir," he hung up.
I hung up calmly and dunked my head in the bucket of cold water that I always keep beside me when I call the bank. I wrapped a towel around my head, counted to 10, and dialled again.
"For customer service, press 1.
For your bank statement, press 2.
For your account balance, press 3.
For money transfer, press 4.
Or wait for operator's assistance"
I waited.
"Sasha, Customer Service Executive. May I help you?"
"Yes, I had called just now regarding stop payment..."
"One moment, Sir. I'll transfer your call..." Mozart.
"Raja, Customer Care Executive. May I help you?"
"Yes. My name is Aparna Muralidhar. My account number is..." I recited the 10-digit number. "I've issued a cheque that I want..."
"One moment Sir...yes, I have your account."
'Congratulations you twerp,' I thought. "As I was saying..."
"What is your birth date Sir?"
"8/5/1972 Madam" I sneered.
"And how old are you Sir?" He was apparently happy to belong to either gender.
"872 years Madam."
"One moment Mrs. Muralidhar...."
"MISS, MISS, MISS!!!! What are you? DEAF!?!?" I shrieked.
"Sorry Ms. Muralidhar. What can I do for you Sir?"
"I want to issue stop payment on a cheque," I said wearily.
"You'll have to speak to my colleague. I'll transfer the call, Sir..." Mozart.
"Keerti, Customer Relations Officer. Can I help you?"
"I hope so. Look, I've narrated this story thrice already. I just want a cheque to be stopped from being encashed..."
"Your account number Ma'am?"
I gave her the number.
"Cheque number, Ma'am?" At last we were getting somewhere.
"Sorry Ma'am, it's just been debited from your account a minute ago. Thank you for calling Customer Service Ma'am. Have a nice day."
You bet.
I counted to 10 and called the bank again. I was determined to have a nice day. When Sasha came on line, I said, "There's a bomb strapped to your chair, you twit. If you so much as breathe, they'll have to scrape you off the walls."
"One moment Sir," she said and put me on Mozart.

Coming Home to Roost (or Somebody Please Pinch America)

In 1973, America was brought to her knees by an incensed Saudi Arabia which imposed a total oil embargo on the US, punishing the superpower for siding with Israel in the Yom Kippur war. The short-lived embargo caused America to have a full-blown panic attack. Her concern over Middle-East oil dependence now turned into an obsession. Almost as soon as the embargo was lifted in March 1974, America struck a deal with Saudi Arabia. The House of Saud was wooed with political, economic, and technological support (and if required military protection) for its continued rule and the "modernization" of the Saudi Kingdom. The ancient desert land would be converted into an oasis of unrivalled wealth and opulence. The House of Saud would rule forever. In exchange for uninterrupted oil supply. It was an irresistible deal for the Saudis with their volatile neighbours, lack of military might, and plenty of oil. America's corporates went ballistic in giving the desert kingdom an image makeover. World class goods, services, and facilities soon turned Saudi into a mecca of every luxury that money could buy. It also gave the new generation of Saudis access to the best education system in the West. Their lifestyles changed. They moved away from the traditional Wahabi culture of puritanism, modesty, humility, and submission to their faith and became brazenly materialistic which was an affront to the conservative Wahabis and angered them greatly. One man was witness to the "deal of the century" between Saudi Arabia and America: John Perkins.

For over a decade, Perkins worked as an economic hit man for the American government. His job was to assist in what he terms America's "empire building" - not by military conquest but by economic conquest. America's empire builders are differently attired warriors whose battles are fought in corporate boardrooms and financial institutions around the world. In his book "Confessions of an Economic Hit Man," Perkins describes in shocking and sometimes morbidly fascinating detail America's modus operandi that catapulted her to Sole Superpower status.

Economic hit men are academically brilliant economists who cook the books of Third World economies to produce over-inflated and mostly falsified data to justify granting of huge loans by American controlled international financial institutions to desperately poor countries in a supposed bid to modernize them and bring them into the mainstream. Mammoth infrastructure, electrification, and engineering projects are undertaken by American corporates. In reality, the returns from these projects will never be enough to repay the loans. Once the countries are mired in debts that they cannot repay, America calls in her "pound of flesh" in the form of access to natural resources, crucial votes in international political bodies, trade concessions, and land for military bases. What follows is large scale land and resource grabbing, destruction of ecosystems and indigenous cultures. As an economic hit man, Perkins has seen plenty of economies spill their guts; he's helped rip apart some of them. In Indonesia, Columbia, Panama, Venezuela, Guatemala, Ecuador, Iran, and Iraq, Perkins describes the rise and fall of regimes at America's whims.

When the economic hit men run into opposition, the jackals step in to try and bring their opponents around with threats and bribes. If they fail, the CIA arranges for the opponent's permanent disposal. Latin and South American history books are littered with dead heroes who took on American "corporatocracy." Omar Torrijos of Panama, Salvador Allende of Chile, Jaime Roldos of Ecuador, Jacobo Arbenz of Guatemala...Perkins tells their stories - their struggles, their heroism, their martyrdom all of which proved too little to halt the roll of the juggernaut. If the jackals fail, the American military steps in to forcefully take what doesn't rightfully belong to America - in unprovoked acts of aggression against civilian populations that pose no threat to the United States...like they did in Iraq. America's ill-advised misadventures in Middle Eastern politics is now legendary. She's saddled with Israel who she can't offload because of domestic compulsions, and she's never going to be trusted by the Arabs because of the Israeli albatross around her neck. Decades of tight-rope walking have taken their toll on America, and her growing impatience has made her impulsive and foolish in the Middle East.

Perkins' cathartic outpouring reads like a story searching the landscape for a place to wash off the blood on his own hands. Perkins sketches Roldos and Torrijos with boyish admiration and a yearning envy of their courage of conviction - something he readily admits he lacked for a good part of his career. His story forces the reader to face his/her own culpability in driving our world to the brink of disaster. Every page in Perkins' book underlines the power of the individual and is a subtle call to the reader to be the change that we seek in our world; it forces us to acknowledge that each of us can make a difference for better or for worse, and Perkins comes away with a heightened awareness of this truth from his encounters with the characters in his book.

Having interacted with the people in Third World countries he was assigned to, Perkins knows that they are not anti-democracy, anti-progress, or anti-America. They are anti-greed. They resent a foreign economy's intrusive barge-in. It doesn't help that America is usually clueless about the cultural complexities she barges into. They resent the dollar's purchasing power that corrupts natives and pushes those on the fringes, off the cliff entirely. It angers them that when they oppose America in their own land, her characteristic response is "Go jump." Perkins describes the corporatocracy as a marauding giant that devours 25% of the Earth's resources while comprising only 5% of its population. America teaches and rewards reckless wantoness and has become a society that judges its people not by what they are but by what they have. "The lives of those who "make it" and their accoutrements - their mansions, yachts, and private jets - are presented as models to inspire us all to consume, consume, consume. Every opportunity is taken to convince us that purchasing things is our civic duty, that pillaging the earth is good for the economy and therefore serves our higher interests," says Perkins of a society where more is less. He describes this blood-thirsty quest for global dominance as "a monstrous machine that requires exponentially increasing amounts of fuel and maintenance so much so that in the end, it will have consumed everything in sight and will be left with no choice but to devour itself."

In the same world, 24,000 people die of hunger every single day; 12 million American families are unsure of their next meal; 30% of the world's pollution is caused by America's rogue corporates who have contributed significantly to punching the ozone hole. When nature hits back, the whole world pays for America's myopic self-indulgence.

In Indonesia, Perkins meets a University student who tells him: "Stop being so greedy and selfish. Realize there is more to the world than your big houses and fancy stores. People are starving and you worry about oil for your cars. Babies are dying of thirst and you search the fashion magazines for the latest styles...You shut your ears to the voices of those who try to tell you these things. You label them radicals or communists. You must open your hearts to the poor and downtrodden instead of driving them further into poverty and servitude. There's not much time left. If you don't change, you're doomed."

A proud ignoramus, America knows little and cares even less about the world she inhabits. A genuine lack of knowledge and interest in other cultures allows Americans to believe that in all matters of governance and economics, America knows best. Her hyperbolic rhetoric and her "it's either my way or the highway" approach to all negotiations fails to factor in aspects of culture, religion, tradition, and other complex regional forces that influence the politics and the economics of a society; that democracy and capitalism as she knows and practices it is not the "one size fits all" solution to all the grey-shaded ills of the world. Leading a blinkered, self-centered existence, with a stubborn petulance that demands the world's indulgence, she invites the wrath of extremism against her citizens and to her shores. Labelling this wrath fundamentalism-terrorism-communism, America is happy to bracket the phenomenon and play aggrieved victim to the hilt while never acknowledging her own role in its growth.

In 1977, on one of his visits to Iran, Perkins meets Yamin a proud Persian trying to save the sanctity of his land from the Shah's sellout. Iran's beautiful mountainous desert land is as old and complex as its civilization. "The desert is a symbol," Yamin tells Perkins. The Shah who has been installed after America has overthrown Iran's democratically elected Mohammad Mossadegh, is lording over Iran. Openly pro-American, the Shah has sold the beautiful desert land (and his soul) to the corporatocracy. A Flowering Desert project is underway to green the desert. The corporates will make a killing, but to Yamin and his countrymen, the desert is not an opportunity for exploitation. It is a sacred relationship between the Beduouins and their beloved land. "The desert is our environment. The Flowering Desert project threatens nothing less than the destruction of our entire fabric. How can we allow this to happen?...We are the desert," says Yamin passionately. His words fall on deaf ears till Ayatollah Khomeni and his clerics instigate a riotous and violent street uprising to snatch Iran from the hands of the Shah. The Shah is forced flee to Egypt and then to America to escape the murderous rage of the Ayatollah.

It would be unfair to attribute all of America's success to corporate greed. Victims of humanitarian crises around the world have been beneficiaries of American altruism for decades. Her unconditional respect and recognition of merit and hard work has made America home to millions of non-Americans. America's impressive roll-call of innovators in every field is a tribute to her legacy of nuturing and rewarding individual creativity. She has it made and she's willing to share her wealth and success with all those who keep her banner flying high. Usually fair and impartial in her judgements in her own land, America's vibrant democracy affords her citizens a genuinely optimistic chance to constantly better their lives. She celebrates not just individual successes but glorious comebacks as well. She loves to pull people out of the dumps, dust them over, give them a second shot at the "American Dream" and cheer them from the sidelines as they come in for their home run. All this keeps her forever young, bold, and creative - a reputation that she guards jealously. It also makes her terribly restless and willing to do whatever it takes to stay Numero Uno - including crossing her shores to find the resources that will keep her keeping on. America is benevolent and beautiful but only as long as she stays home.

America has never had a distinct culture of her own in her 2-century-old existency. Dubbed the melting pot of the world, she makes up her culture as she goes along. Now is Nirvana. Her insensitive meddling with cultures that are as old as civilization itself is regarded as an unconscionable transgression by the more conservative keepers of their cultures. When the clash threatens a value system, reactionary rage is bound to throw up die-hard defenders of their faiths and lands. Rampaging the earth on the lookout for the next big buy, America has managed to make the "American Dream" a global nightmare with entire societies trying desperately to keep up with the Joneses. Technological leaps in communication (and the CIA's own declassifed documents) have now made it possible for everyone to see what's happening everywhere. And there are plenty of people who don't like what they see and have access to the same technology to demonstrate how offended they are. In the much cliched "global village" there are no more well-kept secrets. So now, the chickens are coming home to roost.

"On May 7, 2003, a group of American lawyers representing more than thirty thousand indigenous Ecuadorian people filed a $1 billion lawsuit...against ChevronTexaco Crop. The suit asserts that between 1971 and 1992, the oil giant dumped into open holes and rivers over four million gallons per day of toxic waste water contaminated with oil, heavy metals, and carcinogens, and the company left behind nearly 350 uncovered waste pits that continue to kill both people and animals."

With her history of engineered assassinations and political coups in foreign lands to serve her own interests, her unprovoked aggression against weaker societies to enslave their resources, her brazen mining of the Earth's resources beyond her own shores, her bull in a china shop stomping on delicate toes, aggressive trading tactics, and gluttonous greed, America wonders (seemingly innocently) why the world loves to hate her. Perhaps it's time the world gave America a wake-up pinch.

"Is There A God?"

Manmohan Singh: Yes, and I am her most faithful servant.

Nicolas Sarkozy: Only in France.

Sanjay Dutt: I hope so.

China: No, but if you place an order we can make Him.

George Bush: I am He. Duh.

Salman Khan: There'd better be.

CPM: We're not saying there is no God. We're just saying show us the proof there is.

Arun Jaitley: I cannot comment as the matter is sub judice.

Hillary Clinton: Ask me next year.

Mamata Banerjee: I am the proof.

Hugo Chavez: I don't know about God. But there is a devil who thinks he's God.

Woody Allen: I don't know yet. I'm trying find out in my next film titled 'Who allowed the Devil to wear Prada?'


Kapil Sibal: If there is, how do you explain Arun Jaitley?

Dick Cheney: Maybe...at an undisclosed location.

Pervez Mussharaf: You tell me.


Fidel Castro: Where?

There's still hope...

Secularism comes naturally when geography and economics don't allow it to be any other way - like India where each state is practically a country of its own, foreign to its neighbour in language, culture, customs, food, clothes - there's no unifying factor, no common denominator for "being Indian." Yet, we've lived for centuries in mostly peaceful coexistence. Because of this diversity within our own land, we have learnt tolerance better than any other race in the world. Instances of bigotry have been fewer than you would expect in such a diverse nation with abysmal literacy and employment rates. Being "Third World" has helped to a large extent to make us more tolerant. Economic and societal compulsions force us to share limited space with different kinds of people. There is no money (or MasterCard) to buy ourselves a better life without our neighbours whom we might hate but cannot choose, so we learn to love our neighbours. We're still dependent on one another in more ways than people in more developed countries where money can get you into a better neighbourhood if you don't like your present one. This luxury decreases everybody's tolerance levels. Urban India hosts multitudes of rural immigrants who've flocked to cities in search of better lives. Away from their homes in an alien land, with no money or work, they turn to each other for support. When you don't have money, you don't care if you're a Bengali, a Kannadiga, a Malayali, or a Gujarati; what you are first is Poor, then you're Indian/secular poor Indian who is keeping our democracy alive. While the likes of me will blog about it from within the warm confines of my room, it's the secular poor Indian who is trudging to caste his vote to throw out non-performing elected reprsentatives and bring in new ones; they do it because they have more at stake than we do. To the middle-class Indian, it makes no difference who's ruling. To the poor secular Indian, it does, so while I blog about it, my fellow countrymen quietly walk the talk. That's why there's still hope...

The Journal of the One-legged Hopper

I've just about had it with this city's traffic. I've found a new mode of transport. It's called the One-legged Hippity Hippity Hop. All you need is a pair of good legs.
No driving license, no parking hassles, no traffic lights - it's your ticket to anywhere anytime.

Monday August 16, 2007, 9:30 a.m.: I've just hopped into an air-conditioned office where the receptionist (a cross between Jennifer Aniston and Shilpa Shetty) gives me a head-to-foot once over. "I want to see your manager," I rasp breathlessly. She gets up, she's chewing gum, she's been poured into her clothes, and she never takes her eyes off me till she ducks around the corner and trills "There's a kangaroo in to see you."

Monday August 16, 2007, 5 p.m.: I'm hippitying to the grocery about half a kilometer away when a car zips past next to me, a window rolls down, and I'm showered with coins. "HEYYYYY!" I scream "Come back, come back. Look, look," I jump up and down with both legs and I thank God I can't see myself. I pick up the coins, count the change, and pocket it.

Tuesday August 17, 2007, 11 a.m.: I've hippited in to a gift shop. Everyone stares at my left leg which I've folded backwards 90 degrees at the knee and forgotten to lower. I decide to brazen it. I point at my legs and shrug and twitter. Everyone shrugs. No one twitters though.

Wednesday August 18, 2007, 9:45 a.m.: I'm in a mall. I've come to the parking lot and I put my legs down and sit down to rest. The security guy blows his whistle angrily at me. I get mad. I mime a steering wheel and back out in reverse humming "Here comes the bride" on the top of my lungs. Then, I shift gears, zoom in again, park, and jump out of my air car. "Happy?" I snarl. His whistle and jaw drop. I go back and lock my car.

Thursday August 19, 2007, 10:30 a.m.: I'm still hopping around in the cool mall, shifting legs every now and then. I get plenty of eyeballs and cat calls. I feel like a Babhi doll.

August 22, 2007, 9:30 a.m.: Oh, I think I missed 2 lunches and 2 dinners. This doesn't seem like such a good idea after all.

August 22, 2007, 5:30 p.m.: I'm in a shop looking for stilts...

Whodunit (yawn)

What's so surprising about CIA's alleged edits to Wikipedia entries? If you start a free-for-all online encyclopedia that people anywhere can contribute to and edit, it's hardly news that they do. Virgil Griffith, the CalTech graduate who developed the tracker is a self-confessed hacker. I wonder if the spotlight is turned in the wrong direction. If there's any surprise in all this, it's that the CIA has the time to edit an entry which someone else can edit again before you can say 'Wikipedia.'

Other red-faced boys caught with their hands in the cookie jar include Fox News, The Vatican, Wal-Mart, BBC, US Congress members' offices, and Diebold (interesting name for a voting machine vendor). Yeah right. We never heard of spin doctors before now.

BLOGPRINT - a contest for bloggers!

ATTENTION BLOGGERS WHO VISIT THIS BLOG

Sulekha.com in partnership with Penguin India introduces BLOGPRINT, a 6-month long contest starting August 1, 2007, and ending January 31, 2008. There are prizes to be won every week for 6 months. 52 of the best entries will be shortlisted to 25 by a jury. The 25 shortlists will get published in a Penguin book slated for a July 2008 release. Please log in to sulekha.com for details. Good luck! See you on sulekha!

Caveat emptor (or Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Other People's Happiness)

The India-US nuclear deal is a business deal, not a political one. Business deals are made with profits in mind. No one cares how you make the profit. Morals are for morons and rules are for fools. Even patriotism has no place in a business deal and if we're dealing with America Inc., we should be prepared to roll up our sleeves and dig in for a long night.

We cut a deal when we opened up the economy in 1991 because we had our backs to the wall - we couldn't get down any lower than we'd sunk and the only way up was if Indian and foreign private investors pulled us out of the frog well we had dug ourselves into which they thankfully did with aplomb. In 1991, that was the right thing to do, and it's done wonders for our economy (of course, it obliterated an entire class of people in the bargain, but who cares? We can't see them and we can't hear them anyway). More importantly, it's done wonders for 'being Indian.' It's not easy to command respect for intellect and we've won that from the world community. Most of all, it has made the double-faced "socialists" (at least the Nehruvian variety) completely irrelevant - they have now become a stupid joke that we're desperately trying to hide and forget. I still remember our shock when we first learned that foreign investment would be allowed in banks and the insurance sector. Today, foreign banks are in direct competition with our nationalized banks - an unthinkable thought even as recently as in the 80s. Banking has no doubt been transformed from what it used to be traditionally, but the customer is happy with the choice. This is true of every sector and all products. Competition is the only thing that will improve quality in products and in services. All fine till now.

What we perhaps should not have done is put all our eggs in one basket: that of America's. Not only did we put our eggs in, we've given away the basket for America to hold, and now God help us if she drops the basket. America is a brilliant economic success story, and she got that way by driving a hard bargain. Everything in America is driven by their business - includng their politics. America is a good economic partner to trade with as long as she's one of many trade partners. As a trade partner, America has simply thrown a whole lot of goods and services into economies around the world and then barged in right behind with her promise of a dream. For countries like India, used to decades of monopoly, lack of competitiveness or competition, and Mother Russia's "socialist" crap that was bandied about as God's word, a little thing like this sudden flood of quality goods into the market was enough to turn on the lights. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of other people's happiness won America instant friends and foes (of course, all of America's foes were her one time friends and vice-versa).

America will hawk her dreams to the highest bidder and you can't expect her to do business any other way. Remember Godfather? "It's nothing personal." But what happened to our caveat emptor? We are a young country, and there is plenty of opportunity for us to learn from the history of the world. We should've looked at other business partners too; we should've looked at other econmies that took this path before us and learnt our lessons well - we should've spread our risk.

I was watching a YouTube video of John Perkins, author of "Confessions of an Economic Hitman" speaking at the Veterans for Peace National Conference in Seattle last year. Perkins says America comprises 5% of the world's population, but they use 25% of the world's resources (twenty-five percent) and cause 30% of its pollution. To me, it's not shocking that America does this but that she gets away - that the rest of the world, the other 95% cannot tame a brat. We can't because we're too tied in with her.

Now for the nuke deal: So we let America in. Today, America's business stakes in India are very high, so she's stepping in to look after herself. All this talk of "strategic partnership" and a new world order is a lot of hogwash. Let's just suppose America was not in the Indian economy as much as she is today. Would she have signed a deal with us to ensure continuous energy supply to India? Of course not! Why would she? Why should she? America doesn't owe us a living but because we forgot our caveat emptor clause, now we owe her a living. Unfortnately, America lives life king size. And of course, there's a throw-in sideshow: Is there a better way of keeping India-China-Pakistan at each other's throats than to sign a civilian nuclear energy cooperation deal with India, supply arms to Pakistan, and create an exaggerated China label scare? ("Duck! The Chinese are coming! They have lead in their toys!")

We let America in. That's what we needed to do nearly 2 decades ago. We have to believe that what we did when we did it was the right thing to do. Now, we have to live with the consequences. There is no doubt that the deal benefits India in many ways. In fact, staying out of the non-proliferation treaty and getting a 30-year nuclear technology embargo revoked are in themselves no mean achievements. We've also retained our right to reprocess fuel for civilian use. It's not the bail-out that it's being made out to be by the Left (yes, the same jokers we're desperately trying to hide and forget). We have to face the fact that our energy demands will in the very near future outstrip supply and if that is allowed to happen, there is a real danger that the economy will tank, so this is a good deal for us too, but if we're looking for an even-handed deal, we're dealing with the wrong market...and the wrong goods. For those who are worried about hidden landmines, we know they will be there. All business deals have fine print. The question is whether we're worried about the author or the story. If it's the author that we're worried about, it's a little late in the day (only 20 years late). If it's the story, we shouldn't worry - afterall, pussyfooting around hidden landmines is an Indian art form.

Living in a well-wired world

Unless a big fat Bollywood wedding happens sometime soon, we're unlikely to be rid of Sanjay Dutt's sorry plight being shoved down our resistant throats by TV channels, newspapers, and magazines. Haneef is a smart guy. He couldn't have picked a better time to land in India. Had he landed after Dutt's wave-and-swagger jail entry, the media would've by now thrust a microphone into his days-old daughter's face and had experts in their studios interpreting her gurgles. In their race to upstage one another, the visual media especially has managed to equate the sublime with the ridiculous: At 9 p.m. IST, all are equal. And every news item whether newsworthy or not, deserves a panel discussion with pro and anti issue panelists along with the hysterical anchor creating a screeching din which can set off a lively debate in your own drawing room where the family is eating in front of the TV and happens to be divided on the issue. Virtually everyone can now express themselves, be heard and read; you can record your antics on a camera and put yourself up for show; you can blog and be boqueted and/or brick-batted; you can read on any issue happening in any corner of the world, form an opinion, and mouth it. This is a freedom most of us are determined to enjoy (including yours truly) which has got people everywhere talking more than ever before but it really hasn't dulled our prejudices - the opportunity to know more hasn't necessarily made us more broad-minded or accepting of one another; we're just more aware now that there are more people than we suspected around us who we dislike and who dislike us and, horror of horrors, we can't do much about it. We've heard it said forever that communication promotes better understanding - there's very little evidence that this hypothesis is true; if there has ever been better understanding between peoples due to communication it's usually been to serve a specific purpose. If you and I can be mutually beneficial to each other in some way, we're more likely to cooperate and put up a pretence of understanding and accepting each other. The benefits of living in a well-wired world are plenty but the wires do short circuit frequently.

Dr. Wayne Dyer - 10 Secrets for Success and Inner Peace

I just finished reading Dr. Wayne Dyer's 10 Secrets for Success and Inner Peace. It's a good book to read - like most books on elusive concepts that human beings hanker after. If Dr. Dyer's success in his chosen field is any indication, it's evident that these secrets work. Here are his 10 secrets:

1. Have a mind that is open to everything and attached to nothing.
2. Don't die with your music still in you.
3. You can't give away what you don't have.
4. Embrace silence.
5. Give up your personal history.
6. You can't solve a problem with the same mind that created it.
7. There are no justified resentments.
8. Treat yourself as if you already are what you'd like to be.
9. Treasure your divinity.
10. Wisdom is avoiding all thoughts that weaken you.

I enjoyed reading the book - Dr. Dyer has devouted a chapter to each of his secrets, but I'm not sure I came away feeling peaceful. If anything, I felt more restless than before I picked up this book because I can't really follow most of these; either I'm a real McCoy rotten apple of the human race or these formulas are hopelessly simplistic. I'm sure I don't want to die with my music still in me but that's hardly a secret; Thoreau said in the 19th century that most of us "lead lives of quiet desperation" which translates to the same thing. "There are no justified resentments"? Really? That's a hard one to swallow. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing, but this book threw up more questions for me than it answered. I think I should take the safe way out and "embrace silence."

When Cultures Collide

In the Zulu language, there are 39 words for the colour green. A green leaf in the sun has a different word from a green leaf in the shade; a moist green leaf is different from a wet green which is different from a bone dry green which is different from green at a distance of 10 feet which is different from green at 10 feet with one eye closed...in English, there's just "green" with a few adjectives to describe its different shades. An Englishman therefore can never understand or experience "green" in the same way that a Zulu can. Our language defines our understanding of the world in more ways than we can consciously acknowledge because human beings think in their language. If people from different cultures cannot experience "green" in the same way, is it any wonder that so many nations of the world are at loggerheads? Wars - on battlefields, on sports fields, and in boardrooms - happen when cultures collide.

"When Cultures Collide" written by Richard D Lewis is a fascinating and absorbing read about the peoples of our world. In dynamically crafted language that is clever, fast-paced, and witty, Lewis documents how people dress, think, talk, act, and react to one another in different parts of the world. Spanning Latin America, the Arab countries, East and West Europe, the Balkans, the Nordic countries, America, Africa, Asia, and Australia, "When Cultures Collide" details in breathtaking richness and brevity, the customs, manners, morals, taboos, food habits, body language, values, thinking, listening, and communication patterns of this multi-cultural world. Its gripping pace makes "When Cultures Collide," the best non-fiction page-turner that I've ever read. Lewis subtitles his book 'Managing Successfully Across Cultures,' and his book is written mainly from a business perspective but it couldn't be more relevant in today's strife-ridden world where the closer we're thrown together, the further we seem to pull away from one another.

Throughout the book, cultures collide in delightfully comic ways with hyperbolic Americans, diplomatic Japanese, self-effacing Englishmen, no-nonense Germans, proud Arabs, and the self-absorbed French trying to get along inside and outside the boardroom.

How do the Germans and the Japanese, the Finns and the British, or the Chinese and the Italians strike a business deal when "for a German and a Finn, the truth is the truth. In Japan and Britain, it's alright if it doesn't rock the boat. In China, there is no absolute truth. In Italy, it is negotiable"? For the Japanese, honour is supreme - they should not lose face (and they shouldn't be seen to make you lose yours) - and that's more important than "truth" as a German sees it; a German will call a spade a spade but if an American uses that expression on him, he'll take it quite literally and probably look around the room for a gardening tool. An Italian thinks truth depends on the situation - if a lie serves your purpose, then that is the truth: it's better to be practical and get what you want than be "truthful" and stupid.

Different cultures respect different values. A punctual Swiss or a German will not be amused by the laid back, impulsive, improvising-by-the-minute Brazilian or Spaniard who will arrive at a cocktail party 2 hours after the appointed hour (with a friend, trying to conclude a deal they began last week). This wrecks the carefully planned Swiss or German timetable. The opportunistic, fast-talking American likes to cut a deal at the first meeting; Arabs, Russians, Japanese, and Chinese like to build personal trust before they build a business and will find Americans "who will forget your name the day after the deal is made" extremely rude and insulting.

The fatalistic Indian's karmic concept of time (if things don't happen at the appointed time, they eventually will...some time...maybe in another reincarnation), the "no-manual-for-correct-behaviour" Aussies, the Mexican's loquacious rhetoric, Danish congeniality, and the low-key Canadians - all jostle for space when cultures collide.

Richard Lewis' riveting study of human behaviour across the globe is recommended reading for anyone interested in being a global citizen; if you're not interested, you will be once you pick up this book.

ABHOSTTBBLO continues....

Autorickshaw - a 3-wheeler public transport buggy; 'autos' are the only motorized vehicles that can simulate a horse ride without a saddle in the Andes on a horse that's trying to get away from gun fire. Alien to human emotions, 90-degree angles, and the rule book, auto drivers perch at angles ranging from 45 to 65 degrees to give their carefully folded passengers a lively and unforgettable ride through urban India's it's-all-happening-here streets.

Peace of mind - a concept made scarce by George Bush, peace of mind is now the hottest selling topic for wannabe writers. Peace of mind is something you have until the moment you pick up a book on it. There's no absolute peace of mind - it just depends on who's trying to define it where. In Iraq, Afghanistan, parts of Africa, Pakistan, and the "West Bank," peace of mind means not getting killed; in the rest of the world, it means not knowing who's getting killed where; in America, peace of mind means killing everyone everywhere while skipping around the world with a goofy smile, a twinkle in your eye, and bombastic rhetoric. In Italy, it's watching someone at the lunch table being garrotted with a piano wire while licking pasta off your fingers and crying with the opera soprano. In the Arctic, no one knows or cares what peace or mind is which of course is true peace of mind.

Stock market - one of modern day's greatest mysteries, the stock market can take entire economies to the cleaners simply because it rained in Timbuktu while semi-paralyzed men in drenched shirts, loosened ties, and glazed eyes have fingernails for lunch and heart attacks for dinner trying to understand why the Dow Jones cannot behave as ordinary as it sounds.

Global warming - this new-age terrorist dumps ice and snow in deserts, dunks England's head in the swimming pool, unleashes winds that can transport Japan to China, and excites stock markets all over the world; has redefined "weapons of mass destruction" but has been unable to rearrange the molecules that make up George Bush.

Maverick

When Ricardo Semler inheritted his father's company, Semco, the employees expected a dyed-in-the-wool Semler Senior clone who navigated his ship with absolute authority and control. Ricardo Semler turned every rule in the book on its head and finally threw out the rule book tself to make Brazil's Semco the world's most "unusual workplace" which has a 2000-long recruitment waiting list.

Semler's overhaul hinged on workplace democracy, a concept that is ad-libbed by most big organizations but is little more than hot air. In most immature companies, workplace democracy functions pretty much like Indian democracy: I'm the boss so regardless of how stupid I am in my head, you will do what I say. You're free to disagree but that's where your freedom ends. I give you the right to disagree and reserve the right to ignore you.

Semler started by talking to his employees and listening to them - really listening to them, forgetting for a moment that he is the boss - and then taking every single critical decision that he had to make, to a democratic vote by his employees. He trusted that his workers knew more than him because they actually worked. He also knew that for employees to trust him, HE had to trust THEM first. Building trust slowly, distributing decision making democratically, practising absolute transparency in every single department, and finally literally throwing away the verbose company manuals that dictate an employee's every breathing moment within company premises, Semler built an organization from which he could ultimately fire himself: He had so completely delegated decision making that most of his employees were jacks and masters of all trades having worked in many different Semco departments.

He never pretends the journey was easy. People mocked his vision, many were scared to empower their subordinates, some of his managers told him that the employees were not mature enough for such an experiment. Needeless to say, there were plenty of nay-sayers. Some ideas weren't as successful as he'd hoped but Semler tried them all; he jettisoned unsuitable baggage and hauled aboard those that could withstand the long haul. Ricardo Semler converted those he could; those he couldn't, he let them go and they ultimately found organizations that were more suited to their style of functioning in which they thrived.

Semler believes that true capitalism is true democracy. He is aware that workers are a company's biggest and almost only asset and every bit of profit the company makes belongs completely to the people who toil for it. Semco's profit sharing plan is devised by the employees - they decide who gets how much; employees set their own targets, their own bonuses, their own salaries and even have a say in choosing their bosses! Semco's books are completely open (and they don't have too many of them) and to show how serious Semler is about transparency, he has ensured that every single Semco employee down to the janitor knows how to read a balance sheet. Shunning cabins, hangers-on, ego massages, and other frills, Semler has ensured that he and his managers never lose touch with the people who make Semco what it is.

Semler realized early into his transformation exercise that managers typically dislike sharing information with the employees. This is true of most organizations. Supervisors feel their powers will somehow diminish if their subordinates know as much as they do. Semler's greatest challenge was to address this sense of insecurity among his managers. He did whatever was necessary to address the issue - talking to stubborn managers, convincing them to experiment with his ideas before rejecting them outright, converting some, hiring new thinkers, and throwing out those who didn't fit in.

The result is Semco, Brazil's most sought-after company by job seekers. Can there be a better tribute to an organization? Organizations must have the will and the vision to decide what their culture is going to be regardless of their size. Whether it has 10 employees or 10,000, the organization's culture cannot and should not change. For this to happen, employees must be involved and the only way to involve them is to simply involve them.

Semler says throughout his book how easy it is for big organizations to make a killing at the cost of their employees' health and happiness. These organizations typically follow a top-down heirarchy that always runs parallel to each other and never seems to meet at any point. They are inhabitted by people with different goals, different ideas, different interests. While this is desirable, Semler says it is absolutely imperative for everyone to be aligned at some point for the organization to grow in a healthy way. Unlike companies that obssess with all the trappings of democracy but never follow any real democracy though they constantly preach it, Semco walks the talk. Their idea of democracy is not limited to allowing employees to call their bosses by their first names and keeping their cabin doors open but discouraging anyone from walking through the doors by isolating themselves in their beloved cabins.

Organizations may argue that it is impossible to sustain Ricardo Semler's concept of worker empowerment as the organization grows. Semler has demonstrated that when it comes to using common sense and being a good employer, size doesn't really matter.

Ricardo Semler's "Maverick" is a must-read for all company bosses who are serious about workplace democracy.

When God Winks

In "When God Winks," SQuire Rushnell talks about the "power of coincidence" that "guides your life." Having "interviewed scores of people and researched hundreds of coincidence stories in hopes that a new perspective on such synchronistic events would help others enrich their own lives," Rushnell is convinced beyond doubt that through the course of all our lives, God winks at us a million times - a God wink is what we call a "coincidence."

Rushnell's introductory chapter in "When God Winks" ends with a section titled "My promise to you"
"First, you are under the influence of a cosmic guidance system, and every day you receive little nudges to keep you on your chosen path.
Second, tracking the coincidences in your past will create an astonishingly lucid account of your life, while providing clarity to the grand possibilities on the road ahead.
Third, you can learn to harness the power of coincidences to enrich your future and to strengthen your inner convictions that the life path you've chosen is indeed the right path for you.
Lastly, you'll see that coincidences happen for a reason, and that's to let you know one thing: You are not alone."

Over the course of the book, Rushnell relates numerous career coincidences, relationship coincidences, spiritual winks, Holocaust survivors' tales, lost and re-united stories that happened because of an amazing series of God winks, "the winks of dates," "the winks of numbers," nick-of-time winks, even "cosmic humour"! Rushnell has recorded a treasure of serendepities that God generously sprinkles on our paths in our life journey, most of which we even fail to notice. Rushnell tells his readers: "As you embark on this marvelous process of discovering the winks in your life, I ask you to keep your mind open to possibilities you have never imagined and to be prepared to take action steps toward goals and dreams that may now seem distant."

Do that and read "When God Winks" by SQuire Rushnell. If nothing else, it's comforting to know God has a sense of humour!

"What we think we become."

Humanity's greatest thinkers have saluted the power of the mind. The Buddha said "“All that we are is the result of what we have thought. The mind is everything. What we think we become.” All through mankind's history, philosphers, statesmen, even scientists have told us that the most powerful instrument available to human beings is their minds. It's scope is quite literally limitless. We don't need to look far to know this truth. We're surrounded by greatness and excellence - the man who first landed on the moon, the billionaire's empire built from scratch, demi-God sportpersons, inventors, those who achieved excellence in art - they're all people like you and me. They just stretched a little longer. ""What we think determines what happens to us, so if we want to change our lives, we need to stretch our minds," says Wayne Dyer a "life coach" and motivational speaker. What keeps us from achieving our own greatness is our zombie-like everyday motions of existence which we have to come to believe and accept as our life. We exist in suspended animation, and one day--too soon--it's time to go home. We're scared of our dreams because we don't believe we can achieve them, so we clutter our mind with frivolous trivialities, argue for our limitations, nuture them carefully, and go from one failure to the next with a stoic stupidity that would be laughable if it weren't so tragic. We draw negativity to ourselves because we refuse to believe that good things can happen to us. If you constantly tell the Universe that you are its greatest liability, the Universe will agree; but if you free your mind completely of your self-perceived limitations, if you refuse to accept your own negativity and the negativity of others around you, if you constantly believe in your dream and work towards achieving it, if you just never ever give up, the Universe will respond to you in astonishing ways. Think about it! Nothing, absolutely nothing, is impossible to you! There's no obstacle that doesn't hide a piece of the sun behind it, there's no failure without a lesson that you need to learn, and there really is no human weakness--not one--that you cannot quash if it stands in the path to your dreams. "Your mind is an instrument, a tool. It is there to be used for a specific task, and when the task is completed, you lay it down. As it is, I would say about 80 to 90 percent of most people's thinking is not only repetitive and useless, but because of its dysfunctional and often negative nature, much of it is also harmful. Observe your mind and you will find this to be true. It causes a serious leakage of vital energy," says Eckhart Tolle, best-selling author of "The Power of Now." Believe it! NOTHING IS BEYOND YOU. Believe it completely. Drench your subconscious with this thought. Dare to dream your wildest dream and watch the Universe open its doors for you. But even for the Universe to do that, you have to be ready and you have to know when to walk through the door when it opens for you.

That 70's Show

When she was yanked out of obscurity and nominated as the UPA's presidential candidate, no one was more surprised than Pratibha Patil herself. Take a look:

Millions of Indians wrote in to newspapers, journals, magazines, blogs demanding a second term for Dr. Kalam, India's most popular President. Some went on air with their appeal. We were simply ignored. Democracy in India means giving us our right to express our opinions while reserving the right to ignore them completely; decision-making lies in the hands of the IMFH (Indian-made foreign husky).

A jellyfish will have more spine than our "Honourable" Prime Minister. With his watery face and bleating vocals, Manmohan Sing (does he need the 'h'?) has ensured that we will never be taken seriously in any international political forum even if we're now recognized as an emerging Asian economic power.

What we needed to complete the picture, of course, was a controversy-ridden, half dead, one-foot-in-the-grave, the-other-in-mouth fossil whom our unfortunate defence heads have to salute. Look at her again, ladies and gentlemen. Doesn't it make you swell with patriotic pride at our Commander-in-Chief! Then again, our defence minister is a dhothi-clad 5-foot nothing. There must be some karmic justice in all this somewhere. You just have to find it.

ABHOSTTBBLO continues...

Multi-tasking - A euphemism that means an inborn or acquired talent to ruin as many tasks as possible simultaneously. A multi-tasker is someone who can talk on the phone while cooking, watching the baby, and working on the computer. Obviously this someone is a woman who has the ability to watch milk boil over very calmly as she--again very calmly--tries to prevent her baby from eating a knife while her PC quietly self-destructs in a corner and her significant other watches WWF in a semi-conscious state. A man’s idea of multi-tasking is watching TV AND eating potato chips.

Indian National Congress - The Grand Old Party of Indian politics, INC Inc., is now a privately owned enterprise run by an IMFH (Indian made foreign husky). An organization of living debilitated fossils with virtually all of its young leaders 6 feet under, the defining character of INC Inc., is dementia.

Bollywood - A 5000-old Sanskrit term from India’s rich cultural heritage that means ‘dance,’ Bollywood is the name of the biggest movie-making industry in the world – the Hindi movie industry. It is also the only movie industry in the world where 5782 directors have used the same script to make 10,865 films with 50,847 songs, 50,847 dances in 3498 locations with 85,432 costumes. This script was written in 362 B.C. by a man who wore bearskin, had long straggly hair, and regularly clubbed women to death.

"Falls alarms, do not picnic"

The shrieking fire alarm made me jump out of my skin. RRRRUUUNNNN, RRRRUUUNNNNN, RRRRRUUUUUNNNN, it screeched urgently. Around me, people stared intently at their computers, chewed gum, chatted, laughed – they were oblivious to the fire alarm. I’ve always been intrigued by this: if they were caught in an unexpected downpour, the same people who now sat through the fire alarm chewing gum, would run out of the rain like they were heading for a bomb shelter. We treat a silly shower like an air raid siren and a fire alarm like a coffee break bell! We’d rather be burnt toast than be wet!! Had anyone ever heard of "priorities"!?! Did they expect the fire to walk up to their workstations, tap them on their shoulders and say "Hello! Shall we sizzle on the dance floor?"!?!?!? Had everybody gone MAD!?!?!?! (Did anyone notice the gradual upward rise in punctuations??????!!!!!?????)
As I worked myself up into a righteous fury, a message flashed across our screens: “Falls alarms, do not picnic.”
Then, a few seconds later: “FALSE ALARM, do not picnic.”
Well, well….and then: “Sorry, PANIC.”
“Panic, people, panic!” I yelled and bolted like a bat out of hell screaming “Fire!! Fire!! Run!! Run!!”
It was only after I had clattered down a full flight of stairs at supersonic speed that I realized
a) No one else had picnicked…or panicked…or whatever.
b) There was no fire alarm blaring.
c) My left hand was attached to someone’s right.
I turned and met a pair of icy eyes. “Whoa!” I yelped and staggered backwards, “Who are you?”
“My sentiments exactly,” the owner of the hand replied frostily. “Thank you for saving my life. Now, if you don’t mind….” she yanked her hand out of mine and turned on her heel and stomped out.
“You’re welcome,” I croaked.
I tried to slither back in unnoticed--I crouched and duck-walked but someone spotted me and called, “Welcome back!!” and I got a standing ovation. Where is that damn earthquake when I need it...!

MORAL OF STORY: 30 minutes a day 4 times a week, practise duck-walking.

Champagne anyone?

A workaholic, unabashedly right-wing and dubbed "nakedly ambitious" by the media, with an intriguing mix of Hungarian-Greek-Jewish blood. Five years ago, Nicolas Sarkozy would've got nothing more than a sniff and a raised French eyebrow. Even 2 years ago, when France voted an emphatic 'non' to the EU constitution, it's unlikely France would've been kind to Nicolas Sarkozy. Not today. In the frenzied debates over the now-on-holiday President elect's next move, what has perhaps excited the EU most about Sarkozy's election is the French electorate itself. It's a remarkable transformation - for a people who are used to demanding cake from the government when they can't earn their own bread. Almost alarmingly leftist with their comically funny 35-hour-week, France's stagnant economy has dulled EU's promising challenge to a growing U.S. and Indo-China economies.

In a world of muted tones, chic tastes, self-deprecating modesty, and fierce national sentiment, Nicolas Sarkozy's amazing run to top slot in a referendum that saw historic voter turnout has raised more than just France's eyebrows. Sarkozy typically doesn't possess any of these above qualities except of course French pride. Clearly France is ready for change and the French think Sarkozy is the man to turn it around for them. In his campaign, Sarkozy has unhesitatingly admitted that he intends to crack the whip where it needs cracking. He wants to send France to work. He wants the French to shape up or ship out. That couldn't have gone down too well with France's notorious labour unions. For a country that proudly wears its "socialist" tag on its sleeve while struggling with double-digit unemployment rates, is in a perpetual love-hate battle with its immigrants and frowns on raw ambition, Sarkozy's win reflects perhaps not just the yearning for a change but also France's turmoil as it tries to find its place in a world that's not so familiar anymore. Sarkozy's challenges will be very difficult to navigate and very closely watched by the EU.

Listening to Sarkozy's acceptance speech, you would think the whole world voted for his presidency. In an inspiring speech where he promised to be the President of "all the French" Sarkozy urged his countrymen to help him build an economy with greater free trade and cooperation with France's friends and neighbours that would help cement France's importance in the EU. Along with Germany and Britain, France is the most powerful member of the EU both economically and politically. Sarkozy has been largely inward-looking throughout his campaign. He has enough problems at home to worry too much about foreign policy but in his acceptance speech, he reached out tentatively to the outside world. Even then, his message was typically French: You can be my friend, but don't tell me what to do. Knowing what we do about Sarkozy, it's unlikely that his Jewish ancestry will in any way affect France's foreign policy toward the Middle-East - traditionally, France has treated all conflict everywhere with the same hands-off, bored diplomacy: We want peace and we want everyone to be happy. But that's not enough or even possible anymore even if most European countries now feel cushioned inside the Union and reluctant to follow any sort of aggressive foreign policy. Increasingly, every nation has been drawn into events like the Iraq war and climate change that have forced countries to have more than just an opinion about an issue.

Sarkozy, largely believed within France to be America's friend, was quick to emphasize in his speech that friends can and should have the right to differ in thought. Never a supporter of the Iraq war, Sarkozy called on America to take the lead in reversing global warming trends. His message was unmistakable - that the U.S. can no longer act exclusively in matters that concern itself and the rest of the world. Sarkozy was a lot more graceful in vitory to Segolene Royal than she was to him in defeat, but that's always been easier - the victor's grace.

Many leadership changes across the globe over the years have been termed 'exciting' but never has it been more true than with Nicolas Sarkozy's victory, making him France's first President born after World War II. For France, the EU, and indeed for the rest of the world, the Sarkozy presidency will be an exciting show to watch.

ABHOSTTBBLO continues...

Cell phones - mobile devices with which you can take pictures, listen to music, record events, send messages, play games, check your email, calculate sums, and watch a cricket match (if you're still interested). You can also make calls.

China - an Asian country that's so big, it's everybody's neighbour and nobody's friend. Having gotten a foot in the door of the world's economy, the Chinese are now in the active process of breaking down the door. From closet capitalists to closet socialists to plain in your closet, 'Made in China' is now a somebody-stop-me label on a 'the world is not enough' tour.

Cuba - a Caribbean Jerry that is a perpetual thorn in Uncle Tom's flesh. America's 4-decade embargo on Cuba makes U.S. trade with the island illegal. It's illegal for U.S. citizens to vist the island and for U.S. individuals or companies to do business there. In short, it's illegal for America or Americans to do anything with or in Cuba except run Guantanomo Bay. America's stated objective for the embargo is to bring (surprise, surprise) democracy to Cuba which (surprise, surprise, surprise) it has failed to do. Recently, large oil reserves have been found in North Cuba, now Tom suddenly wants to be Jerry's friend.

Venezuela - Cuba's new-found oil-rich friend that supplies around 80,000 barrels of oil a day to Cuba which has helped make the embargo look like a long-running boring Hollywood flick that no one is watching. Venezuela has given the world many beauty queens and is a country where people keep chasing one another around the office block to become head of state. Venezuela's President Hugo Chavez has grabbed countless hours of air time calling President Bush colourful names including "the devil" in a speech at the UN General Assembly which was met with "wild applause" in the Assembly and severe condemnation in the U.S.

Rediffmail - an email service whose users belong to a large, happy, close-knit spamily where everyone is on first (and only) name basis. Rediffmail users can live their entire life within its inbox where they can shop, get a degree, go abroad, buy tickets, buy books, sell auto parts and body parts, buy movies, music, houses, insurance, hire, get hired, make friends, become a star, get married - all at bargain rates in limited offers.

A Brief History of Some Things that Bill Bryson left out

Volume 1 in an unknown-number series of a dictionary cum atlas cum encyclopedia

Summer - Long ago, summer was one of 4 seasons - the other 3 being winter, monsoon, and spring. Over the years, they all merged and became one season called Famine. But people the world over, didn't want a season called Famine - which is a combination of 'fashion' and 'feminine.' A few wars later, Afghansistan which was the only country that wanted the season to be called 'Famine,' gave up its demand after incessant bombings caused the country's first floods that had a free run in the territory simply because there was nothing and no one left standing to stop it and it was agreed unanimously to call this season Summer. There are varying degrees of Summer:
Mild Summer
Please-wring-my-blouse-again Summer
Have-you-caught-fire-yet? Summer and
Do-not-disturb, I'm-in-coma Summer

Bangalore - Not too long ago, Bangalore was India's prettiest city with an abundance of lakes, fountains, gardens, and a lovely climate. It changed all too quickly. Now, despite signboards at entry points being repainted "NOT Welcome to Bangalore" people continue to pour into this little city making it the world's largest open public toilet where everyone is driving around trying to park their cars, where there are more globs of spit than there are people, and where walking its streets is recommended only for contact sports fans.

Singapore - a squeaky clean city-state where long jump is banned in schools - the kids might fall into the sea or into Malaysia which just might be the third World War trigger. Singapore is apparently the most "business-friendly economy" in the world - it should be - Singapore's national passtime/national sport is shopping.

Japan - a work in progress quite literally with a population of extremely hard working people who never leave their assembly lines even when the earth shakes them up which it does every 5 minutes; they just smile, bow, and slow down. Tokyo, the capital of Japan, is the world's costliest city and built to survive any sort of earthquake - there's no place for people or buildings to fall.

Iran - a spunky little country where the star-spangled banner is the chief combustible material. It also produces oil and can toss a bomb quite far. When Iran recently released 15 British Navy personnel from custody for reasons unknown (of custody, not release), oil prices nose-dived indicating its power and clout in the world economy.

Iraq - Iran's neighbour and friend turned foe turned friend turned foe turned...also mighty spunky. The only country in the world where there are more human bombs than human beings which has left everyone (except America) wondering what OTHER weapons of mass destruction George Bush is looking for. Some people believe he's searching for Dick Cheney.

United States of America - the friendly neighbourhood rogue elephant that won't get out of your backyard, the USA's chief hobby is to create, protect, and destroy its own creations. A largely bored, ADHD-suffering population with a collective attention span of 2 seconds, America loves democracy but can't spell it, wants all the world's oil but won't pay for it, and is burning up the ozone faster than it's burning up Iraq but--like with Iraq--refuses to fix it. America also makes people rich and forgives them for some time for being rich because of it. The original master of hype, America is the only country in the world with its own tagline: "Coming soon to a theater near you!"

I Have a Dream

It was one of those days that hurtle from one Oh-my-God-disaster to the next and makes you want to crawl back into bed and sit out the sunset. On my 287th oh-my-God, a voice boomed: "Yes? You called?"
I spun around. "I'm God. What's your problem?" the voice asked.
"You," I said unhesitatingly as I crouched and looked under my cot, "you're the problem."
"Get up...what did I do?" the voice asked.
"What did You do!?! The world is upside down in case You haven't noticed. Don't You see the mess? What DIDN'T You do!" I checked under the chair, behind the doors, under the bed cover...
"That's MY problem. What's YOUR problem?"
"Everything. I don't know what I'm doing with my life. I don't know what I want but it's definitely not this. I don't like this day. Nothing ever seems to go right. I feel homicidal."
"Okay. If I let you kill one person and get away with it, who would you want to kill that will help your days get better?"
I was shocked! "Only one!?!?" I said disbelieving.
"You're quite ambitious aren't you for someone who doesn't know what's going on?"
"If you're really God, I have some questions for you."
"Shoot."
"Do You answer everyone who says "Oh God!"? Why didn't You show up all these days? Did You really create George Bush? Why don't You stop people killing each other in Your name? Why do floods happen? And earthquakes, and tornadoes, and epidemics? Why do children die? Why was I born? What is the...."
"Whoa..whoa...will you stop already!" the voice boomed, "so this is all MY fault now?"
"Well, You should at least own moral responsibility and resign!"
"And then what? You'll take my place?"
"Hmmm...now, there's an original thought! I'm sure I'll do much better than Your current rep on earth, George Bush."
"Just for the record...someone--I don't know who--created George Bush when I logged out for a bathroom break."
"Just what I needed--a God who's a joker."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing really, but I hope you don't think this is funny?"
"Well, isn't it? By "this," I'm assuming you either mean the state of the world or George Bush...both are living proof that I have a sense of humour."
"We don't like your jokes, and by "we" I mean the rest of the world."
"Go to hell."
"My God! You're GOD!! How can You talk like that? Besides, I'm already there."
"You're very ungrateful..."
"Oh, c'mon," I waved my hand dimissively, "don't tell me you're going to lecture me about all the beauty you've created that we're destroying...about your rainbows, your forests, the Artic, and the butterfly...it's hard enough to read it in my mailbox every day...there's even a mail where you talk to your "son" (like you're talking to me now)," I giggled, "you tell your son 'always remember I love you, and I'm always there for you,' or words to that effect." I giggled some more.
"And you find THAT funny?"
"Who's that guy who said 'If you talk to God, you're praying. If God talks to you, you're schizophrenic'?"
"A schizophrenic."
"I can't believe I'm having this conversation! How do I know You're God at all? You're probably some nutcase who's hiding very well somewhere and being a smart ass."
"Same thing."
"Ok, I'm not going to engage in this witless banter with a voice. Just give me a readymade solution that I can implement right here, right now."
"Chuck your job and get a life. Travel, meet people, write poetry, learn to sing, play the piano, paint...in short, take that mail seriously."
"Somebody, help!" I screamed, "Dunk me in cold water! This can't be real!"
Immediately, an avalanche of ice cold water hit me and knocked the wind out of me. I shot up in bed, drenched and speechless.
My 5- and 3-year-old nephews stood there holding an empty dipper and their sides, laughing like only kids can.

Seriously....!

Have you ever been attacked by hysteria at the most inopportune moment and dissolved into helpless peals of hideous laughter that made everyone who crossed your path stumble backwards with raised eyebrows, dropped jaws, and soundless screams? It happened to me just the other day.

I was in an auto on my way to work at 2 p.m. - a situation in which sane people would be at their waspish best which is how I am most of the time. I must confess I'm not given to easy laughter for many reasons: 1. My teeth don't exaclty qualify for a toothpaste ad. 2. My nephew told me the first time that he heard and saw me laugh, that I sounded and looked like a "hyena" - it's not very original but if you hear it from a 2-year-old close to tears, you have to believe it. 3. Life IS funny anyway. Why laugh and compound your misery? 4. Imagine a startled cat wheezing laboriously while being spun around in a washing machine and you'll know what I sound like when I laugh. 5. Imagine 220 volts of electricity and gallons of water supplied to your face and you'll know what I look like when I laugh.

NOW, imagine an otherwise dull and lifeless dish rag suddenly infused with lively pulsating energy that is largely uncontrolled, with no immediate discernible provocation. Some long-forgotten memory popped into my sun-touched head and what started as a quiet chuckle, proceeded to a prolonged giggle, then grew into a throaty laugh (see point #4 above for definition of "throaty"), and then seemingly got away from my hands..or is it my mouth?...or is it my belly? Where DO laughs originate anyway? (Don't answer)

As the rickety auto bounced along, I sat in the back seat struggling to get a hold of my contorted facial features. The auto driver at first was just annoyed, then distracted, then seriously worried, and finally downright terrified. "Should I stop?" he asked turning back, sending me into fresh bouts of hysteria. He turned around and continued to drive. For as long as I live, I will never forget the look on his face.

He picked up speed so that the unsuspecting passerby who just happened to glance into the speeding auto saw a rigidly upright terrified driver with a hysterically gasping passenger flailing wildly in the back seat. Every time I saw a face like that on the road with the deer-caught-in-headlights look, I got hysterical afresh. Finally, I forgot the original source of my hysteria and began pointing, slapping my thigh, and throwing back my head and roaring at anyone who dared to look into the auto.

The auto continued to hurtle along and in my state, I failed to notice that the driver had sped past my office, till he'd gotten away a good distance. When that realization dawned, my hysteria disappeared instantly and I barked at the auto driver to stop. He turned around and saw my bared fangs and heard my rumbling growl and promptly fainted. I left the money on his head, got out, and cussed loudly as I trekked to my office in the baking sun.

I'm sure it was just some sort of allergy because as I entered the office, I saw someone talking and laughing on the phone. I marched up to him and wordlessly socked his jaw. Then, I turned around and went home and slept. When I woke up at 10 p.m., mercifully, I was completely cured.

What so thrilling?

We’ve existed as a Republic for almost 6 decades now and still our farmers who feed us are taking their own lives because they can’t eat. We celebrate Republic Day without a trace of irony. We show our might, we march, we salute our flag, we sing our national anthem loudly, we swell with pride about being Indian and heap scorn on those unwilling to participate in this hypocrisy – who are we trying to impress? Why can’t we take a long hard look at ourselves and admit that we’ve completely lost our way? That our priorities are so mixed up that we put celebrity weddings on front radars and our dying farmers on the backburner? That our elected representatives have made fools of us for 6 decades now? That “India shines” only for a miniscule percentage of her children while a vast majority eat out of her rubbish bins to satisfy their hunger? That our shameful judiciary lets people like Lalu Yadav, Sanjay Dutt, and Navjot Singh Siddhu walk and makes heroes of them? Should we be proud? That our children are not safe anywhere anymore? That we have accomplished record levels of intolerance in this once model pluralistic society? That our freedom fighters and ex-sportsmen beg on our streets to eat? That we’ve mortgaged our oldest political party to a foreigner whose only qualification is that she has none? What’s so thrilling about the rape of our cities in the name of progress? About our moral decadence in the name of global citizenship? About our creative bankruptcy and our recycled greatness in shiny new packages? About our nonexistent voice in influential international trade and political bodies? How responsibly have we behaved with our neighbours? How many can we count as our friends? Isn’t it a shame that we haven’t mended fences with a single one of our immediate neighbours in our 6 decades of existence? That we cannot educate or employ millions of our children? That we deny them their very basic right to dignity? That we simply let our old, our poor, and our sick die while we worship our cattle, hold up torches for our stray dogs, and violently defend our Gods?

What’s so thrilling about being an almost 60-year old Republic?

The Salesman

Goodafternoonmadam, myselfxxfromyyproducts thisisapromotion justoneminuteopenthedoormadam" - the apparition rapped outside my door.

"Huh?" I blinked as the afternoon sun blinded me and I tried to find my bearings. The doorbell had shattered my siesta and I'd sprung out of bed and landed at the front door, unaware that I'd moved. I tried to focus.

"Justoneminuteopenthedoormadam" he danced to an imaginary beat. I looked at him incredulously. He had a grinning mask on, which he had now pushed up on his forehead to give me the real all 32 whites. There were two macabre grins on his face. On his head, he wore something that looked like rabbit ears and flapped violently when he spoke. He was dressed in colours to help you spot him from outer space, and he had a yo-yo in one hand that squealed, a puppet that quacked in the other, and a huge bag on his shoulder that undoubtedly contained other such noisy nightmares that pass for toys today.

"What do you want?" I asked unable to keep the edge out of my voice. Try keeping your cool when you discover you've been woken up by a dancing monster rabbit from hell at 3 in the afternoon.

"Justoneminuteopenthedoormadaaam," he said again.
"What language are you talking?" I asked genuinely surprised. For a ludicrous moment, I wondered if he'd really landed from Mars.
"Harharharhar" it laughed and I reeled backwards. Surely, this was just a bad dream.

"Just one minute open the door madam," he said slowly with an ear-to-ear grin like he was addressing a 2-year-old retard. "I have wonderful imported toys, cheap madam, great fun for whole family, not just for childrens, nicetimepassopenthedoormadam."
"I don't want any toys!" I said unable to believe I was having a conversation with a Martian. "Don't buy madam, just see," he said, grin in place, and began to set his bag down.
"No!" I screamed in a panic. "I don't want to see any toys! Why would I want to see toys?"
"Buy for your children madam, see madam this talking parrot here; you put the battery here, wind it here and see madam, see, see....it's imported madam" he danced and grinned.

I twisted my neck from a range of 20 to 360-degree angles to see from which direction it would look like a parrot and finally gave up. The contraption was talking in an unknown tongue at an ear-splitting decibel. I covered my ears instinctively and nodded my head violently to indicate to him that he should leave and take his foreign monster with him. He put away the parrot and took out a kangaroo.
"How about this madam? Jumps very nicely, just do like this, like this, like this, like this, like this, like this...er...uh...it's not working, Iwillshowyouothertoys oneminuteifyouopenthedoormadam" the grin never faded.
"There are no children in this house and I don't really play with toys, so please leave, and close the gate behind you," I said and turned to walk in.
"Just you open the door and see what other things I have madam. I have books also, just see, you don't have to buy" Didn't his face tire grinning like that?
"I really don't have the time and I must ask you to leave," I said trying hard not to abuse him.

"What about mobile phones madam? Do you want a mobile?" Grin, grin.
"NO!" I said, exasperated.
"Life insurance?" Grin, dance.
"LIFE insur..uh?" I couldn't make the switch.
"What about flats?" Grin, grin, dance dance.
"Do you have that in your bag as well?" my eyes were wide with astonishment.
"Or an electric oven? Or do you want car covers? Do you have a garden? (he was standing in my 2-foot space) Do you want an apple tree sapling? Money-back guarantee is there...mattresses? Sofa backs? Nightdress? Grin, grin, grin, dance, dance, dance.

I honestly couldn't understand what I was feeling at that point. I was being verbally assaulted by a wiry schizophrenic with two grins who was carrying the world and a zoo in his bag and wouldn't get out of my compound. I'd never felt more alone in my life.

I looked around wildly.

"Okay give me a glass of water then" he said suddenly and stepped closer to the door. I was sure I could detect a manic glint in his eye and I shuddered.
"If you don't give me a glass of water, you'll be born a lizard in your next birth. Do you want me to read your palm? I can predict the future. Just tell me the time you were born and I will tell you everything that is going to happen in your life. I can show you the lizard that you will look like in your next birth. It's right here in my bag," he began to dig into his humongous sack, never losing the grin.
"Can you really predict the future?" I croaked.
"Yes," he said in a steely voice and with the manic glint and of course the grin.
"Tell me how long you see yourself standing on my property then," I squeaked.
"I have Eric Clapton's and B.B. King's Riding with the King - you want? you can listen on iPod and decide if you want to buy - here, openthedoormadam and take this iPod -you can load 320 songs, listen while driving, eating, sleeping, reading, bathing, dressing, anywhere and everywhere," the energetic schizophrenic continued to rap and grin.

I felt lightheaded, nauseous, and close to hysteria.
"Givemeaglassofwatermadam, and I'll go," he danced, grinning.
"I'd rather be a lizard!" I growled, suddenly livid. "Get off my property or I'll set the dogs on you!" I screamed.
"Have a good day madam," he said, his ears flapping violently, both grins intact on his face, and turned to leave.

That's when I saw the huge tiger tail behind him.

Despicable!

No one is fooled by the “Iraqi court’s” trial, conviction, and hanging of Saddam Hussein. History will show America as probably the first nation in the civilized world to successfully carry out an unprovoked aggression against another country flouting all norms of international law and basic human decency, dethroning its head of state, and sending him to the gallows like a common criminal for so-called crimes that America not only condoned but actively encouraged a few decades ago. America’s puppets hanged Saddam Hussein at America’s behest under the cover of darkness on December 30th; they behaved like the band of thieves that they are in one of 2006’s most shameful moments; of course, "shame" is now synonymous with "Bush."

In the ‘80s, Saddam was America’s darling. They armed him to the teeth with impunity because they wanted him to contain Iran – why get your hands dirty when you can pay for a hit job? – they encouraged his aggression against the Kurds and the Shias and provided him with ammunition to carry out his so-called crimes. The Iran-Iraq war was to last 8 long years with 100s of 1000s of lives lost - sponsored by Uncle Sam. These are the “crimes” that he has now been hanged for! So much for upholding democracy and human rights! So much for the “Champions of the Free World.” In a frenzy of fast-forward action, Puppet Maliki got the necessary approvals (including his ayatollah's), fulfilled all of America's demands that the "law" be followed to the letter one of which was that the Iraqi President sign Saddam's death warrant which he reluctantly did after making it plain that he was against capital punishment (ironically, the lone dissenter against Saddam's hanging in the American coterie was a Kurd!), roused a sleeping Saddam, bundled him into a waiting Black Hawk, and flew him to his death. Hollywood couldn't have done it better.

"Stuff happens," I guess, like Donald Rumsfeld (remember him? Of Guantanamo Bay fame?) so famously said. Rumsfeld who has been photographed with Saddam during their cosy bum-chum days; yes, the same Rumsfeld who was in a God Almighty hurry to get into Iraq after Osama reduced the Towers to smouldering mounds of dust. When did this invasion become about trying Saddam for his crimes against his people? Which is entirely that country’s business. Are there no other dictator regimes in the world? What about Musharraf? Why not dethrone him and hang him as well? What about poor forgotten Burma? Where in the nation’s last election Suu Ki’s party won 82% of the popular vote – EIGHTY TWO PERCENT! And instead of heading the nation, she’s under house arrest and the country is being run by the “military junta” – where are the Champions of Democracy? Why aren’t they marching into Burma with their Saviours of the World armed forces if it’s their self-appointed God given duty to give democracy a nudge wherever it’s floundering? Because Burma is not oil-rich Iraq. What about Ethiopia and Somalia? All Children of a Lesser God.

And what about us? The Rest of the World? Are we so depraved that we will only whine and whimper when the time has come for us to stand up and say “Enough! We will not tolerate any more!” Are we so blind that we can’t see it could’ve been any of us? How can we stand by and watch one head of a nation being hanged by another? How low are we prepared to stoop? To be conquered? The world should isolate America for this heinous crime, this macabre blemish on humanity that they choose to call “justice” – this is not justice by any measure – it is a MURDER; an open, in-your-face, cold-blooded, undemocratic, outrageous murder. Should we not bring America to justice? Should we not make America accountable for this crime?

“No backbone” India’s reaction has been characteristic: We expressed our “disappointment” –how disgusting! That we have to couch our words in diplomacy so we don’t offend America no matter what the crime and what the cost to our national pride! How disgusting that we don’t have a courageous leader who can look George "draft-ducking" Bush in the eye and tell him he is a just a spoilt brat and throw the book at him for first-degree murder. How disgusting that this so cleverly timed hanging that is neither in Kofi Annan’s time nor in Ban Ki-Moon’s, has proved yet again that the UN is a completely useless body with no control or authority over its biggest rogue member.

So Mission Accomplished? Is this what America went to Iraq for? Was it ever about Osama or WMDs? Both of which have not been accounted for till date. Is George Bush a happier man today? Does he sleep easier at night? Is Iraq a safer place because Saddam is dead? Is America a safer place? What has been achieved? Close to 700,000 Iraqis have been murdered by America since 2003. These are people like you and me – with homes, families, a life. They were mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, sisters, brothers with jobs, homes, and a future. Who will pay for their deaths? Have they not died in vain? All because one stubborn madman will not admit that he was wrong. That he did something unlawful. He continues to run amok because none of us are willing to stop him.

"We have met the enemy, and they is us."