Intolerance, backed and supported by the State, continues to be a constant source of amusement for me. A few recent examples will illustrate what I exactly mean.
1. Jaswant Singh's book on Jinnah was banned in Gujurat because it glorified Jinnah and called Sardar Patel as the reason for Partition.
2. Many libraries in the USA do not allow patrons to issue "Tintin in the Congo", one of the earliest Tintin books because of the naive, objectionable ways it depicts Africans.
3. Sites like Orkut have been banned in the UAE because of the moral decay they apparently spread in people.
4. Catholic Groups all around the world demanded a ban on Philip Pullman's "His Dark Materials" trilogy as it supposedly preached atheism.
There are so many such examples, some that make you laugh while others that make you worry. I have tried to include perspectives from around the world, to show that this is widespread even in countries you might assume are liberal.
The USA is certainly not a very liberal country especially as fringe hardball Catholic groups have always commanded great attention.
Banning books or other forms of art on the basis that they preach against a religion is a major form of hypocrisy. How can any work of Art hurt your sentiments about God? This belief is supposed to be a highly personal, highly strong bond. A mere painting should not be capable of hurting this bond. If it does, then your faith was never strong in the first place.
I believe that the Pareto's principle applies in the case of intolerance as well. 80% of all these protests, calls for bans and other extreme reactions are done by only about 20% of the practitioners of the particular religion. The rest 80% are the silent majority who unfortunately let these 20% hog the limelight, allowing them to act as spokespeople.
I hold the worst scorn for Governments which ban works of Art for the apparent "Good" of their people. India is a secular country, but the States are run in a bigoted feudalistic fashion. States such as Gujurat, Maharashtra and Karnataka have generally been at the forefront of banning stuff left, right and centre.
I very strongly believe in the freedom of expression. For me, no work of art can shake my belief in God. If one actually goes by the holy Books of every major religion, in no Book is it written that Ban something that goes against your religious beliefs. Dialogue and Debate are at the heart of a healthy society.
If you do not agree with the contents of a particular book, don't buy it, but don't stop other people from exercising their fundamental right of being able to buy that book. If you are worried about your children falling prey to the corrupt influences of such material, discuss with them about the pitfalls associated with such material, allow them to build a rationalistic approach towards life.
It is indeed sad that a fanatical fringe group of society decide our lives for us and worse when the very Government (especially one which claims to be a Secular Republic) which should support our rights to express our individual opinions in Society chooses to do the very opposite.
Showing posts with label Society. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Society. Show all posts
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Friday, February 15, 2008
The outsiders
The ringing of the bell awakes me.
I hear my mom rushing to open it. It is not my father. It is Sushil. I can tell that he has brought bad news. I can tell from the increasingly high pitched responses from my mother.
Sushil rushes into my room. My mother follows him whimpering.
"You have to leave immediately aunty. The mob has entered the locality and are forcibly evicting all non-Maharashtrians. Rumour has it that they are also looting all valuables from peoples houses. Please pack up all that is absolutely necessary and leave now before they arrive."
My mom objects tearfully, "But your uncle hasn't arrived from office yet. And you know the condition of poor Venu."
Yes I have a condition. It is called paraplegia, or in layman terms total paralysis from the waist down. A result of a stupid bike race that I was egged on to participate in by my college seniors 3 years ago. 3 years since I last stood on my own two feet.
"I will tell my brother to inform uncle when he arrives that I have taken you to the station. As for Venu, we will load him and his wheelchair into my Omni. I will come below the building in it in 15 minutes. Please hurry aunty, we have no time to waste."
Sushil left us in total shock. My mom immediately went to the bedroom and started dumping clothes, jewellery and my medicines into the attache.
I wheeled myself to the door, getting ready for the inevitable.
Sushil was lucky. He was a Maharashtrian. We also had considered ourselves to be lucky till about a month ago. We were south-Indians. The violence had begun due to a campaign by a political party to drive away the North Indian migrants to Mumbai. Encouraged by the tepid response of a weak state government, a police force which was sympathetic to the cause of the localites and the increasing disillusionment and growing frustration in the Marathi youth, the party had been forcibly driving out migrants from the north. Those who were on the wrong side of the economic divide.
Spurred on by their success with the North Indians they had now focussed their campaign against the "intruders" from down under. It didn't matter that my father had migrated to Mumbai from Kochi 25 years ago. Or that I had been born and had lived my entire life in Mumbai, and had as equal a right to call Mumbai my home as any other Mumbaikar. It only mattered to the mob that our surname was Reddy and that automatically made us usurpers of jobs meant for localites.
Of course the mob didn't just contain the zealots who wanted us out, it was infiltrated and run by common criminals who found this a perfect oppurtunity to conduct robberies in broad daylight. Which was why my mom fearfully stuffed her mangalsutra and other assorted jewelery into the depth of the bag.
We started to hear shouts coming from below the building. It had started. I called out frantically. "maa!! come on its time to leave."
My poor mom. How my heart went out to her. As I saw her tearful, worried face desperately trying to figure out all that needed to be taken and all that had to be left, I wished I could go to her, hug her and comfort her. But I couldn't. I was as scared as she was, but was helpless to do anything to alleviate our fears.
As I wheeled myself out of the house, I glanced one last time at the only place I had ever known as home. With our heavily beating hearts, teary eyes and hands numb with fear we got into the lift which would take us down to the ground floor.
When the doors of the lift opened below we saw a sea of faces malevolently staring at us, furious with hate. They had hockey sticks and lathis in their hands. There were men and women and boys and girls. My mom immediately tried to close the door of the lift again. But she was too slow and rough arms pulled her out of the lift. The attache was dragged away from her. She pleaded with them to let go of it. But they started raining blows on her head.
Unable to bear this sight I wheeled myself into the middle of the mob shouting out loud. "Soda tila (let her go)!!!" I caught hold of the hand of the man who had begun to punch her. He turned towards me and shouted out, "Kaay re madrasi kutrya!!! (You Madrasi dog!) "
I punched him hard in the groin and saw him fal down doubled in pain. Immediately I felt someone tilt my wheelchair from the side and I fell down to the ground. I felt someone kicking me on the groin, on my head. I saw a hockey stick being raised, ready to come down in full force. I closed my eyes, anticipating the sharp pain that would follow. But the blow never came even though I was still being kicked on my head. I opened my eyes slightly just in time to see someone holding the hockey wielding arm before I passed out.
When I came to again I felt someone dragging me into a vehicle. I could make out that it was Sushil. I could hear my mom's crying nearby. I realized that I was in Sushils Omni with my head on my moms lap. Her beautiful face had been bruised and blood was oozing from a split lip. She thanked God that I had come to consciousness. The attache case of course was gone.
Sushil turned around from the driver's seat. "Dude, I thank heavens that I came when I did. Those bastards would have killed you if me and my dad hadn't convinced them to let you'll go. What yaar Wino! Did you think you were Rambo or something trying to hit back at the goondas!"
'Venu the Wino!' Sushil had been calling me that ever since me and him had tasted that first glass of beer in Majestic Bar and I had gotten drunk after just that one glass. It made me want to smile, but even thinking about smiling made me cry.
I was glad that my mom was safe, notwithstanding my pathetic attempt to save her.
We reached Dadar Terminus where Sushil and his dad helped carried me into the station. The station was jam packed with people, families shivering in the cold, worried about their loved ones. There were a group of lathi-wielding men who were forcibly bundling people onto the trains. The police was nowhere to be seen.
I sensed Sushil talking to me. "Don't worry Wino, It's only a matter of a few days, maybe a week or two. I'm sure things will calm down. It's just that there's so much anger around nowadays."
I nodded to him. I know that Sunil and his dad had gone through great personal risk to to help us out. I instead asked, "Any word from my dad yet?"
"No yaar, As always at a time of crisis all mobile networks are jammed. I have instructed my bro to intercept him before he returns to the colony and bring him here. I'll go find something for you two to eat."
I nodded to him as he left us. I closed my eyes, emptying my mind of all thoughts.
Of course we would survive this. We were not being killed, just driven out of our homes. Sometimes that can be as devastating.
An hour later my father did arrive, and three hours later we were on a train to Kochi, to our ancestral home. As I saw the train leaving Dadar station, I found myself wondering about not just my beautiful city of Mumbai, but of my country in general. As a nation, we were breaking up, getting divided into individual little fiefdoms each antagonistic with the other. The outsiders. Get rid of them! Everyone had forgotten about the basic right of a citizen of every country to freely roam about and settle in all parts within it.
It wasn't just in Maharashtra. MP was evicting its Marathi population, West Bengal its Bihari immigrants, Karnataka its Tamil speaking population. Before the British coalesced together an empire called India, the subcontinent was divided into different kingdoms, each of which was at war with each other. 60 years after independance it seems we were condemned to repeat history.
It didn't matter anymore that I am an Indian.
Mera Bharat Mahaan!!
I hear my mom rushing to open it. It is not my father. It is Sushil. I can tell that he has brought bad news. I can tell from the increasingly high pitched responses from my mother.
Sushil rushes into my room. My mother follows him whimpering.
"You have to leave immediately aunty. The mob has entered the locality and are forcibly evicting all non-Maharashtrians. Rumour has it that they are also looting all valuables from peoples houses. Please pack up all that is absolutely necessary and leave now before they arrive."
My mom objects tearfully, "But your uncle hasn't arrived from office yet. And you know the condition of poor Venu."
Yes I have a condition. It is called paraplegia, or in layman terms total paralysis from the waist down. A result of a stupid bike race that I was egged on to participate in by my college seniors 3 years ago. 3 years since I last stood on my own two feet.
"I will tell my brother to inform uncle when he arrives that I have taken you to the station. As for Venu, we will load him and his wheelchair into my Omni. I will come below the building in it in 15 minutes. Please hurry aunty, we have no time to waste."
Sushil left us in total shock. My mom immediately went to the bedroom and started dumping clothes, jewellery and my medicines into the attache.
I wheeled myself to the door, getting ready for the inevitable.
Sushil was lucky. He was a Maharashtrian. We also had considered ourselves to be lucky till about a month ago. We were south-Indians. The violence had begun due to a campaign by a political party to drive away the North Indian migrants to Mumbai. Encouraged by the tepid response of a weak state government, a police force which was sympathetic to the cause of the localites and the increasing disillusionment and growing frustration in the Marathi youth, the party had been forcibly driving out migrants from the north. Those who were on the wrong side of the economic divide.
Spurred on by their success with the North Indians they had now focussed their campaign against the "intruders" from down under. It didn't matter that my father had migrated to Mumbai from Kochi 25 years ago. Or that I had been born and had lived my entire life in Mumbai, and had as equal a right to call Mumbai my home as any other Mumbaikar. It only mattered to the mob that our surname was Reddy and that automatically made us usurpers of jobs meant for localites.
Of course the mob didn't just contain the zealots who wanted us out, it was infiltrated and run by common criminals who found this a perfect oppurtunity to conduct robberies in broad daylight. Which was why my mom fearfully stuffed her mangalsutra and other assorted jewelery into the depth of the bag.
We started to hear shouts coming from below the building. It had started. I called out frantically. "maa!! come on its time to leave."
My poor mom. How my heart went out to her. As I saw her tearful, worried face desperately trying to figure out all that needed to be taken and all that had to be left, I wished I could go to her, hug her and comfort her. But I couldn't. I was as scared as she was, but was helpless to do anything to alleviate our fears.
As I wheeled myself out of the house, I glanced one last time at the only place I had ever known as home. With our heavily beating hearts, teary eyes and hands numb with fear we got into the lift which would take us down to the ground floor.
When the doors of the lift opened below we saw a sea of faces malevolently staring at us, furious with hate. They had hockey sticks and lathis in their hands. There were men and women and boys and girls. My mom immediately tried to close the door of the lift again. But she was too slow and rough arms pulled her out of the lift. The attache was dragged away from her. She pleaded with them to let go of it. But they started raining blows on her head.
Unable to bear this sight I wheeled myself into the middle of the mob shouting out loud. "Soda tila (let her go)!!!" I caught hold of the hand of the man who had begun to punch her. He turned towards me and shouted out, "Kaay re madrasi kutrya!!! (You Madrasi dog!) "
I punched him hard in the groin and saw him fal down doubled in pain. Immediately I felt someone tilt my wheelchair from the side and I fell down to the ground. I felt someone kicking me on the groin, on my head. I saw a hockey stick being raised, ready to come down in full force. I closed my eyes, anticipating the sharp pain that would follow. But the blow never came even though I was still being kicked on my head. I opened my eyes slightly just in time to see someone holding the hockey wielding arm before I passed out.
When I came to again I felt someone dragging me into a vehicle. I could make out that it was Sushil. I could hear my mom's crying nearby. I realized that I was in Sushils Omni with my head on my moms lap. Her beautiful face had been bruised and blood was oozing from a split lip. She thanked God that I had come to consciousness. The attache case of course was gone.
Sushil turned around from the driver's seat. "Dude, I thank heavens that I came when I did. Those bastards would have killed you if me and my dad hadn't convinced them to let you'll go. What yaar Wino! Did you think you were Rambo or something trying to hit back at the goondas!"
'Venu the Wino!' Sushil had been calling me that ever since me and him had tasted that first glass of beer in Majestic Bar and I had gotten drunk after just that one glass. It made me want to smile, but even thinking about smiling made me cry.
I was glad that my mom was safe, notwithstanding my pathetic attempt to save her.
We reached Dadar Terminus where Sushil and his dad helped carried me into the station. The station was jam packed with people, families shivering in the cold, worried about their loved ones. There were a group of lathi-wielding men who were forcibly bundling people onto the trains. The police was nowhere to be seen.
I sensed Sushil talking to me. "Don't worry Wino, It's only a matter of a few days, maybe a week or two. I'm sure things will calm down. It's just that there's so much anger around nowadays."
I nodded to him. I know that Sunil and his dad had gone through great personal risk to to help us out. I instead asked, "Any word from my dad yet?"
"No yaar, As always at a time of crisis all mobile networks are jammed. I have instructed my bro to intercept him before he returns to the colony and bring him here. I'll go find something for you two to eat."
I nodded to him as he left us. I closed my eyes, emptying my mind of all thoughts.
Of course we would survive this. We were not being killed, just driven out of our homes. Sometimes that can be as devastating.
An hour later my father did arrive, and three hours later we were on a train to Kochi, to our ancestral home. As I saw the train leaving Dadar station, I found myself wondering about not just my beautiful city of Mumbai, but of my country in general. As a nation, we were breaking up, getting divided into individual little fiefdoms each antagonistic with the other. The outsiders. Get rid of them! Everyone had forgotten about the basic right of a citizen of every country to freely roam about and settle in all parts within it.
It wasn't just in Maharashtra. MP was evicting its Marathi population, West Bengal its Bihari immigrants, Karnataka its Tamil speaking population. Before the British coalesced together an empire called India, the subcontinent was divided into different kingdoms, each of which was at war with each other. 60 years after independance it seems we were condemned to repeat history.
It didn't matter anymore that I am an Indian.
Mera Bharat Mahaan!!
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Prejudice
I am an educated individual. I am a free thinking spirit.
I cannot be bothered with petty biases based on race, gender or sexual orientation.
That is what I used to think. I am not so sure any more. I will illustrate the reason behind this doubt that has crept to my mind with a few examples.
1. The 'not so straight' path
I have always felt that I have no problems with anyone being gay or lesbian. It's their choice on how they wish to live and society has no right to impose its wishes on them as long as they are not hurting anybody else.
At a recent party I went to, A friend of mine introduced me to someone who goes about declaring that he is openly gay. He extended his hand to shake. And I felt this sudden feeling of revulsion creep all over my body. As though, if I shake his hand he might take this as a sign of interest, that he might make a move on me. I did shake the proferred hand, smiled a weak hello and got the hell out of there.
I was afraid that he might make a move on me?
What gave me this ridiculous idea? I know that girls don't find me attractive. No girl would ever make a move on me, then why would a guy? I was shocked to see that at a subconscious level I was so prejudiced and more so that the subconscious had taken over the conscious in such an overwhelming manner.
Even with this feeling of guilt sinking in, I still made sure that I kept a safe distance from him. Why? I don't know.
And the scary thing is I am not sure how I will behave if I am ever placed in another such situation.
2. Different Gods?
I was travelling in a local train to Dadar. At Kandivili, a man with a long beard carrying a large plastic bag came at sat in the seat facing me. He was wearing a traditional white circular cap on his head. As you may have guessed he was a Muslim. After the blasts that took place in Mumbai last year, things have nver been the same for me when I travel by trains. Mumbai may have pulled itself together and limped back to normalcy within a couple days after the serial blasts but I still feel uncomfortable sometimes. I lost a friend to the blasts.
I had been feeling sleepy, yet all of a sudden I was awake. I kept one eye on him throughout the journey, waiting to see If he would suddenly leave without the bag.
Would I have done the same thing If the guy wasn't a Muslim? I'm sure there have been so many times when other people have carried large bags with them in the train and yet I had not been so minutely aware of each and every of their movements.
3. Who is the 'Lower Class'?
I had gotten this huge stye in my eye. I cannot stand any sort of disfigurement to my face. This may sound funny coming from a guy who has over the years suffered a number of pimples on his face which left small craters that are still visible. But its true. Our maid (the dear soul has been with us since I was 6) gave me a number of small plastic pods containing some liquid. She told me to put that gel in my eye and my stye would be cured within a couple of days.
I took the pods, but never made use of them, simply because my maid had given them to me, thence I was dubious of the quality of the medicine.
After carrying that cursed stye for more than a week without any signs of it diminishing, I finally went to the doctor (I hate going to doctors. Hence the delay.) And guess what this doctor gave me along with some tablets. The very same plastic pods our maid had given me. And I did use these ones which the doctor gave.
I have put forth the above examples objectively but don't claim that I have learnt from them or that they are incidents that have made me see the light and change my ways.
They just serve to illustrate the point that prejudices exist within us(ok maybe just me) that we are not aware of but put into practice every day.
I am not a racist, sexist or a bigot, but I sometimes act that way, however minor their severity may be.
And unfortunately thats the way things stand.
Signing out.
I cannot be bothered with petty biases based on race, gender or sexual orientation.
That is what I used to think. I am not so sure any more. I will illustrate the reason behind this doubt that has crept to my mind with a few examples.
1. The 'not so straight' path
I have always felt that I have no problems with anyone being gay or lesbian. It's their choice on how they wish to live and society has no right to impose its wishes on them as long as they are not hurting anybody else.
At a recent party I went to, A friend of mine introduced me to someone who goes about declaring that he is openly gay. He extended his hand to shake. And I felt this sudden feeling of revulsion creep all over my body. As though, if I shake his hand he might take this as a sign of interest, that he might make a move on me. I did shake the proferred hand, smiled a weak hello and got the hell out of there.
I was afraid that he might make a move on me?
What gave me this ridiculous idea? I know that girls don't find me attractive. No girl would ever make a move on me, then why would a guy? I was shocked to see that at a subconscious level I was so prejudiced and more so that the subconscious had taken over the conscious in such an overwhelming manner.
Even with this feeling of guilt sinking in, I still made sure that I kept a safe distance from him. Why? I don't know.
And the scary thing is I am not sure how I will behave if I am ever placed in another such situation.
2. Different Gods?
I was travelling in a local train to Dadar. At Kandivili, a man with a long beard carrying a large plastic bag came at sat in the seat facing me. He was wearing a traditional white circular cap on his head. As you may have guessed he was a Muslim. After the blasts that took place in Mumbai last year, things have nver been the same for me when I travel by trains. Mumbai may have pulled itself together and limped back to normalcy within a couple days after the serial blasts but I still feel uncomfortable sometimes. I lost a friend to the blasts.
I had been feeling sleepy, yet all of a sudden I was awake. I kept one eye on him throughout the journey, waiting to see If he would suddenly leave without the bag.
Would I have done the same thing If the guy wasn't a Muslim? I'm sure there have been so many times when other people have carried large bags with them in the train and yet I had not been so minutely aware of each and every of their movements.
3. Who is the 'Lower Class'?
I had gotten this huge stye in my eye. I cannot stand any sort of disfigurement to my face. This may sound funny coming from a guy who has over the years suffered a number of pimples on his face which left small craters that are still visible. But its true. Our maid (the dear soul has been with us since I was 6) gave me a number of small plastic pods containing some liquid. She told me to put that gel in my eye and my stye would be cured within a couple of days.
I took the pods, but never made use of them, simply because my maid had given them to me, thence I was dubious of the quality of the medicine.
After carrying that cursed stye for more than a week without any signs of it diminishing, I finally went to the doctor (I hate going to doctors. Hence the delay.) And guess what this doctor gave me along with some tablets. The very same plastic pods our maid had given me. And I did use these ones which the doctor gave.
I have put forth the above examples objectively but don't claim that I have learnt from them or that they are incidents that have made me see the light and change my ways.
They just serve to illustrate the point that prejudices exist within us(ok maybe just me) that we are not aware of but put into practice every day.
I am not a racist, sexist or a bigot, but I sometimes act that way, however minor their severity may be.
And unfortunately thats the way things stand.
Signing out.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
The Art of Loving
I dunno what's the big deal with all this love stuff. In the next few pages i'm gonna rant and rave against it. This is the kind of stuff that I normally spout or splutter when Valentine's day comes along ... along with its cutesy heart shaped saccharine sweet accessories.
I mean of course even I've been in love ... more than once ... made me feel so crappy each time.
I just saw a squeamishly romantic, tragically pathetic Hindi movie on TV ... was forced to watch it for reasons best left unexplained here. Each time the on screen couple coochie - coochied to each other ...singing sweet paeans about the glory of love and what not ... i felt like puking my guts out.
I mean we Indians can't stand public displays of love right? Yet our movies seem to be full of them. The hero - heroines prance all around the rest of the world dancing .. generally displaying their love by gyrating their hips and shaking their booty for all to see. So then what's the big deal?
Why do couples at Bandstand get booked for indecent behaviour? Why the cops harass young couples just aching for some privacy? Why do two communities excommunicate and issue fatwahs against two people who did just the silly mistake of falling in love? Why does Richard Gere get an arrest warrant issued against him for just giving a peck to Shilpa Shetty on her cheek. Why don't I ever get such an oppurtunity? With Shilpa I mean ... not Gere ... ahem moving on.
Well it's because we Indians have a purdah mentality which we like to impose on others irrespective of whether they like it or not.
I call it the "Yahan mat karo, Wahan karo, Jhaadi ke peeche!" mentality. Of course currently even the Jhaadi ke peeche part is frowned upon.
I feel that such a moralistic attitude is right...I mean even though we Indians produce nanha munha bacchas at a rate like no other country...we still like that stuff to be hidden...which is absolutely correct. But hey that's my opinion. Because i'm irrational. Because I'm an Indian.
Next week's topic...Mandira's sarees and Ash and Abhishek's honeymoon...Pretty Intelligent stuff. Stay tuned...
I mean of course even I've been in love ... more than once ... made me feel so crappy each time.
I just saw a squeamishly romantic, tragically pathetic Hindi movie on TV ... was forced to watch it for reasons best left unexplained here. Each time the on screen couple coochie - coochied to each other ...singing sweet paeans about the glory of love and what not ... i felt like puking my guts out.
I mean we Indians can't stand public displays of love right? Yet our movies seem to be full of them. The hero - heroines prance all around the rest of the world dancing .. generally displaying their love by gyrating their hips and shaking their booty for all to see. So then what's the big deal?
Why do couples at Bandstand get booked for indecent behaviour? Why the cops harass young couples just aching for some privacy? Why do two communities excommunicate and issue fatwahs against two people who did just the silly mistake of falling in love? Why does Richard Gere get an arrest warrant issued against him for just giving a peck to Shilpa Shetty on her cheek. Why don't I ever get such an oppurtunity? With Shilpa I mean ... not Gere ... ahem moving on.
Well it's because we Indians have a purdah mentality which we like to impose on others irrespective of whether they like it or not.
I call it the "Yahan mat karo, Wahan karo, Jhaadi ke peeche!" mentality. Of course currently even the Jhaadi ke peeche part is frowned upon.
I feel that such a moralistic attitude is right...I mean even though we Indians produce nanha munha bacchas at a rate like no other country...we still like that stuff to be hidden...which is absolutely correct. But hey that's my opinion. Because i'm irrational. Because I'm an Indian.
Next week's topic...Mandira's sarees and Ash and Abhishek's honeymoon...Pretty Intelligent stuff. Stay tuned...
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Plot Outline for - A week in the life of a rioter.
This is something I've never tried before. I mean, trying to write something that is not a movie parody, a Hariteman story or even a movie review. It's something that I hope will turn out to be a biting social satire, something along the lines of what a Joseph Heller might produce.
Its basically a short little story about a guy called Tatya who's a professional rioter.
Hmm. Now what is a professional rioter. It's a guy who is a regular at all sorts of protests starting from a protest rally against Aishwarya's costumes in Dhoom 2 which denigrate Indian culture, to a riot because the statue of a famous Dalit leader was desecrated.
He's a guy you call whenever you want to stage a rally which will have enough carnage to attract the attention of the media vultures, the guy who will have the loudest voice and who can by-heart any slogan that you want him to with a few minutes.
He is a highly paid fellow because he also leads a small coterie of like-minded peers to these rallies.
Why am I thinking of writing this - It's because I'm pretty much frustrated with the state of affairs in India today where everything is considered sacred and no one seems to have a sense of humour. I don't know whether this is a recent development with us Indians or were we always born with such a lack of tolerance. Whatever be the answer, one thing's for sure. This surge of 'Protest Rallyism' has been fuelled by the media revolution that has taken place.
The story mostly will be about how Tatya goes about his business, how he is very professional about it all, and how much armchair angst I feel about India.
Most of all I hope people who read it don't ridicule it as quickly as they would ridicule a Sohail Khan movie.
Finally I hope that I am capable of writing something intelligent!
Man! I need to cut down on the self-deprecation!
Its basically a short little story about a guy called Tatya who's a professional rioter.
Hmm. Now what is a professional rioter. It's a guy who is a regular at all sorts of protests starting from a protest rally against Aishwarya's costumes in Dhoom 2 which denigrate Indian culture, to a riot because the statue of a famous Dalit leader was desecrated.
He's a guy you call whenever you want to stage a rally which will have enough carnage to attract the attention of the media vultures, the guy who will have the loudest voice and who can by-heart any slogan that you want him to with a few minutes.
He is a highly paid fellow because he also leads a small coterie of like-minded peers to these rallies.
Why am I thinking of writing this - It's because I'm pretty much frustrated with the state of affairs in India today where everything is considered sacred and no one seems to have a sense of humour. I don't know whether this is a recent development with us Indians or were we always born with such a lack of tolerance. Whatever be the answer, one thing's for sure. This surge of 'Protest Rallyism' has been fuelled by the media revolution that has taken place.
The story mostly will be about how Tatya goes about his business, how he is very professional about it all, and how much armchair angst I feel about India.
Most of all I hope people who read it don't ridicule it as quickly as they would ridicule a Sohail Khan movie.
Finally I hope that I am capable of writing something intelligent!
Man! I need to cut down on the self-deprecation!
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