Friendship

"Making millions of friends is not a miracle
Miracle is to make such a friend who will stand by you
When millions stand against you"

A message from Rupan sent on the 28th of January 2009. It was one of those messages that I did not delete from my Inbox.

It probably must have come as a cheesy forward to her in the morning and she quickly shared it with me. But the thing is that in all the years that we have known each other (and we have packed in quite some), she has lived by this diktat. It is something that she actually stood by when it came to me.

So in my list of "been there done that" I think I can add "created miracle". All thanks to a certain Ms. Rupan Bedi......

And the next day the woman sends me the following message -

"Dear GOD,

Touch the people I care for.

Keep them safe and happy.

Give them love and good health

Bless them

Especially

the ONE reading this message."

The person sending it meant every word and that to me is the biggest blessing.

Instinct vs Logic

I have a problem with logic; yeah go ahead and make snide remarks about women and logic! But hope you will hear me out.

If you speak of instinct well then now you are talking and I am a firm believer of this little niggler which watches out for most of us. Where logic is concerned, I tend to treat it more like I would my child. Let me explain.......instinct to me is more me more something that was born with me so it is more a part of me that I can trust and rely on. But logic is a different matter altogether. It reeks of potential in the future and as a woman I would say that it is to me the same as the potential to bear a child.

Women and instinct and I think - Calpurnia. Have not done much Shakespeare, so I hope I got it right.

Logic - yes at workplace

Loads of people I have met who keep referring to logic to disrupt proceedings

Many a time logic stops you from actually listening to a person and assimilating the information he/she is providing. Instead you are listening to the conversation that is going on in your head with yourself. Which is fine if you are at the workplace and at your workstation when it is important for you to challenge yourself in order to ensure that the project/report/paper or whatever it is you are working on meets the deadline......

But when you are having a dialogue with another person, a physical entity, then surely it is disrespectful to say the least if one does not listen to the other's point of view.
...................................................................................

I found this draft while looking through my blog. This was dated last August 28, 2008, so I am not even sure if I wrote it. But hey I second these thoughts and this was in my draft list, so what the hell.....

In case you who is reading this at this point is the one who wrote it, then by all means take credit love.....

If it is indeed I who wrote it then I am darned sure that I had more to add but as my fingers pummel the keys into words, I have no idea what it was that I wanted to say. But I hope what is said would suffice and that it says it all......

Inbox 100% full

The inbox of my cell is constantly getting jammed and I should have had the good sense to delete all the old messages. But no I had to hang on to them like they were the family heirlooms!!

The wise old timers; they are right as always - old habits do indeed die hard. For the longest time I remember collecting the wrappers of gifts received on birthdays, special occasions and even rotten dates for crying out loud!! Then there were the diaries, the clothes, the news clippings, the candy wrappers, yes candy wrappers, ticket stubs of dates at the movies, a train ride, Aarzoo's first boarding pass......and a gazillion other things were squirreled away. For what? I don't know. Really cannot answer that question without honestly admitting that I am a really pathetic and emotional basketcase!!

Well that was forcibly cured when we had to move to Bombay. And Baba, in his infinite wisdom asked me if I wanted a home for my family or my furniture? That was it, out went the heirlooms by the truck loads. Cochin and its huge homes can be really spoiling. In comparison, the multi-storeyed flats in Bombay would seem like tree houses or in most cases doll houses.

But coming back to the Inbox of my cell which warned me at least 20 times in a day that it was 100% full. This meant that I had to delete some messages. That was a hard task. No, could not, absolutely could not delete those from the son....even if all they conveyed that he would be late coming home as he was either playing football or jamming with his friends or attending a birthday party!! Not those from the Boss who is the icon of all night owls; his messages conveyed the chores for the workday ahead. Did I mention that he worked through the night? And ensured that we slaved through the day! The ones that encouraged me to check out my future life / love / partner etc. were easier to delete as even I knew it to be pure bunkum. Then there were those that told me to send / download the popular songs / ring tones. DELETE. No doubt about that.

But then there does come a time when one has to let go - the son off the apron strings and the to do list from the Boss is completed. No other option for the latter unless you wanted to get the BOOT on the BUTT. So those messages got deleted too. The ones that reminded you of bills to be paid went once you got your pay cheque and did the needful. Then what was it that jammed the damn Inbox?

Well here I am sitting through the night sifting through the messages and realizing that I am not fully cured of my emotional "basket caseness". Yes the son's, the boss and the hubby messages were all there and did get deleted from time to time but there was also this huge pile which grew over time. I could never bring myself to delete these. After all these were which came at the lowest ebbs from that very special person who just knew that you had to gain from this ancient wisdom, corny though some of it may be. This person who knew that you needed that smile that laugh to get you through the day. It came with the Good Morning wish across the miles, over the Vindhyas headed south on the sub-continent and made sure it brought a smile onto the face of the reader - me.

I guess that Supreme Power that guides me through life on Earth, gave me this Soul Sister for a very special reason. And I just could not hit the delete button. Instead I found a new storage space. Infinite and fast unfolding its secrets to millions. My very own space under the cyber sun.........

So here they are.....not hidden away in the Inbox. Its time they outed....corny, wise, silly, school girl autographish, whatever...some of these "heirlooms" still brought joy on the cloudiest of days. And on other days, they reminded me to count my blessings for the warmth and love of my loved ones. Thank you Rupan!

When we walk alone, we wish that we could reach the end of the road.
But when we walk with friends, we wish that the road never ends.....

I asked God to give me everything so that I can enjoy life
God replied: I have given you Life to enjoy everything!
So enjoy LIFE....

Friendship is the rainbow between two hearts
Sharing seven feelings
Love
Sadness
Happiness
Truth
Help
Secret
And most important
Respect

Every morning has a new beginning
A new blessing
A new Hope
And its a perfect day
Because it is God's gift
Have a blessed, hopeful perfect day

A Honest smile from a smiling heart
Crossing many kilometres
Has just reached
Your INBOX
Wishing you a life
Full of SMILES
KEEP SMILING

Just got a great health tip!!
There's no reason to fear
Menopause....
It's the eggs that expire...
Not the hen!!

One stone is enough to break a glass
One sentence enough to break a Heart
One second enough to fall in love
and
One SMS enough to keep relations in touch!!

A sunset here is a sunrise on the other end of the world.
Never give up because what appears to be the end
May actually be a new beginning

Friendship is a collection of hearts
Ready to forgive and understand
It never fades and never ends
It only reminds us life is not perfect
Without a good friend

Friends are like streetlights along the road
They don't make the distance any shorter
But they
Light up the path
And
Make the walk worthwhile

If you wait for happy moments
You will wait forever
But if you start believing
That you are happy
You will be
Happy Forever

Life is not an iPod
To listen to your
Favourite songs
It's a radio
You must adjust yourself
To every frequency
And
Enjoy whatever comes in it!!

There are more, many more. But I guess I will let them be for a little longer. Moving is a lot of effort. When you move house, the Packers and Movers are there to help you - dime a dozen. But emotional baggage; that is a totally different pie to bake dearies.

A Thousand Hits...

Nothing but some kind of depraved vanity led me to put the hits counter onto my blog. This coupled with dollops of low self esteem issues on my writing skills and it was quite a confusing time when I decided to see how many of the millions of people in cyber space would be interested in what I have to say. I must say visions of each entry being a best seller and publishers queuing up outside my door and the millions I would make did cross my mind. I also spent the millions by the way!!!!

Anyway the reason why I am going on and on like a hyperventilating rabbit is the fact that I happened to see the counter a couple of minutes ago and saw the magic number - 1000!! Yippeeeeeee

Thanks everyone.....its worth more that the millions I spent in my dreams. And you got it, that is the extent of my creativity and imagination folks.....nothing short of raking in the millions which is my next target on the hits counter of my dreams!!!

Mixed up family

This entry is a few months behind schedule and is dedicated to Shalini Froiland who gently kicked my butt to ensure that I woke up from the lazy stupor I had gotten into....

"Mummy, I know Runa Aunty's full name", was how the conversation began.

"Oh really! What is it?", I responded

Aarzoo : I know all the full names. I'll tell?

Me : Tell

A : Runa Banerjee, Samrat Banerjee and Aditya Banerjee.

(Sam is Parag's colleague and over time he, his wife Runa and son Aditya, have grown into family)

A: Everybody is Banerjee, like Shitiz Banerjee

(Shitiz & Aarzoo were best friends when we were neighbours. He lived across the corridor in Flat No. 1308 and we lived in 1306. Runa lives in the same complex but in Flat No. 1306 of another building. We too moved into another building and live in Flat 404)

A : Everybody in 1306 & 1308 are Banerjee. Only 404 is only Sen.....

M : No Aarzoo, Sen & Devaya

A : Yes, I know. This is a mixed up family. Even the languages are mixed up; Bengali, Malayali, Hindi.......

My daughter's take on the linguistic & cultural diversity of our family had me laughing till my sides ached.

This Could be Your Story

This is a rather long piece, so sit back and get ready to be shocked or numbed or spurred to action or whatever. A friend had posted it on Facebook and I had to put it in this space..............no edits at all.....put it in as is......

THIS HAPPENED IN BANGALORE(BENGALURU):SHOCKING
Buzz up! ShareThisFeb 13 2009 | Views 889 | Comments (50)
Tags: Standingup Being counted
This shocking yet at some level encouraging tale is reported by a friend who knows Sugata Chaterji the rapporteur of this shocker...Boohoo to ramsene and idiots of their ilk.DOWN WITH OBSCURANTIST POLITICIANS AND MORALPOLICE
3 CHEERS TO SUGATA CHATTERJI FOR STANDINGUP
...

Millionaire slumdogs and how things change.... (read this, for you may have a role to play!) 10:38am
Yes, everything changes.

The fantastic invisible sweep of time rushes and roars past us every dull and intense second that ticks relentlessly away every day, and all around us things constantly morph. Twin towers crumble, good people die, the good earth turns brown and bare, and old love fades.

And what precisely is your role in the incredible kaleidoscope of change?

A slack-jaw by-stander who barely registers the impact and implications? A commentator spectator who freely critiques but somehow rises above being affected by it all? A fatalist loser who bemoans everything and blames it all on circumstances and other people?

Look around you, you who reside in the so-called mind and knowledge capital of the shining new India. This is Bangalore.

Many of the quiet avenues that used to snake through the wooded shades and fragrant flower-scatters of a thousand gulmohars, flames of the forest, bougenvillias and silver oaks are now shorn of even a single blade of grass, their tar guts upturned by mammoth earth moving equipment, tortured sites full of grime, steel and concrete through which an endless procession of loud vehicles crawl back and forth, utterly indisciplined, frothing with impotent anger and frustration, from the early dusty dawns to the midnight hours, every single day.

We are the victims, you say? The civic governance of Bangalore is sub standard, you claim? Well, you may be right, but does that mean that even as an individual citizen whose real powers to influence matters is way less than what it theoretically should be, we have absolutely nothing to do?

I am re-thinking this premise, my friend. Unfortunately not a self realization case, but prompted by a black incident last Friday, 6th February, 2009. And this time it was not about aspects that affect your life and mine indirectly. It wasn't the death of yet another 100+ year old tree. It wasn't another instance of criminal neglect of any civic infrastructure. It wasn't road rage. It was a kick in the groin. Literally. And it woke me up all right.

So, in brief, this is how the drama unfolded:

A few of my friends and I were just paying our bills and coming out of our regular Friday night watering hole and dinner place in Rest House Road, just off Brigade Road, and most of the women in the company were already standing outside. Some of us outside were smoking, people were happy, there was laughter and jokes, as there were many other people in the street, all coming out, satiated, in the closing hour of the various pubs and restaurants around.

Suddenly from up the street a massive SUV comes revving and speeding, hurtling down, and stops in a scream of brakes and swirling dust, millimeters away from this group of 4 women, barely missing one of their legs. A white Audi, imported, still under transfer, with the registration plate of KA-51 TR-2767. Some millionaire's toy thing, that in the wrong hands can kill.

Naturally the women are in shock. And quickly following the shock comes indignation. These are self made women running their own businesses, managing state responsibilities for global NGO firms, successful doctors. They are not used to being bullied. So they turn around, instead of shrinking back in fear. They protest.

And as soon as they turn around in protest, the car doors are flung open, and a stream of 4-5 rabid men run out towards these women, screaming obscenities in Hindi and Kannada against women in general, fists flailing. Some of us who came in running at the sound of the screaming brakes now stand in the middle in defense of our women, and then blows start raining down. One of the goons make a couple of calls over the cellphone, and in seconds a stream of other equally rabid goondas land up. They gun straight for the women, and everyone – a few well-meaning bystanders, acquaintances who know us from the restaurant, basically everyone who tries to help the women – starts getting thoroughly beaten up.

Women are kicked in the groin, punched in the stomach, slapped across the face, grabbed everywhere, abused constantly. Men are smashed up professionally, blows aimed at livers, groins, kidneys and nose. A friend is hit repeatedly on the head by a stone until he passes out in a flood of blood.

A plain-clothes policeman (Vittal Kumar) who saunters in late stands by watching and urging people to stop, but doing absolutely nothing else. A 'cheetah' biker cop comes in, with our women pleading him to stop this madness, but he refuses action, saying a police van will come in soon and he cannot do anything. Everyone keeps getting hammered. Relentlessly.

The carnage continues for over 20 minutes.

Finally when the police van does come in it is this vandals who are raging and ranting, claiming to be true "sons of the Kannadiga soil", and we are positioned to be the villainous outsiders, bleeding, outraged. How do the cops believe them, especially seeing the bloody faces of our men and the violated rage of our women, while they carry nary a scratch on their bodies? Don't ask me! Yet, it is us who these goondas urge the newly arrived law-keepers to arrest, and the police promptly comply, and we are bundled into the van, some still being beaten as we are pushed in. Some blessed relief from pain inside the police van at least, even if we are inside and the real goons outside, driving alongside in their spanking white Audi. The guy who was hit by the stone is taken separately by the women to Mallya hospital.

Inside the police station at Cubbon Park it becomes clear that these goons and the police know each other by their first names. The policeman in charge (Thimmappa) initially refuses to even register any complaint from me, on the purported grounds that I am not fluent in Kannada and I have taken a few drinks (3 Kingfisher pints, to be precise) over the evening. No, it doesn't matter that I didn't have my car and was not driving, and no, it doesn't mater that the complaint will be written in English. We watch them and the goons exchange smiles and nods with our our bloodied and swelling eyes and realize in our pain-clouded still-in-shock brains the extent of truth in the claim of one of the main goons when he claimed earlier in the evening in virulent aggression: we own this town, this car belongs to an MLA, we will see how you return to this street!!

This was the turning point of the saga, I guess. For we refused to lie down quietly and be victims.

One of our girls, a vintage and proud Bangalorean who is running one of the town's most successful organic farming initiatives, took upon herself to write the complaint, when I was not allowed to write the same. Another Bangalore girl, a state director of a global NGO firm, wrote the other molestation complaint separately on behalf of all the girls. Some of us called our friends in the media and corporate world. Everyone stepped up. And even when the odds were down and we were out, we did not give up, and as a singular body of violated citizens we spoke in one voice of courage and indomitable spirit. That voice had no limitation of language, not Kannada, nor English, or Hindi. It was the voice of human spirit that cannot be broken.

And in the face of that spirit, for the first time, we saw the ugly visage of vandalism, hiding behind the thin and inadequate veil of political corrupt power, narrow-vision regionalism and self-serving morality, start to wilt.

We spent 6 hours next day in the police station. The sub-inspector of police who filed our FIR, Ajay R M, seemed a breath of fresh air inasmuch that he did not appear a-priori biased like others, even though the hand of corruption and politico-criminal power backing these goons was still manifest in many ways: a starched, white-linen power-broker walked in handing over his card to the sub-inspector in support of the goons; the goons got an audience with the Inspector because of this intervention, while we had to interact one level lower down in the hierarchy; the plains cloth policeman of last night, even though he had arrived far too late in the crime scene, gave a warped statement, passing it off as a "neutral" point of view, repeatedly stressing that we came out of a pub and hence were drinking, positioning this as a 'drunken brawl', while completely forgetting to mention the unprovoked attack against the women and the one-sided vandalism and violence that ensued. I guess one cannot blame the low ranked police officer – the criminal connections of these goons must be pervasive enough for him to be careful.

Thanks however to the impartial handling of the situation by Ajay, soon the goons were all identified. The lead actor was one Ravi Mallaya (38), a real estate honcho and owner of a small property off Brigade Road which he has converted into a "gaming" (you know what that means, don't you?) adda. The others identified are Mohan Basava (22) of Chamarajapet 12th Cross, R. Vijay Kumar Ramalingaraju (25) and Shivu Rajashekar (20). All are residents of 12th & 13th Cross in Vyalikaval. Their bravado and machismo were by that time evaporated. It was good to see their faces then.

Of course nothing much happened to them, nor did we expect it. They were supposed to be in lock up for at least the weekend till they were produced in court, but we understand that they were quickly released on (anticipatory?) bail. The car, purportedly belonging to an MLA, also does not figure in the FIR, apparently for reasons of "irrelevance to the case".The media also have given us fantastic coverage and support so far, strengthening the cause.

The goons meanwhile, as an after thought, also filed the customary reverse complaint on the morning after we filed our own complaint: the women have apparently scratched the car! (Why did they not file the complaint the same night, considering they came to the Police Station in the same car? Why was the car allowed to be taken off police custody? Why is the car still irrelevant to the case and not in the FIR? Questions.. questions..).

Is this the end of this saga? Probably not. Are these women, more precious to us as friends and wives than most things in our lives, safe to walk or drive down Brigade Road from now on or are the goonda elements, slighted by this arrest and disgrace, are lying in ambush, waiting, biding their time to cause some of us more grievous harm? We don't know. Is there reason for us to remain apprehensive of future attacks and victimization? Perhaps.

But here is the point.

We stood up.

We believed in the power of individual citizens even in the face of hooliganism, intolerance, corruption and power mongering. Even though many of us have the option of leveraging political or government connections, we deliberately chose to fight this battle as individuals. Sure, these connections have been activated and they have been kept informed, should the worst case scenario unfold tomorrow. But we have chosen to not leverage them. And in every small win we register as a group of individual outraged citizens of Bangalore and India, however insignificant these milestones may be in the larger scheme of things, there is one small notch adding up in favor of what is right, one small notch against what is wrong. And we believe that every such small notch counts, each such mark is absolutely invaluable.

It is the people who make this city, this country, this world. It is you and I, as much as the terrorists inside and outside. And in our small insignificant little ways, it is my responsibility and yours to not shirk from investing effort – not just lip service or any token attempt, but real effort – in backing up what we ourselves believe in. It is so easy to logically argue that everything is corrupt, nothing is worth it, there are so many risks involved. We must not fall trap to this escapist trend. We must not fail to try.

Next time you feel outraged, violated, abused, don't let it go by and add up to your list of litanies and complaints. Stand up and take it to the limit - at least your own limit. Not in the same way as they wrong you, but in the way that every citizen, at least in theory, is entitled to complain and protest. Do not let the hooligans power rant scare you or prompt you into submission. Do not allow the corrupt cop make you give up trying. Carry the flame forward. Try harder.

If are up to it, start right now.

Forward this note to everyone you want to be made aware of this. Post it in your own blogs. Talk about it amongst your circles. And if anyone of you should like to step forward with a word of empathy or advise, talk to me. Comment.

It is not Bangalore that is going to the dogs. It is us. We have far too long become accustomed to let everything go. And the more we let things go without any protest or fight, the dormant criminal and dark elements of the society get that much more encouraged. Every time we turn the other way, the hooligan next street gets incentivized to push the boundary a little further, provoke a little more, try something a little more atrocious. It is time for us to refuse to let this go on. We are responsible for making ourselves proud. Lets believe in ourselves. We can do this.

My name is Saugata Chatterjee. And I am standing up.I refuse to let Bangalore go to the hooligan slumdogs, even if some of them are pets of corrupt power millionaires.

Promises to myself

I had promised myself that I would write regularly in my blog....but I find that the promises I break are the ones I make to myself. I am ever willing to let myself down at the drop of a hat so should I crib when others do? What is so tough about writing that I cannot update this little space that I have created for myself. Suchi was cribbing the other day about my disappearance from the blogger world.

I have some stuff that I had written down some time ago but have not yet found time to punch it in. Also have some lovely forwards waiting in my Inbox but then again have deadlines hanging over my head and let the writing get least priority.

Anyway, here I am trying to keep awake in office and dealing with the hurting eye. The only thing that keeps me going is the fact that I am writing. Keeps me from growling and being nasty to everyone.......