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How does one cope with the loss of one’s shadow, a friend, and a soul mate? Hopefully he is in happy hunting grounds. But….is he be happy there? Won’t he miss me …..like I miss him?
Born to Juliet a blue blooded German Shepherd and a wayward Labrador…..they were an ideal blend of the best of qualities of both the breeds. Sonic, a raggy shaggy fur ball , walked up to me, sniffed my feet , curled up and slept; accepting me as his mom. Soni , his chubby golden sibling, slept blissfully, content in herself. Sonic was chosen to be adopted but the pretty Soni tempted us into taking her too. As, I carried the two fur balls to my home, little did I know, that they would become not just a part of our life, but also our identity.
Soni, the pretty girl was the very symbol of dignity. She had German Shepherd like features and the golden coat of a Labrador. Her coat was shiny and clean, her pink nose a little snooty but very pretty. She was mature and intelligent and sort of looked down upon Sonic’s playful juvenile behavior. She loved going for walks, swimming and drives. She looked forward to being given a bath and would then spend hours preening over her glossy coat. With such good looks can arrogance be behind? She littered only once as a result of an accidental mating with Sonic. After that she never mated leaving per poor mate Sonic completely high and dry. We lost her in 2009 when she did not survive a surgery to remove her uterus.
Sonic……. The coat and body of a German Shepherd but the face of a Labrador was wrongly named as he hated music. He was a tramp. His rough coat never shone in spite of all the grooming. He hated baths and wanted to be scratched perennially. He was very talkative, exuberant and very demanding. His keen nose could smell food and his sixth sense helped him smell food kept just about anywhere at home. A terror and night mare of all dogs and people in the vicinity, he was petrified of Soni. Like all self- respecting men, he never took any chances with her and was completely in awe of her. When she would come on heat, high drama would unfold at home. He would whine and plead and she just looked away in complete deaf nonchalance. When his appeals to Soni went in vain he would plead to us to intervene. He was very expressive and gave us a very vocal piece of his mind whenever we went out of town. After Soni left us, it was Sonic who took it upon him to make sure that we don’t miss her much. He became more of my “ Sonny dog” loving me for just being there….loving me with no expectations ….unconditionally.
Together they meant security both physical and emotional. After 14 years I am now relearning to lock the door. I am painfully aware of the absence of the patter of feet following me, the swish of a tail that upset my cutlery and the jar of biscuits, a favorite bribe for our long working hours. Had it not been for them I would not have survived some of the darkest moments of my life.
Life without Soni was sad….but life without Sonic is painful. He rests under a chikoo tree in Whispering Meadows……but somehow he lives on…….
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
THE FEAR FACTOR
Fear manifests in many ways. Lesser mortals like me live in the fear of the unknown- the fear of losing someone dear and the fear of losing health and the fear of losing love of near and dear ones. But for larger Mortals all these fears condense in one word- POWER.
The God of Power is no small God. He is more powerful than any in the world’s pantheon of Gods. This God of Power is formless and manages to reach across nationalities, languages, cultures, and etc. This most ironical twist is that this God is whimsical. There can’t be a more fickle God than the God of Power. Strangely this God has a tendency to throw tantrums at those people who worship him the most. Nor is there a shrine or any prayer that can be offered to please this God. So, this God remains elusive especially from people who worship him the most. There is another danger of being a devotee of the God of power – once you are a devotee you always remain one irrespective of the fact that the God does not favour you anymore. Once you have been showered by the God’s benevolence, you get intoxicated by the sheer aura of power and there is no way that you can get out of it. You remain in a daze and stupor… lotus eater……..drunk with power….a hangover from which one can never ever wake up.
And in this stupor, the sycophants of these fallen worshippers have begun to run around like headless chicken. In complete fear of a re-enactment of Tahrir Square in India, the Madonna and her team have gone overboard in slowly imposing restrictions so that the reluctant crown Prince is ready to be the next emissary of the God of Power.. Ironically, in one straight shot, they have isolated the young voters and the huge number of people who use Social Networking Sites; the very crowd who was supposed to give the haloed prince a prized place in the altar of the God of Power.
Strangely this whimsical God Power showers all its benevolence on those who shun and mock at his power. This God makes the weakest an instrument of actions. The timid the oppressed become his voice as they manifest the might and sway of Power. So, a weak Anna who couldn’t care less for Power is the most powerful standing tall among the groveling sycophants. A sincere no nonsense Arvind Kejriwal is any day a preferred choice over the perennially “ foot in the mouth” Rahul Raol Gandhi. And a passionate fiery Kiran Bedi to an impassive Madonna.
The God of Power is no small God. He is more powerful than any in the world’s pantheon of Gods. This God of Power is formless and manages to reach across nationalities, languages, cultures, and etc. This most ironical twist is that this God is whimsical. There can’t be a more fickle God than the God of Power. Strangely this God has a tendency to throw tantrums at those people who worship him the most. Nor is there a shrine or any prayer that can be offered to please this God. So, this God remains elusive especially from people who worship him the most. There is another danger of being a devotee of the God of power – once you are a devotee you always remain one irrespective of the fact that the God does not favour you anymore. Once you have been showered by the God’s benevolence, you get intoxicated by the sheer aura of power and there is no way that you can get out of it. You remain in a daze and stupor… lotus eater……..drunk with power….a hangover from which one can never ever wake up.
And in this stupor, the sycophants of these fallen worshippers have begun to run around like headless chicken. In complete fear of a re-enactment of Tahrir Square in India, the Madonna and her team have gone overboard in slowly imposing restrictions so that the reluctant crown Prince is ready to be the next emissary of the God of Power.. Ironically, in one straight shot, they have isolated the young voters and the huge number of people who use Social Networking Sites; the very crowd who was supposed to give the haloed prince a prized place in the altar of the God of Power.
Strangely this whimsical God Power showers all its benevolence on those who shun and mock at his power. This God makes the weakest an instrument of actions. The timid the oppressed become his voice as they manifest the might and sway of Power. So, a weak Anna who couldn’t care less for Power is the most powerful standing tall among the groveling sycophants. A sincere no nonsense Arvind Kejriwal is any day a preferred choice over the perennially “ foot in the mouth” Rahul Raol Gandhi. And a passionate fiery Kiran Bedi to an impassive Madonna.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
DIRTY PICTURE
In this age of consumerism, it was only expected that woman too would be treated as a commodity and that too with unabashed shame. But what is shocking is the complete ignorance displayed by women who have been chosen by the media to epitomize the “ Come of age woman” . So, here we have an otherwise petite actor dressed up asif for a costume drama share her views about women who have “come to terms with their sexuality”.
I always thought that the lack of ability to look beyond sex was attributed to the MANkind. Women were more sensitive creatures and for the information of the fire brand host who was conducting a talk show about “the dirty picture” and the other movies of the ilk. Even the people invited to share their views were the typical media darlings ever ready to shock without any substance whatsoever. I always thought that a human being is an evolved form of an animal. It’s only a human being who has the power to exercise will and choice; a will and choice to rise above the animal. So, would the complete surrender to the baser instincts of procreation or to titillate to that end be considered as something to make a song and dance about?
Maybe I am old and jaded but I have always seen strong women around me. Both my Grandmas were strong in their own way, my mother is even today is more broadminded and non-judgmental than I am. As a teenager, I remember watching Nutan in Bandini and I said to myself here is a complete woman. Later on, I marveled the strength displayed by Shabana….whom I consider an Institution. I must say she is the only actor who can smile- only - with her eyes. The way she portrays the strength of a woman makes being a woman a very special feeling. Whether it is the mother who conquers the woman in Masoom, the free woman in Arth, the woman who defeats an indulgent mother in Godmother, the woman who is unapologetic about sexual gratification in Fire and the wife who actually hits her husband literally below the belt with a one liner in Mrityudand……..every bit the symbol of a strong woman who is aware of her body and is more aware of her strength as a woman.
The Indian cinema has surely become a little brazen and yes it is selling as of now. So, all emotions that is raw, unabashed and blatant is welcome to a generation that has just become comfortable using the language that is being bombarded on us through the Hollywood and the sitcoms. So, today when an Indian hears desi abuses on the screen it is their way of getting to terms with Hollywood…..well, "so can we" syndrome. In fact our American counterparts look rather boring with their much used abuses as compared to the desi variety. Some of the abuses have been celebrated as songs and as expected are at the top of the charts.
But in this entire market driven dynamics, like always women are the losers who with their “in the face” sexuality have actually pushed themselves a little more closer to become a mere commodity.
I always thought that the lack of ability to look beyond sex was attributed to the MANkind. Women were more sensitive creatures and for the information of the fire brand host who was conducting a talk show about “the dirty picture” and the other movies of the ilk. Even the people invited to share their views were the typical media darlings ever ready to shock without any substance whatsoever. I always thought that a human being is an evolved form of an animal. It’s only a human being who has the power to exercise will and choice; a will and choice to rise above the animal. So, would the complete surrender to the baser instincts of procreation or to titillate to that end be considered as something to make a song and dance about?
Maybe I am old and jaded but I have always seen strong women around me. Both my Grandmas were strong in their own way, my mother is even today is more broadminded and non-judgmental than I am. As a teenager, I remember watching Nutan in Bandini and I said to myself here is a complete woman. Later on, I marveled the strength displayed by Shabana….whom I consider an Institution. I must say she is the only actor who can smile- only - with her eyes. The way she portrays the strength of a woman makes being a woman a very special feeling. Whether it is the mother who conquers the woman in Masoom, the free woman in Arth, the woman who defeats an indulgent mother in Godmother, the woman who is unapologetic about sexual gratification in Fire and the wife who actually hits her husband literally below the belt with a one liner in Mrityudand……..every bit the symbol of a strong woman who is aware of her body and is more aware of her strength as a woman.
The Indian cinema has surely become a little brazen and yes it is selling as of now. So, all emotions that is raw, unabashed and blatant is welcome to a generation that has just become comfortable using the language that is being bombarded on us through the Hollywood and the sitcoms. So, today when an Indian hears desi abuses on the screen it is their way of getting to terms with Hollywood…..well, "so can we" syndrome. In fact our American counterparts look rather boring with their much used abuses as compared to the desi variety. Some of the abuses have been celebrated as songs and as expected are at the top of the charts.
But in this entire market driven dynamics, like always women are the losers who with their “in the face” sexuality have actually pushed themselves a little more closer to become a mere commodity.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
A New Learning
The uniqueness of a teacher’s profession is that the teacher gets to interact with different students every day. Each child is unique, each learner with special ability and special needs. The challenge then for me as teacher is to reach out to ALL and help them discover the hidden giant in them; the giant that has been dwarfed by some curable maladies; in this case lack of communication skills.
Working on a new program to enhance employability among students, we hit a roadblock. Here the concern was the applicability of the program as the students to whom this program was to be administered were deemed not ready due to “poor level”. There is a belief that if students or people cannot speak in English, they are not intelligent or smart; as an English teacher very ironically, I have observed and fought this misconception many a times. Hence when I was told about this concern about the students of a far flung University in Aligarh, I knew from what belief systems this thought had originated.
So, I set off for the dusty bowls of the plains of Uttar Pradesh. After the wonder of the T3 terminal at Indira Gandhi International Airport followed by a dream ride in the Metro to New Delhi Railway Station in an incredible 25 minutes, I boarded the Gomti Express to disembark at Aligarh. From there an hour’s ride through stretches of fields interrupted by dusty towns and in the middle of nowhere I was told that I have arrived at the gate of the university, my destination. I reached on time to feel the pulsating energy of the excited chatter of the students while they were boarding the buses to go home. The teacher in me came alive once again as I looked forward to a day of interaction with them.
My team already stationed there gave me a much expected picture- they don’t even know the meaning of the word “popular”, they did not know to use the word ‘exhibition” they said “pradarshini” etc. When I told them that I was not trying to see how much English they knew but I wanted to see how much of concept understanding they have, they dismissed the topics chosen by me as tough and incomprehensible for the students. In other words the students are DUMB.
Though I was treading unknown waters, my intrinsic trust in the youth told me that my team was in for a huge surprise. The day dawned and I was back on familiar turf a class room with rows and rows of bright young faces, the future . I told them why I am there and told them about how they need to express their views in whatever language they are comfortable in. I could see a visible sign of relief on their faces when I told them specifically that they will not be evaluated for their ability to speak in English.
Of the 160 students that I interacted with on a one on one basis, I noticed that not just are students well informed about things around them, they are very positive and optimistic. They did not have the retarding cynicism which I noticed in a lot of big city students. They were sincere, hardworking and just needed a little push in the form of communication skills so that they could transform the world with their positive energy. Like always I cursed the curse of history which had made it so mandatory for these students to be handicapped only because they could not speak a foreign tongue.
As a teacher, I have always maintained that students are the best teachers; especially to teach teachers. In my interaction with these students, I realized that the definition of progress can be different, that a broken down bus that connects villages is an effective means of transport, the mushrooming small technical institutes actually open doors of opportunity, that a dusty dirty town can evoke pride in the hearts of the people who are born there, that a much maligned Chief Minister is a symbol of a phoenix ………….160 minds with so much of learning…..at the end of the day, I was dwarfed by their levels of information and positive power!
So, I too came out of this experience too; a little more learned and humbled.
As I drove off with the rising sun, all I could pray was for the strength and imagination to help these students overcome their handicap so that in my twilight years I will be able to walk away into the sunset having touched some more young lives for the better.
Working on a new program to enhance employability among students, we hit a roadblock. Here the concern was the applicability of the program as the students to whom this program was to be administered were deemed not ready due to “poor level”. There is a belief that if students or people cannot speak in English, they are not intelligent or smart; as an English teacher very ironically, I have observed and fought this misconception many a times. Hence when I was told about this concern about the students of a far flung University in Aligarh, I knew from what belief systems this thought had originated.
So, I set off for the dusty bowls of the plains of Uttar Pradesh. After the wonder of the T3 terminal at Indira Gandhi International Airport followed by a dream ride in the Metro to New Delhi Railway Station in an incredible 25 minutes, I boarded the Gomti Express to disembark at Aligarh. From there an hour’s ride through stretches of fields interrupted by dusty towns and in the middle of nowhere I was told that I have arrived at the gate of the university, my destination. I reached on time to feel the pulsating energy of the excited chatter of the students while they were boarding the buses to go home. The teacher in me came alive once again as I looked forward to a day of interaction with them.
My team already stationed there gave me a much expected picture- they don’t even know the meaning of the word “popular”, they did not know to use the word ‘exhibition” they said “pradarshini” etc. When I told them that I was not trying to see how much English they knew but I wanted to see how much of concept understanding they have, they dismissed the topics chosen by me as tough and incomprehensible for the students. In other words the students are DUMB.
Though I was treading unknown waters, my intrinsic trust in the youth told me that my team was in for a huge surprise. The day dawned and I was back on familiar turf a class room with rows and rows of bright young faces, the future . I told them why I am there and told them about how they need to express their views in whatever language they are comfortable in. I could see a visible sign of relief on their faces when I told them specifically that they will not be evaluated for their ability to speak in English.
Of the 160 students that I interacted with on a one on one basis, I noticed that not just are students well informed about things around them, they are very positive and optimistic. They did not have the retarding cynicism which I noticed in a lot of big city students. They were sincere, hardworking and just needed a little push in the form of communication skills so that they could transform the world with their positive energy. Like always I cursed the curse of history which had made it so mandatory for these students to be handicapped only because they could not speak a foreign tongue.
As a teacher, I have always maintained that students are the best teachers; especially to teach teachers. In my interaction with these students, I realized that the definition of progress can be different, that a broken down bus that connects villages is an effective means of transport, the mushrooming small technical institutes actually open doors of opportunity, that a dusty dirty town can evoke pride in the hearts of the people who are born there, that a much maligned Chief Minister is a symbol of a phoenix ………….160 minds with so much of learning…..at the end of the day, I was dwarfed by their levels of information and positive power!
So, I too came out of this experience too; a little more learned and humbled.
As I drove off with the rising sun, all I could pray was for the strength and imagination to help these students overcome their handicap so that in my twilight years I will be able to walk away into the sunset having touched some more young lives for the better.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
MIL- THE BRAND NEW STATUS
With this new found status, I ought to feel all hoity. There should be a certain swish and arrogance in the way I walk after all I am a mother- in- law of a “soni kudi” both literally and metaphorically due to her Punjabi origins. Like my friends advise me, I should start wearing trail blazing sarees with complicated designer bindis and when I call out to my DIL…..well even the nature should stand in suspended animation waiting for the commanding diktat of the MIL !!!!
Now….this is where the huge disconnect sets in. I have begun to have serious doubts about myself…am I really a misfit in the society?
To begin with I was warned that I have lost my son forever…..well, instead of feeling bad I am rather happy about it. I used to feel a pang of regret every time he left home as I used to wonder how he would cope with loneliness as all moments alone are not solitude. This time when my son left, I was happy that he will not have to return from work to an empty home…he will have the company that he has chosen to be with. I have always felt that the most precious claim is the claim of the heart and to recognize that my son has actually found a soul mate is indeed a very liberating and elevating feeling. It’s as if I have one more person to share that emotional responsibility. Other material things have never mattered to me anyway.
I was told about how my DIL would slowly take control of my son and then my home. WOW …..I have been looking so much forward to retire from mundane chores at home so that I can spend the rest of my life writing and reading ….take long walks in the solitude of early morning Bangalore mist….. I would in fact say cheers to this fear and pray fervently that this come true. Imagine being free of the usual mundane shopping , cooking, cleaning, entertaining routine? What can be more heavenly than that?
My reaction to having a DIL is to have a friend with whom I can share some girlie moments. I can share so many things with her that I cannot share with “guys”. Whether it is sharing a unique dish called “paani puri cornflakes” or if it is sharing little asides and digs on the “guy” behavior and attitudes…I am doing things that I have never done. Sorrounded by boys all the time, it’s as if that girlie part in me was dead and buried. My first shopping sojourn with her was so much of fun. We actually went berserk trying anything and everything. It was so much fun when she would try something and step out for a second opinion. The thrill of bitching about dress sense, hairstyles and tacky colours. It’s so much fun to have a co-conspirator against the “guys” where we share a knowing laugh and leave them mad at their unimaginative wild guesses.
Well, as of now having a DIL has done wonders……it has actually awakened a girlie teenager in me!
Now….this is where the huge disconnect sets in. I have begun to have serious doubts about myself…am I really a misfit in the society?
To begin with I was warned that I have lost my son forever…..well, instead of feeling bad I am rather happy about it. I used to feel a pang of regret every time he left home as I used to wonder how he would cope with loneliness as all moments alone are not solitude. This time when my son left, I was happy that he will not have to return from work to an empty home…he will have the company that he has chosen to be with. I have always felt that the most precious claim is the claim of the heart and to recognize that my son has actually found a soul mate is indeed a very liberating and elevating feeling. It’s as if I have one more person to share that emotional responsibility. Other material things have never mattered to me anyway.
I was told about how my DIL would slowly take control of my son and then my home. WOW …..I have been looking so much forward to retire from mundane chores at home so that I can spend the rest of my life writing and reading ….take long walks in the solitude of early morning Bangalore mist….. I would in fact say cheers to this fear and pray fervently that this come true. Imagine being free of the usual mundane shopping , cooking, cleaning, entertaining routine? What can be more heavenly than that?
My reaction to having a DIL is to have a friend with whom I can share some girlie moments. I can share so many things with her that I cannot share with “guys”. Whether it is sharing a unique dish called “paani puri cornflakes” or if it is sharing little asides and digs on the “guy” behavior and attitudes…I am doing things that I have never done. Sorrounded by boys all the time, it’s as if that girlie part in me was dead and buried. My first shopping sojourn with her was so much of fun. We actually went berserk trying anything and everything. It was so much fun when she would try something and step out for a second opinion. The thrill of bitching about dress sense, hairstyles and tacky colours. It’s so much fun to have a co-conspirator against the “guys” where we share a knowing laugh and leave them mad at their unimaginative wild guesses.
Well, as of now having a DIL has done wonders……it has actually awakened a girlie teenager in me!
Sunday, September 25, 2011
MENTORS
The song goes…..but how do you thank someone who has taken you from crayons to perfume……. after almost 35 years, one hears the same tenor, the same tone, the same candid candor….and how does one react….well, at my age I can’t possibly scream off rooftops but yes….had I been many years younger, I would have actually done that.
When you are in mid-teens, a lot of influences work on you and they are lasting impressions. In my case, it was not my parents, my teachers or even my friends. It was surprisingly, two of my father’s friends; his chess mates to be precise. At an age when any advice from parents and teachers is a complete anathema, these two people unwittingly became my mentors. Maybe there was an element of infatuation from my side which they very wisely scoffed and dismissed. But then they impacted my life….my first teachers.
Both of them in their late twenties appeared to be the very epitome of “freedom” especially to a teenager in Delhi, completely trapped between the Punjabi display and the Mallu sobriety. These guys to me then appeared to be people who worked just to eke an existence…..an existence that took them from one music festival to another, helped them lounge around in art galleries, buy rare books to add to their library maintained by their father back home………no doubt they became my role models making me a hopeless idealistic romantic even to this day.
This impact happened over series of conversations that was very overt and approved. It began by replacing my transition to pulp fiction to better reading habits. It began by recognizing the soulful nuances of classical music as opposed to the superficiality of light music. It began by a general disconnect with all feelings superficial and cosmetic and a journey deeper within oneself…introducing me to a new definition of honesty; being honest to myself. No doubt I had my flirtations, especially due to my connections to the flamboyant defence services lifestyle; but I always returned to what was more permanent and enduring…..even making me change the course my life
Looking back I can say that it is them who showed me the road less travelled and I took it….without any regret. It does not matter if they have lived up to what they had symbolized then……but they made a huge difference. Today whatever I am or not; is largely because of the influence they had on my impressionable mind. I have evolved a lot and maybe I am just not what they would have expected me to be…but whatever I am today would not have happened if I had not been shown “the two roads converging in the woods”.
After so many years hearing the same voices brought in a rush of memories……I can’t say about them but they have made all the difference!
When you are in mid-teens, a lot of influences work on you and they are lasting impressions. In my case, it was not my parents, my teachers or even my friends. It was surprisingly, two of my father’s friends; his chess mates to be precise. At an age when any advice from parents and teachers is a complete anathema, these two people unwittingly became my mentors. Maybe there was an element of infatuation from my side which they very wisely scoffed and dismissed. But then they impacted my life….my first teachers.
Both of them in their late twenties appeared to be the very epitome of “freedom” especially to a teenager in Delhi, completely trapped between the Punjabi display and the Mallu sobriety. These guys to me then appeared to be people who worked just to eke an existence…..an existence that took them from one music festival to another, helped them lounge around in art galleries, buy rare books to add to their library maintained by their father back home………no doubt they became my role models making me a hopeless idealistic romantic even to this day.
This impact happened over series of conversations that was very overt and approved. It began by replacing my transition to pulp fiction to better reading habits. It began by recognizing the soulful nuances of classical music as opposed to the superficiality of light music. It began by a general disconnect with all feelings superficial and cosmetic and a journey deeper within oneself…introducing me to a new definition of honesty; being honest to myself. No doubt I had my flirtations, especially due to my connections to the flamboyant defence services lifestyle; but I always returned to what was more permanent and enduring…..even making me change the course my life
Looking back I can say that it is them who showed me the road less travelled and I took it….without any regret. It does not matter if they have lived up to what they had symbolized then……but they made a huge difference. Today whatever I am or not; is largely because of the influence they had on my impressionable mind. I have evolved a lot and maybe I am just not what they would have expected me to be…but whatever I am today would not have happened if I had not been shown “the two roads converging in the woods”.
After so many years hearing the same voices brought in a rush of memories……I can’t say about them but they have made all the difference!
Monday, August 22, 2011
I AM ANNA
The entire participation in corruption corrodes something very intrinsic. Though we make excuses for our contribution to the vicious cycle of corruption, the fact is that we know deep within that it is wrong. That is why there is such an overwhelming manifestation of what is actually an act of self purging. That simple crusader who has taken it upon himself to fight for you and me is like a hope for millions who had surrendered and accepted corruption as a way of life. What one sees today is the euphoria of that realization that I don’t have to live with the humiliation of corruption.
As a common person, the multiple zeros in huge scams mean nothing. it does not touch me immediately, so there is a certain dissociation with the likes of Raja or Kalmadi. It has no apparent impact or connection to my day to day existence. But when I need to pay an additional 100 rupees to get a cooking gas cylinder replaced , when I need to pay the people in the RTO to get a Driving License, when I need to pay that extra to get a Rail ticket, when I see a Govt vehicle and even the Govt run public transport jump the traffic lights with not even as much as a reprimand, when you get held up in traffic for hours at end to facilitate the safe movement of my elected representative- technically my servant, it hurts …..it really hurts.
Such is the humiliation of corruption; where your existence gets abused day after day by those in power. It’s not for nothing that there is so much anger among people. The sickening arrogance of Manish Tiwari as he spewed venom cannot be forgotten or forgiven easily. Then to add insult to injury you have an impassive Chidambaram flaunting his impotence for the nth time as the Home Minister. Not to miss out the benign face of our Prime Minister who looks as maddeningly innocent as a puppet that keeps running into blunders as the strings that pull him have got all tangled. No doubt people have begun to compare the Congress to a motherless child! There are other Congress darlings too……… Manu Abhishek Singhvi, Renuka Chowdhury and Kapil Sibal who have rewritten the import of the word “obnoxious”
As a hardworking,, taxpaying citizen of India, I am Anna. I am Anna and I have more than the only disgusting and frustrating choice of negating some people with a switch of channels, I am Anna and I have heard the voice of my conscience that tells me to rise above this constant humiliation, I am Anna because I am not weak and helpless . I am Anna because I have the power to question those whom I put in the throne of power, I am Anna because I am a free, proud, and self-respecting Indian.
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