The talk of tolerance....

There are two views for everything. Tolerance helps us to see the other side. Tolerance I feel is the best virtue of the civilized world. There are people who are not like us, they have different ways and also they have different opinions. Their ideals are different so do is their outlook on the life. And this tolerance helps us to put up with these people.

Every day we come across a variety of people. Some of the moronic type (of course we consider them to be of that type) and some of them exhibit tantrums every too often. It is tolerance that only helps us to endure them with patience and without losing out temper.

But sometimes it is very disheartening. At times I get impatient. I let myself into things that I later realize to be very trivial to enter into with 'lost temper". I enter into arguments just to prove that I am right whether I am or not. Even in that process I may feel like moving astray of my original thoughts and perceptions. But I do that just to prove my point. In that burst of fury I create unpleasant acquaintances.

When we are unable to accept the other side of the thought. It creates bad blood. It leads to blows. It is just because we refuse to be just and fair minded. Across centuries thousands of men and women have lost their lives for the shake of difference in opinion in political, religious and social attitudes. And despite being in this modern times when we say that we are educated, we still do not let go of this curse of intolerance.

And apart from that we are strongly infested with dogmatism. It is a belief that one's own attitude and only that attitude is right and one fails to give space to any other belief. This is a fine recipe for anarchy and chaos. Any one who is intolerant cannot be more cursed.

Sipping Tropicana.....

A lot of people like to do that. Well my favourite flavour is “Guava Nectar”. It may rather seem that I am doing some sort of an ad of the drink. Hell no!

After a whole night of emergency duty in medicine ward, nothing could be more refreshing than a pack of that drink. I was there at the canteen overlooking the backyard of the med dept. It was a lot of effort straining the eyes to keep them open. There was nothing in my mind. I was just guessing how long it would be before I hit the bed. It seemed as if the clock has stopped. There was indeed a lot of work left out. Then I heard a bunch of guys of the morning shift murmuring something. I overheard them passing on some raunchy comments on a girl (of course it was not audible to her). I looked at her. And she was worth every bit of all those comments. She had a drink in her hand too. No doubt it was the same Tropicana. She was cooling herself out after that day’s class in her med postings. I couldn’t take my eyes out of the curves that she presented.

“Oops!”

I didn’t know how that escaped out of my mouth. I never do that. I never think that I could be that mean. I looked around. There were no eyes on me. I took a breath of relief. Suddenly the murmurs got louder. Then through the corner of my eye gave another gaze.

She was giving the “profile view”. It was quite natural for her to do that but at least she pretended of being unaware of the thoughts over a guy’s mind. Great lips I thought; drenched in saliva mixed with the “guava nectar”. Am I getting too sleazy? Let me stop this narration over here despite having more in my imagination. There were some more murmurs. The guy’s got louder and bolder. I could have got too, but there was no more energy left in me. I would have stayed there longer had not been there a call to attend to.

I got busy in that day’s work. It was never again in my mind that day. I was fortunate enough to get some time sooner to hit the bed.

It seems that I am writing a dumb description of something that happened that day....Guys drooling over the girls. Well it is just the long prelude of the short event that occurred the day after. I went to the canteen to chill myself off. I saw a girl standing in the same position...having something in her hand. Well it was a drink. I got nearer. It was the same Tropicana... ”guava nectar”.

This shouldn’t be happening. Indeed yesterday I was tired but not to that extent that it would make me hallucinate. I tried to recollect and everything got clear. This girl was also there yesterday and is friends with the first one. She got so impressed with the passes that her friend received that she is standing and doing exactly what she saw her friend doing. Same style, same posture, same attitude and same perhaps everything except the fact that she was not “she”. There was no one, I mean anyone to pin passes at her. But still she was on with her venture...a practice of some sorts.

The day before I was straining to keep my eyes open but now it was like strain to keep the mouth shut. I was like having fits of laughter in my mind but still couldn’t laugh. I just gave an aerobic smile and got one return.

So in the end a little thought of the reality. People copy when they get a chance to do so. But they end up being dumb-heads.

But still I can’t stop laughing and sipping Tropicana. Hahahahhahhahahhahahah.....ummmmhahahha...my tummy is aching.

IPL, Modi, Sunanda, Tharoor, B’wood, BCCI and CBI – Please RGV make a movie.

The hero, the heroine, the villain and an envious storyline are all apt to make a mega-budget, mega-starrer mega-thriller. Well please somebody stop me if I am going over the clouds.

Starting from the day when IPL was conceived it seemed something fishy. It was perhaps made in the lines of other sports leagues across the world (of course sports other than cricket). After some days of the league matches I heard reports of semi-finals and finals. It is obvious that I had never seen the fixtures. Well I could hardly believe when I heard that indeed they are going to happen (the finals). What kind of a league was this when the league winners are not going to hold the trophy? See they are being made to play finals. And then what’s the meaning of this two tier league. This is something that is for the bookies and the betting masters. If the league leaders were to hold the champions trophy then there is nothing more to do for the betting pros.

Well before the tournament began there were a lot of things happening in the backdrop and the backstage. The bidding went through. Celebrities, businessmen and political contacts owned teams. Sometimes I get astonished why the biddings and auctions take place behind the closed doors. Is not that the very concept of closed door activities like this, seem suspicious? Well in this country when the individuals are supposed to declare their assets before activities like elections and before holding important government posts then why these stake holders are kept under wraps.

One edition of the series was held in India and the other edition was taken to South Africa. They were held with all sorts of sleaze, booze and partying! Then the third season happened in India again. It was spring time for everyone until the bidding for two new teams happened. It pulled down skeletons out of like “every closets”. Careers got murdered. Bollywood stars, politicians, CEO’s, ex-cricketers and many more got implicated. The CBI got into action. The income tax officials had a massive pan Indian exercise. No wonder, they are the ones who are there where money lies. It even rocked the parliament. And a few more days and a few more heads and it could be the biggest reality show ever. There is nothing more that the media could ever ask for.

In this hullabaloo, something that got the most coverage was the tryst between Modi, Tharoor and Sunanda. And as the ends of all the three are nearing, Tharoor has lost his job, Sunanda her stakes and Modi is on the verge of quitting. If this is not enough then there is more spice to the drama. With allegations that the matches were fixed, the tournament could not be more cursed. But what are we missing..... Rakhi Sawant! Don’t know how that name pooped out from me.

This is Indian answer to WWE opera.

So where are you RGV, after Phoonk2 you have another script! Get working.

Memories of the broken pot...

There are things that matter you, the same things that are just crap for others. You keep them with you no matter what comes. Days pass, but still those remain with you. You never let go of them. It may be a grand object or it may be something that is too trivial to have any value. But despite that you keep it as your most valued possession. It may be a pen, an old music record, a toy that people would sneer at to see a grown up guy having it, or even a piece of paper with something scribbled on it. Whatever it is, you never part with that. It is so because they evoke memories that you do not want to part with. They make you remember times you really longed for. Times when someone loved you. Times that you could never forget. Times that would put a smile on your face. Times that would make your eyes brim with tears. Times with unforgotten memories, muffled with sweet voices and of smells still tingling your senses and of people you crave for the most. So what's crazy on my part to have a broken pot?

Can't See

In our day to day life there are certain things that happen and we don't see them. We make ourselves believe that we can't see them. So we don't see them. Things like this may have happened with us but still we feel that there would be someone else who will see it. Well if no one sees it the same way, it never seems seen.

Is sounds confusing, very confusing indeed, when things written in a weird manner as above, are read.

Well what happened yesterday that made me write this? It may seem eventful to no one. It did not seem that way even to me.

I study in a college that is not far away from the railway station. It's winter and chilling out side. Due to some reasons I skipped my dinner and I felt hungry late in the night. It was too late to find any food. And if any, that was available, was cold. I was in no mood to have anything that was cold. So I thought of going to the railway station so that I could have some hot coffee. In our area the railway station is the only place where something is available at the night. I went there with a friend of mine. We went inside and relished a cup each. We chatted through our way back along the platform.

Then we reached the gate and passed by it. Then we reached the stairs. There we saw a young boy on the stairs. He may be hardly 14 years old. He had a normal body but with a pair of very tiny and unusable legs. He was struggling hard to get down the stairs. All the support that he had was with his hands. Each time he climbed down a stair, he lifted his body with his arms, dragged the body with the legs, and with much effort went down a step. At each step he took some rest. He spoke something to himself. And after that he took the next step down.

He took help from none. He did not even have a wheelchair. People looked at him with pity but no one seemed to get bothered. The boy too did not care for anything. Perhaps he has been too much aware of the indifference through out his life. He was crawling and was with torn clothes but still he was no BEGGAR! It may seem that I am very heartless to write that he was not a beggar. I mean associating the word beggar with him. Well it's not just me, but a lot of people consider people on the streets in that condition to be beggars.

And what could I have done that day, at the middle of the night to him so that I would not have felt sorry today. “A lot, if I really wanted, and none, if I don't”. So it is better to escape from the scene, than to be in it and doing something. It is not that I was in some situation which was grave enough for me to not being able to do anything. But still I felt "prudent" to be out of that. Many feel that way. I too did and escaped.

After writing the above paragraphs when I am reading it again I feel like I am dumb and a heartless fellow to justify my indifference with "what many do". What "many do" is that what we should do? Or rather what I should do? Today I could go to the same place and find that boy. May be not and the probability of not finding that boy is more. He may have gone somewhere as he was in a station.

Thinking that I won't find him again, I won't go. Thinking that I have said enough and written enough I may get relaxed. I may feel like I have confessed something and after admitting my indifference may feel like my work is over. May be in some days I could forget the event altogether. Am I "lazy" and "shy"? - two stupid words to describe my indifference. There can be many more.

I would have done things like this many times- just feeling pity on someone and regretting. Things like this are good for nothing.

And we escape just because we "can't see". So I think that if one really wants to help someone, then he must not think anything or wait for anything. But instead he must do it there. For that way he won't regret and do pseudo-confessions like me.

Reasons To Chear

Just being oneself, no matter what that "being" makes others think about you, is the greatest glory that you can have in your life. Perspiring at the thoughts that others harbor about you- thoughts that you really never know, you engage in a tussle with those thoughts. Your "beliefs" and your "being" watch their own demise. Later you nag yourself to no avail.


It sounds pathetic to talk of glory and demise in the same go. But it is the replica of our surrogate self that battles everyday for being oneself. People believe that you may not be able to achieve something. Those ones being the ones you love, their thoughts engineer yours. They do so not because they don't love you but because they don't know what they are doing to you out of their love. And the greatest revenge that you can take is by achieving the best that you could, with your ability. With freedom and free thoughts cheer your life, for you have got one. And when the odds are heavily against you, be the odd one! This is not rebellion, this is reason.

Bishop Castle

Beulah, Colorado

For over 30 years, Jim Bishop has been building a castle on a mountainside in central Colorado. "Did it all myself, don't want any help," he says mechanically as he unloads a pile of rocks that he's hoisted to the 70-foot level on one of the castle towers.

Every year since 1969, Bishop has single-handedly gathered and set over 1000 tons of rock to create this stone and iron fortress in the middle of nowhere. Bishop calls it "a monument to hardworking people" and "America's biggest, one-man, physical project." "I always wanted a castle. Every man wants a castle," Bishop continues, his voice a broken record, answering the same questions he's obviously been asked thousands of times before.

It hasn't been easy. For most of those 30 years Bishop was engaged in a running battle with Washington bureaucrats over the rocks that he used, which came from the San Isabel National Forest that surrounds the castle property. Bishop felt that they were his for the taking, the government wanted to charge him per truckload.

Another bone of contention that stuck in Bishop's craw belonged to the Colorado state Chamber of Commerce, which refused to list Bishop Castle as an attraction in its official tourism guides.

Happily, those angry years are in the past. Both Uncle Sam and the Colorado Chamber now recognize that Bishop's dementia concretia is marketable, and that he's transformed some heavy, unwanted rocks into pure tourism gold.

The castle is a popular spot. "I been here three times," said one visitor. "I'm taking my kids to see what one man can do," said another. Other popular comments: "He's crazy," "Where does he get the time?" and "Where does he get the money?"

Bishop's goal is to complete his castle before he dies. He has no thought of slowing down. Although the castle is still just a hollow shell of cemented rocks and ornamental ironwork (Jim Bishop's regular line of business), his future plans include a moat and a drawbridge, a roller coaster mounted on the castle's outer wall, a balcony big enough to hold an orchestra, and a second castle for Phoebe, his wife.

"I want to live as long as I can and keep building that castle bigger and bigger and bigger."