God and the colonial master

A colonial master expects absolute loyalty from his serfs. The feudal lord is not so easy to please. You must bow whenever he passes while you toil away in the field. And you must graciously accept whatever he gives to you. Thank him before everything you do, thank him when you wake up, thank him when you go to sleep. The lands, the air, the water — he owns them all.You must consider your great luck and blessings every time you get the minutest help. Your son got better from fever? Thank you, master. Did you just eat a hearty meal? Thank you, master.

And don't you dare complain that your son got ill because there were mosquitoes around. Isn't it enought that your son is still alive? It could have been much worse! Thank your master for that. So what if the master never took care enough to clean the drains and stop the mosquitoes from breeding? Or the fact that he could have given you good food every day so that the only day of the month you get to eat one full meal, you don't need to feel satisfied and thankful. But what can one do... its the whimsical master. He's like a child, they say. When he might have his good grace on you, you never know. Some people toil for their whole lives to see the master even once; some others just happen to see him. Some people claim to have a special connection to him. You pay them little fees and they can report your petty woes to the master, or so they claim. But what can you do about it - the master knows it all. He's the generous one who lets you live, blesses you with the air you breathe, the trees you see around you, the animals, the flowers.

He does kill one or two of your fellow brethren at times. What can you do - you're slaves. And of course, they deserve it! They left that speck of dirt on the master's shoe; could not clean it properly. The master will look improper when he kills those to who dared question his ways. Blasphemous, I tell you! The master has impeccable manners. He wears propely ironed clothes, eats a proper breakfast, and rules his empire. The master is just. He killed your neighbour's son because that dude dared make a pass at your daughter. He kills your daughter because her honour was tainted when that dude looked at her. What can you do, the master is almighty.

Feminists have no sense of humour

Found this marvellous video on ted. The second song is as beautiful and touching as the first one has humour, which of course, begins with "Feminists have no sense of humour":

The hack list

Manas and I have started a new blog some time back, called the hack list. Basically every now and then we find a cool trick to make something work, or a little hack that allows you to fix a nagging problem. But we forget it after a while. On this blog, we're trying to just quickly note down whatever we find so that if we remember later on, we can go back and look. For those interested - its http://thehacklist.blogspot.com. Enjoy! :)

Mohun Bagan or East Bengal?

When I was a kid, I was a fan/supporter/follower of anything my dad would support. I honestly had no idea of why to support or not to support someone. My rule was pretty simple -- if my father supported and/or cheered for a team, I was going to support it too. So during the India-West Indies test series my uncles would root for Vengsarkar or Javagal Srinath, and my father would laugh at them when Clive Lloyd or Gordon Greenidge would butcher them apart. It was friendly banter, of course, but as far as I was concerned, this was absolute fun as a four-year-old to be cheering louder than anybody else every time a wicket fell or a six was belted.

Naturally, by default, I became a "supporter" of Mohun Bagan because my father was one. And by supporter, I mean I was happy when I got news of them winning, especially over arch rival East Bengal. But beyond that - who were the strikers playing in the next match, which little known all-Maharashtra tournament did they win recently, what field position is the coach going to use for the season - I honestly didn't know or care much for. But when I switched schools and joined the Ramakrishna Mission, one of the most innocuous questions I was asked was, "So, are you a Mohun Bagan or an East Bengal supporter?". Unfortunately, most of the people surrounding me at that instant were East Bengal supporters. And they began quizzing me with the exact kind of questions I wrote above. I think it was mostly because they wanted to rub in the fact that East Bengal had beat Mohun Bagan in the last game or something. But now that I drew a complete blank on those, and became jail bait.

I began to get hounded by these people at all times in the unlikeliest of places. On my way to the playground, school tiffin breaks - random people would ask me these questions. And I would draw a complete blank and stare back at them like a retard. Of course they never missed a chance to laugh at my "fellow Mohun Bagan"-ites because of this. It sparked quite a frenzy among this latter group of course. As part of the two pronged war room strategy they adopted, people who were otherwise mean to me would coach me in private about the next league game or the names full eleven players of the team. The other "prong" was to find someone equally ignorant of East Bengal football statistics as I - which didn't turn out to be so difficult after all. The poor guy started to get hounded in revenge, mostly for Mohun Bagan rather than for me. And the worst part was half-knowledge. If I overheard a conversation somewhere that our team had won three of five national tournaments this year, I would try to rub that in on the East Bengal people when our little tete-a-tete happened the next time. But of course, I wouldn't know the names of those tournaments. And the people who were supposed to be taunted would taunt me back and tell me the names of the cups we've won that year. The circle was endless.

In life, three simple words can solve most of the world's problems: "Go fug yourself". Unfortunately at that time, it wasn't an option. Let alone that, uttering the words "Shahrukh Khan" would immediately draw a hushed silence over the room. So when there would be a lull in the general proceedings of cricket or there wouldn't be a festival/exam/election in sight, it would be a really bad time for me. And boy did I hate the time when Mohun Bagan lost to East Bengal on a Saturday afternoon... :( :( Some of us did not even show up for dinner that night. For one of my friends who was among the lucky few to have not verbally signed up for any of the camps, his standard answer to the question was, "Argentina"! :)

So this whole recollection was triggered by one of my friends here telling me that I should keep up with my universities' American football team, how they're doing, etc. since he saw me wearing the university T-shirt a few times. I was repeating the story above to him when he suggested I should put it on my blog. And honestly, right now, I really wish I meet with one of my old friends. And they should ask me the names of the current playing eleven in the Mohun Bagan squad. I swear I can (and will) tell them the three golden words in eleven different languages! :D