To my Nation!

The-Independence-Day-Special Section

This is one of those rare, rare, rare Special Edition Bugles. It ISN'T entirely about me. It is about (for once only, do NOT get used to it) us.I realised, as I spoke to a friend of mine who was stuck out of the country, what today meant to me.

This day, this 60th year of our independence, was very very special. I know because for some reason I sang the anthem all day long. I stood every time it played on television and I walked with pride.

I am not usually so emotional, I felt like a right fool the first time I stood for the anthem, in an empty room with only the TV to witness my action. After that it just felt right.

Here we are, 60 years later, and we're still together. We're still corrupt in places, and poor in places, and uneducated. We fight, we riot, we raise our voices against each other.

And yet, we're together. Not every nation can say that. We've a Marxist movement, we've a communal movement, regional movements and the works. And yet no one denies that we're democratic, we're a republic, we're equal.

And not every nation can say THAT either. And no matter where I go and what I do, I'll know that I'm first an Indian. And I feel immense pride in that.

Here's to India. Here's to our generation, and to the ones to follow. We're 60, we're young, we'll always be young, we're going to win the WORLD!

The Ed. and Rajul

(If I sounded soppy, I don't care, I still love this day. And I'm very happy I've a friend stuck in the US, it's still 15th August there and I can live in this day for a while longer :) (Sorry friend-stuck-in-US, I'm being, as usual, selfish)

Aunts ARE Gentlemen!

We interrupt your lives today, to present a very very very special edition of The Ever-So-Oftenly Bugle (also fondly known as The Bugle).

the Ed and I (yes, for once, both schizophrenic parts of my life are in agreement) are very happy to present a distinguished lady to this motley gang of ill-fated listeners.

It is with great love, pleasure and happiness that I introduce to you a little ray of sunshine... Anvi. She's populated a largish part of my heart now, so if in the time to come, you find yourself getting bumped off, its probably because little miss sunshine (pun intended, obviously) is getting greedy.

For those of you who're still foggy, I just had a baby niece (Anvi, of course!). Am very very happy and if anyone at office asks, I'm sick and at the edge of death.

Rajul and the Ed.

Worm in the Lettuce or Lettuce in the Worm?

The Bugle

Ho ho ho and a bottle of rum. Or some usual wheeze like that. Oh, on with it.

The-Lunchtime-in-Babudom-Section
The gaggle of mothers – go to any relict of babudom and it’s the same… the gaggle of mothers (the Government’s not-so-token obeisance to gender equal employment), standing like a pack of geese; gawking, peering into rooms full of consultants, and of course, discussing the biggest newshog of the month. For the moment, unfortunately, I need bear with gory dissections of the Nithari murders. The sheer professionalism, it seems, of the murderers has impressed the mothers. The geese literally tripped over each other in their ghoulish enjoyment of the catastrophic events.

“Did you hear? It could be organ trade!!” “No! I heard it was cannibalism” “Sniffle. The horror! oh the horror of itall!” “They say he was a professional at chopping up” [Ed’s aside: eh what?] “Itna padha likha aadmi. Kehte hain Stephen’s se tha? Kya hoga is desh ka?” [As though this mania had much to do with the poor august (?) institution]

The blood, the gore, the pathos of it all… It seemed much like your everyday Ekta Kapoor (Ekkkta Kkappoor?) serial. What with rape, marital discord, sabotage, murder and generic everyday mayhem, all they now need is serial killing. Are you listening, Balaji?

Who says babudom is boring? Lunch breaks are always thus; full of sensation and mystery. Not long ago, it was “poor Mihir”; so young, so dead, so back from the dead. Then came Salman Khan (always a big draw, believe it or not, the geese are nuts about those abs) and recently, the Abhishek-Aishwarya marriage. The lives of the famous are so fleeting. Excellent fodder.

The-Hold-On-To-Your-Seats-Section
I henceforth renounce my job. This is a decision made not only as a stand against the very oppression of my soul, but also to prevent my soul from taking off on its own trips. Tricky that, having to catch it and stuff it back into its solitary prison. Poor child. I wonder if all people have episodes like that? Feeling that one’s soul is fleeting, watching one’s own life from a distance, finding it dismal, meaningless, mere drudgery. Wishing that one could escape from this mortal prison and take off on a flight that one was always meant for; away from petty involvements and pursuits. It’s powerful strange, I can tell you, feeling as oneself, and yet different. Perhaps this is what drove poor yogis across the centuries to attempt to find that release, that joy that awaits around the corner. Death isn’t so bad, afterall.

The-General-What-Was-That-You-Said-?-Section
Some say that the Indian tradition of passing knowledge through word of mouth led to the downfall of our rich heritage and the reason why it is esoteric and the sole domain of a few today. Upon closer examination of the Indian ethos, however, it would seem that such statements are particularly blasphemous. Think, how deeply are Indians entrenched with the very knowledge contained in those cryptic volumes; the focus has been, not on learning those texts, but rather on implementing what those texts wish to convey. A way of life.

I see naysayers amongst you. Allow me to demonstrate. With all due apologies to the Messers Sagar and Chopra, our knowledge of Hindu mythology is not derived from a reading of these famous tomes. And yet, is there a single Indian who has NOT imbibed traits from these?

Look merely to the roads. There are Arjuns in full; drivers who not only weave their way expertly through traffic, but also pave the way for followers. There are Abhimanyus too… Arjuns in the making; who have learnt in infancy how to break the deadlock of traffic, but without the expertise to allow another to take advantage of it. Whither there is Arjun, can Duryodhan be far behind? The wary traveller of the “Fast” lane, who refuses upon cajoling, threats and the repeated honking of a horn, to give up the space equal to the tip of a needle. Or the ever-present Sarthis; the Krishnas of our times, the beatific back-seat drivers who give sage advice and enjoy the race. There are the Sitas; the fearless crossers of not one but several stop lines. The hostile Ravanas, cops (or thulas, if you’re in Delhi) who extract a price for having crossed a line (or, in a modern twist, broken a light).

What price written transfer of knowledge?

The-Acknowledgement-Section
A new section this, created for the specific purpose of thanking my ardent readers, and for expressing what little emotion I reserve for the general populace, alternatively known as my friends.

As usual, I thank the returnees (not like you had much choice, did you, poor slobs?) and the new entrants (who may for all I know, be returnees, cursing and kicking at the hard knock of fate. Let this be a lesson; in the words of Wodehouse, the bit of lead piping is never far) for reaching, without death or destruction to the end of this, the newest edition of the ever-popular Ever-So-Oftenly-Bugle. Also known as The Bugle to its adoring fans (note, those of the aa milne extraction, that it is The Bugle, not the Bugle or similar such horrors).

The-Freedom-Of-Speech-Section
As always, person or persons are free to send in compliments, favourable reviews and the like, in sheer adulation of The Bugle or even better of the Ed (see? Freedom of speech DOES apply in my little kingdom). As always, with the exclusive right of selective cognition or attention, all criticism shall be discarded at source.

the Ed.

[Small print begins] All damage to life, property or sanity is solely the responsibility of the beholder. The creator of this dazzling beauty shall be held neither responsible nor liable for any temporary or permanent lunacy. [Small print ends]

[Small print begins again] PS. Clause I applies (sorry couldn’t resist the pot-shot). [Small print ends]

[Small print begins YET again] Heard of the first amendment to Clause I though? [Small print DEFINITELY ends]