Aankh khuli toh savera tha
Baahon mein tera roshan sa chehra tha
Kal raat ki unn silvaton ko odh kar, dil kiya phir so jaaun
Teri muskurahat ki dhoop mein ek baar aur kho jaaun
Hua toh kuch nahi vaise kal raat, par phir bhi kitna kuch ho gaya
Tujhe lagake seene se, ek arsey baad main chaien se so gaya
Khwaab bhi jaise maano chandni mein dhuley huey thhey
Jannat ke jaise saare darwaaze hi khuley huey thhey
Thand toh bahut thi aas paas, par jism mein ek haraarat thi
Lagta hai jaise iss nasamajh dil ki koi shararat thi
Dua kar raha tha main ki tu karwat na badle
Mann kar raha tha, ek aur baar tujhe laga loon galey
Dil ke korey panno pe jaise likh gayi thi tu kuch
Aakhien bandh, labh khaamosh, par keh rahi thi tu kitna kuch
Pal yeh beet jayenge, iss baat ka zara darr bhi tha
Kuch dil ki karestaani thi, kuch aisa mahol bhi tha
Bas yehi soch kar thoda main bhi muskuraa liya
Ki inn chand palon mein main khul kar jee toh liya
Baahon mein leke tujhe, main phir so gaya
Teri uss muskurahat ki dhoop mein phir kho gaya…
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
What’s there in a name?
William Shakespeare (may he sleep sound in his grave) couldn’t have been further from the truth when he quoted this. I mean, let alone the fact that in today’s scenario, it’s a person’s name that decides everything, from the ease in getting an e-mail address to a customer support executive being able to pronounce it, even in the times that have been, I am sure names played a significant part. Just imagine, for instance, if a dear friend of Shakespeare found his name too cumbersome and decided to shorten it to Willy Shake, out of affection, the kind of embarrassment it would’ve caused! Alright, maybe ‘willy’ wasn’t the slang for the instruments back then, but there must have been an alternative.
Sometimes I think parents name their children based on how much they love or hate them. Like this one bloke I bumped into, for example. His name was Samay (Time, in English). Needless to say, the rest of the evening was spent making him the butt of every joke. Like when he stopped dancing, people quipped “look! Time has stopped”. Reminds me of one of my ex-super bosses. He said that when the time came to name his kids, he came up with endless options and then sat down to figure exactly how each one of them could be mutilated and turned into a joke. And then froze on the two names that seemed most immune. Now, that’s a fine example of fatherly love!
For those who will probably pick on me saying I am quoting Willy boy out of context and the complete quote was "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.", I differ. Everyone has a name that suits their persona. It’s all about spotting it. Like I know these two sisters, Sandhya and Roshni. Incidentally, Sandhya is as fair as the white wedding dress of a bride and Roshni, well, let’s just say she can never make an image for herself, she can only make a silhouette. Not that I am complexion biased, it’s just that their parents could have reversed the names of the twins because not only is it a complete opposite of their skin colour, it’s also an opposite for the kind of people they are. Sandhya is vivacious, outspoken, restless, and always on the edge whereas Roshni is calm, sober, passive to the point of being a mannequin.
Coming back to the point, names are rather significant. Hence, there should be a few basic rules that should be followed any deviation from the rules should be penalised.
Ease of pronunciation: Absolutely not open for a debate. Names being internationally pronunciation friendly is a must. Take it from someone who has heard his name being mutilated to an extent that he chose to cut it short. Me. Or like this friend of mine, Shahnaaz. Lovely name (lovely girl, too) with a lovely meaning. Means The Royal Pride and translates into ‘a princess’ but a nightmare to pronounce, for those who’re challenged in that regard. On the other hand, there is this friend of mine called Jim (no, not Morrison). One simply can’t go wrong with a name like that!
Ease of spelling: As I see it, all names should be spelt phonetically. Again, comes from someone who has borne the brunt. Me. Like this woman called Kkashish. So, should one stress on the ‘K’? Or Schwarzenegger, for example. I know very few people who get it right.
Avoid religious connotations: Because if one doesn’t, in case of a communal riot or ethnic cleansing drive, one might be, let’s say, rogered. Better safe than sorry, as it’s said. Like with people named Bhagwaan or Christian. What will happen to them if they are caught by fanatics?
Should sound good: Meaningful or less, they should sound good. Like there is this friend of my parents’ called Drishtipriya. Fine meaning but a torture on the tongue! And sound terrible. On the other hand, look at names like Tom, Joy, Rita, Anita etc. One just can’t go wrong with these!
As it is, in India, with the whole multi ethnic, multi cultural brew, finding the right name is probably just as tough as bringing up the child itself because a name is something that sticks. It’s one’s identity!
So, I am all set for Willy Shake’s nightmares tonight because he will clearly not like me taking a dig him. And this has turned out to be a long post. I am bored and have been remarkably patient about writing this, given my serious ADD. Hope you liked reading it and saw a semblance of sense in it too.
Adios.
Sometimes I think parents name their children based on how much they love or hate them. Like this one bloke I bumped into, for example. His name was Samay (Time, in English). Needless to say, the rest of the evening was spent making him the butt of every joke. Like when he stopped dancing, people quipped “look! Time has stopped”. Reminds me of one of my ex-super bosses. He said that when the time came to name his kids, he came up with endless options and then sat down to figure exactly how each one of them could be mutilated and turned into a joke. And then froze on the two names that seemed most immune. Now, that’s a fine example of fatherly love!
For those who will probably pick on me saying I am quoting Willy boy out of context and the complete quote was "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.", I differ. Everyone has a name that suits their persona. It’s all about spotting it. Like I know these two sisters, Sandhya and Roshni. Incidentally, Sandhya is as fair as the white wedding dress of a bride and Roshni, well, let’s just say she can never make an image for herself, she can only make a silhouette. Not that I am complexion biased, it’s just that their parents could have reversed the names of the twins because not only is it a complete opposite of their skin colour, it’s also an opposite for the kind of people they are. Sandhya is vivacious, outspoken, restless, and always on the edge whereas Roshni is calm, sober, passive to the point of being a mannequin.
Coming back to the point, names are rather significant. Hence, there should be a few basic rules that should be followed any deviation from the rules should be penalised.
Ease of pronunciation: Absolutely not open for a debate. Names being internationally pronunciation friendly is a must. Take it from someone who has heard his name being mutilated to an extent that he chose to cut it short. Me. Or like this friend of mine, Shahnaaz. Lovely name (lovely girl, too) with a lovely meaning. Means The Royal Pride and translates into ‘a princess’ but a nightmare to pronounce, for those who’re challenged in that regard. On the other hand, there is this friend of mine called Jim (no, not Morrison). One simply can’t go wrong with a name like that!
Ease of spelling: As I see it, all names should be spelt phonetically. Again, comes from someone who has borne the brunt. Me. Like this woman called Kkashish. So, should one stress on the ‘K’? Or Schwarzenegger, for example. I know very few people who get it right.
Avoid religious connotations: Because if one doesn’t, in case of a communal riot or ethnic cleansing drive, one might be, let’s say, rogered. Better safe than sorry, as it’s said. Like with people named Bhagwaan or Christian. What will happen to them if they are caught by fanatics?
Should sound good: Meaningful or less, they should sound good. Like there is this friend of my parents’ called Drishtipriya. Fine meaning but a torture on the tongue! And sound terrible. On the other hand, look at names like Tom, Joy, Rita, Anita etc. One just can’t go wrong with these!
As it is, in India, with the whole multi ethnic, multi cultural brew, finding the right name is probably just as tough as bringing up the child itself because a name is something that sticks. It’s one’s identity!
So, I am all set for Willy Shake’s nightmares tonight because he will clearly not like me taking a dig him. And this has turned out to be a long post. I am bored and have been remarkably patient about writing this, given my serious ADD. Hope you liked reading it and saw a semblance of sense in it too.
Adios.
Friday, March 18, 2011
The language that used to be called English
Last night, I received a ‘text’ from friend which read: i m gd. hw hv u bn? lng tm! wna cth p smtm? trng 2 gt in tch fr a whl nw. gv m a bz n lts tk. wt sy n hwr thngs newyz?
It took me almost 15 minutes to figure the damned thing out. What it turned out to be was: I am good. How have you been? Long time! Want to catch up sometime? Trying to get in touch for a while now. Give me a buzz and let’s talk. What say, and how are things anyway?
Clearly, with such a complicated dialect of English that has emerged over the past few years, the need for cryptic codes has diminished rapidly. Funnily enough, this dialect is neither recognized officially nor taught in school. So how does it still manage to be propagated so widely? Here are a few reasons:
TEXTing: Also called SMSing, which is again, short for Short Messaging Service. Every ‘text’ is charged per character and so, understandably, conjunctions (one of the eight parts of speech) and vowels (A…E…I…O…U, for those who do not remember them, thanks to too much TEXTing) are wiped clean from every ‘text’ to try and pack in as much information as possible, within the permitted 160 odd characters. It’s like a telegram. Except that it mutilates the language beyond recognition. The end result reads like the ‘text’ above. The race to conserve characters leaves English looking pretty characterless. Pun unintended.
The solution: Someone needs to send these policy makers back to school to get their language and grammar right. They need to be given a Wren and Martin as a standard issue perhaps.
Uncle Sam: English was supposed to be, for quite some time, a language Great Britain had a monopoly on. Those were the days when English was pure. And sweet. It had complete spellings, a clearly defined pronunciation guide, unambiguous grammar and all the parts of speech intact. Then, sometime in the mid 20th century, a new kind of colonization emerged. Linguistic colonization. Led by the notorious Uncle Sam, it was nothing short of a jihad or a crusade. There was a systematic elimination of pillars that bolstered the language. Z replaced S, so organiSation became organiZation and realiSe became realiZe. Letters we needlessly butchered and as a result coloUr became COLOR, judgEment turned into JUDGMENT. Z came to be pronounced as ZEE and computers started to sound like COMPUDRS. Even worse route (pronounced ROOT) became route (ROUT, which, in British English, has an entirely different meaning) and Iran became I-RAN (sometimes I really feel like asking Uncle Sam: where the hell did you run?). To ensure complete efficacy of this “Final Solution of the English question”, softwares like Microsoft Word began to set their default language to ‘English (U.S.)’ and promptly displayed a red line under the word when you typed the conventionally correct spellings. Talk about annihilation!
The solution (not to be confused with “Final Solution of the English question”): To begin with, set the default language to English (U.K.). So what if the software is from Uncle Sam’s land? It doesn’t mean we bow down to linguistic tyranny. Next, get the pronunciations right. ROUT to ROOT. ZEE to Z. I-RAN to IRAN. Third, if you can, go and bonk Uncle Sam on the head. Really hard.
KPO a.k.a. Knowledge Processing and Outsourcing: I am still a little hazy on the exact difference between a KPO and a BPO but one thing I know for sure is that whatever they process, it is definitely not knowledge. I mean, come on, there used to be a time when graduation was known to be the basic level of qualification one had to achieve in order to live a decent and comfortable life. Needless to say, since the benchmark of education was much higher, so was the knowledge of languages and their understanding. Then came the outsourcing boom. A boom that blew everything to smithereens. Another covert attempt at colonisation by Uncle Sam. Kids barely out of their teens, with an incomplete education, were being offered plum jobs; their pronunciation was being forcibly altered to suit Uncle Sam’s needs. Obviously, is kids of an impressionable age were offered such high paying distractions, they were bound to fumble!
The solution: If you have siblings, kids, nephews, nieces or any other relatives in that age group, deter them from the KPO life. Tell them KPO is a misnomer! Attack the root of the problem.
Sure there must be more reasons, and you’re welcome to point them out, but off the cuff, these are the three that struck me. Sure, I may sound archaic when I say that the language used in ‘text’ messages are a little difficult for me to decipher but that is not because I am averse to adapting, I just refuse to sit back and accept the mutilation of a language that brings me my bread and butter. Nothing personal. I mean, to evolve is one thing and to wipe out is quite another. Besides, it is a global language and hence any change will affect communication around the globe.
Till we restore English to its former glory – let’s keep the torch burning and the protest alive. Long live the revolution.
It took me almost 15 minutes to figure the damned thing out. What it turned out to be was: I am good. How have you been? Long time! Want to catch up sometime? Trying to get in touch for a while now. Give me a buzz and let’s talk. What say, and how are things anyway?
Clearly, with such a complicated dialect of English that has emerged over the past few years, the need for cryptic codes has diminished rapidly. Funnily enough, this dialect is neither recognized officially nor taught in school. So how does it still manage to be propagated so widely? Here are a few reasons:
TEXTing: Also called SMSing, which is again, short for Short Messaging Service. Every ‘text’ is charged per character and so, understandably, conjunctions (one of the eight parts of speech) and vowels (A…E…I…O…U, for those who do not remember them, thanks to too much TEXTing) are wiped clean from every ‘text’ to try and pack in as much information as possible, within the permitted 160 odd characters. It’s like a telegram. Except that it mutilates the language beyond recognition. The end result reads like the ‘text’ above. The race to conserve characters leaves English looking pretty characterless. Pun unintended.
The solution: Someone needs to send these policy makers back to school to get their language and grammar right. They need to be given a Wren and Martin as a standard issue perhaps.
Uncle Sam: English was supposed to be, for quite some time, a language Great Britain had a monopoly on. Those were the days when English was pure. And sweet. It had complete spellings, a clearly defined pronunciation guide, unambiguous grammar and all the parts of speech intact. Then, sometime in the mid 20th century, a new kind of colonization emerged. Linguistic colonization. Led by the notorious Uncle Sam, it was nothing short of a jihad or a crusade. There was a systematic elimination of pillars that bolstered the language. Z replaced S, so organiSation became organiZation and realiSe became realiZe. Letters we needlessly butchered and as a result coloUr became COLOR, judgEment turned into JUDGMENT. Z came to be pronounced as ZEE and computers started to sound like COMPUDRS. Even worse route (pronounced ROOT) became route (ROUT, which, in British English, has an entirely different meaning) and Iran became I-RAN (sometimes I really feel like asking Uncle Sam: where the hell did you run?). To ensure complete efficacy of this “Final Solution of the English question”, softwares like Microsoft Word began to set their default language to ‘English (U.S.)’ and promptly displayed a red line under the word when you typed the conventionally correct spellings. Talk about annihilation!
The solution (not to be confused with “Final Solution of the English question”): To begin with, set the default language to English (U.K.). So what if the software is from Uncle Sam’s land? It doesn’t mean we bow down to linguistic tyranny. Next, get the pronunciations right. ROUT to ROOT. ZEE to Z. I-RAN to IRAN. Third, if you can, go and bonk Uncle Sam on the head. Really hard.
KPO a.k.a. Knowledge Processing and Outsourcing: I am still a little hazy on the exact difference between a KPO and a BPO but one thing I know for sure is that whatever they process, it is definitely not knowledge. I mean, come on, there used to be a time when graduation was known to be the basic level of qualification one had to achieve in order to live a decent and comfortable life. Needless to say, since the benchmark of education was much higher, so was the knowledge of languages and their understanding. Then came the outsourcing boom. A boom that blew everything to smithereens. Another covert attempt at colonisation by Uncle Sam. Kids barely out of their teens, with an incomplete education, were being offered plum jobs; their pronunciation was being forcibly altered to suit Uncle Sam’s needs. Obviously, is kids of an impressionable age were offered such high paying distractions, they were bound to fumble!
The solution: If you have siblings, kids, nephews, nieces or any other relatives in that age group, deter them from the KPO life. Tell them KPO is a misnomer! Attack the root of the problem.
Sure there must be more reasons, and you’re welcome to point them out, but off the cuff, these are the three that struck me. Sure, I may sound archaic when I say that the language used in ‘text’ messages are a little difficult for me to decipher but that is not because I am averse to adapting, I just refuse to sit back and accept the mutilation of a language that brings me my bread and butter. Nothing personal. I mean, to evolve is one thing and to wipe out is quite another. Besides, it is a global language and hence any change will affect communication around the globe.
Till we restore English to its former glory – let’s keep the torch burning and the protest alive. Long live the revolution.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
तारीख
कमरे की सफ़ेद दीवार पे
एक पुराना कैलेंडर टंगा हुआ है
और उन् कागज़ के पन्नो में
सिमटी हुई हैं कुछ यादें
वो घड़ियाँ तो बीत गयी
पर उन् लम्हों की महक ताज़ा है
चाहे जनवरी की ठण्ड में ठिठुरती यादें हो
या जून की गर्मी में झुलसती हुई
कुछ तारीकें
पेंसिल से काटी हुई हैं
उस इंतज़ार की याद में
जो कभी पूरा नहीं हुआ
अखबारवाले के हिसाब से लेकर
कुछ चुनिन्दा लोगों के जन्मदिन तक
सब इस पुराने कैलेंडर के भरोसे ही तो
याद रहता था मुझे
जब भी इस कैलेंडर को देखता हूँ
लगता है जैसे वक़्त थम गया है
महसूस होता है जैसे
बीती तारीखें वापस लौट आई हैं
एक सुकून मिलता है दिल को
के बीता हुआ कल जाते जाते
कुछ सुनहरी तारीखों की
यादें छोड़ गया है
एक पुराना कैलेंडर टंगा हुआ है
और उन् कागज़ के पन्नो में
सिमटी हुई हैं कुछ यादें
वो घड़ियाँ तो बीत गयी
पर उन् लम्हों की महक ताज़ा है
चाहे जनवरी की ठण्ड में ठिठुरती यादें हो
या जून की गर्मी में झुलसती हुई
कुछ तारीकें
पेंसिल से काटी हुई हैं
उस इंतज़ार की याद में
जो कभी पूरा नहीं हुआ
अखबारवाले के हिसाब से लेकर
कुछ चुनिन्दा लोगों के जन्मदिन तक
सब इस पुराने कैलेंडर के भरोसे ही तो
याद रहता था मुझे
जब भी इस कैलेंडर को देखता हूँ
लगता है जैसे वक़्त थम गया है
महसूस होता है जैसे
बीती तारीखें वापस लौट आई हैं
एक सुकून मिलता है दिल को
के बीता हुआ कल जाते जाते
कुछ सुनहरी तारीखों की
यादें छोड़ गया है
Monday, January 31, 2011
Little joys of life…
Ever since I started working, life has, in a way, come to a standstill. Office, work, party and sleep. That seems to have become the routine. In between all this, sometimes there is a cup of tea at the neighbourhood tea stall where conversations segue from the most inspiring to completely banal. During one such discussion last week, an interesting topic came up. A topic that brought back the nostalgia of college, of the years we had spent growing up and of the dreams we had seen.
This tea stall is a place where tea costs Rupees 6 and the conversations are free but priceless. But the best part is that here we can exercise our credit limit endlessly. This is the reason why the conversation began. We realised we were Rupees 30 short and we told the owner we would pay him later. But just then, someone asked for another cup and as a chain reaction, so did everyone else. Somebody in the group just mentioned, “do you remember the way we used to run short of cash when we were students?”
Memories came flooding back. I remembered the time we used to sneak out of home to catch a late night show. The time when neighbourhood tea stalls used to be our stronghold. Someone dug up the memories of getting drenched in the rain and binging on any kind of edible, cooked substance that was classified food. The time when one cigarette was shared between 4 people and Old Monk was the warmest companion of winters. A lavish birthday party would only mean “you will be fully fed” and weddings at friends’ places were always welcome because it gave us limitless access to food. On the days of an absolute cash crunch, we would share one plate of idly or a dosa or a sandwich between three people, with everyone aiming for the lion’s share. We would borrow friends’ bikes to drop pretty girls home, in the hope that something constructive would materialise. With some people, it was always “pay for me now and I will pay you later” when we went to the movies. That “later” never came. The hassles of exams and attendance brought back incidents that we would have rather forgotten. But looking back, it seemed fun. There were deadlines and curfew timings at home, but post that was when the fun began. A mobile phone was a luxury with call rates that meant we could only give missed calls. For the ones with girlfriends, it meant huge (by student standards) bills. Which in turn meant that we would have to lie at home for extra cash, and innovative lies at that!
Playing pranks on teachers and creating a ruckus was commonplace and so was the resultant “get out of my class”.
If I start making a list, I will probably run into hundreds of pages. But the important part is that we all realised that somewhere, along the years, we have probably forgotten how much those little, insignificant moments meant and how much we have missed them in the work life. Those years seemed so long back in the past!
It rekindled a flame, the embers of which, were dying out and as I end this piece, I will just say that let’s not allow anything to interrupt the little joys of life because these are the moments one savours. Let us raise a toast to a promise that we will live and breathe such moments every day. What say?
This tea stall is a place where tea costs Rupees 6 and the conversations are free but priceless. But the best part is that here we can exercise our credit limit endlessly. This is the reason why the conversation began. We realised we were Rupees 30 short and we told the owner we would pay him later. But just then, someone asked for another cup and as a chain reaction, so did everyone else. Somebody in the group just mentioned, “do you remember the way we used to run short of cash when we were students?”
Memories came flooding back. I remembered the time we used to sneak out of home to catch a late night show. The time when neighbourhood tea stalls used to be our stronghold. Someone dug up the memories of getting drenched in the rain and binging on any kind of edible, cooked substance that was classified food. The time when one cigarette was shared between 4 people and Old Monk was the warmest companion of winters. A lavish birthday party would only mean “you will be fully fed” and weddings at friends’ places were always welcome because it gave us limitless access to food. On the days of an absolute cash crunch, we would share one plate of idly or a dosa or a sandwich between three people, with everyone aiming for the lion’s share. We would borrow friends’ bikes to drop pretty girls home, in the hope that something constructive would materialise. With some people, it was always “pay for me now and I will pay you later” when we went to the movies. That “later” never came. The hassles of exams and attendance brought back incidents that we would have rather forgotten. But looking back, it seemed fun. There were deadlines and curfew timings at home, but post that was when the fun began. A mobile phone was a luxury with call rates that meant we could only give missed calls. For the ones with girlfriends, it meant huge (by student standards) bills. Which in turn meant that we would have to lie at home for extra cash, and innovative lies at that!
Playing pranks on teachers and creating a ruckus was commonplace and so was the resultant “get out of my class”.
If I start making a list, I will probably run into hundreds of pages. But the important part is that we all realised that somewhere, along the years, we have probably forgotten how much those little, insignificant moments meant and how much we have missed them in the work life. Those years seemed so long back in the past!
It rekindled a flame, the embers of which, were dying out and as I end this piece, I will just say that let’s not allow anything to interrupt the little joys of life because these are the moments one savours. Let us raise a toast to a promise that we will live and breathe such moments every day. What say?
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Kaash...
Intezaar hai mujhe tumhara
Kyon, yeh pata nahi
Bas aisa lagta hai jaise
Bina tumhare zindagi mein koi khalal hai
Kehne ko toh roushan hai yeh zindagi
Par zehen ke kisi koney mein
Ek gehra andhera jaise
Ghar kar baitha hai
Yaad aati hai tumhari jab bhi
Ek khushi ki leher daud jaati hai mayoosi ke beech
Aur pal bhar ko mann karta hai
Sameyt loon inhe tinka tinka karke
Par jaise yaadon ki raet pe
Likha tumhara naam
Gumm ho jata hai
Haqeeqat ki aandhi mein
Ghadiyaan lamha lamha kar beet jaati hain
Par na tumhari khabar aati hai
Aur na hi intezaar ke samundar mein
Saahil kahin dikhta hai
Pata nahi kashti ko sahara milega
Yaa doob jayegi isi samundar mein
Bas itni ummed hai ki kal jab aankh khule
Toh tum paas baithi ho..kaash!
Kyon, yeh pata nahi
Bas aisa lagta hai jaise
Bina tumhare zindagi mein koi khalal hai
Kehne ko toh roushan hai yeh zindagi
Par zehen ke kisi koney mein
Ek gehra andhera jaise
Ghar kar baitha hai
Yaad aati hai tumhari jab bhi
Ek khushi ki leher daud jaati hai mayoosi ke beech
Aur pal bhar ko mann karta hai
Sameyt loon inhe tinka tinka karke
Par jaise yaadon ki raet pe
Likha tumhara naam
Gumm ho jata hai
Haqeeqat ki aandhi mein
Ghadiyaan lamha lamha kar beet jaati hain
Par na tumhari khabar aati hai
Aur na hi intezaar ke samundar mein
Saahil kahin dikhta hai
Pata nahi kashti ko sahara milega
Yaa doob jayegi isi samundar mein
Bas itni ummed hai ki kal jab aankh khule
Toh tum paas baithi ho..kaash!
Friday, September 17, 2010
On the man they call the Mahatma
To begin with, this piece is not to hurt the sentiments of those who believe in him. Neither is it political propaganda. It’s just an average Joe’s take on Mr. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi a.k.a Mahatma Gandhi.
Having said that, lately I have come across way too many people who scream from the rooftops to tell the world how great a man he was. At least for me, it was way too many people to handle. So here’s my response.
First of all, with my limited intellect, I fail to see how a man who was never on the frontline of the Indian independence movement, be called the greatest of heroes! Before someone misinterprets that statement, let me clarify that by ‘frontline’ I mean someone who was there in the thick of the action – like Lala Lajpat Rai, who suffered fatal injuries during the “Simon Go Back” agitation when the Simon commission was setup. Or Bhagat Singh, who took the battle to the enemy’s turf! For me, that’s a true leader. Not a man who sits at the command station while his followers are assaulted.
Second, I do understand that Mr. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi was a believer in non violence but there is a very fine line between being non violent and being blind. During the Non Co-operation Movement of 1920, when the Chauri Chauraha incident occurred, why did he call off the movement? Did he not realize that the people he was leading were not a herd of sheep? Their patience had limits and the British had breached it a few times too much. I am not justifying needless violence but I do not advocate the “slap my other cheek too” logic either. People had quit their jobs, schools, colleges and changed their entire way of life! And a good leader is supposed to be good at reading his followers’ minds. Mere criticism of subjugation doesn’t really prove to be a constructive solution.
Third, please, somebody, remind me again – why is he called the Mahatma? I mean, I haven’t really come across any articles on his enlightenment. Follow a leader. Respect him. Be proud of him. Buy why on earth should he be given the status of a demigod? Just because he preached non violence? Russia, France, America and China have all undergone violent revolutions. And yet they are more developed and better placed than we are. So, what does that say? And yet their leaders are not worshipped.
Fourth – why do we have only Gandhi on our currency? Does it mean that the contributions made by Bhagat Singh, Chandrashekhar Azad, Jatin Das, Subhash Chandra Bose, Lala Lajpat Rai, Khudiram Bose, Ashfaqullah Khan, Rash Behari Bose, Ram Prasad Bismil and Rajguru not significant enough? Or is it because we called him the father of the nation since he was the only one in the list to have survived the struggle? Frankly, I find it a tad bit surprising that he was the only one to live through the whole period. Looks like non violence does have its perks!
To add to that, Nathuram Godse, the man who shot Mr. Gandhi was once his follower. So is it possible that somewhere he had let his followers down to an extent that one of them actually decided to put an end to it all? I mean come on, anyone who undertook an attack like that would have know that he didn’t even have a snowball’s chance in hell to get out alive. Yet he did it. Why?
Again, I was not present there. I am too young to have been there so I am not making a moral judgement. Just asking a few questions. Making a few statements. Any answers?
Having said that, lately I have come across way too many people who scream from the rooftops to tell the world how great a man he was. At least for me, it was way too many people to handle. So here’s my response.
First of all, with my limited intellect, I fail to see how a man who was never on the frontline of the Indian independence movement, be called the greatest of heroes! Before someone misinterprets that statement, let me clarify that by ‘frontline’ I mean someone who was there in the thick of the action – like Lala Lajpat Rai, who suffered fatal injuries during the “Simon Go Back” agitation when the Simon commission was setup. Or Bhagat Singh, who took the battle to the enemy’s turf! For me, that’s a true leader. Not a man who sits at the command station while his followers are assaulted.
Second, I do understand that Mr. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi was a believer in non violence but there is a very fine line between being non violent and being blind. During the Non Co-operation Movement of 1920, when the Chauri Chauraha incident occurred, why did he call off the movement? Did he not realize that the people he was leading were not a herd of sheep? Their patience had limits and the British had breached it a few times too much. I am not justifying needless violence but I do not advocate the “slap my other cheek too” logic either. People had quit their jobs, schools, colleges and changed their entire way of life! And a good leader is supposed to be good at reading his followers’ minds. Mere criticism of subjugation doesn’t really prove to be a constructive solution.
Third, please, somebody, remind me again – why is he called the Mahatma? I mean, I haven’t really come across any articles on his enlightenment. Follow a leader. Respect him. Be proud of him. Buy why on earth should he be given the status of a demigod? Just because he preached non violence? Russia, France, America and China have all undergone violent revolutions. And yet they are more developed and better placed than we are. So, what does that say? And yet their leaders are not worshipped.
Fourth – why do we have only Gandhi on our currency? Does it mean that the contributions made by Bhagat Singh, Chandrashekhar Azad, Jatin Das, Subhash Chandra Bose, Lala Lajpat Rai, Khudiram Bose, Ashfaqullah Khan, Rash Behari Bose, Ram Prasad Bismil and Rajguru not significant enough? Or is it because we called him the father of the nation since he was the only one in the list to have survived the struggle? Frankly, I find it a tad bit surprising that he was the only one to live through the whole period. Looks like non violence does have its perks!
To add to that, Nathuram Godse, the man who shot Mr. Gandhi was once his follower. So is it possible that somewhere he had let his followers down to an extent that one of them actually decided to put an end to it all? I mean come on, anyone who undertook an attack like that would have know that he didn’t even have a snowball’s chance in hell to get out alive. Yet he did it. Why?
Again, I was not present there. I am too young to have been there so I am not making a moral judgement. Just asking a few questions. Making a few statements. Any answers?
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