the lion from india

Once upon a time there lived a lion in the forests of India. He was an ambitious and aggressive lion. Where his other contemporaries were happy to eat whatever food the lioness brought, he would go far and wide, seeking new hunting grounds and trying out different cuisine. He developed quite a taste for exotic meat after he came across a few hippies sleeping in a tent. After that indian meat never seemed that good to him and he kept dreaming of going to the west.

As luck would have it, the NYZ or the New York Zoo had a need for a lion. Their old Lion had reached the end of its productive life and was demanding more healthcare and shorter working hours and its roar was no longer the same as it used to be. The zoo authorities came up with a plan to let their old lion go and get a brand new hungrier lion from India. Our lion in India who was anyway dreaming of white meat, got wind of this and applied for the job. After jumping through a few hoops to prove his mental and physical fitness, he was selected and was soon on the boat to America.

On his arrival, he was taken to his new livng place and shown his cage where he would work. He liked the bright efficient world of lights around him, the wealth and prosperity visible and everything he saw seemed so much bigger and healthier than he saw back in india. The people were definitely juicier and bigger, the food he saw people munching looked so much bigger, heck even the squirrels looked like little cats. Our lion felt mighty pleased and looked forward to a great lipsmacking time ahead and soon was roaring enthusiatically.

After a while he became hungry and went to see what was up for dinner. There was a little corner where he saw a little door open and a plate was pushed in. Bounding forward he attacked the food only to immediately step back frowning. All that was there on the plate were a bunch of bananas. He figured that there must have been a mistake and they probably werent ready for his coming here and so mixed up the food. Being a lion who could take the rough with the smooth, he finished off the bananas washing them down with lots of water, and went to sleep.

The next day the same thing happened. Another plate, another bunch of bananas. This was getting too much. Still he finished them off and waited for dinner where he hoped he would get a juicy steak or something finally. Dinner came and again another plate and another bunch of bananas. This time he let out a mighty roar and someone came around to find out what was the reason for our lion doing overtime.

"Whats up lion dude" said the janitor. "Nothing much" said the lion, "but do you know who is incharge of the kitchen here?".

"Hell no, I'm just the janitor, but I could find out. Whats the problem?"

"Well you see, I am the king of the jungle. I roamed far and wide in the forests and plains of India. There was no one who could even raise their head and talk to me. I ate only the finest freshest meat and left the rest for my family. Yet ever since I came here all they give me to eat is bananas. I think theres some mistake.. why the hell would someone give the king of the jungle bananas to eat"

The janitor smiled a knowing smile. He had seen this before. He said " Hey lion dude, do you have your passport"

"Sure" said the lion, rummaging among his things and coming up with it.

"okay, now check whats written on your visa stamp"

The lion, peered closely and read the fine print, his frown getting frownier and frownier.

"Yup man" said the janitor, " you may be the king of the jungle back in India, but you came here on a Monkey Visa. Be happy that you get bananas, dude."

And our lion let out a roar, which was quieter and softer than he had ever roared.

first friday evening in america

so a week has passed. Spent a full working week here and it was fun. After a long time I was working in the daytime. Since it was the first week, i was treated rather well. Both the bosses took turns to pick me up from the motel on their way to work and drop me back. They also stood me lunch a few times. I visited a place called Panera breads which had some awesome onion soup and sandwiches, a place called Pastablitz which was nice, a subway and an indian buffet which was very satisfying. Had roti and dal after quite a while and just filled myself up.

Workwise the pace was good. Got quite a few things underway and the next week should see some results start to come in. Today I worked from the motel and that was nice too. Went for a lunchtime swim, which is pure sinful luxury on a working day. Cooked me own lunch, which was heating up a matar paneer thing and making some rice. Also some nice bitter chocolate to top it off.

I went to meet a writer with whom I had a correspondence some time ago. She lives in downtown Baltimore near the John Hopkins Uni and that area is very lively and vibrant. I set out at 5:30 and caught a bus down to the city. Bought an all day pass. Once I reached downtown, I took a look around. Had been a little shocked by the neighbourhoods the bus had passed through. They were not like the pretty little white parts of town, but were more grungy and rundown. The disparity is pretty starkly visible. They are nice enough places compared to the ones in india, but compared to the rest of the town, they are just glorified slums.

The inner harbour area is nice with lots of tourist attractions. I got a little lost and walked into an area where there were pretty girls standing around on the street looing bored. A bit further on and the signs saying "hustler" and "you must have a drink at all times" made it pretty clear that this was a place where sex sells more blatantly than usual. I made my way towards the more shiny and bank type of buildings and asked around. I was directed to a bus stop where the #3 bus would take me to John Hopkins Uni where I was to find a cafe called Donnas.

Sitting in the bus, I suddenly spotted Donna's through the window and got down in a hurry. Waited around but couldnt spot my friend. So I asked the bar guy if this was the only Donna's around and I found that it wasnt, the one I wanted was another couple of miles down the road. I walked on, but couldnt find a bus stop, and a few more buses passed me by without stopping. Stopped and asked a policewoman for directions and she said it was another mile or so off. Said not to worry since it was a safe neighbourhood. So I walked on again..

Finally I got tired and stopped and asked an asian looking guy for directions. He told me it was still quite a way off, and I gave a loud sigh. He said that if i waited a couple of minutes, he could give me a lift part of the way. Soon he reappeared and I got into his car. He drove me straight to Donna's and I got off. Thanked him profusely and asked him if he was indian. Nopes he said, Pakistani.
Same thing I said, and he smiled. We exchanged numbers, and I thanked him again.
I believe he just came back to drive me out to Donna's and after that would have driven straight back to his house. Asian hospitality for you, and in its full glory in the US of A.

Met my friend, and we had a nice dinner, then caught the 10 pm bus back to the harbour, then the other bus, which was surprisingly crowded back to my motel.

My first adventure in the wild wicked west and it was quite fun actually. I think I shall buy some more day passes for these buses and see more of the area around this weekend...so far so good...

kickass story...man chases cop

this is one beautiful story..ranks right up there with the story of how dalbir took 2500 rupees off a traffic cop in delhi...(story will be posted soon )

read it on the guys blog here ...

an excerpt below -

I stopped next to the officer, and for the first time I realised he was an Assistant Commissioner of Police!! I told him that I noted down his vehicle number, and he’s soon going to have a nice time. He was totally flummoxed, and he said he has my number too. You should have seen the look on his face when I volunteered to give him my name and contact address. First a small shock, then slightly bigger, and now a virtual slap in the face!! He grabbed the radio, and started barking some instructions into it, maybe to psyche me out, make me believe that I’d get picked up at the next junction or something. I said I don’t care, and asked him to show me his name badge. He was trying his best to hide it from me, and boy oh boy, was he doing a lousy job! The signal time was counting down too slowly for his liking, and he was badly cornered. He finally showed me his name badge, and by now people were looking at us, and wondering how and why they were witnessing this role reversal of a popular TV series called “World’s Wildest Police Videos”!! The signal finally went green, and he got away. I turned left and continued to my actual destination.

Spirituality in Music

Mulla Nasruddin is sitting in the village square one evening plucking the strings of the sitar. Little by little, as expected a circle of friends gather around him. He keeps on strumming just one note. Finally, one villager musters enough courage to inquire,

‘‘that is a very nice note you are playing, Mulla, but most of the musicians use all the notes. Why don’t you?’’
“They are still searching for the note”, says the Mulla calmly, “I have found it’’

quick and dirty operating system.

During one of those last long nights working to deliver DOS 2.0 in early 1983, I am told that Paul Allen heard Gates and Ballmer discussing his health and talking about how to get his Microsoft shares back if Allen were to die.

after a long time, cringely returns to what he does best, anecdotes about the people in the tech world. Here he dissects Microsoft and serves up some tasty morsels like the one above. Read the full piece here

my friend from syria

today i was suddenly reminded of an old friend who was in college with me. I was watching CNN and schwarzenegger was on screen soon after a story on israel. That reminded me of a cold night in a friends hostel room. " I dont like Schwarzenegger, I dont watch any of his movies." my friend had stated emphatically. This was rather curious, because Mohammed Yaqub Agha,usually was never moved to such emotion. He was a quiet man, devoted to preserving his peace of mind and body. He rarely bothered to rouse himself to be passionate about anything. Teachers tried in vain to evoke some response, his friends could never drag him to the playing fields and his parents no doubt tried in vain to get him to hurry up and finish his studies and come home.

He was from Syria, and looked like a syrian. A slightly overweight one, but unmistakably from west asia. "Why dont you like Schwarzenegger?", I asked mystified. "Because he is a jew" replied Agha. And then in vain did I try all lines of arguement. That Schwarzenegger wasnt a jew. That even if he was, how did it matter. And even if it mattered, why couldnt u watch his movies. At the end of it all, Agha was unmoved. He just didnt like Schwarzenegger. Schwarzenegger was jewish, the jews were israelis and he hated israelis. That was his position and that was what it stayed.

But now, thinking about it, I remember Agha and somehow feel he knew a great deal more than I did about this whole matter. After all he had grown up in Syria. Some of the issues were familiar to him. And now, when the voices will clamor for Syria to be bombed, I think, Schwarzenegger's voice will be there too. I guess, if that happens, Agha will be glad that he never watched a Schwarzenegger movie.

Agha was someone who was too clever for his own good. His scholarship enabled him to live a life of luxury in India. If he finished his studies fast, this comfortable period would end, and so Agha resolved to prolong his studies. The funny part about studies is, that you can prolong them by not doing them. Agha became very good at not studying. Generations of scholars graduated from our college having eaten dates in Agha's room. Agha stayed on and gradually the inertia took over. Having become such and expert in not studying, it was tough to shake off the habit. However, with curses and moan, squeals for help, manic scrambles for examination aids, he did manage and last heard is a big shot manager somewhere in Syria.

He had told me his versions of the stories I knew from my westernized education. He had told me about Palestine, Mecca, Jerusalem, Damascus, Riyadh, Dubai and Egypt. His versions were mostly like pamphlet literature. Very sure of themselves, very little scope for discussion, very definite in their opinions and facts. A take-it-or-leave-it version of history.

There was one question which I felt was at the heart of all this. Tell me, he asked once, how come the jews who were persecuted by the christians, and the christians who were persecuted by the jews, now get together to fight the muslims? Thinking of an answer to that one always made my head ache, and i would take the conversation off into different paths. Its a funny question, but I can understand the bewilderment the arabs must feel. The only answer that kind of fits the situation is that its all for the oil. Its so banal at the end of it all. Better to change the topic.

Agha would then tell me of the holy Quran. He would tell me stories from it. He told of the day of Armageddon and how its described in the holy book. The imagery is vivid. There is a great war..and after it, the fastest strongest eagle in the world would fly for seven days and seven nights and yet wouldnt be able to come to the end of the smouldering, decaying battlefield. He spoke of it as matter of fact. When I suggested it was just a story, he didnt agree. He said the Christians believed this too, and so did the Jews. The battle of Armageddon, he pronounced it Harmajdoon, was part of the beliefs of all these religions.

It is fascinating somehow. Three religions, all originating in that small piece of land. All with jerusalem as their holy city. All locked into a terrible struggle with each other. All believing in Harmajdoon. Whew.... that explains a lot. So much blood has flown in this terrible struggle. And my lazy friend's only protest against all this was that he wouldnt watch Schwarzenegger movies. May his tribe increase.

the cold was the last straw

its a cold day here in gurgaon...in the north of India at this time, temperatures hover around freezing point.....the cold winds blow down from the mountains and make things distinctly uncomfortable.

Last night, the guard at our office was telling me about the labour problem here. How the migrant labour from impoverished parts of india is flooding into Delhi and driving labour rates down. The government approved rate for a monthly wage for a labourer in Gurgaon is 2400 rupees. Thats about 50 dollars a month. Now this labourer has come here seeking work, so he can pull his family back home out of starvation. So saving money is a priority for him. Companies here, do not directly employ labour, but rather operate through private contractors.

These contractors, typically pay a labourer about 1500 rupees a month, about $30. The rest of the money stays with them as their profit margin. Its fair, I guess, since they too are in business, and need to make their money. In gurgaon, there are small villages on the outskirts where residents have built rooms. These rooms are about 8 to 10 feet long and wide with a window and door. There is no central heating or electricity apart from a fan and electric bulb. The doors do not fit snugly, the walls are damp, sunlight is rarely seen, air comes in through spaces between the roof and wall. In almost freezing temperatures, with a west wind blowing down as if straight from Afghanistan, this is not so much a room, as a cardboard box. And that too one with holes.

There is a common bathroom and lavatory which is shared by a row of rooms. The same landlord usually also has a grocery shop somewhere nearby. Migrant labour rents these rooms. If you rent a room with an asbestos roof, its 1000 rupees a month, if with a concrete roof its 1200 - 1500 rupees a month. Usually 2-3 labourers share a room. So out of the 1500 they get, they first pay off about 400 rupees as rent. They buy groceries and necessities from the grocery shop on credit and settle when they get their pay. So after paying the rent, they pay the storekeeper. By this time they are pretty much left with nothing. Then comes the task of surviving till the next paycheque. Also some money has to be sent home.

In such a situation, with sometimes the labourers not getting work everyday, things get pretty grim. There isnt much margin for error. An illness, a little indulgence, a theft of a bicycle, the wearing out of shoes or clothes ...all can throw your monthly budget out of balance. Things keep running solely on the amount of overtime pay you can get.

So considering this background, the story the guard told me was not unexpected or unusual. But it is a story, and a short one.

A daily labourer, from Bihar, worked the morning shift in his job. Then he worked the evening shift. He came back to his room at 2 am. Went to sleep. Never got up.

Turns out he didnt have a blanket.

Probably thought of buying one in november, but then that would cost him 300 rupees. So thought, will do it in December, when its colder. Till then lets manage with a couple of old bedsheets. And when it got very cold, it was the end of the month...and so on and so forth. Probably wasnt eating very well too, if u work 16 hours a day, money must be tight. And eating costs money. Since they buy groceries on credit, they usually are overcharged and cheated in terms of quality and weight of goods purchased.

Anyways, our brave little soul, one of the countless migrants to delhi, met a cold end. He didnt have a blanket.

He was a few miles away from my house....but he could have been in another world.

________ - X - X - ______________

an article about the cold and homeless in delhi