Digressed Nestlings!!!

“Get up Ravi,” answering machine announced.

“Why? Let me sleep Rexy. This is Sunday today,” I requested.
Requested because this is all you can do when you are talking to a girl. These girls are so egoistic and egotistic, they understand only please, can, and may words!!!

“No Ravi, we need to go. I have to submit my thesis and in the wake of Mumbai terror, I have got the theme of my thesis. So get up and pick me up at 7,” voice asserted, advised, ordered and then shut up.

Rexy is doing her PhD and her thesis topic is South Asian terrorism. So we have to go to meet one family whose sole son is a martyr and died in combating terrorists, and the other family whose sole son was a terrorist and died in combating Indian armed forces.

“You are late. I asked you to come at 7 and it’s 8:30,” Rexy shouted, apparently angry waiting outside her home for quite long.

“Let’s have some coffee first,” I hit her raw nerve. You see, girls have a unique chemistry between coffee at coffee café day and choleric. The more you take them to café day, the less choleric they get and vice versa.

“So, where are we starting from,” I asked.

“We will go to meet the family of great martyr first,” Rexy said and we reached the home of the martyr.

Scene 1

“Namaste,” Rexy gestured along with her broad Canadian accent.

“We have come to know about Major Khan,” Rexy requested. It gives lot of satisfaction seeing girls requesting!!

“Imran was an outstanding student, a brilliant sportsperson, a great Indian, and the best son of India,” Imran’s mother told, her eyes welled up with tears, but tone exuding pride in being the mother of a martyr.

Her voice had determination, hands becoming fists every time she remembering her son.

The same pride I and Rexy could feel in every person we met in Meerut.

“I am amazed at the way everyone here remembers a martyr,” Rexy said getting emotional along with some dew drops in her eyes.

“Do you miss your son,” Rexy asked his dad.

I felt furious at this question. What kind of question this was after all!!!

“Yes, I wish he were alive. If he were alive, he could kill many more terrorists, and could be a part of operation cyclone to kill terrorists in Mumbai,” Imran’s Dad wished.

This was the first family we met. The pride parents feel when their children do something extra-ordinary, something which we ordinary human beings can’t even imagine, is something which can only be felt. No dictionary has such words which can define that pride.
And if at all there’s any such word, then that word is Salute!!!

Scene 2

“Excuse me, can you tell us about Bashir’s house,” Rexy asked someone at azamgarh’s bus stop.

“No, we don’t know anything about that,” the voice vehemently responded.

Rather than responding with ‘I don’t know’, his response ‘we don’t know’ was something we felt abstruse.

“Excuse me Madam, can you suggest us Bashir’s house,” Rexy asked one burqua-clad woman.

“That terrorist,” voice answered with a question.

Rexy nodded, both stunned and shocked.

After all, why would a muslim woman address Bashir as a terrorist.

After all, Bashir was a muslim who fought for zihaad and died for a purpose. Isn’t it?

“Terrorist??” Rexy wondered

“What else. He attacked our nation. He killed innocent children, women and people. How else would you define him?” her voice had rage.

This is something Rexy and I weren’t very acquainted and comfortable with. An illetrate-looking woman had clear convictions about who Bashir was.

“And not once did he think how would his parents live their old ages with this stigma that their son was a terrorist, a traitor, a betrayer” she spelt curse for Bashir and left.

Somehow we reached Bashir’s house and on request, his father started:

“Bashir was our only son. We are a poor family, still decided for his best education. After his +2, I took loan from a lender for his Engineering. He finished his Engineering and joined a high-tech company. Then I thought he would pay his loan. But one day read in news that he was behind many bomb blasts in India. He died but left us in living hell, we are made to live with stigma of being parents of a terrorist, a traitor. I am working as a watchman at night to earn money at this age to pay for his loan I took from local people,” old man told and then broke up.

“I am so sorry we gave birth to such a son,” Bashir’s mother regretted.

Our two scenes ended and we returned to Bangalore.

It’s 9 at night, and I am sitting in balcony working on this post. Rexy is busy preparing coffee (how lucky you feel when your girlfriend prepares coffee for you at home, that too for free).

I am pondering about the state of 2 families, of the parents of a martyr and a terrorist.

One mother wants to give birth to Imran in her every birth, other mother is so sorry to give birth to Bashir in this birth.

I feel sorry for Bashir’s parents for the stigma they experience everyday for the evil deeds of their sole son.

I wish I could show these 2 scenes to all terrorists to convince them get back into mainstream, rather than playing into hands of foreign terrorist organizations. I wish that many more Bashir’s take examples of Major Khan rather than of bastard Osama.

May God give these digressed nestlings the illumination that they can experience and feel these 2 scenes, and get back to mainstream leaving their heinous and lethal activities far behind. May these digressed nestlings help make India the best place on the planet.

The Zion!! The Utopia!! The Shangri-La!!!

Heroes Reinvented!!!

Heinous Mumbai act is over. All seized symbolic monuments of financial prosperity of Mumbai have been freed and dead bodies of innocent people have been handed over to their loved ones. In essence, Mumbai is back to business like ever before, but with a difference this time.

I am talking about the Re-invented Heroes, the hitherto unsung heroes of India state. The heroes who have always worked whole-heartedly for the service of the nation, notwithstanding the nonchalance with which society has always reciprocated to them. I am talking of those armed forces, those National Security guards, those Marine commandos, and those para-military forces which have always served the nation when called.

If I have to find one good out of the entire gloom, this would be our Re-invented heroes.

When Mumbai was seething, there was no such hero whose body had 6 packs, there was no such larger-than-life person who has taken enough steroids to make his body best-fit for his upcoming movie, and there was no such hero who anchored dangerous acts of Indian celebrity girls on a newly launched channel. All these paper heroes were absent.

I couldn’t find any such hero there whom we all have grown up seeing fighting 10 villains at a time. The same hero writes in his blog that he couldn’t sleep whole night and had to keep a loaded gun under his pillow!!! And the irony of this nation is that such heroes have always been talked about, songs recited about, yagnas done for et al.

I failed to find even that hero who is very notorious to fight with co-stars and colleagues. And when he had a brawl with some colleague some time back at some birthday party, he was media’s darling. Where was that darling when Mumbai was seething!!! Was he hiding himself under his bed or what!!!

I couldn’t find even that hero who is our hero because he hits 4 sixes in an over, or because he is very aggressive on the field dancing like jokers after hitting a six. These were our heroes, the undeserving, much talked about heroes.

And then yesterday, I saw the real heroes. The heroes who didn’t have 6 packs, who mightn’t be having large mass appeal, and those who know that they would be unsung heroes again within weeks with a release of couple of movies of paper heroes, and sixes of other paper heroes. But for me, I had my heroes re-invented yesterday. The heroes who are so down to earth and so humble that everyone would wonder that these are the same heroes who carry those wits and courage to nip any enemy, and mind you, the real enemy, not the villains of silver screen.

In a way, this incident was an eye-opener for Indian public. Those politicians who talk all nonsense about nations’ integrity and patriotism were hiding, those movie stars who have those muscles and bodies (I don’t know for what) were nowhere visible at attacked sites, those stars who in movies have killed kidnappers and taken hostages back from kandhar in movies, the business people who always talk of nation were nowhere visible (probably afraid that a bullet might pass thro’ their heart also, the heart that carries all love for India!!!). Only people remembered at that time were these hitherto unsung heroes, those whom everyone knows as real heroes, but who, in our day-to-day hypocrisies, we all had forgotten.

India, this is not the day to get complacent again. And if you do, everyone can take my words for granted-we would be the worst and most cunning and selfish state in the world. This is the time to get up, stay united and stand up to high-five our real heroes. The heroes who die for nation, no matter what!!! These are the heroes who don’t have the luxury to take 10 re-shots to look more heroic in acts, these heroes don’t do any make ups on their faces, they also don’t have expensive clothes to wear, these heroes also don’t have pony-tails, these heroes also don’t marry the so-called most beautiful women of the world (as per media), and these heroes also don’t take steroids to show their fake and useless body to India public.

But these heroes have got that heart which beats for India cause. These heroes have got that chest that is ever ready to face a bullet on their heart, and these heroes have got that perfection that they really never need any re-shots in real life while killing villains. These heroes always look heroic in their acts, in their uniforms, their gait, their army hair-cut, and above all, in their zeal to serve mother India.

I salute these Re-invented heroes, and take the vow today not to forget the sacrifice this time. No more paper heroes, the time has arrived to sing songs of these lions. This is my humble homage and tribute to my Heroes. Jai Hind!!!!

Bihar is to India what India is to the West!!!

“Another debacle,” Rexy said disappointingly and changed the news channel to one of her favorite K-word lachrymose program.
“What happened?” Did Tulsi die finally?” I asked. I am very optimist but Ekta Kapoor ditches me every time making her alive again and again.
“No, I am talking of these Biharis beaten up in Mumbai,” Rexy responded. “Why can’t this entire non-sense end up finally” She had agony in her voice.

“I don’t find anything wrong in this. Maharashtra belongs to Marathis, what in the heck Biharis were doing there,” I counted-reacted impromptu.

You shouldn’t take the chance of arguing with girls, but as I mistakenly did so, now it was going to be really big. Rexy won’t let me go so easily.

“What’s wrong in this, did you say?” she shouted furiously. Eyes red, hairs open (she had opened her hair band when poor I opposed her) and face frowned.

“Poor unemployed empty handed chaps beaten up savagely and you are saying what’s wrong in this. Are you crazy or what” Rexy shouted. It was going to be really big now.

“They have got their own state, why can’t they just stay within their own boundaries? Why they are moving to Punjab, to Maharashtra, to Bangalore in not only dozens or hundreds but in hundreds of thousands?” I said softly. I don’t dare shout in front of her, so I kept myself soft.

“This is India Mister. This Maharashtra doesn’t belong to Marathis only. This Punjab doesn’t belong to Punjabis only. This Bangalore doesn’t belong only to Kannadigas” Rexy was very angry now. She even had got her cheeks vibrating with anger now. Only thing left was a smooth slap on my face and thus end of the show, but she chose to continue.

“And what boundaries you are talking about? Biharis staying in Bihar doesn’t mean they won’t go out of it. Bihar is after all India only,” she was soft this time while saying this.

“No, they are coming to Maharashtra and grabbing otherwise Marathi employment. They are coming to Punjab and seizing otherwise Punjabi farmers’ employment. They are even moving to all other prosperous parts of India and are taking hold of employment of local people. Why in the hell can’t they just stay happy in their own land, with their own people, within their own boundaries,” I was happy because I thought that I defeated her with this argument this time.

“After all, we local people suffer due to these Biharis” I thought.

“Ravi, what’s your dream business school?” Rexy asked.

“What?” I wondered.

We are discussing Bihar and Rest of India, and this Rexy girl is all of a sudden asking me about my dream school.

“Haha,” I thought but didn’t laugh loud.
“She has conceded defeat, so wants to change the topic” I thought.
“Harvard, Stanford, Wharton, Kellogg, Insead, Oxford, Cambridge,” I uttered all the top business schools all in one breath.

“Oh really!!!” came the first reaction
“Yeah baby,” I tried to make that rocky rock star pose but felt myself a joker, so came back to normal human posture.

“And Mr. Ravi, where in the world all those schools are,” Rexy asked.

“She herself belongs to Canada, then why is she asking all those bizarre questions?” I wondered.

“US, UK, France,” I crowed.

“Here you go,” she said energetically.

“Hmm. Biharis shouldn’t come to Mumbai or to Bangalore or to Punjab. They should also stay within their own limits, their own boundaries. They shouldn’t even try to grab opportunities and jobs of local people. Right?” she asked me.

She was repeating the same lines that I had said a few minutes ago. What’s she up to? These girls, no one has ever understood them, nor will one ever succeed!!!

Everyone from our grand grand fathers to our grand fathers to our grand children to our grand grand children have and will ever falter on this front!!!


“Right,” I said and widened my chest. After all, I had defeated a girl in an argument. At least, I thought so.

“Then why should Americans or French or British should let you in their country? You can’t let people of same country live in other state, then why should people of an altogether different country let you come there and accommodate you,” Rexy shouted.

Man, she had a point here, the point that I never pondered, the fact that I never noticed.

“You work with an IT company and so do I. But why should American companies give you work? Why should their work be outsourced to India? Tell me,” she questioned.

“You become a braggart and tell even remotest of your friends that you are going to States. Your parents boast to your relatives that their son or daughter stays in the States. Am I correct?” she again questioned. Her voice was very serious and she was nothing but honest at the moment.

“Ravi, you know why you got this job?” she asked straight forward.

“Because US companies want to do cost cutting, and we are skilled but cheap labor.” Well I confessed.

“Why shouldn’t every Indian IT engineer be beaten up when he goes to the States or the Britain?” she questioned and now I had no answer to any of her question anymore.

“Now you will say that we are skilled and give consultation to the States, but what these Biharis do, right?” Rexy was a visionary, a philosopher, an original thinker now.

I simply nodded in yes.

“Ravi, you surely are skilled and are a wonderful consultant. But you were privileged that your parents could afford to make you that skilled. Many Biharis may not be that skilled in technology, but they are skilled in construction and they get employment in this outside Bihar, that’s why they come to your places,” she clarified.

“All the buildings, the infrastructure, the flyovers you see, these hardworking people have made it. But really they won’t want to do so conditional they have the privilege to learn technology.” I was wondering at Rexy’s scrutiny.

Rexy finished this argument. Well, this was no more an argument because once Rexy started revealing facts, I was no more an arguer, but only a mute listener.

Rexy is again busy watching her lachrymose K-serials, but has left me contemplating.

What we Indians are? Isn’t Bihar to India what India is to the West??

Don’t Indians go abroad for labor? Don’t Indians go abroad as cheap skilled labor in IT? Don’t Indians go abroad for education or for employment??

We do go!! And here we Indians are people of those prosperous Bangalore or Punjab or Delhi or Mumbai et al.

If we want to go for better opportunities, then why can’t people of less prosperous states of India come for employment to other states, to the states where they don’t need even Visa to come??

Do they really grab our opportunities? If yes, then don’t we grab opportunities of Americans or the French or the British? If there we have no issues, then why here? Why this volte-face?? Why these self-determined dual standards?

India is a democracy, and every Indian has the blunt right to live or work anywhere in India. We don’t need any advocates of regionalism. If we really need, then first call all your near and dear ones from the West, where they are grabbing opportunities of hundreds of thousands others. Till then, be Indians, not regional!!!

It’s 11 at night when I am finishing this post. Rexy has given me yet another insight. I feel myself a bit more Indian today than a Punjabi. Today, when I see people of Bihar in my state, I don’t look at them with hatred, but pass a smile, a smile that takes their sorrows of being away from their families away!!!

Solution of Ram Temple issue!!!

How will you address God if you realize that the one standing in front of you is God!!!

Same quandary I was in the first and the only time I met God!!!
“Shall I say Good Morning or hello, or shake hands, or prostrate, or simply hug!!” I was in a multi-dimensional dilemma!!!

Rexy, my girlfriend is a Sci-fi and had made me a world-machine. World-machine is something very much like a time-machine, boarding which you can not only go to different time eras, but also to different worlds.

“So where shall we go first Ravi,” Rexy asked.
When girls ask such questions, be prepared that another couple of hours, and you would have lost couple of hundred rupees in Baristas or Café days.

“Baikunth” Rexy herself proposed while I was pondering that Barista would cost me 200 rupees, while at Café day I may save 20 rupees.

“Yes, let’s start with meeting Lord Rama,” Rexy suggested. Rexy is a Christian by birth but, as per her, that isn’t a sufficient reason to stop respecting or praying Gods of other religions.

I still have much to learn from her!!

“Lord Rama!!” I wondered.
“Why not go to see our future? To see how much more money of mine will you waste this month etc etc etc.” I thought but only thought.
You bet if you have a girlfriend, her word said means the final word said, so I conceded.

A couple of commands fired on her world-machine and we were in the official residence of Lord Rama (or Lord Vishnu, to say!!)

“Welcome Ravi and Rexy,” Lord Rama himself pronounced, God was aware that we would come there. After all, God is God!!

“So how is your planet doing,” he enquired.
“Nothing much Sir,” I responded, I wasn’t still sure about how to address Him. So I better used my IT company soft skills to address him Sir!!

“We are fighting to get our right, to build your temple at your birth place Sir,” I chose to earn some petty points in front of him, looked at Rexy and winked.

“And what purpose would it fulfill?” he wondered.

“Will it resolve your rich-poor gap, Hindu-Muslim riots, unemployment, global warming, terrorism, reservation issues,” God enumerated.

“Man!! We are fighting our elections on this issue and God has nothing to do with it. HE is totally indifferent towards it,” I was nothing if not stunned.

“And who made you Hindus and Muslims,” God continued.
“Which scripture has it written that I don’t care for Muslims or Sikhs or Christians?”
“Which book has it written that Jesus or Waheguru do bless Hindus?” my head was reeling.

“See this Super Computer. It has Rexy’s details. I had blessed him with idea to make this world-machine. Now how can you say that I am of Hindus,” God’s voice had disappointment.

“I kept shouting telling you that I am Vishnu, I am Jesus, and I am Allah. But no, you won’t pay a heed to it. God is one. But no, you won’t understand. At the end of the day, you are just residents of planet Earth.Educated illiterates,” God shouted.

"Any number of births I take to tell you this single point, but you will end up doing the same Earthish thing.Categorizing and Classifying. Can't you live without these races, these castes, these religions?" God asked.

“Go back to your earth, and tell your people and politicians. I don’t need temple. I need Humans. And tell your earth, you guys are not humans. You have just got the hardware (the body of humans), not the software (thoughts) of humans. You change your software, and that would be my Temple. The Rama temple,” God proclaimed, asked his waiters to serve us Ice Cappuccino, and left to fulfill his other appointments.

I and Rexy were just wondering about what happened. But surely, Rexy was no more Christian now, and I no more a Hindu. We were two humans praying to same God, just with different names.

“What next?” I asked Rexy.
“Let’s go to meet Babur,” Rexy said.

This Rexy girl gives me shock sometimes. First Lord and then Babur

What’s she up to? What’s going on in her mind?

I forgot to ask Lord why He made girls!!

“Ok,” I surrendered and we were in Heaven to meet Babur.

“Hello your highness Emperor Babur. We have come from earth to meet you,” I said with extra chocolaty face.
“Did you hear about Babri Masjid demolition,” I asked the blunt question straight forward.
He nodded in yes!!
“Your people are trying their best not to let the Ram Mandir construction happen there,” I said.

Emperor stared at me and kept staring, pondering something at the back of his mind.

“Ram Mandir, Babri Masjid,” he said and started smiling. Smiling converted to laughing and laughing to Guffaws.

I and Rexy looked at each other, wondering at this reaction.
“Your highness,” I interrupted.

“Are you a developed nation? Does every Indian sleep with food-filled stomach?” he questioned
“No,” I moved my head in east-west direction.

“Is your economy independent of exports? When western economy jolts, Is India independent of those shocks?” he questioned like an economist.
“No,” same gesture

“Is India a pollution-free, corruption-free, weather-calamities-free nation?” Emperor hurled another question
Pathetic I again replied in No.

I didn’t know where the conversation was heading to. I was confused but the Emperor continued.

“Is every Indian employed?” another one.
“No,” same gesture

“Does every Indian live above poverty line? Does every Indian consider other Indian a human?” another one
Same response!!

“When one Indian becomes superior, does he respect his juniors or consider them his slaves?” Emperor asked
“He becomes brutal, a beast,” Rexy replied this time with some furiuos expressions.

Emperor again started laughing, not to stop this time.

I was responding without facial expressions, but these girls, they have this art of contorting their faces as per the situation. God, you are really great who devised them!!

“Go and tell your world’s people. The day every Indian will start considering himself an Indian before any other thing, my soul will be most happy,” Emperor replied.

“We don’t need temples or mosques. If anything, be humans and love other humans. If anything more, open Charitable Hospitals at contentious places, where those wanting mosques or temples will donate money, and where every human will be served without a matter of his religion” Emperor replied and left.

I and Rexy also came back to our World.

It’s 9 at night; Rexy is busy watching one of those late evening K-programs, and devising new tantrums to ask free coffee or chocolates from me, while I am writing this blog conveying the message of Lord Rama, and the solution of Emperor Babur. Don’t know how many would be the takers, but even if one, I win!!!!

Agony of a Bomb!!!

“Excuse me Sir,” one voice came as I was passing by a Railway platform.
I looked around, but found none.
“Help me,” came the voice again. The voice had pain and agony.
I scouted but to fail again.
“Where are you? Why don’t you come in front of me,” I hurled umpteen questions, wondered and curious.
“I am here in the trash,” shivering voice came. I could feel its pain; it wanted to cry but was somehow controlling itself.
I glanced around to find a trash on my left side with “I am Hungry, feed me!!” on it, and a black bag inside it.
I guessed that sound was coming from inside the black bag.
I opened the bag to find my eyes wide open, extremely shocked and stunned.

It was a bomb!!!

Next 2 minutes we had no verbal conversation but only eye talk. Then the bomb started with tears, tears starting from his eyes and covering the entire contour of his face, then hiccups and then blubbing.

Bomb is a very dangerous thing, but finding it crying isn’t something we get a chance to see very often.

“Wh…Wha….What are you doing here?,” I was getting apprehensive as soon as I was getting the realization that I was very near a Bomb, the RDX bomb which would explode to demolish everything all around.

“I am here to destroy this platform,” the bomb replied and started weeping again.
“But why?” I was scared now, still gathered my courage to ask.
“I don’t know,” bomb replied, and as usual kept crying.
“What the heck!! You are here to destroy this place, kill hundreds of innocent people, and you don’t know why you want to do so.” I shrieked my lungs out.

No response!! Only a few hiccups.

“Why this volte face. Why are you crying,” I questioned, re-questioned and then kept questioning till he started.

“Can you see that man standing there,” bomb pointed by his finger to show some 28-30 year old man.
“He is an army man, and is going back to his village after 6 months. He is the sole bread earner of his family and is going on a 15-day vacation to meet his old widow mother, wife and a daughter” bomb told in his usual piteous voice.

“Can you see that child playing there with plastic bag,” he showed another 3-4 year old baby kicking some plastic bag.
I nodded.
“That couple standing at a little distance from him are his parents. They have been blessed with this baby after years of prayers and wait. That innocent child will come to me also, and may kick me ignorantly to get his life ended.”

“See that coolie there. He is the sole earner of his family of 4 children and sick wife. That newly wed couple who are married for only a month now,” the list was endless.

“Ravi,” bomb addressed me.

I was somewhere in thoughts, but his address made me stare at him.
“I have to kill them all,” bomb’s voice was shivering but had firmness.

“Can’t you stop,” I requested.
“I wish I could. I wish I could explode to end my life in the hands of that bastard only who planted me here. I wish I could rip him apart into pieces,” the voice had wrath.

“But I couldn’t. And now, I have a dharma to follow. The dharma of my purpose. My reason of existence,” bomb said.
“Can’t this destruction end? Can’t people be allowed to live peacefully? In no panic?” I asked.

“Not until the time you will keep differentiating yourselves into Hindus, Muslims, or into other religions. Not until you will think beyond religion to find another religion Humanity. Not until fanatists realize that we bombs don’t look before exploding that we haven’t to harm people of their religion,” bomb had a point.

Bombs don’t filter that if fanatists of X religion have planted a bomb, then people of x religion won’t be harmed. They equally do it to X as they do to Y. Then why this volte-face by fanatists on the name of religion?

“Can you do me a favor,” bomb asked.
“Yes,” I nodded
“Please defuse me to end my life before I explode. This way I will get a sweet death. A death which every bomb wants- Death by defusion,” bomb’s voice was happy now as he knew he had got a messiah who would consummate him before he explodes.

“Good bye Mate,” bomb said last before I took his connections off to defuse him.

“Get up Ravi,” answering machine sounded. This was Rexy.
“Calling you for last 10 minutes, why don’t you pick up your phone,” she shouted.
God!! I was in a dream.
But dream had a point. I wish I could tell those fanatists that bombs aren’t like those fanatists. Fanatists might differentiate between Hindus and Muslims, but these bombs won’t.

For them they have only one dharma. To kill people, Hindus or Muslims or even Christians or Sikhs.

I wished that Fanatists could read this post to stop planting bombs, if not for me, then at least for people of their own religion.

Now as I hadn’t picked Rexy’s phone for 10 minutes, I will have to compensate taking her to Barista or Coffee Café Day.
You know these Girls!!!
Need a reason for free coffee!!!

I have just returned from Barista. It’s evening 8 when I am writing this post. Though I met that Bomb in my dream, but its helplessness, its tears, and its satisfaction to die before exploding are still vivid in my memory. Like we had really met!!

Ho!!! He uttered S, E and X words together !!!

“Son, anyone sitting on this seat?” a man (should be around 65) asked me in the bus while I was traveling from Chandigarh to Delhi.

“No, you may sit here,” I responded and he sat.
Later on I sensed that he was heavily drunk.

To my right was sitting a girl, beautiful, slim and dressed in western. Shy and Conservative (at least the first impression I got), apparent that she wasn’t interested in talking to any of us either.

The bus started and thanks to smoothness of Indian roads, we soon starting getting bounces. The old man was also bouncing. Till bouncing it was fine, but as we were sitting near front door and as he was getting imbalanced also at every jerk, it was making me scary. I couldn’t afford seeing him flying out of the running bus and dying in front of my eyes.

“Sir, would you like to sit in the middle seat?” I offered. I think I had only this way to make him come in the middle, as it was not a good option to tell him that Sir, as you are drunk and out of your senses, you will fly out of bus by bounces any time, so please come in the middle to dodge it!!

“Sure son. In fact, I too wanted to come in the middle!! You took words out of my mouth,” he was getting a bit more formal. I didn’t know that he was having this anxious desire to come in the middle seat and didn’t understand it either even when he came in the middle.

“Uncle, please keep your hand in your seat’s boundary,” the female voice requested humbly after some time.
Uncle, making the excuse of the same imbalance thing reciprocated.

We were out of Chandigarh now, the bus lights had been put off and only small bulbs were remained lit on, and bus was talking to its bosom buddy air now.

“Uncle, please put your head off my shoulder,” the female voice registered her objection again.

“You are like my daughter. This boy is like my son. You are my children,” the bastard said, laughed a cunning smile and reciprocated

Every time after raising her objection, she was staring at me as if asking my assistance by her eye-language.

I and that beautiful girl looked at each other and had our eye contact. Her eyes were of course very beautiful but had that disappointment and sadness . I felt that her eyes were talking to me and were saying something. Like saying that why you sat at the extreme left leaving me fighting with this brutal demon alone!! Her eyes hadn’t the tears, but the way those eyes were talking to me were piercing my heart out.

10 minutes passed and the old man pretended to be sort-of sleeping.
“Uncle, why can’t you keep your feet away,” shouted the female voice of the girl to break the tranquility of the ambience, but went unheard by many as the bus driver was playing some music at full volume.

I saw that the old man had his right feet in between feet of that now-pathetic girl.

“Excuse me,” I talked to that girl for first time.
“Would you mind coming to extreme left,” I asked. This way she would come to extreme left, I in the middle and that drunkard to extreme right.

The happiness in her eyes and her eye-language told me that this was what she wanted. The old man stared at me like an enraged bull but was helpless as probably he had got the feeling by our eye-contact that any word uttered and the bus becoming a smack down and this slur-of-society beaten up by me like anything. But because it could have made others in the bus take entertainment out of that girl, I better chose to refrain beating that savage.

“Thanks,” the girl said after settling at her new place and I nodded.
“Sophia, she said and forwarded her hand for hand-shake
“Ravi,” and we shaked hands

She was happy to come to extreme left but still had trauma of what that old-drunkard was trying to do. The trauma that he was trying to dis-respect a girl who should be definitely his daughter’s age, that how his own daughter would be managing at home and that when will this stop happening!!

“I was thinking to come out of this seat and sit on the stairs of the bus,” she said and I really didn’t know what to respond to that girl.

Sometimes in life we speak a lot and sometimes we get such moments where our silence becomes the best solace for other person, so I chose to opt the 2nd one but she chose to continue and to open her heart out.

“Why can’t we be respected,” she questioned.
“Why can’t we travel alone at night and why can’t we stay alone in apartments” she had utmost pain in her heart.
“When we walk on the road, why we are stared at like we are the prey of these brutal predators? Why they scan our body and what do they think how would we be feeling on seeing them doing this?” she had tears in her eyes and her voice was breaking.

I really didn’t know what to do. I wanted to wipe her tears but sometimes tears help more than sympathy. So I chose to be unsympathetic.

“Ravi, tell me one thing. Why doesn’t it happen abroad, in western countries?” she questioned.

“Probably because they are advanced societies,” I answered.
“Why can’t we be advanced then? What is stopping us? And why we are made to die every day experiencing these traumas?” she questioned.

“Our taboos,” I responded
“And what’s the way to break those taboos,” she queried
“Sex Education,” I thought but didn’t utter. I am an IT guy and not a conservative, but even I faltered on uttering the S,E and X words together.

“Sex Education is the only way,” came the voice.
I agreed to her nodding my head. I was feeling ashamed that I couldn’t say this before she did, but by now I had realized that we still feel shy of intonating S, E and X together

And it wasn’t my fault. We have been brought up like this that the time S, E and X words are uttered by you together, many eyes frown, many surprised making you feel like an alien and many making you feel disgraceful.

“Ho!!! He uttered the S, E and X words together,” one would wonder.
“The SEX did you say??” other would ask

“Would Sex Education serve the purpose? Would these predators stop their misdeeds?” I had a genuine question and I asked Sophia
“At least there will be awareness in society, people will have correct knowledge, children will know what molestation is and activities of these bastards will be restrained,” she said and continued.

“We girls won’t feel shy registering our concerns and raising our voice. The nation will have fewer sick people. Youth will know that bodily changes are due to hormonal changes and will have proper knowledge of all this. But this all can be done only thro’ proper education and honest education. Thence staring at us, probing our bodies and making us feel disrespected will eventually stop automatically. We will be a nation of sensible and healthy-minded people. Automatically we will be advanced” she stopped.

“It was making sense to me, but is it possible in a so-called volte-faced nation like ours? The nation where culture and civilization is talked of but whose society is deteriorating every day. The nation where we still talk of values and ethics, but are amongst most corrupt. The nation where we don’t want to talk sex, but girls are insecure, angry and disappointed at the apathy of governments and society at large?” I had all these thoughts in my mind.

I stared at her, she was looking very vibrant and energetic. Her hands were making movements and her gestures had a tinge of revolution

"I expect our generation to be audacious to give sex education to its posterity.I would render sex education to my children at least so that my daughter won't have to experience that dishonor which I do and my son won't do any such thing which would make daughters of others feel that trauma." sophia replied.

She had the solution, the way by which she could stay alone in her house without her parents worrying about her, the way by which she could travel alone without any panic, the way by which she hasn’t to be at anyone’s mercy or assistance.

Thence came Delhi and we parted.

I am aboard the flight to Bangalore while I am writing this blog. I am envisioning the dream of Sophia’s India. The dream of India with an advanced-society. The society where people have knowledge of sex and the society where Sophias haven’t to make any more pleas to Uncles, and haven’t to stare at any Ravis for assistance.

The shangrila India !!!

Punjabi, North Indian or a Complete Indian ??

“Congrats Ravi,”a friend not belonging to Punjab came and patted on my shoulder. Confused I rewinded my history of that day and day before not to find any such single achievement for which I should have been congrated.
“For what,”muddled I asked.
“You guys won the gold medal,”he disclosed.
“you guys??? Gold? What do you mean?,” I have never ever won even a single bronze,so was completely at sea
“Abhinav Bindra won the gold at Olympics,he belongs to your Punjab.Isn’t it,” he clarified.
I felt like shouting but kept mum.The day passed and the episode ended.

“Congrats Agni,”another friend not belonging to Punjab came and patted on my shoulder while I was working on one of my blog posts.
It was kind of Déjà vu !!
“Now for what,”I asked
“your Pugilist Akhil defeated the world champion in boxing and Sushil Kumar won the bronze in wrestling,”he shamelessly uttered,
It was getting tougher for me to withstand these compliments anymore(I am a choleric type person) but again I didn’t counter.But these two incidents made me wonder about my identity !!

Who am I? A Punjabi, a North Indian or an Indian?

When mallu P.T.Usha represents in Olympics,doesn’t she represent India? When Mumbaikar Sachin Tendulkar hits a century,doesn’t that score add to India’s total tally? When Tamilian Mahesh Bhupati hits an ace in Davis cup,isn’t it India that wins? When Bengali Rabindranath tagore is awarded Noble prize,isn’t it India that feels that honor?When Bihari Kautilya is talked of and saluted for his vision and intellect,isn’t it entire India that is esteemed.

Then why am I singled out as a Punjabi? Why shouldn’t I congrat these guys of my team(those friends were my teammates in my project) for the Olympics medals and why am I made to solely cherish these victories?

Offended I contemplating these thoughts left the office in the evening. It was raining heavily and Auto-people spiral their fares 3-4 times during such odd-weathers,saying that it’s their business time. It’s unimaginable to ride a bus in a metropolis because riding a bus would mean to stand on a feet for the entire trip of 10-12 km.

So I rather chose to take the lift from any 2-wheeler.

“Where are you going sir,”I asked a person on bike,around 40-45 years in age who was waiting at the traffic signal
“Where are you from,”he furiously asked.
“God why everyone is asking me my identity,”I thought
“Punjab,”I humbly replied.
“Then what are you doing in my state,”he hurled
“You go back to your state and ask there for the lift,”he bluntly and shamelessly told

It was my 3rd time since morning when I was being told that I am not an Indian but a Punjabi, that I don’t belong to India and that there’s nothing called India, so I couldn’t refrain anymore

“Who in the hell are you to tell me to go back to my state,”I shouted
“Who are you? You bastard,” I was completely mal-treating him now. Enough was enough. I needed the decision.
“This is my state.How dare you told me to go from here.This land doesn’t belong to your father. It’s as much mine as it’s yours,”I made it very clear to him.
“I can come anywhere,go anywhere,stay anywhere in India,I haven’t to take license from anyone to go anywhere in India,” I said.

I was furious, but I wanted to cry as well,to weep but as I am a male and as males don’t cry in public,so I didn’t(but I am not a male chauvinist)

It was raining heavily but I had the volcanic lava boiling deep down at heart. I wanted to slap him,but as I had attended my company’s soft-skills training the same day,so under the stupor of that soft-skill thing,I didn’t.

Reached home at night to switch on the TV to find Vijender Kumar reserving the bronze by reaching the Semi-finals. I knew now what I had to do in office the next day.

“Congrats Lakshmi,”I told one of my teammate,the same boy who was the first to wish me the previous day
“For what,”came the reply.
“you guys won another bronze,”I replied,winked and moved to next cubicle
“Congrats Madhu,”I felicitated the other guy.
“What for, man??” this was his turn to be bemused
“You won another bronze in boxing,” I said
“Now your tally of medals in Olympics is 3.I am ecstatic and blissful.Let’s celebrate,”I kept talking and then came back to my cubicle

Both of them had understood that what I implied by this deed. Embarrassed,ashamed and ignominious, they came to my cubicle.

“Ravi,sorry for yesterday,” they said. They seemed really sorry for their deed.
“Thanks man. We didn’t even realize our misdeed,” Madhu said.
“It’s ok. You realized it, this makes my day,” I replied
“We don’t need Punjab or Haryana or Kashmir or tamilnadu or Bengal or
Assam or Karnataka, we need India. We are better off being Indians,”they said unequivocally. Now I was a happy being.

It is 12 midnight while I am writing this blog,I have just returned from Firangi paani(a funky pub of bangalore) where we 3 along with 3 others from some other states had had a treat to celebrate the Olympic medals of 3 Indians, rather than those of any Punjabis or Haryanvis or Maharashtriyans or of any other state.