a comedy more divine.

Long long ago when people were not so many, and God and His Angels could afford interact with them from the pulpit and through conferences with the news-papyrus reports, a new Bill was introduced in the Divine Assembly.
The bill was a result of a PIL filed by the Peoples Association, posted to the courthouse at Judgment Avenue. The notice spoke about how people believe that God and His Angels, may succumb to bribery ( of course, since they are based on god and his angels) and other extra constitutional measures, and sell their consciences to get more Ambrose and nectar than the rest, and that their wings get shinier.
At that time in heaven, shiny wings were a fashion statement. Only the coolest in angels had shiny wings. Gabriel, who at that time was not as over hyped as he is now, had a rather dull pair of wings. Besides, Lucifer had already shown, as precedent, how this was a strong possibility.
Therefore the people (smart as they were!) decided that they shall prevent further major harm from happening.
As a result of this PIL, the Divine assembly passed the Anti-Defection Act. This act was initially a big success. It gave the mediator angel the right to decide if an act was an act of defection. The mediator angel could, from time to time be impeached, so a proper system of balance and checks was maintained.
However, over time the angels began getting restless. Things were getting dull and boring. No angel had shinier wings, so they could not bitch about anyone. No angels got fatter by consuming too much Ambrose and Nectar. The opposition didn’t have much work so they slept. And the owners of Al-tehelka were forced to close down their business.
Finally, a time came when they had had ENOUGH. The leader of the opposition introduced the Official Secrets Bill in the Divine Assembly. Under this bill people no longer had access to the proceedings of the assembly. Nor could they read any of the bills, statutes and amendments to the constitution, as there were now under the head of ‘ecclesiastical affairs’. A hidden clause of this bill was that it made null and void the provisions of the Anti Defection Bill. They didn’t really need to keep it hidden, as people on earth were not allowed to read it, but they did anyway, as a safety valve. . Since the executive had still not been fully separated ( or immune from the affects suitcases of Shimmer-the currency of heaven) from the judiciary, the Judgment Angels said it was okay to do so, as it was not part of the basic structure of the heavenly constitution.
The Official Secrets Bill was passed unanimously.
God tried to intervene since he loved people and this bill was against the principle of accountability, but he couldn’t do much, as he was merely a nominal head, who had to act in accordance to the ‘aid and advice’ of the de facto leaders.
He too gave his consent.
The Official Secrets Act came into being.
It was now that the angels used their magical powers to summon Cloud Nine to form a misty barrier between them and the people. Visibility was deliberately kept low, so that people could not know what they were doing. But at the same time, they couldn’t see what was happening on earth clearly either. Then again, what they couldn’t see could not hurt them. They had enough to ‘see to’ anyway.
On Earth there was major agitation. There were rallies and protests and meetings. But no one heard. People sent a few bombs up to heaven to terrorize the angels into listening. But cloud 9 was soundproof too. So no one heard.
They tried to pass a Right To Information ( RTI) PIL, but it got refused, as mortals were no longer allowed to mess with ‘ecclesiastical affairs’.
The people were sad.
And they sadly decided that since God wasn’t hearing, they’d make a parliament of their own where things would happen, well, the ‘correct’ way......

through rose coloured glasses...

Walking down an ancient tramline.... faster than the tram moves towards its shed....the pompous blaring of the loudspeaker... my destination - the legendary architectural vision of Sir Hogg, the New Market, a relic of the splendour of old Calcutta and its aristocratic obsession. The bad quality speakers are belting out the trilingual hum honge kamiyab-we shall overcome - aamra korbo joy, in all their pompous glory, while a man asks this backpacked Calcuttan the way to a place around where she got lost just yesterday, somehow brings out the spirit of the city.

I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be guided from the back entrance to the front to ensure that I entered the building the right way. The first glimpse I got as I walked in from the grand entrance was that of Masterda Surjo Sen. A strange choice of statue to erect in front of the Calcutta High Court... or perhaps not so strange. You may wonder why there was no Nehru, or Gandhi, or Bose, or Ambedkar. Why the greatest and first among law-breakers chosen over men, who are more known, more glorified, and have contributed more than him. Perhaps, that is the exact reason why...The magnificent and inspiring architecture gives way to courtrooms which are just as inspiring. Courtroom drama here is a joke. Pending cases, lawyers attending court just to ask for more time, badly made arguments and upset judges are what you find in them. You see, they inspire you to initiate a change. Yet, there is some magic in the air when a quick joke is shared within the dusty walls of the courtroom [1]( do read the footnote, it’s not a citation), and a room full of ‘black and white’ lawyers, burst out in laughter.

Met a few friends at their college and was sneaked in with a fake ID card. One of the oldest educational institutions in the city, and we spent a winter afternoon debating on the huge school field. You need to imagine a bunch of kids arguing matters on an open field, people walking around, laughing, talking, and meeting others. You need to imagine, the splendour in this simple exercise of practice, friendship, occasional laughter, constructive criticism, and an element which sets it apart, from a similar exercise elsewhere - a whole lot of innocence.

There’s this one stretch of footpath along the grand colonial building which is really a museum that houses the Ashoka Pillar from where our national symbol is evolved. Artists and poets and students of history and science visit this hallowed place. The footpath is flooded with thriving hawkers of knives, socks, sunglasses, jute bags, attar, cold water, undergarments, photocopied books and pirated music. Among them sits a cobbler who at exactly 1 30 pm draws out a steel tiffin-box out of his bag and begins to eat, a strange mixture of rice, dal and aloo. Sometime during his lunch, a squirrel comes up to him from inside the museum, sits down trustingly next to the old man, and allows him to put into its mouth tiny morsels of this food he works so hard to earn.

I wonder what it is about this place that makes even its own transport system so very different, unique and warm. Even as the first underground metro-rail in the country transports you across kilometres at a price lower than any other form of transport, anywhere in the world, (here I’ve even taken into consideration Bangladesh!), there are trams chugging slowly along with the pride of living a special kind of hangover, knowing that some parts of its city, are doing their best to make sure, it dsn’t die a complete death, at the altar of development and reasonable use of space. The yellow and black ambassador cars which dot the roads as taxicabs, and the shuttle autos that run on some parts of the city, reflect the paradoxical love for convenient exclusivity, and unmindful sharing, that runs among the people here. It is those very people who on buses can have heated discussions about football, and Bollywood, and politics with a bunch of strangers. The very same people, who walk in large numbers to their decisions, giving the city streets the personalised feel that they do.

It was the first time a bunch of Indians had defeated the British at their own game. (no. This isn’t a fictional lagan I’m talking about!) [no. It isn’t even cricket!!] A group of brown men in green and maroon had beaten a team of whites, at a game called football. This, was the first victory before several of the MohunBagan Football Club (a name that now bears the very unceremonious prefix of Macdowell’s). Now they play matches, which are politicized just a tad bit lesser, with mad crowds at stadiums, ready to fight and die, for their own team colours.

They came here by the river.... the white guys that made this city... they settled around the river. And the strand road has remained one of the most important roads since then. There are all kinds of ghats here. From where goods enter a vast hinterland, where the children of dead people shave off their heads, where eunuchs smoke pot, where lovers hold hands, and where ‘Tollywood’ films some of its most poignant scenes. They are also where a ‘Millenium Park’ has been constructed (for families to spend happy Sunday evenings with their wild children), and a fancy Floatel, (which serves coffee and where there are fashion shows) which stand occupying a position of glory only second to that of Princep Ghat, which testifies an era of colonial flamboyance. The river, and its nalas (they are actually failed attempts at making canals), effect the city in ways unnoticeable to many of its dwellers. It is the Ganga... The holy river.... Continuing to be the lifeline of Calcutta, as it’s always been.... The very reason for its existence.

---

[1] Ok...you got to imagine this in the proper accent

Judge (with a glint in the eye to the counsel arguing): Your client is a baarbaar??

Advocate: Sir, I do not wish to say it. ( then quietly, as if saying: don’t tell anyone but I’m telling you this) Actually sir, he trades hair for utensils.

Remember Remember, the 5th of November?
The Lawyer is the equivocator.
Its all about desire,
He'll burn in great hell's fire.

The two grandfathers I never knew...

Both my grandfathers died before I was born, and so I never really knew what it was like to have a male grandparent. People who know me must have noticed face turning wistful, everytime a grandfather was mentioned. Yet, when I encountered the two veterans who would teach my Constitutional Law course, i knew immediately, that this was exactly like what encounters with grandfathers would be like.

Let me describe a few moments from 'Consti' Class to demonstrate what i mean by this. Here are there two men, very well versed with their subject, working very hard to convey it to us, in a way that we, as children, can comprehend and understand. ( they're also possibly the first two teachers at law school, to treat us as people. as children, just out of school, who needed to be cared for and paid attention to, beyond the realm of the projects we could churn out and slides we would mug). Both there men us to learn not only the provisions of the constitution, but also a whole set of other values and ideas, which they are swarming with, and ow we need. So, while one man tells us little stories and annecdotes of his youth, highlighting the importance of integrity(for the first time in law school, integrity is not just about academic integrity while writing projects), honesty, courage and goodness, the other teaches us to eat healthy and work calm, emphasasing, that academics and projects are all secondary to health and well-being.

Both men, eager to instill us, values that they believe are tremendously important, at the same time making course work easier us, employ methods that they think are best for us. And along with the actual provisions of the constiution, I find myself learning and appreciating constitutional values.

What is remarkably amusing about these classes was how the two men interact with each other - exactly how I'd imagine my grandfathers would have interact with one another. They largely want to say the same things. Yet, each one repeats and elaborates on it, in his own way, even after it has been repeated by the other a number of times, in the very cute, charecteristic, hammering way of old people, in the process, wasting a whole lot of time. Both of them, wanting to say the same thing, in slightly different ways, depending on their independant estimation of our comprehensive capabilities, and maturity - one oversimplifying, and making us repeat things, so that each one of us would definitely get what was being taught, the other, filling his lectures with loads and loads of information, knowing that we could register and grasp it all.

A month of constitutional law, with these teachers has made me feel wonderful in a whole lot of ways. It has made me feel that there is someone who does care for the kind of person i become; that someone still looks at me as a child, giving me scope to make my mistakes, think in my own special way, be imaginative, and want to learn. As a child, whom they care for help help shape the personalities of, in their impressionable years.

My course on constitutional law, makes me feel loved.

The ides of March

The soothsayer and Pompei warned Caesar of the ides of March. It's strange how tyrants continue to have people warning them of impending doom. Its ironic how people so steeped in self-love have those others who love them enough to emerge out of the world of the dead to come help them, and save them. And yet, the acumen and shrewdness that guided them to their position of glory, fails to pay any heed to these warnings. Till much worse happens.

The most powerful country in the world decides to mutilate a much smaller country which is only trying to shape its own destiny. The only motive behind this act, being a Caesarian pursuit of power. The anihilating superpower- the destination of the smartest minds of the nations, the leader of the world, and the Organisation of United Nations, the land that the world looks upto for leadership.

what trash is Rome,
What rubbish and what offal, when it serves
For the base matter to illuminate
So vile a thing as Caesar!


The ides of March are yet to come.

Shakespeares idea of the macrocosm being reflected in the microcosm takes yet another form. Not only does one country dominate the other, but there are some, in our little worlds of people who belive that it is their prerogative to dominate the rest, to lead them, in ways that they dont want to be led. Everywhere there exists this dominant class, which believes in its holy right to speak for the rest, and to command the rest.

Marx spoke of a class struggle. It is yet to come.

Famous thinkers of our civilisation said that democracies are 'tyrannies of the majorities'. I'm quite sure it wasnt numerical majorities that they were talking about.

Majority of wealth, or capital, or something, it must have been.

Why I still wear my hair in a pony tail

Coming to college I faced an entirely new world. A new lifestyle, new
people, a new bed to sleep in, different buildings, different traditions,
and everything around me had just changed. I was far away from home,
topics of conversation were different. Everyone was trying very hard to
make their presence felt among others, and yet, at the same time, they
were losing touch with their own individuality- that unique factor that
made them who they were. I was thrust into this flux, unprepared, with
absolutely no idea as to what to do. I didn’t know what to do, where to
go, whom to talk to, and yet, I knew the most important thing - I did not
want to lose my individuality.
One of my favourite concepts of all times is that of dialectics, as
propounded by Hegel, which talks about the existence of a thesis with
interacts with an antithesis to form a synthesis. I may not understand the
concept completely but when I apply this to the transition from school to
college, I think of the life I had back at home, at school as a sort of
thesis and, and the new life that college promised, with its unrestricted
freedom, few rules, fresh new ideas, amazing opportunities, a chance at
learning, and at creativity as a kind of antitheses that were coming
together, to define the life I was going to lead for the next five years –
The Synthesis. How was this synthesis going to happen? Which aspects would
merge with which ones to create what was a huge task I had ahead. As I
already said, I did not want to lose touch with my individuality and all
those core things that I knew made me who I was. There were come very
crucial choices that I had to make. I had to identify who I really was,
what were those aspects that defined me, and then move ahead.
Something I knew from the very first day I entered the college gates was
that the Martinian name had to be upheld on these grounds. I knew I was a
Martinian, and though I was now also a ‘lawschoolite’, a Martinian is what
I really was. 12 years of La Martiniere had nurtured me in a very special
way, and made me a very distinct individual. And I knew, that no matter
what changes would occur, I would always, and forever, remain a Martinian.
Not just in terms of the school certificate I had, but in my deed, and in
the way I conducted myself. Being a Martinian, is a VERY crucial part of
my individuality.
I wanted this aspect of me to remain, as a very crucial part of the
Synthesis I was to create, an so, anyone who sees me walk into my
classroom at exactly 8 50 am, they see a 19 year old college student, with
a backpack, and her hair, pulled back into a bouncy pony-tail.
 I use my pony-tail here as a symbol - A symbol of all that La Martiniere
has inculcated within me. It is the discipline, the pragmatism, the
integrity, the laughter, and the absence of frills – the genuineness. It
is this genuineness which is an attribute which I cannot separate from my
years at La Martiniere. And it is that genuineness which I wish continues
to define me, as I make my way into an all new world.
        College is a world of few rules. And yet, I walk into my classroom every
morning I walk into a classroom with heads of all shades ranging from
blue to red and yellow, sporting extensions and clips of all varieties,
in a bouncy pony tail brought together with a black scrunchie. It is then
that I feel wonderfully comfortable, incredibly ‘me’ and genuinely
Martinian. It is then that I know that I am going to be Martinian for
life.
 
  
 
  

to my best friend...and a lot more..

Life has a strange way of throwing into your path exactly the person you need. not just the person u need but also the person you want, and i got mine when i was going through the toughest time of my life. and htere he was, suddenly dropped from the heavens...there for me. saying those exact words that i needed then to be able to survive, to breathe.. making me be me again.. all the while supporting me.. caring for me.. and being the most wonderful person i knew in my 17 year old life.
and it wasnt just that this best frnd of mine was nice and supporting to me. He was an amazing guy in himself. He was someone who i admired just cz of the person he was. Cz he was so perfect. Cz he was everything so many people would dream of being. And i say this, not today because everyone wants to be in princeton like him, but the guy who shared with me his dreams and desires.. who told me what he wanted to do .... and those dreams were not selfish dreams. they were inclusive dreams and all i could do was feel wonderful about being part of those dreams. He was a person who stood up for ALL that he believed and, surprisingly, i was someone he did believe in. he could laugh, and make people laugh, without hurting them. He was BRILLIANT at proving a point ( only that i was usually the one he proved that point to :P) and he was everything an ideal human being really needs to be.
He was the best friend any girl could ever have. But suddenly I messed up, and he didnt get to know how much i really loved him. How much I miss those manyhourlong pointless conversations that we had. How much i miss the confortable silences, and how much i will miss those few phone conversations that we did have when he was in India, now that he is back to firangland.
But i do. He's gonna remain one of the best guys i know, and will be the one whos given me some of the best memories ever.. Chocolate cars, cemetries, snakes, african coins, 5rupeenotes, flowers, bangbangs, barafgolas, and patrioticsongconcertbrochures to last a lifetime..
and even as i cry like an idiot when i write this, thank you, for everything :)
and cheers to a friendship that always lasts.... a bhan of cha :) (coffee for you)