10 Reasons to be Happy during an Autorickshaw strike in Mumbai

Mumbai is getting baked at 33 degree Celsius. The Autorickshaws are on strike (nearly 80,000 in the suburbs alone). Buses and trains are overflowing with people (as if they were any better earlier). In short, the common man is deprived of one of the most preferred modes of public transport. We Mumbaikars hate this. We all curse it.

I kept grumbling about this until I decided to see the 'sunny side up'. Why not just look at some of the advantages of the strike and feel happy! So here are 10 reasons to be happy about the autorickshaw strike. 

1. Roads in Mumbai are less congested during Rickshaw strikes. Hence, other vehicles move faster and its easier to cross roads.
2. Less air and noise pollution!! I don't have to explain how much this means to our dear city. 
3. We all know about the rigged meters and we sometimes keep staring at it before arguing with rickshaw driver. During strikes, one does not have to worry about the meters!
4. Malls, Multiplexes and some gardens see an increase in revenue, as lovebirds miss their 'cozy spot' in the rick. ;-)
5. Most of us end up walking to destinations nearby. Walking is good for health!
6. It isn't unusual to come across cases of road rage and car drivers fighting with rickshaw drivers. Strike brings more peace to Mumbai roads.
7. No matter what, we all pray that the strike should not continue for more than a day. This leads to 'Collective prayers for greater good of the society'...something which we don't do regularly. ;-)
8. A good excuse for students to bunk college (teachers too get a break from the brats!).
9. Its great to see Mumbaikars helping each other...pooling cars...giving lifts to strangers. A true example of 'Unity in Adversity'.
10. __________________________________________________

 Let me leave the 10th reason to you. Factual, funny or weird..whatever it may be...jot it down in the comment box and hit the button. It may make someone smile!

Voice behind the 'VOICE'

A few weeks back, I read an article in one of the leading newspapers. The article was about the downfall of Sir J J School of Arts, which was once the most reputed art school in the country. Even though the article focused on the causes of the downfall and highlighted the key success factors of MSU, Baroda which now holds the top position among art schools in the country, it also showcased the appalling status of our education system.

It was not difficult for me to draw parallels between the field of fine arts and other fields of education. In comparison, one institute or university may seem to be better than the other. However, on a global map, where can we place ourselves in comparison to prestigious institutes, the Ivy Leagues and superior educations systems of not just the West, but also of countries like Singapore and Australia? All we can boast of are a few IITs and IIMs that are insufficient to cater to the vast pool of talented students in the country. This means that a highly talented student may lose the opportunity if he or she falls short by even a few points in the entrance exam. The point to be noted however is that these prestigious institutes in India are not insulated to the factors causing the quality of education to decline either.

We have succeeded in entrapping ourselves in a vicious circle. It is not just the education system but also the industry to be blamed. Industry looks at ‘labels’. The students therefore chase those labels irrespective of their caliber or interest. The system thrives on churning out graduates and post-graduates who, inspite of multiple labels, lack basic competencies. The industry then complains of ‘talent gap’. This has also led to a new order of social stratification. Those who are unable to make the cut are classified as mediocre or weak. Over a period of time, this type of classification leads to a ‘mediocre’ mindset which results in students underestimating their capabilities.

Most students join the rat race with a one track mind of getting tagged with three letters called ‘MBA’ which would serve as a ticket to a cushy job and inflate their value in matrimonial markets. The concepts of understanding the subject, analyzing realistic situations and cases in the light of those subjects, ideation, self-expression etc. are losing luster.

However, I feel that it is high time we step out of this rattletrap and re-ignite our minds. It is not just students but also academicians and corporate executives who should part take in the transmutation of the system. It is our duty to fight the existing misoneism.

One of the major steps to be taken to catapult this process of change is to encourage students to think. The idea is not just to think it, but ink it as well. This is the principle that lies at the foundation of ‘VOICE’. The vision of the magazine is to help students voice out their thoughts without keeping them bound within the walls of management.

Let me conclude by quoting Sydney J. Harris,

“The whole purpose of education is to turn mirrors into windows.”


(I was the chief-editor of the magazine 'VOICE' when I wrote this editorial)

Letting Go...

It was just another day at work for me and I was heading back home late evening. I stood waiting for the bus at the bus stop nearby. After long hours of lecturing, I sometimes choose to sit down at the bus shelter as the waiting period could be anywhere between 15 to 30 minutes. However, on that day, unlike the other days, I wasn’t feeling like sitting down. I was feeling unusually energetic and agile. As I continued to marvel the unusual energy I was experiencing, my mind began flipping through the day’s events and even the food I had consumed. There was nothing different. So where was this energy coming from? What was the secret of my agility?

It took me a while before realizing that I was not carrying my backpack. For some reason, that day, I had left my bag at home. That was what was different. So the secret to my agility was not any extra shot of energy but the lightness of my own body due to the absence of the backpack.  Suddenly, I felt a little insecure without my bag. I usually carry the books that I read and a bottle of water wherever I go. Their absence started making me feel uncomfortable.

It was then that I started relating my situation to what most of us do in our life. We carry invisible backpacks with us all the time consciously or unconsciously. The baggage would be containing negative emotions relating to the past. Bad memories, the emotions associated with those memories, anger, hatred, jealousy, vengeance, so on and so forth. Moreover, we keep adding to the baggage every single day. I know of a young man who even maintains a dairy, in which he records every incident that hurts him in some or the other way, along with the date and time! He vows to take revenge.  I wasn’t surprised to find that the pages of his diary were getting exhausted. Each day there was something new for him to add on. Inspite of being a really good human being, this baggage has been robbing him of his life force. It has begun to take a toll on his health. He knows the perils of carrying this baggage, yet not willing to let go of it.

We maybe be attached to our respective backpacks and may feel insecure in its absence, but what it really does is that, it weighs us down. The sooner we choose to let go of it, the better. We are souls meant to fly high with our wings spread wide, not crawl on the ground and be miserable throughout our lives. But the choice is ours. We do posses the power to let go. It is easier said than done. But when it is done, we will be re-born again. It will become a true cleansing process for our soul.

On that day, at the bus stop, the positive energy that I was experiencing from my agility, gradually overpowered my insecurity. I finally reached home…safe and sound. And I no more missed my backpack.

Silence of the Lambs

A message alert on my phone woke me up today morning. It’s a Sunday and I realized that I had overslept. The message was from a dear friend who resides in the building next to mine. I knew that he wouldn’t send a forward message to me on a Sunday morning. Curiosity helped my heavy eyelids open. The text told me to read a particular page in the newspaper. Could it be some sensational news? But my friend knows that sensationalism fails to suck me in. It had to be something else. I grabbed my cup of morning tea and started whipping through the pages of the newspaper.

A man. A young man who had dreams. Though he has a name, I prefer to keep him nameless. He was closely associated with my friend at the institute where he took his masters. The article was about a meeting this young man had had with a popular film-director. This ‘meeting’ was one among many in the basket of his dreams. He had shared his creative aspirations and some of his amateur work with the director who clearly seemed impressed with the enthusiasm of the young man. One of his dreams had come true.

A man. A young man who HAD dreams. He does not dream anymore for, he rests in silence. Precisely a week back, on a cursed day, he decided to bring his life to an end. It had come as a shock to my friend and a few others who shared some kinship with this man. I remember seeing and feeling the grief that my friend shared with me. I do not know this man yet my heart reaches out to him. I don’t want to be judgmental about his decision or the circumstances that drove him to take that decision. All I would do is pray for his soul to be at peace.

Millions would read the article today without knowing who this man is. Some may admire him and some may envy him for having been lucky enough to have had a meeting with that popular film-director without knowing that he does not exist anymore. The director himself may recall the meeting with this man and may be kind enough to go through his amateur scripts and poems which would eventually find its way to some corner of the shelf if not the trash, not knowing that the young man would never come knocking at his door again.

Finally, all will be forgotten. His name may not be remembered; hence I kept him nameless. Elaboration of circumstances is futile because time is irreversible. Why did I choose to write about this man whom I had never met and to whom I had never spoken? Why am I writing today about someone whom the world is going to forget tomorrow? Why write about the grief that is fugacious?

I had not decided to sit down and write today when I woke up in the morning. There was nothing waiting to be expressed. But after reading about this man today, I felt an impulse to give him some space on my blog. He is not here today to read this, but this would be read by at least a few, whose hearts would stop by to pray for his soul.

May his soul transcend this realm knowing that one of his dreams came true. All other dreams are like little lambs wandering…following the sunlight. Wandering silently.

Stop by when you see them... stop by to listen to the Silence of the Lambs.

The Free Bird

I am approaching her. I am trying to resist myself along the way. But I have to control my desire to resist. I cannot bear it anymore. I cannot bear to see her in pain anymore. For, it is my heart that aches when I see her in pain. I sit by her, cold and numb. There was a time when this proximity used to make me feel warm. But now, it feels damp. It is like a morning in winter when, even the rays of the sun seem to be cold and helpless. She is mute but restless. Yet I can hear the suppressed cries of her heart. The paroxysm of agony is making me number. I am looking into her eyes which probably detests me…eyes which can only see the distance even in this proximity. I am deceiving myself. I am trying to get as close to her as possible ignoring those iron rods that separates me from her. I do not want to see them. Why are these iron rods here? They maybe parts of the cage. I hate them. But I used to love them before. I loved them for keeping her safe…for protecting her by keeping her away from rest of the world…for keeping her with me. But I hate them now for coming in between both of us…the same reason why she loves them now… for keeping me from getting any closer. Why does she not want me to get closer? Why is she so restless? After all she is my White Dove. MY white dove. MY bird.

My little white dove which has always symbolized peace and love is not at peace anymore. She is hitting the bars of the cage with her wings to draw my attention to it. She is tired of hitting the bars again and again. Beautiful white feathers are getting ripped off her wings each time they crash into those iron bars. I can see hatred and fear blending in her eyes as she looks at me. How much more cruel can I be? I am still avoiding looking at the iron bars. I am continuing to deceive myself.

She thinks I am cruel. The whole world, brimming with hapless spectators who do nothing but butcher stories behind closed doors, would also think I am cruel. But I know that I am not. The purity of my thoughts and innocence of my actions are like coins lying in a wish pond. Who would really care about a few pennies lying at the bottom of the rocks? They would never surface up again. Even the fishes would ignore them. Of what use can a penny be to a fish?

I have been trying all the while to protect her, to keep her secure, to care for her and love her. But I could not see how my care and love was turning into a cage that incarcerated her. She has become my prisoner. I failed to understand that she is a bird…that God has given her wings to fly…that he would somehow take care of her. He is the protector, not me.  Maybe she did feel secure for a while but not anymore. It is suffocating her. My cage made up of love and care is rusting.

My fingers are clasping the rusting iron bars. She has stopped beating her wings…perhaps fearing that I would reach for them and tear them off. But how can I ever do that? How can I tell her that I would never do that? Each time I reached for those wings, it was to caress them. But I will not be able to do that anymore. She would rather choose to die inside this rusting cage than be caressed by me.

It is time to make a choice. I can keep her locked up with me, exhibiting a false pride which may camouflage the turmoil in my heart…or…I can unlock the cage and let her fly away. My heart is beating fast. My thoughts have come to a standstill. I know it now. I know why my heart is beating fast. It had made the choice even before I approached her.

My hands are trembling now…I can see them grabbing the old keys and unlocking the cage. The lock is about to come off. Should I be really doing this? I am feeling so tempted to keep the cage locked. I do know that it is of no use yet this temptation is trying to come in the way of my decision.

The silence has been broken by the creaking sound of the cage opening. I did not realize my hands unlocking while my mind debated. My bird is not moving…she seems shocked…shocked with disbelief. I am waiting and watching…not knowing what to expect. Is she going to stay? No she isn’t. She is slowly gathering herself … and now perching on the edge. She will fly away now. I am looking into her eyes hoping that she does not hate me as much as she used to… hoping that she would show me some gratitude for letting her go if not for all the care and love. But her eyes are distant.

There…she flies away… She did not turn back for the last glance. She is spreading her wings and fluttering them rapidly… getting away… away from the cage… away from me. She is a free bird.

This cage is of no use to me… I am leaving it here. As I step back… I am experiencing something strange. I think I know what it is. It is not sadness. It is freedom. All the while I thought I had kept my white dove caged. But it was I, who was incarcerated. I had caged myself. I was inside the cage deceiving myself to believe that I am outside. By letting my white dove fly away, I had set myself free.

I am a free bird now.

The Meeting Point

My friend was right.

It was a Thursday. I should have been at work…but I wasn’t. I had taken an off. There were a couple of domestic errands to be undertaken. I had planned my day in advance. Although I completed the tasks, the sequence of events deviated from my plan.

Late that evening I went to the mall with my cousin brother. We were having a look around at the new layout of the retail store there when, to my utmost surprise I bumped into an old schoolmate. She was my junior and we knew each other well, but we hadn’t met since I passed out of school. Inspite of residing within a radius of 1 km, we had never come across each other for nearly a decade. Mutual recognition was instant even though we weren’t in our school uniforms. We updated each other on our current status and exchanged numbers before we left. We could not talk much as both of us were running short of time.

Fast-forward 2 hours. I dropped my cousin at his place and was walking back home. At the gate I bump into another old schoolmate. This time… a senior. We belonged to the same house back in school and had fought the wars (the monumental debates of Vivek) beside each other. She had been to the other side of the globe while I trotted up and down the city for the last couple of years. And finally we had to meet right there at my gate. It was a pleasant surprise for both of us.

Did these two meetings happen merely by coincidence?

It was an unexpected turn of events that compelled me to take an off that day. A mall is the last place of choice to spend time on an evening, for someone who likes to confine himself to books or restrict himself to a stroll around a peaceful place. It was the young lad who had taken me there. We were behind our time schedule. Things weren’t going as per my plan. But there was a grander plan already made. If my plan had worked I wouldn’t have met these two ladies… one from Himachal and the other from the ‘glorious’ Yamuna (this one is for the Vivians!).

I choose to believe that there was no coincidence. My 'disconnected' status over the years and absence from social-networking could not stop me from meeting people from the good-old days.

My friend was right… ‘Life has its own way of making roads meet’.

Paradox of Existence

I was recently having a conversation with one of my students, who happens to be a photography enthusiast. Our conversation found its way to the topic of self-actualization. She asked me a question. I began my process of explanation with a question...which is so typical of me. I asked her why does she love photography? She answered saying that she liked 'freezing time'. I went on with my explanation using photography as the locus and answered her question.

Her question was answered...but the session we had had, led to new questions sprouting in my mind. I specifically chose to reflect on my question and her answer of wanting to 'freeze time'. The idea of 'freezing time' swam all through my subconscious until my next conversation with her. I was intrigued to know what made her want to 'freeze time'. Her reasons failed to surprise me. I wont be elaborating them though.

I now look around at everyone...those known and unknown... and finally into the mirror at myself too. I see a bunch of human beings who love clicking away as many moments as possible, no matter how significant or insignificant they are, more so with the advent of digital cameras. We are indeed using the camera merely as a tool that satisfies our intrinsic desire to freeze time.

Photography...which until then had just carried the labels of a hobby, a profession and a passion...began morphing itself into a philosophy. A philosophy which began unveiling a grand picture that might continue to baffle me throughout my life...

Why do we try to freeze time inspite of knowing that it is an illusion? Why do we often feel like going back in time and leave our spirits oscillating between the past and present when we know that it is contrary to reality? Why do we fear stagnation in a world where change is the only constant? Why are we prone to attachments when detachment is the culmination of every attachment? Why do we know some people so deeply that it forces us to become strangers to them?

I have been trained to think rationally. I have been appreciated for the use of my logical reasoning ability. But this very same ability has today led me to a path where I come face to face with principles and laws of the universe that refrain from conforming to logic. Asking questions, has always been my forte. I have always believed in 'learning by asking' and have encouraged others to do the same. But today, my questions have taken me to a point where there are no answers. After having cultured a habit of asking questions, over a period of time, I have come to learn that some questions are better left unanswered.

The Paradox of Existence. My mind is questioning it...trying desperately to dig into it hoping to find answers...knowing that I may not find them. Afterall... this is the paradox of my existence.