How I did not become a Journalist

I had just finished my B.Sc. I wanted to try for a seat for M.Sc at the University of Pune. Unfortunately the seats were limited, and I was not as good as the others who tried that year. I was at a loss of what to do further. The future seemed bleak.

The newspaper carried an advertisement for a course in Journalism. I thought I would give it a try. People at home were certain I would not make it. Not one who was never interested in the news, never read the newspaper etc. Not one whose general knowledge did not extend beyond the area in which she lived.

Anyway, I decided to take the entrance test. I did not have anything to lose. Believe me, this is the best position to be in. It makes one take risks one would otherwise hesitate to take.

Next day I went for the test. There were objective questions and multiple choice questions. There was a question "Who was the Frontier Gandhi"? Search me. I was aware of only Mahatma Gandhi. Although I had heard of Frontier Gandhi, I had no clue who it was. For some reason a voice whispered in my head "Say Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan". I thought I would once listen to someone. Anyone reading it would be unknown to me, so I had the immunity of anonymity, so who cared if it were right or wrong.

After I went home, I faced another Spanish inquisition about what questions were asked. When I came to Frontier Gandhi, there were curious looks and I was asked "and, what did you write"? Imagine my relief when I found out that my thukka was right. Next day there was a list of candidates who could attend a viva.

I was there early enough to check out the list and imagine my surprise to see my name on the list. One of my classmates who had done her Microbiology was there (although she had got admission for M.Sc.). What a waste I had thought. Anyway. I went for the interview. It went this way:

(I = Interviewer S = Satchi)

I: What have you studied?

S: I have done my B.Sc in Microbiology.

I: Then why do you want to do Journalism?

S: I did not get admission for M.Sc and thought this would be something that would interest me.

I: What newspapers do you read?

S: Indian Express and Poona Herald.

I: Poona Herald?

S: Sorry, Maharashtra Herald. (The name had been changed a few months before that).

I: Then why did you say Poona Herald?

S: Force of habit. Old habits die hard.

I: OK. How many columns does the paper have?

S: I read the paper. I did not count the number of columns.

I: So what do you read?

S: I read who died, who murdered whom, Mandrake the Magician and Mickey Mouse.

I looks like he wants to leave the room and take in some fresh air (or at least I think so).

I went home and was again faced an inquisition. When they heard what all I had answered, all hell broke loose and I was told I could forget any hope of getting on the course.

Next day I went to look for the results. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I found my name on the list of people selected. My friend was also selected and I was happy, I would have my close friend with me in this course.

The course started. I went to class and took my seat. The first lecturer walked in. He was the editor of a very reputed Marathi newspaper. (He was also the one who had interviewed me).

The first thing he did was look around the class and said "My God, this class is full of girls. I do not feel inspired at all when I have to teach girls, because you will do the course, quit and get married". I was shocked.

After the class was over, there were 5 minutes for the next lecturer to arrive. I thought over my course of action. I could not bring myself to learn anything under such an MCS. My mind was made up. I went straight back home and decided I did not want to be a student to this kind of a teacher. My friend later on told me that they had made him eat his words packed in newspaper covered with printers' ink.

Well, I could say "My Loss". But that is in retrospect. May be I was never destined to be a journalist. My name is not Barkha Dutt. May be it could have been Geetanjali Aiyer.

P.S. My friend finished her journalism, did her B.Ed and has been teaching in a school for the last 25 years.

July 4 celebrations in Manhattan

Today being the 4th of July, thought I would share a couple of clippings of the fireworks and celebrations in Manhattan on the same day 2 years ago i.e. in 2009.

Punyachi por

I come from the city of Pune
Jethe mhane kahi nahi une
But now I live in Bangalore
Though ever a Punekar to the core
Sutat nahi kadhihi bandhan june

Me aahe Punyachi por
Jithoon aale pushkal mothe thor
Of Pune I am proud
And I'll say that clear and loud
I miss you dear Pune very sore

LimerickWala: Welcome Swati

LimerickWala: Welcome Swati

Does Your Life Need Some Spice?

A certain dear friend named Ice 
Complained that her life lacked some spice 
I told her "Go see a movie
Or do something groovy
I'm sure you'll find that very nice"
.
"Or I'm always willing for a chat 
Do you think you'd like to do that?
Do you find me a bore
Then pray say no more
I'd rather know nothing of that"

Ice said she was going crazy
I didn't think she was being lazy
She really had loads of work
Which she did nothing to shirk
So I wished to make her life a bit easy.

Now I suggested "something Italian
Or maybe something completely European 
It could be a culinary blessing
With lots of salad dressing,
Be it vegetarian or non-vegetarian".

"Or how about a nice new dress 
Shopping's known to reduce stress
But make sure of the price
Don't spend thousands in a trice
Or your balance sheet would be a complete mess".

"Or how 'bout in the Bahamas a cruise, 
I hope that will certainly amuse,
A young lady who is bored,
Of being at work moored,
For a holiday she now has a ruse".

Peacocks and Their Rituals

Friends, 

While going through my collections, I found some rare videos of peacocks.  I had the good fortune of being able to witness these sights a couple of years ago.  I thought I would like to share these with you.  Would certainly appreciate your comments on these.

A PEACOCK PUTS UP A GLORIOUS DISPLAY

A

PREPARING FOR A FIGHT

MOMMA AND BABIES GO OUT FOR A WALK

The Sanity of Insanity

Are all the insane really insane
And the sane really sane?
Or is it just our imagination
Or the phases wax and wane?

I have for you just one question,
Please tell me if you can.
Who decides who is insane
And who the sane man?

If life is but an illusion,
Everything springs from our imagination,
And if living in that perpetual state is sanity
Then shouldn't we redefine insanity?

Who is to say our illusions
Are more legitimate than their delusions
Imaginations or even hallucinations?
It's all a matter of perceptions.

And if this logic we accept,
Then all are insane except 
The Old Man laughing above
While he makes us all his puppets.

If this truth we realize,
All “sane” people would be wise
Enough this simple fact to learn to accept,
No one on earth is born perfect.

So why can't we be more humane
To those the “sane” consider “insane”?
We know not when we cross the border
That should to us be pretty plain.

The line in-between is fine
We could cross over any time,
Or the border could move either way
Which side would we be on that day?

For what one sees as white
May not to another seem so bright.
He may see a shade of gray
Whose perception is right, tell me, pray?

So let's not mock at those who are yonder
But take time off the fact to ponder,
That to remain perfectly sane
We all need a streak of the insane

We need a streak of the bizarre
To keep us as sane as we are,
Or at least as sane as we seem
In this life that is but a dream.

Without that streak of insanity
There would be no sanity.
Truly no one is sane or insane
Let's stop making such empty claims.

The Divided World

Look at that bird fly in the sky,
I can't do that, no matter how much I try.
On terra firma I am sentenced to stay
Friends, can you just tell me why, can you say?

I crave to fly to the world beyond
My little world, just take a round
Of the globe which is mine to inhabit,
But only a minute bit to inherit.

Tell me friends, do you think it fair
That I must live here, not dream of going there
Without obtaining a paper permit,
Or my visit would be deemed “illegitimate”

Who gave us humans the power to say
Who comes on a visit and who may stay?
Why is it that we think it right
To shoo away some, who gave us that might?

God had already divided the earth,
And as HE did that He shook with mirth
As the land split and the oceans came
Our natural wanderlust to tame.

But then in HIS mercy HE gave us the power,
With intelligence and emotions HE did shower
Humans, so that aircrafts we may build
And visit each other as we willed.

But alas we used those mighty brains
To fight each other in a manner insane.
The power to love has gone to rust
Other races we do not trust.

We divide our homes, our land, our hearts,
Each inherits just a tiny part.
Don't come here, this is my land,
Any problem was caused by the foreign hand.

Why can't I just fly at will?
There is so much that I haven't seen still.
For me the very finest way to worship
Would be to make round the earth a trip.

For the earth is to me my God's creation,
HE did not intend its joys to ration.
HE wished me a path over the whole to trace
See all there is and HIS work with wonder praise.
HE is the creator of all seasons,
Of every beast, man and woman.
What right do we have to pray
When God's basic laws we disobey?

Folks, wake up! Listen to God's orders
Create a world without borders!
Please each other do tightly embrace
Live life fully, with perfect grace!

Wake up! This world to everyone belongs,
Everything in it including rights and wrongs.
Go everywhere that you were intended to go,
And in doing so, to the Creator bow!

And praise that eternal Magician,
Whose powers extend beyond human reason!
Be grateful for all that you have received,
And give up your ways so false and deceived!

That when you eventually get back HOME
After having the whole world roamed,
HE will welcome you back with open arms
And you can rest there forever, happy and calm
For an eternity at complete peace
And happiness at your Heavenly father's knees.
With all your siblings black, brown and white
Holding each other's hands, never again to fight.

The Buddha Replies

Why me she cries,
Why did it have to be my son?
He was so young and sprightly
His life had just begun.

Why he? Just what had he done?
To deserve an end, why not somebody else's son?
Master tell me, I have come to you
Seeking an answer to my question,
Who else can help me besides you?

You are the divine master
Enlightened and worldly wise
I know you can bring back
My dead son in a blink to life

Please do me this great favour
That my son's long life I may savour
Please Lord bring him back to life
For my sake and for his wife's

The Buddha listened silently
While the lady in grief shook violently
Dear Lady he said in a voice quiet and calm
Lady, calm down, I'll help you
His words worked like a balm

But if you will first fetch me some rice
From a home at any price
Where never a dear one was lost
I'll revive your son at any cost

The lady went from house to house
"Lady last week I lost my spouse"
"I lost my dear father"
"Yama took away my brother"

or"I lost last year my wife
What use my useless life"?
Plague took away my sister
Before life's joys had even touched her".

And so went on the mourning
Everyone under life's eternal strife groaning
To the master the lady at last returned
From every house having been spurned

She prostrated before the master
Very practically he had passed her
The wisdom of the worldly wise
By asking for a handful of rice

Death is the only certainty
In life there is no other guarantee
The wise therefore learn
Never for the unattainable to yearn

Life and death is a cycle
From birth to death we go full circle
Death is not life's end
But on the road just a bend

Every end has a beginning
Every beginning an end
It is to learn this eternal secret
That God us to earth has sent.

Once a Killer, Always a Killer

"Killing a mouse could get you 5 years " says the Times of India dated May 11, 2011. Hmm..... I can now safely say I think "and rightly so" when I read that headline. No creature deserves to be tortured the way lab animals are and put to death at the whim and fancy of any random scientistl. If humans have a right to life, so have animals. I am certainly pro-life and in favour of animal rights. I am no longer a researcher. So no reason I should be on the defensive.

Long ago shortly after the sun, moon and the stars came into existence, I had a brief fling with science and research. What I had to do for a living was not what I was entirely comfortable doing. There was a conflict between scientific practicality and human emotionality and sentimentality.

But late in the evening my smirk was wiped off my face . I was hauled over the coals  by a certain member of the medical fraternity for the cold blooded murder of a mouse which he treasured very greatly. It had been tortured badly and struggled and suffered at my hands before it gave up the ghost. The headlines in the newspaper flashed in my mind's eye. Mouse dragged along the floor by its tail, hit on the furniture mercilessly, sat on, dragged from the table to the floor before being put to death.

You have guessed it right. This was a mouse of a different species, not furry and white  as you may think with a pink nose and whiskers, but a black one, hard in texture as well as being a part of the hardware of dh's favourite companion - the computer. 

I can't help it if this mouse has a tail which is a few metres longer than its little body. I sit on my bed propped up against pillows working at the laptop. At 7 pm, my mom comes along and wants me to migrate to the front room to watch telly with her. But I can't bear to part with the laptop and with the Internet. So I get up, pick up my laptop and set off. I forget the mouse, which drags behind me, falls off the bed and then drags behind me a step or two before I realize what is going on and pick it up. After a couple of months of such torture, the mouse obviously breathed its last.

It was replaced by another mouse which was dug out from the drawer. But the old mouse did not have long to live. It was of course old. But fate had decreed that it would stop working only after I had laid hands on it. So finally today I was given an ultimatum this morning. If I tortured mice like this, I did not deserve to own one.

I have spent the whole day having vivid images of myself behind bars for the next 10 years - 2 X 5 = 10. Mercifully I was given a new mouse. I keep my fingers crossed and hope I treat this one better than the other ones. But I don't trust myself. Old habits as they say die hard. Once a mouse killer, always a mouse killer, no matter what the species. Yes, I have a dark secret - a skeleton in my cupboard you may say - I am a serial mouse killer.

So if I vanish off the radar, you know where I have vanished to. Meet you after 10 - 15 years!