Mumbai Diaries - 1

Yet again, I have to start with the same rant of not being too regular with the blog. Chuck it. Optimism is the order of the day. So let us bury the past behind us, and focus on what lies ahead - MOOD INDIGO :)  (IIT Bombay's Cultural Fest).

Though I am far too full with work ( and I have done next to nothing in these holidays so far), I still don't feel like  missing it. It's been almost three years in College and I haven't had a proper all friends trip yet (incredible, it seems). Besides, the Quiz Club people are pretty nice to hang out with. This post is just a precursor to lots that are soon to follow.  Of course, I would've been a much happier man if Shruti would've tagged along. Decisions in life are made either by compulsion or by choice. It's harder when there is an overlap between the two. Don't worry you there, be confident of the latter, and I assure there are better times to follow. We'll miss you.

The bag is 'almost' packed and the remainder is what that bothers me. It's almost morning and I need to sleep before my father wakes up (ah yes, I'm still scared of him. Perhaps, will always be). All excited for the trip - something to get into the Mumbai Groove :)

There are Reasons to Believe in a Better World.

Yes, yes I admit I am one hell of a lazy blogger. Yes, yes I am a total kaamchor too. 

Might be I can blame the Mid-Sems for this yet again, but for how many things and to what extent.

No matter if I do appear like a compulsive complainer, but one thing is certain - these exams do screw our life. There is so much in the world to do and they cage all our worldly desires, our happiness, our feelings and force us to  undergo an unfair, unjust and oppressive evaluation of yourselves. Believe me, they are not just worth it. Here something to feel happy about. I don't know how Coca Cola does it, every single time ! Kudos :)

                                 

The Last Lecture

One of the best videos I've come across in recent times, Randy Pausch, (1960-2008) , a professor at CMU, Computer Science and Human Computer Interaction, while his days are numbered (pancreatic cancer), in his Last lecture tells us about the importance of realizing your childhood dreams and leading a happy life. Very touching and inspirational.

Version 1 : At the Oprah Winfrey Show - The Last Lecture Reprise.

Version 2 : The Full Lecture

When Apples Were Two and We were Three, She Smiled And Said That She Didn't Like Apples.

Here I share with you an image and subsequent text that I came across at Facebook.  Beautiful and moving indeed.

Below is a mother protecting her child, found by the rescue operations officials after the Japanese Tsunami. Both had Died.

This is a true story of Mother’s Sacrifice during the China Earthquake.

After the Earthquake had subsided, when the rescuers reached the ruins of a young woman’s house, they saw her dead body through the cracks. But her pose was somehow strange that she knelt on her knees like a person was worshiping; her body was leaning forward, and her two hands were supporting by an object. The collapsed house had crashed her back and her head.

With so many difficulties, the leader of the rescuer team put his hand through a narrow gap on the wall to reach the woman’s body. He was hoping that this woman could be still alive. However, the cold and stiff body told him that she had passed away for sure.

He and the rest of the team left this house and were going to search the next collapsed building. For some reasons, the team leader was driven by a compelling force to go back to the ruin house of the dead woman. Again, he knelt down and used his had through the narrow cracks to search the little space under the dead body. Suddenly, he screamed with excitement,” A child! There is a child! “

The whole team worked together; carefully they removed the piles of ruined objects around the dead woman. There was a 3 months old little boy wrapped in a flowery blanket under his mother’s dead body. Obviously, the woman had made an ultimate sacrifice for saving her son. When her house was falling, she used her body to make a cover to protect her son. The little boy was still sleeping peacefully when the team leader picked him up.

The medical doctor came quickly to exam the little boy. After he opened the blanket, he saw a cell phone inside the blanket. There was a text message on the screen. It said,” If you can survive, you must remember that I love you.” This cell phone was passing around from one hand to another. Every body that read the message wept. ” If you can survive, you must remember that I love you.” Such is the mother’s love for her child!!

The Rider At The Gate

I know its been raining Poems on this blog for a very long time but forgive me, I have am totally smitten by good poetry, specially those that have the lyrical quality to it. The credit goes to the wonderful teachers I had back in Sem (St. Joseph's College Nainital) - Miss Deepa Shah and Miss Nirija Bisht (God Bless them wherever they are). 


This one is again from the Elocution Archives from Sem. Called the "The Rider at the Gate", it revolves around one of my all time favorite historical figure - Julius Caesar ( and pompous Pompey) (Again credit Ms. Shah and Ms. Bisht). This piece was recited by Swapnil (Pappi Don as we fondly knew him :D ) during the Inter-Class competition in 2004. One of the smartest kids I've known and an excellent orator, this poem and the Tummy Beast (also recited by him for which he won a Gold Medal :) ) is a dedication to all the good old times we had back there. Dude, Life at Sem wouldn't have been so easy, had it not been for all your help.

The Rider At The Gate

                         - John Masefield

 A windy night was blowing on Rome,
 The cressets guttered on Caesar's home,
 The fish-boats, moored at the bridge, were breaking
 The rush of the river to yellow foam.

 The hinges whined to the shutters shaking,
 When clip-clop-clep came a horse-hoof raking
 The stones of the road at Caesar's gate;
 The spear-butts jarred at the guard's awaking.

 'Who goes there?' said the guard at the gate.
 'What is the news, that you ride so late?'
 'News most pressing, that must be spoken
 To Caesar alone, and that cannot wait.'

 'The Caesar sleeps; you must show a token
 That the news suffice that he be awoken.
 What is the news, and whence do you come?
 For no light cause may his sleep be broken.'

 'Out of the dark of the sands I come,
 From the dark of death, with news for Rome.
 A word so fell that it must be uttered
 Though it strike the soul of the Caesar dumb.'

 Caesar turned in his bed and muttered,
 With a struggle for breath the lamp-flame guttered;
 Calpurnia heard her husband moan:
 'The house is falling,
 The beaten men come into their own.'

 'Speak your word,' said the guard at the gate;
 'Yes, but bear it to Caesar straight,
 Say, "Your murderers' knives are honing,
 Your killers' gang is lying in wait."

 'Out of the wind that is blowing and moaning,
 Through the city palace and the country loaning,
 I cry, "For the world's sake, Caesar, beware,
 And take this warning as my atoning.

 '"Beware of the Court, of the palace stair,
 Of the downcast friend who speaks so fair,
 Keep from the Senate, for Death is going
 on many men's feet to meet you there."

 'I, who am dead, have ways of knowing
 Of the crop of death that the quick are sowing.
 I, who was Pompey, cry it aloud
 From the dark of death, from the wind blowing.

 'I, who was Pompey, once was proud,
 Now I lie in the sand without a shroud;
 I cry to Caesar out of my pain,
 "Caesar beware, your death is vowed."'

 The light grew grey on the window-pane,
 The windcocks swung in a burst of rain,
 The window of Caesar flung unshuttered,
 The horse-hoofs died into wind again.

 Caesar turned in his bed and muttered,
 With a struggle for breath the lamp-flame guttered;
 Calpurnia heard her husband moan:
 'The house is falling,
 The beaten men come into their own.'

Un-Corrupted Now, Are We ?

This is not an article to assert my political creed, as if the thugs have left us with a choice to retain any. Neither is this an article to join the bandwagon of the those going ga-ga over Mr. Hazare. I strongly support the Jan Lokpal Bill, but I do not believe it is the ultimate cure for all the malaise accumulated by decades of corruption. I'd guarantee you than over fifty percent of those dancing in the Ram Lila Maidan right now, wouldn't even know the concept of a Lokpal, let alone the bill. For those wreaking Hullabaloo over Anna Hazare and his Ann-Shan, I'd suggest you to stay home for a day and read, read concrete data as to what the Bill is about, what/where real corruption lies and then see for yourself how effective it is going to be. I assure you that this is not the end of the road, as most of you are making to be.


This man from Ralegaon Siddhi, in his unconventional (read Gandhian) mannerisms, has achieved a feat so spectacular which many literate, powerful and passionate individuals of the past have tried of doing but never succeeded, which every cynical middle class man has only boasted of would-have been done were he made the Prime Minister of India and which every Political Party has promised to do were they thrust to power. Yes, Anna Hazare has given corruption the blow that it required. And trust me, the war has just begun. I'd give him all credit and praise for starting this anti-corruption movement which gives a glimmer of hope that the earlier-so-impossible task of cleansing the whole filthy system is now an achievable dream. A Salute.


But that's only one side of the coin. Frankly speaking, I caught up with the Jan Lokpal Campaign a little late. Reason one being, the association one of the biggest thugs of this country, Mr. Ram Krishna Yadav (You'd know him as Baba Ramdev) with the movement and all his antics that followed. As he has already made a fool of himself on national television, I do not feel the urge to waste my time by insulting him anymore here.The second (and the more important) reason is where the bigger problem lies. If we were to conduct a poll of all the Ramlila enthusiasts right now, I bet most (if not all) people will know much more about Anna Hazare than the Lokpal Bill. This you see is the problem with us. The person becomes bigger than the issue. Anna Hazare has already been given God-Like status and aye, he is well aware of it. Now he plans to re-fast for issues as Farmer's Land Acquisition Rights, and more. He is the new messiah of the people - one who can blackmail the government with his Ann-shans and get all he wants. He is judging reality shows with eyes full of glycerine and pulling dramatics at Rajghat. A similar show is staged by his comrades. This, my friend, is not eliminating corruption but encouraging oligarchy wherein indefinite power is being transferred from a small group of citizens (the government) to another small group of people (the civil society). Why are people dancing to the tunes of the Civil Society until and unless they dont know the pros and cons of the Lokpal Bill and when they don't even know what true corruption is and where it lies.


Let me give you an example of what true corruption is. A few days back, I was travelling from my college, Dwarka, to my erstwhile home, Mayur Vihar. I had to change trains at an intermediate station - Yamuna Bank. It was late evening hours - a time when rush is particularly high. An old lady had to get down at the same station, just parallel to the door I was supposed to exit from. Barbarians, as they are, the crowd that was supposed to enter, jammed the passage from outside. As soon as the gates opened, the lady requested to the crowd coming in, "Bhayya ji, utarne toh do!" "Nahi utarne denge", was the impertinent reply, and they stormed in throwing the old lady back into the compartment, rushing like madmen; hungry for space. The old lady fell down and suffered injuries. Imagine your mother/grandmother being in the same situation. And these are those same hypocrites, slandering the government for their unethical means. These hooligans must as well be damned for their corrupted souls as they are damning the government.


On a final note, I may not have been too vocal about the whole Lokpal Bill, I may not have danced at the Ramlila grounds like many who did but I do feel proud that as an individual I've tried to be as ethical and un-corrupted as I could. I have always tried to maintain the highest moral code and tried to contribute to my society and my country in the best possible way. And I assure you, Anna or no Anna, I will continue doing so. It is wonderful that the Bill has been passed, as to now we have an effective weapon to tackle corruption at a macro level. However, weapons as these are useless until the people realize their responsibilities. Eliminating corruption has much more to do with than just passing a bill in the parliament. It starts with "YOU" as an individual.


A video relevant to the state of affairs by Rabbi. One of my all time favorite songs.

The Tummy Beast

A lot of time has passed since I last posted on my blog. Its about a month now that it has been stagnant, an awfully long time. So here I present to you a piece full of naivete, innocence and the mellifluous qualities characteristic of childhood.

The Tummy Beast
ROALD DAHL

One afternoon I said to mummy,

“Who is this person in my tummy?

“Who must be small and very thin

“Or how could he have gotten in?”

My mother said from where she sat,

“It isn’t nice to talk like that.”

“It’s true!” I cried. “I swear it, mummy!

“There is a person in my tummy!

“He talks to me at night in bed,

“He’s always asking to be fed,

“Throughout the day, he screams at me,

“Demanding sugar buns for tea.

“He tells me it is not a sin

“To go and raid the biscuit tin.

“I know quite well it’s awfully wrong

“To guzzle food the whole day long,

“But really I can’t help it, mummy,

“Not with this person in my tummy.”

“You horrid child!” my mother cried.

“Admit it right away, you’ve lied!”

“You’re simply trying to produce

“A silly asinine excuse!

“You are the greedy guzzling brat!

“And that is why you’re always fat!”

I tried once more, “Believe me, mummy,

“There is a person in my tummy.”

“I’ve had enough!” my mother said,

“You’d better go at once to bed!”

Just then, a nicely timed event

Delivered me from punishment.

Deep in my tummy something stirred,

And then an awful noise was heard,

A snorting grumbling grunting sound

That made my tummy jump around.

My darling mother nearly died,

“My goodness, what was that?” she cried.

At once the tummy voice came through,

It shouted, “Hey there! Listen you!

“I’m getting hungry! I want eats!

“I want lots of chocs and sweets!

“Get me half a pound of nuts!

“Look snappy or I’ll twist your guts!”

“That’s him!” I cried. “He’s in my tummy!

“So now do you believe me, mummy?”

But mummy answered nothing more,

For she had fainted on the floor.

The Highwayman

Ballads have always enchanted me, but when one has a lyrical quality like that of Alfred Noyce's works, its hardly surprising that it has left me spell-bound with a new found admiration for the poet. One of the best pieces ever to be written in the annals of poetry, The Highwayman by Alfred Noyce narrates a touching story with words that strike a deep cord. As far as my love for elocution goes, I'd like to narrate it to a real audience someday (I guess my bathroom fittings, showers and toilet seats have had enough of it :D )

The Highwayman
Alfred Noyes


The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding
Riding riding
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle
His rapier hilt a-twinkle
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter
Bess, the landlord's daughter
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching
Marching marching
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding
Riding riding
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.

Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight
Her musket shattered the moonlight
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.

He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding
Riding riding
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter
Bess, the landlord's daughter
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair

God once discovered what is it that a woman wants. Then, she changed her mind !

Neither is this the plight of a useless/hopeless romantic nor is it the contempt of an over-confident male chauvinist. Nothing personal J. This is an honest question that has baffled me literally for ages. What is it that women want?  

My inquisition about this strange behaviour stemmed from the Saas-Bahu sagas that I was forced to watch as a little kid by my mother. Just when the Swat Cats would board their plane, ready to kick some bad ass, there she would storm into the room and tune to Star Plus. Then would begin what I’d call a cry-marathon. I never quite understood the women in the TV. Why does one have to be so sugary-nice all the time when people around are doing real wicked stuff. Why can’t she, just like Chote Meow and Bade Meow(Swat Cats), kick ass in return. It’s so much niceness that it gets to you, even as a ten-year-old. There was a wicked one, personification of emotions as jealousy and evilness, whose sole aim in every episode was to wreak havoc for the good one. Woman, Get a life! And then there was this third one, my mother, engaging so deeply into the melodrama that she laughed with the characters and cried with them, episode after episode even though every serial had that same old story. I always wondered how a smart woman like my mother could fall for all that crap. Mysterious they are.

I’d written a good deal more but boy, I have some really strong women around  So in order to save my ass, I’ll stop.

For now I’ll let graphics speak ;)

P.S. : No hurt intended to anyone. Just a little jest and a few memories of my childhood. :)


And being  a quizzer, something relevant to the post.


Q. 

Clean Sweep Ignatius

Well, the blog has been dead for long and I am afraid that you might forget me. Time has been a real bitch and I haven't been able to finish on any entry since. Though, I truthfully have tried. Once again, another faithful attempt to keep the clock ticking. This is one of my all time favorite stories, by one of my favorite writers - Jeffrey Archer. Orginally published in 'A Twist in the Tale' , its a masterpiece. Read on and I assure you, you'll not regret.

CLEAN SWEEP IGNATIUS
FEW showed much interestwhen Ignatius Agarbi was appointed Nigeria's Minister of Finance. After all,the cynics pointedout, he was the seventeenth person tohold the office inseventeen years. In Ignatius's first major policy statement toParliament he promised to end graft and corruption in public life andwarned the electorate that no one holding an official position could feel safe unless he led a blameless life. He ended his maiden speech with thewords, "I intend to clear out Nigeria's Augean stables."Such was the impact of the minister's speech that it failed to get a mention in the Lagos Daily Times. Perhaps the editor considered that, since the paper had covered the speeches of theprevious sixteen ministers in extenso,his readers might feel they had heard it all before. Ignatius, however,was not to be disheartened by the lack of confidence shown in him, and set about his new task with vigour anddetermination. Within days of his appointment he had caused a minor official at the Ministry of Trade to be jailed for falsifying documents relating to the import of grain. The next to feel the bristles of Ignatius's new broom was a leading Lebanese financier, who was deported without trial for breach of the exchange control regulations. A month later came an event which even Ignatius considered a personal coup: thearrest of the Inspector General of Police for accepting bribes - aperk the citizens of Lagos had in the past considered went with thejob. When four months later the Police Chief was sentenced toeighteen months in jail, the new Finance Minister finally made the front page of the Lagos Daily Times. A leader on the centre page dubbed him "Clean Sweep Ignatius", the new broom every guilty man feared. Ignatius's reputation as Mr Clean continued to grow as arrest followed arrest and unfoundedrumours began circulating in the capital that even General Otobi, the Head of State, was under investigation by his own Finance Minister.Ignatius alone now checked, vetted and authorised all foreign contracts worth over one hundred million dollars. And although every decision he made was meticulously scrutinized by his enemies, not abreath of scandal ever became associated with his name.When Ignatius began his second year of office as Minister ofFinance even the cynics began to acknowledge his achievements. It was bout this time that General Otobi felt confident enough to callIgnatius in for an unscheduled consultation.The Head of State welcomed the Minister to Dodan Barracks andushered him to a comfortable chair in his study overlooking the paradeground."Ignatius, I have just finished going over the latest budget report and I am alarmed by your conclusion that the Exchequer is still losing millions of dollars each year in bribes paid to gobetweens by foreign companies. Have you any idea into whose pockets this money is falling? That's what I want to know."Ignatius sat bolt upright, his eyes never leaving the Head of State. "I suspect a great percentage ofthe money is ending up in private Swiss bank accounts but I am at present unable to prove it.""Then I will give you whatever added authority you require to doso," said General Otobi. "You can use any means you consider necessaryto ferret out these villains. Start by investigating every member of myCabinet, past and present. And show no fear or favour in yourendeavours, no matter what their rank or connections." "For such a task to have anychance of success I would need aspecial letter of authority signedby you, General . . ." "Then it will be on your desk bysix o'clock this evening," said theHead of State. "And the rank of AmbassadorPlenipotentiary whenever I travel abroad." Granted." "Thank you," said Ignatius, rising from his chair on the assumption that the audience was over. "You may also need this," said the General as they walked towards the door. The Head of State handed Ignatius a small automatic pistol."Because I suspect by now that you have almost as many enemies as I." Ignatius took the pistol from the soldier awkwardly, put it in hispocket and mumbled his thanks. Without another word passingbetween the two men Ignatius left his leader and was driven back tohis Ministry. Without the knowledge of the Governor of the Central Bank of Nigeria and unhindered by any senior civil servants, Ignatiusenthusiastically set about his new task. He researched alone at night,and by day discussed his findings with no one. Three months later hewas ready to pounce.The Minister selected the month of August to make an unscheduled visit abroad as it was the time when most Nigerians went on holiday and his absence would therefore not be worthy of comment.He asked his Permanent Secretary to book him, his wife and their twochildren on a flight to Orlando, and to be certain that it wascharged to his personal account. On their arrival in Florida thefamily checked into the local Marriott Hotel. He then informed his wife, without warning or explanation, that he would bespending a few days in New York on business before rejoining them forthe rest of the holiday. The following morning Ignatius left hisfamily to the mysteries of Disney World while he took a flight to NewYork. It was a short taxi ride from La Guardia to Kennedy, where, aftera change of clothes and the purchase of a return tourist ticketfor cash, Ignatius boarded a Swissair flight for Genevaunobserved.Once in the Swiss capital Ignatius booked into an inconspicuous hotel,retired to bed and slept soundly for eight hours. Overbreakfast the following morning he studied the list of banks he had socarefully drawn up after completing his research in Nigeria: each namewas written out boldly in his own hand. Ignatius decided to startwith Gerber et Cie whose building, he observed from the hotel bedroom,took up half the Avenue de Parchine. He checked the telephonenumber with the concierge before placing a call. The chairman agreedto see him at twelve o'clock.Carrying only a battered briefcase, Ignatius arrived at the bank a few minutes before the appointed hour- an unusualoccurrence for a Nigerian, thought the young man dressed in a smartgrey suit, white shirt and grey silk tie, who was waiting in themarble hall to greet him. He bowed to the Minister, introducinghimself as the chairman's personal assistant, and explained that hewould accompany Ignatius to the chairman's office. The youngexecutive led the Minister to a waiting lift and neither manuttered another word until they had reached the eleventh floor. Agentle tap on the chairman's door elicited "Entree," which the youngman obeyed. "The Nigerian Minister of Finance, sir."The chairman rose from behind his desk and stepped forward to greet his guest. Ignatius could not help noticing that he too wore a grey suit, white shirt and grey silk tie."Good morning, Minister," thechairman said. "Won't you have a seat?" He ushered Ignatius towardsa low glass table surrounded by comfortable chairs on the far sideof the room. "I have ordered coffee for both of us if that isacceptable." Ignatius nodded, placed the battered briefcase on the floor by the side of his chair and stared out of the large plate-glass window. He made some smalltalk about the splendid view of the magnificentfountain while a girl served all three men with coffee.Once the young woman had left the room Ignatius got down to business."My Head of State has requested that I visit your bank with a rather unusual request," he began. Not a flicker of surprise appeared on the face of the chairman or his young assistant. "He has honoured me withthe task of discovering which Nigerian citizens hold numbered accounts with your bank." On learning this piece of information only the chairman's lips moved. "I am not at liberty to disclose -" "Allow me to put my case," said the Minister, raising a white palm. "First, let me assure you that I come with the absolute authority of my government." Without another word, Ignatius extracted an envelope from his inside pocket with a flourish. He handed it to the chairman who removed the letter inside and read it slowly.Once he had finished reading, thebanker cleared his throat. "This document, I fear, sir, carries novalidity in my country." He replaced it in the envelope and handed itback to Ignatius. "I am, of course," continued the chairman, "not for onemoment doubting that you have the full backing of your Head of State,both as a Minister and an Ambassador, but that does not changethe bank's rule of confidentiality in such matters. There are nocircumstances in which we would release the names of any of our account holders without their authority. I'm sorry to be of so little help, but those are, and will always remain, the bank rules." The chairman rose tohis feet, as he considered the meeting was now at an end; but hehad not bargained for Clean Sweep Ignatius."My Head of State," said Ignatius,softening his tone perceptibly,"has authorized me to approach your bank to act as the intermediary forall future transactions between my country and Switzerland.""We are flattered by yourconfidence in us, Minister," replied the chairman, who remainedstanding. "However, I feel sure that you will understand that itcannot alter our attitude to our customers' confidentiality." Ignatius remained unperturbed. "Then I am sorry to inform you, MrGerber, that our Ambassador in Geneva will be instructed to makean official communique to the Swiss Foreign Of lice about the lack ofco-operation your bank has shown concerning requests for informationabout our nationals." He waited for his words to sink in. "You couldavoid such embarrassment, of course, by simply letting me knowthe names of my countrymen who hold accounts with Gerber et Cie and theamounts involved. I can assure you we would not reveal the source ofour information." "You are most welcome to lodge such a communique, sir, and I feel sure that our Minister will explain to your Ambassador in the most courteous of diplomatic language that the Foreign Ministry does not have the authority under Swiss law to demand such disclosures.""If that is the case, I shall instruct my own ministry of Trade to halt all future dealings in Nigeria with any Swiss nationals until these names are revealed.""That is your privilege, Minister," replied the chairman,unmoved."And we may also have to reconsider every contract currentlybeing negotiated by your countrymen in Nigeria. And in addition I shallpersonally see to it that no penalty clauses are honoured.""Would you not consider such action a little precipitate?""Let me assure you, Mr Gerber,that I would not lose one moment of sleep over such a decision," saidIgnatius. "Even if my efforts to discover those names were to bringyour country to its knees I would not be moved.""So be it, Minister," replied the chairman. "However, it still does not alter the policy or the attitude of this bank toconfidentiality."."If that remains the case, sir, this very day I shall give instructions to our Ambassador to close our Embassy in Geneva and Ishall declare your Ambassador in Lagos persona non "rata."For the first time the chairman raised his eyebrows. "Furthermore," continued Ignatius, "I will hold a conference in London which will leave the world's press in no doubt of my Head of State's displeasure with the conduct of this bank. After such publicity Ifeel confident you will find that many of your customers would preferto close their accounts, while others who have in the pastconsidered you a safe haven may find it necessary to lookelsewhere."The Minister waited but still the chairman did not respond."Then you leave me no choice," said Ignatius, rising from hisseat.The chairman stretched out his arm, assuming that at last theMinister was leaving, only to watch with horror as Ignatius placed ahand in his jacket pocket and removed a small pistol. The twoSwiss bankers froze as the Nigerian Minister of Finance stepped forwardand pressed the muzzle against the chairman's temple."I need those names, Mr Gerber, and by now you must realise I will stop at nothing. If you don't supply them immediately I'm goingto blow your brains out. Do you understand?" The chairman gave a slight nod, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. "And he will be next,"said Ignatius, gesturing towards the young assistant, who stoodspeechless and paralysed a few paces away."Get me the names of every Nigerian who holds an account inthis bank," Ignatius said quietly, looking towards the young man, "orI'll blow your chairman's brains all over his soft pile carpet.Immediately, do you hear me?" he added sharply.The young man looked towards the chairman, who was now trembling but said quite clearly, "Nan, Pierre,jamais.""D 'accord," replied the assistant in a whisper."You can't say I didn't give you every chance." Ignatius pulled back the hammer. The sweat was nowpouring down the chairman's face and the young man had to turn hiseyes away as he waited in terror for the pistol shot.Excellent," said Ignatius, as he removed the gun from the chairman'shead and returned to his seat. Both the bankers were still tremblingand quite unable to speak. The Minister picked up the battered briefcase by the side ofhis chair and placed it on the glass table in front of him. Hepressed back the clasps and the lid flicked up.The two bankers stared down at the neatly packed rows ofhundred-dollar bills. Every inch of the briefcase had been taken up.The chairman quickly estimated that it probably amounted to around fivemillion dollars. "I wonder, sir," said Ignatius,"how I go about opening an accountwith your bank?"

I'll Be Nearby ...

Life has been a bit too quick these days, which seriously makes me wonder about the times ahead. Perhaps I should leave it to time and rather than figuring out, discover. However, to keep up the dynamism of the blog, I present to you a poem which I wrote about two months ago. It is not something with very complex or with very great ideas or even something conceived in a semi-conscious state of poetic stupor. Rather, it is an amateurishly simple one written in a short span of about 5-10 minutes, more at the need of the hour. Moreover, except a line here and there the poem is generic and not romantically themed unless the reader deliberately wishes to interpret so.

I'LL BE NEARBY ...
                        - Self

When battles are tough, When stakes are high

When times wear you out, When those sparks die

Just look for me

I'll be nearby.  

When you need that laugh, But all you do is cry

When you need some warmth, When you feel so dry

Just look for me

I'll be nearby.

When you doubt yourself, and you don’t wish to try

When you want to smile, All you manage is a sigh

Just look for me

I'll be nearby.

When you want to dance, But you are too shy

When you need to share, Or maybe just get high

Just look for me

I'll be nearby.

When you see the skies, And out you want to fly

I'll hold your hand, I’ll be the guy

Please look for me

I'll be nearby

When you’ve won the war, you’ve touched the skies

When you prove your mettle, To the world outside

I’ll be right behind

I’ll be nearby

When one fine day, I shut my eyes

Don’t you lose grip, Don’t you dare cry

I’ll be in the river, I’ll be in the sky

I’ll be in the pudding, I’ll be in the pie

I’ll come as a child, May be a butterfly

I’ll come as a reason, That makes you smile

Feel me in the wind

I’ll be nearby.

The Beginning.....

He walked along the road, silently, kicking the can as he went. The place was as littered as a New Delhi Bus Station could be. It was 3:45 am. The 12 hour bus ride had done little to affect the lad’s enthusiasm. His eyes gleamed with excitement – a sparkle and vigour that was so characteristic of him. He had little idea of what lay ahead. This was to be the ‘Transition Phase’. Life would never be the same again.

                    

He had been an academic all his life, securing first grades and winning laurels, which made his parents decide that their son deserved to be doomed to ‘Kota’ as a reward. Delhi was the place where the unending saga of Entrance Exams was to take place. Without a doubt he scaled them all, but life is funny you see. You may plan all that you want but that man up there has his own plans. Despite being admitted in Kota, the boat was steered back to Delhi. Apparently Vidyamandir Classes Delhi was cleared and the biggies of the family thought it to be a better decision to bring the child back to Delhi. Life made a U-Turn. Whether it was a good decision or a terrific blunder, no one can say, but it certainly was the most critical decision of his life. Goodbye IIT. Hello Life.

The most ‘critical’ two years of a to-be-Engineer’s life turned out to be two years of fun and frolic for him. He laughed, he played, he wandered, he loved, he lost, he struggled and yes, at times, he failed. He never quite figured out what exactly it was that he did in those two years. Neither did he study too sincerely nor did he party too hard. But, Aye, he did have experiences, experiences of a life time. Sent to comprehend Maths, Physics and Chemistry he began analysing ‘Life’. If not an engineer, he became a ‘Dreamer’.  

Those two years flew by and D-days arrived. And once again, it was the academic in him that came to his rescue. He cleared all his Engineering Entrance Exams, not with the desired results but good enough to find him a College.  And this is where our tale begins.

This lad is your very own Sumit Bhagat , a third year student of Instrumentation and Control Engineering (Its okay to wonder what’s that!) at Netaji Subhas Institute of Technology, Delhi(and its okay to wonder about this too!) . If you are reading this blog, I extend you a warm welcome to the world of this dreamer. Any words from the reader would be gladly appreciated. Hope you find it an enriching experience :)