To give or not to give

UK to end financial aid to India by 2015

An article on the B(iased) Broadcasting Corporation site about Britain's decision to phase out aid to India, which was a whooping $319m support. That is not a small amount for sure and if you have seen poverty in all its glory, you will know that even $1 can bring a smile.

It was sad to see from comments below the article that many liked the comment -
"Can't believe the people on here saying that we should still give aid to India. Maybe they do have povety - well let them sort that out. Like many people, I work in a company that is laying off hundreds of staff and outsourcing to India. Their economy is growing. We need to look after our own people first, i.e. the ones out of work due to India offshoring!"

Maybe this person did not pay attention in the history classes during school or it could be that the common history just glorifies Britain's colonization. I believe in something similar to Einsteins - 'Energy can neither be created nor be destroyed', which is - wealth cannot be created nor be destroyed. My point being - the way world economics worked till now is - when some get richer, some get poorer. Our economics has not been able to go beyond this. But this is not all that bad if you think the surplus wealth helped man to invent at a faster pace. Saying all this, it is not to point figure at Britain for its imperial past in India and to just blame and say "give our money back!". Neither do I believe aid alone will solve poverty in India. The idea is - not to neglect people beyond your countries boundaries, the world is not that simple anymore, it has never been either. The able needs to help poor through any means they can - we need to help each other. Poverty is now the root of all evil, desperate people are easy seeds to radicalization, terrorism. More than the factor of religion, the root cause is imbalance in progress and prolonged poverty in many areas of the world. Once upon a time poverty used to create thieves only.

For another comment in BBC article, many dislike - "I am dismayed by some of the comments on here.
Poverty in the UK is no where near what poverty is like in countries such as India.
Just because there is a economic down turn we shouldn't forget our responsibilities in giving aid.
I suggest people who think they are in poverty in uk move to one of the 3rd world countries the UK give aid to and feel what real poverty is like."

Well all I can say to this person is that mankind is not that kind still. We are a better lot now than a couple of centuries before for sure though.

By calling BBC Biased in the beginning of this article, I do not mean to offend anyone. Everyone is biased in one way or the another. We will have a truly unbiased media or world when the world acts as one, when we figure out to think beyond color, region, nationality, culture and even intelligence...

The thousand mile wide thin line

Another Thursday evening is born, the much awaited weekend has come. This is one event that never disappoints us, weekends will come without fail as long as the earth spins and goes around sun. The same question gets asked again - "Entha weekend paripadi?!" The answers in-order of most replied in my workplace are - Sleep, Nothing, Drinks, Family stuffs, rarely study, even rarely something good for the society. Massage must be an unspoken answer, otherwise how come there is a SPA in every corner of this place?!

My call was drinks this round, although I have been refraining from this lately since bars in Dubai have an extreme negative energy around it. They seem to be build upon lost dreams, lost souls... lives sold for the rich mans pleasure. 

Inside a hotel in Dubai there are many doors. Every door is a kalesdoscope to different worlds. People choose their doors and inside the room you can find fellows who share your pleasure. 

Families choose the family restaurant door - good food, wine, pleasant service and an artist whose hopes of fame has diminished to four walls within a restaurant will be singing live. Why would anyone want a person singing live while you eat! How can you excite two senses at the same time? Ears will not pay attention to music while your tongue is tickled with hot mirchi. Gulam jamun will not taste sweet if Lata was singing. An artist singing in a restaurant is a crime, its lack of respect, its lack of culture, its blasphemous.   

Young adrenalin pumping bloods choose the DJ door, Live rock band door. Some quite lonely souls choose the silent bars - guaranteed that you will go in lonely and come out the same.   

Then there is the russain door, indian door, luckly other specimens are not found in plenty in Dubai or sourcing could be difficult. Don't mistake that these doors will take you to Russia or India or that it will showcase the culture of these countries. But it does showcase, girls from Russia and India, on a platform, where they dance to the tunes of whatever is played; as you look at them, pervertedly, and sip on your drink. Are they failed artists? They are not performing any form of classical dance that needs to be learned for sure. The people who choose the door did not want to see ballet or mohiniyattam either.

When they look at you, its not a look asking for sympathy or a look that is asking for help. It is a bold look. A look that can seduce you for the obvious. They have trained themselves to forget hope. This is their reality and life, it does not scare them anymore. Girls as young as 16, she should be doing her homework from school I thought. But what does she know about studying, getting a degree, getting a job, getting acknowledged in the society? Respect is lost first, society has turned their back to her soul. She already has a job that will feed her hunger. Unknowingly days will pass, her body will age, will scar, earning will go down... then what? Just like an artist she is performing on the stage, to the pleasure of her perverted audience. I am sure she is doing her best. For an artist, respect is the thousand mile wide thin line that makes all the difference.. fame is the dream. But she is not a traditional artist.. but I choose to believe prostitution is an art too, created by misfortune, taught by despair, perfected by experience.  

We take so much away from them while giving so little and still we are proud to have given that 5 cent.

A wall apart in the same building families are having dinner. Do they know or did they chose not to see? 

What am I doing?

Binchufied!

This is dedicated to my ex-colleague and good friend, Binchu, who by the way is still alive and drinking well, so no need for any pity faces.

My love for water, to dive in it, to cut through it, to float above it, has not been one by birth or childhood. It is rather recent considering I learnt it only at the age of 16. On the contrary, my early experiences with water has been unpleasant. I hated to take bath my birth as I am told by my mom n sis who repeat my ordeal before being forced to bath, @Enikku chali venam! (I want dirt!), even now.

Once while playing kallan n police, I ran to the terrace of the house to notice there was no place to hide. Now I wonder what I was thinking! Instead of hiding under a bed or behind the door, why run to the terrace! Maybe I just wanted to get as far away from the police as he started the count down from 100. No one really counted all the way from 100 to 0, impatience is a child's first nature, we are mislead to believe its innocence. In that barren terrace, the only place to hide was the water tank, and that's where I drowned for the first time in my life. The bubbles coming out was racing up, I tried to stand up in the tank, but the floor was too slippery to get a grip and my hands failed to find something to grab. There is no emotion to this memory now, no fear, no suffocation, just a few pictures and video clips without sound or taste.

The first time I went to sabarimala pilgrimage, my pre-teenage ego was bubbling as I defied the fast, 41 days of veggie food continuously was not a practical option then or even now. I decided to chat my ego rather than calling out loud 'Swamiye Saranam Ayyappo!'. We reached the pampa in the morning, and it was time to take a dip in this holy water before the ascent to the temple. My cousin suggested to wet the legs only, the holy water did not look very hygienic. I was more than happy to agree! The water was not even knee deep in the first step in the river bank, I decided to go one more step down, then something told me to go one more, I drowned for the second time in my life, as there was no more steps at that bank. The picture repeated, bubbles came out, hands didn't find anything to grab, there was no landing unlike the water-tank episode. Also, Bubbles were not very clear as the water was neither. My cousin and some other ayyapan took me out of the water immediately. These memories do not have emotion too now. Although I did call out loud 'Swamiye Saranam Ayyappo!' on the further ascent to the temple. :P

My mother decided to sent me to swimming coaching class later and despite these previous experiences, I started to love swimming and believed that it is the next best thing to flying.

Ever since I came to Dubai, my swimming career has hit a recession. The hope to swim sooner or later drove me to buy a new swimming dress yet to be worn. In a dream couple of days back - I was standing in front of a pool. As I was about to jump in it, A whistle blew! "You are not supposed to swim in the pool wearing formal trousers and shirt." Time was ticking, the pool is open only for an hour. I rang a few numbers, ran a few rounds here n there and finally found a swimming dress! 30 minutes left for the pool timing to be over. My formal trousers was not coming off easily, Muscles seem stiff! It is taking even more time to put on the swimming dress, goggles, and head-cap on! Finally I am all set for swimming! Unfortunately there is just 5 minutes remaining. Well! 5 minutes is good enough for a round of swim! After all its been more than a year in Dubai of non-swimming. I dived into the water, it was cold, the feeling of water hitting your face after a long break, being blinded for a split second, the slight sensation of breathlessness, as we switch to the rhythm of breathing inside water.... But I woke up from my sleep... gasping! I was Binchufied.

Binchufied, absolutely binchufied. The sleep was gone, I couldn't swim yet again. 1 hour of waiting beside the pool. The feeling is best expressed as 'binchufied'. A word Able had coined.

Binchu n I was once travelling to UK. It was a long flight and the idle waiting stuck in your cramped seats was getting unbearable. The only hope was some beer. We patiently waited for the air hostess to serve beverages and food. Finally it was our turn to make a wish! Binchu happily ordered for a beer; but she brought him milk! Thus Binchufied...

Hungry cow and the shy grass

In my first days of dubai metro travel, I used to observe a strange culture neither Eastern nor Western - Men gave up their seats with no observable facial emotion to good looking women, they sometimes even jump out of the seat if she is a hottie! But sadly tend avoid eye contact if an elder was standing in-front of them, trying hard to reach the hand rail on top or get balance as the metro swiftly moves on. Dubai’s got the perfect cover for you to do that because everyone wears a sunglass here!
The result of this courteous act is a packed row of women sitting and men standing in front facing them. Wow! Reminds of cattle sheds, rows of cows with fresh juicy grass spread in front of them. All they need to do is push that head out n munch the yummy grass. But you can't do that here! If you drink or eat or even chew a bubble gum in this shed, you are entitled to win a fine upto 100 dhirams. So munching is definitely out of question! So what next!? :O... Suddenly we have a tough glass between our hungry cows and grass...

The optimist cows says ‘moooooooo!?!’ meaning 'so what!? It's not a ground glass or tinted one ;)'

Journey in the metro enters the next inevitable stage - Silence, Sleep, Stare, n Pull up!

Silence – Metro is so packed in morning peak hours that if you watch the metro going from outside, you will see a lot of spidermen sticking against the glass door. I myself being a regular spiderman miss sometimes the transportation at home where you can stick your butt out of the crowded bus and enjoy the feeling of living on the edge, as you pull up against the door when an electricity post comes forward to give that smack you needed much. Even though crowded as the metro is, the silence is unbearable at times; keeps you wondering where are all the kids and teens?!

Sleep – Yes, you are happy that you at-least have a job in this recession time. But the job is just too hectic that you don’t seem to get that 8 hours of blissful sleep you wish for. And there you are in the metro hoping to get that last 30 mins of sleep. Put on your sun-glass, sit upright, try not to snore – 3 simple steps to have a dignified snooze on the move.

Stare n Pull up – I don’t think there is any soul left in this age so innocent as not to understand this. Last week I saw a lady who wanted to sleep so badly that pulling up in between was not an option. She ingeniously figured a way around this – Put a handky on your cleavage! I felt as if the handky read 'There is nothing here for you dude!' 'Better luck next time!' 'I will knock your milk teeth off!' 'Ninnakku ammayum pengalum illada pulle' and so on. I skilfully moved away so that others don’t conclude that I was the sole cause for this! :D

The silence was broke by the announcement - ‘The next station is Jumeira Lake Towers!’ I hoped off for work wondering otherwise if the handky was to keep her warm?! Should I have offered my sweater! My restless mind wanted an answer, I tried to calm myself and watch my inner voice, the answer to all questions is within you I have read. I heard the voice ever so faintly – Mmmmoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! ;)

* According to UAE population census proportion of Men : Women is 3 : 1! Moooooooo!

The pigeon's curse

On an unusual Saturday hung-over* morning, I was recollecting what all I ate the night before, the breath smelled like I swallowed a cemetery the night before. Brushing did not help, the devil was inside... A bit of fresh air might help to get fresh and I stepped out to the balcony to be greeted by confused white pigeon!

I wondered if my friend and I had a 'hang-over' movie effect and decided to get a pigeon as pet. But the looks on the young bird suggested if it too was in one the many bird dance bars in Dubai watching exotic birds dance to birdywood masala songs. It looked disoriented by the unusual hung-over* it had the night before! By now both of us had realized what had happened... the birdy was trapped as my balcony had mesh all around to keep miscreeds like this one away. Neither of us got a clue on how she got inside! There was no hole in the mesh. My friend and me thought we would give her sometime to figure the way out while we have breakfast and think about a rescue mission afterwards.

Back from the breakfast, I went out to check again n she was gone! :O ... wonder struck for a couple of minutes till she was spotted on top of the window AC. Doh! Rescue mission... first to free our new inmate... and secondly to save us from washing bird poo on the balcony before its too late!

Took the bath towel to catch her and release to freedom... to find the next 15 mins chasing a chic (as other pigeons might have called this one) from one corner of the balcony to another... she put a good fight to escape from her rescuer! Just before both of us got tired, I got hold on her! She succumbed and admitted I won the catch. I felt proud... and pride got me into thinking I could take a snap of the catch and flaunt on my facebook. ahaaa! I bet that could fetch me a couple of likes! As dislike was not an option though many times I felt a lot of the likes was infact a sarcastic dislike so that others see the crap too.

Social media pressure crept into me craft-fully... without even me not realising it... my meditation on freeing my catch was lost and 'likes' floated in my head... my hands went weak for a couple of seconds and she knew it... with a sudden burst of energy the white pigeon freed her wings and slapped it hard. I put a last try to get my grip back on but ended up with a bouquet of feathers in my hand. I had lost the catch. Rescue mission had failed but cannot be abandoned, need to continue as she was on infront of me, free again now from my grasp, looking at me in disgust of ruining her feathers. That is how I confirmed it was a she. Unless it was another metro-sexual male pigeons who grooms himself everyday to work... for something another of his kind only will find sense in!

In that aghast as she looked at me.. taking steps backwards with eyes still on me and the other 2 humans now beside me... she found a gap! The gap through which she might have got in! It was a narrow gap on where a slice of glass was missing on the balcony. She dived to freedom at last! I did not notice her giving a look back... bird brain I guess... She flew away only to stop 3 building away... settling near her friends who has been all the while flying outside... laughing at her plight... and mine...

As I sat back inside, I wondered if the misunderstood bird had cursed me, thinking I was going to catch her and slave her or eat. I also thought this one was a good story to tell others... why not a blog! But I had stopped blogging for the same reason I lost the catch today. The idea of posting in social media had began to taken my focus on the subject. I had realized that I am not enjoying the beauty of the moment because my head gets distracted by the idea of posting! Frantic tweeting and let everyone know and fetch me my acknowledgement of my digital presence! A reason why I I never bought a SLR till now, cause it would hurt if the photo did not look as good as it really was, It will never be for sure.

But then I blogged again... :P ... Peace! The pigeon is free and I am cursed again... ;)