Posted on by nikita

Ye tera ghar ye mera ghar …

view of hillside buildings in shimla

One … two … three … four … the number reached almost twenty-five — almost twenty-five iron nails, used in construction. The nails I was busy picking up with a fridge magnet tied by a fragile sewing thread to one end of a rod. Given the size of my hands — jo kanoon ke haath jitne lambe nahi hain — it was difficult to grab them by bending over the washing area parapet. 

Lo and behold! There weren’t just nails. At the far end, there was a well-woven pacca house, constructed with pieces of rusty binding wire. I didn’t even get a whiff of this plan. It was built right under my nose, under the AC unit. No loose threads, no twigs, no leaves. Nothing. A sheer example of Vikshit Bharat. 

Apparently, without my knowledge, the grey-winged couple, who kept flying around the parapet, possibly scanning the place, finalized one of the chhajjas of my rented flat to build their nest. Lucky them! Neither do they need any legal papers nor any paper money to officiate over any territory, unlike many of us, who spend most of our lives saving money to buy a ghar that could be called mera. 

Like a gardener checking for weeds, the pigeons identified a seemingly safe spot and unanimously decided to lay the foundation of their sweet home. While they had already hammered the nail without much ado, I frantically kept trying to shoo them away by throwing water, only to fail. To my soft ears, their constant gutargoo began to sound like that duet song by Jagjit Singh and Chitra, Ye tera ghar ye mera ghar … 

The nest is not a problem; it is the squalor and the stench that accompany it. 

Every time I tried to dismantle the wires and nails with the same rod, these winged animals would work with more perseverance to assemble them. It seemed that every other day, we were testing each other’s patience and will. Neither of us was ready to give up like Putin and Zelenskyy, who are still at war even after 4 years. (This time I would Epstein from drawing a comparison with Mr Trump.)

But … but … but … The more you try to resist something or someone, the higher the possibility that you will fall for the same person or thing. And I’m as human as you, my readers. 

That’s the sole reason for me to keep coming back to the adamant and obdurate Mr Trump, who has the gumption to denigrate the Supreme Court justices on social media, calling them ‘Fools’ and “Lapdogs’, because for him, what matters is simply bringing back the era of MAGA — Make America Great Again. That’s what he often claims. But isn’t America still the most powerful country?

Is it the dignity of and duty towards the White House he’s worried about, or the profitability of his own house? Quite a debatable question.

But there can’t be any debate on the recent Taliban law regarding the legalization of domestic violence against women and girls, with terms and conditions applied — no broken bones and no open wounds. Sadly, these women are not even safe in their own homes. While world leaders seem to have turned a blind eye to this inhuman law, all eyes were turned on the robotic dog, or Robodog — a Chinese product passed off as Indian —  at the AI Summit back home. Undoubtedly, Indians are jugaadu in every which way. Or maybe, even today, the management of the Galgotia University (I like the name:)) believes in the 1950s Nehruvian slogan — Hindi-Chini Bhai Bhai.

Undoubtedly, Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam — the world is one family — is a good concept to practise, but not at the cost of maligning India’s rising fame. Professor Neha Singh’s fluttering responses to the media about the origin of the Robodog brought me back to the persistent fluttering of pigeons, which are also a part of the concept of Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam. 

I understand that as a part of this kutumb, I need to make more attempts to be empathetic. So, keeping my fingers crossed, I hope these pigeons will find a better place to build a ghar for themselves. 

They just need a good broker.

*****

RaGa: Ma, what happened?
Ma: Son, it’s time for Ghar Wapsi. 

Posted on by nikita

Age is just a number. Is it?

a group of people in uniform holding paper board with a text same as you

‘Inki umar kitni hai?’ inquired the female co-passenger on the train, scrutinizing my round face for a wrinkle or two.

‘Pachas (50),’ my bhabhi replied in a matter-of-fact tone, increasing my age by one number. 

Because age is just a number. 

No sooner did the lady in a blue salwar kameez and a dupatta covering her head hear the number than she went silent, like a MIL caught bitching her DIL and vice versa. Seemingly, her interest in me and my singlehood lasted even less than the reel time on IG once my age was revealed. (Thankfully, what my appearance can’t, my blogs do — sustain interest). 

Certainly, the lady didn’t subscribe to the cliché that age is just a number. Immediately, she scrolled and changed to another interesting topic, much like a toddler’s shifting interest in toys.

Of course, as a stranger, she wasn’t obliged to ‘like’ the content that was served to her, unlike many people who feel compelled to click on the ‘heart’ icon for various reasons: to trigger the release of dopamine; herd mentality; saving oneself from the fear of missing out; to initiate a conversation or a new relationship; and so on. 

Such an attitude makes me wonder — Does an individual’s passive submission to social media norms stem from the real-world notion of conforming to social norms, even at the cost of losing one’s individuality? And is the online pressure stronger than the offline ones?

I can’t say for sure, but one thing I can be certain about is the non-conformist attitude of the US President Mr.Trump. Breaking all presidential norms through his words and actions, he exemplifies that irate child who wakes up every morning with fresh new demands. 

One day, he commands to capture the Venezuelan leader Nicolás Maduro. The next day, he asks for Greenland. Insatiable that his appetite is, yet another day, he would demand for the Chagos Islands too. Before you can scroll through and analyze his demands, he’s ready with a new directive. And mind you, it’s for real, starkly different from the social media reels. 

At 79, Trump is apparently sending out a message that age is just a number for him. He can be as cranky as a small kid, demanding attention and praise at all times, even if it doesn’t materialize in the form of a Nobel Peace Prize.

While Trump is busy blowing his trumpet of individuality without a second thought, a thoughtful observation about his life and work by the musical maestro A.R. Rahman — globally renowned and for the right reasons — seems to have opened a Pandora’s box of various interpretations around his subtle remark on the ‘communal thing’, despite receiving accolades and awards, irrespective of his otherwise identity. A man of few words and more music, he has struck a wrong chord in many Indian hearts, thereby inviting a cacophony of backlash.

The fact of the matter is, with changing times and taste, A.R.Rahman may no longer be the only choice of an individual or a particular film industry, but his identity as an eminent music composer will remain intact for years to come. 

After all, a number is just an arithmetic concept. Music produced with Dil Se will still be hummed and sung, transcending cultures, communities, and countries. Jai Ho!

*****

Friend: What are you reading about?
Me: Anti-ageing tips by Bryan Johnson. 

Posted on by nikita

The Dhurandhars 

Disclaimer: A fictionalized session whose idea materialized as a blog from various videos in my YouTube feed. Any resemblance to real procedures is coincidental, exaggerated, and satirical.

Winter Session 2025: Lok Sabha – December 1

Clad in pristine white, Shree Shree presided over the Parliamentary session as the Speaker. One-of-a-kind experience to handle the parliamentary pandemonium for an otherwise benign soul. Conscious of his soft, lyrical voice, he requested his fiery competitor, Shivguru, vibrantly donned in a rich blue silk turban and khes, to accompany him as the Deputy Speaker. 

Unconstitutional? 

Of course. Like leaders, like speakers. 

Both these spiritual gurus were present to ensure that there was no bait in the form of words, slogans, actions, or behaviour from any political clan that could create clouds of rage, polluting the already hazardous Delhi air and thereby surpassing the latest AQI report. 

Zero Hour

The House wants to know why the leader of the Opposition was excluded from the official banquet hosted in honour of the Russian President by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Does it …?

Before the MP of the Opposition Party could complete his question, there was an immediate uproar from the Ruling Party over the use of the new alias, ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’. The comparison of the leader of the nation to the fictional dark wizard from the Harry Potter story immediately served as bait for them. It touched a raw nerve, transforming the Parliament into a battlefield of jibes rather than a mature debate.  

Baffled and bewildered — not just by the commotion but also by the parliamentarians’ unexpected level of literacy — the guru looked expectantly at the Deputy Speaker to apprise the leader in the Opposition to ask a relevant question. To stick to the question that had been sent to them for review, and make the right use of the zero hour, i.e. raising questions that require urgent and immediate attention and discussions. 

Sadly, the restless, unawakened souls didn’t maintain the decorum of the House, despite repeated warnings, and what followed was disruption, dissolution and dispersion.

As days passed, sick of the pollution — inside and outside the Parliament — politicians trudged towards the closing day of the Winter Session. Btw, the LoP was able to sneak out to a foreign land for a few days amidst the Parliamentary session. 

December 19 – Last day – Question hour

The Dhurandhar effect

After taking permission from the Speaker and Deputy Speaker, Mr S.Ahmed, an MP from Bengal, raised a question about the film Dhurandhar. He demanded that the MIB (Ministry of Information and Broadcasting) minister inform the House whether such hatred-inciting movies, featuring an actor against whom an FIR was filed in 2022 for an obscene photo shoot, be created. Shouldn’t the freedom of creative expression of such creators be curtailed? 

To err is human, respected Speaker and Deputy Speaker. We all make mistakes. Don’t we have politicians in Parliament with FIRs and criminal cases against them? 

Aware of the fact that some FIRs have also been lodged against them, the spiritual leaders look at each other in the hope of some silent support. But their extrospective silence is ruptured by the response of the MIB minister.

I want to ask my outside-the-parliament friend if the Opposition would survive without any freedom of creative expression? They should be grateful to the government for accommodating their whimsical narratives, especially those of their leader. For instance, vote chori is responsible for pollution; Indian democracy is under attack; and many such other statements. 

And as for my fellow-parliamentarian’s concern regarding cinematic freedom, I’d say that if our history books can have chapters on Mughal rulers, why can’t we have movies that glorify India? 

Thump, thump, thump, …

*****

The House is adjourned sine die. 
Vande Matram. 

*****

Good News: The Winter session of Parliament concluded on Friday, with the Lok Sabha recording 111% productivity and the Rajya Sabha seeing 121% productivity.
(Source: https://indianexpress.com/article/india/winter-session-ends-ls-sees-111-productivity-rs-121-10429676/)

*****

Shri Shri: What’s the AQI? I overheard this word during lunch break.
Shivguru: Well … uhhh … In the Parliamentary context, it refers to the Anger Quotient Index.

Image source: idiva-media.ilnmedia.com

Posted on by nikita

To be or not to be

woman walking on desert sand dunes at sunrise

With sincere apologies to Roxette.

Lay a wisp of hair
On my pillow
In the blanket
On the ground
I wake up lonely
This (h)air of silence
In the bedroom
And all around 

My latest pet peeve is finding strands of hair on my mattress, pillow and on every glistening white tile of my modest flat. In the morning, when I try to focus on inhaling and exhaling microbial air in different postures of Surya Namaskar, my unspectacled eyes fall on those valuable assets, strewn all around like the petals of flowers for the mehboob who won’t arrive. 

Some prefer to remain isolated as a single strand, seemingly enjoying solitude. In contrast, others tango in pairs, evoking envious looks from the watchers, and still others crowd and coil in groups, experiencing existential crises.

While Hastapadasan-ing and making a painful effort to touch the palms on the floor, I trap a strand or two under my square palm, forbidding them to escape into the thin air. I walk to the window in between my poses and discard them with a heavy heart and a lighter head. 

Mourning their departure till they disappear in the Brahmand they birthed from, I resume from where I left off. Moving ahead, the Dandasana pose helps me to have a bird’s-eye view of my surroundings, much like a hawk, trying to spot its prey. As soon as I can locate the tiny, silky bits, I go down to the floor in the Ashtanga pose and exhale vigorously through my mouth instead of my routinely used nostrils, driving them away for the time being. 

Since yoga has a reputation for bringing calmness to the body and mind, I would not want to tarnish its well-established local and global reputation. So, I have learnt to find a sliver of positivity in such a dire state of the thing of beauty, despite being stripped of the joy I once had. I happily tell myself that at least my hair hasn’t turned into fifty shades of grey yet, even when I’m pacing towards 50. 

With age, if I’m losing something, I’m also gaining something in return — experience and wisdom, validating Carl Jung’s idea of ‘individuation’. Of course, there are some visible and invisible (to others) changes in me, such as thinning hair, drier skin, weaker bone density, foggy memory, mood swings, hot flashes, and many other irritating symptoms. But I still feel excited like the batswoman who is one run short of getting a 50. The reason for this excitement is that I’m in the age slot (and I’m banking on my mom’s and nani’s genetics) when one can finally say tata bye-bye to the monthly trauma, which begins as early as adolescence.

From adolescence, willingly or unwillingly,  women prepare themselves to handle their periods and the cramps that never fail to accompany them. While some cultures celebrate menstruation, marking a girl’s first menstruation and her transitioning to womanhood, I would like to celebrate the end of it. Just because I feel it’s enough. Enough of the pain. Because hair is not the only thing I wait to lose with age. 

*****

He: I can’t feel, but I can see that you’re in pain.
She: Finally. Ty. 

To all the men
Happy International Men’s Day

Posted on by nikita

The pop-up power

It was a Sunday morning. My mom was reading a newspaper as part of her daily ritual after a typical guju breakfast. I sat beside her and started reading an online news article. While she was calmly leafing through the pages, without being distracted by the unanimated ads that filled most of the space in the paper, I was annoyingly busy hitting the little cross sign on the pop-up ads.

Pop-ups intrude on every nanosecond of your reading. The moment you try to read an article with the newly practiced concentration on your phone, a pesky ad, like the Jack in the box, suppressed for a long time, pops out, not frightening you as its job demands, but leaving you irritated. 

And the more frustrating aspect is the futile attempts to get rid of them, as they are interspersed throughout the article, much like eternal potholes on the roads, regardless of their size. The article text and the ads keep shifting since the browser, over-stuffed with other dynamic elements like images and video clips, takes time to complete loading, thereby disrupting your reading experience. In the bid to aim for the cross, when you click on the ad in utter exasperation, you are immediately transported to a new world with more information. 

Most of the time, these ads are none other than the ‘chosen ones’ by the new man-made God — the AI. Man proposes, AI exposes. He is the modern omniscient who knows your likes and dislikes. He is cognizant of your wants. He listens to you without you being aware of his presence. His intrusion into your life has almost become uncontrollable. 

Never summon a power you can’t control.

                                                              Yuval Noah Harari, in one of his interviews

Such unbridled power of technology reminds me of the celestial tree mentioned in the ancient India scriptures, though its symbolic significance varies in different religions. What AI is to the modern world, the Kalpavriksha — a wish-fulfilling tree — was to the people in ancient times. Their desires were granted at the snap of a finger — much like a click on your phone today. Who knows, those who developed AI may have drawn inspiration from yet another Indian belief and tradition —  just like many other Indian religious and cultural practices from the primordial world, which are often presented as scientific discoveries or inventions by the West, such as intermittent fasting and meditation.

Whoever is the controller — the Divine or the (divine:)) data — currently, India, Bharata, seems to be rejoicing in reclaiming its power as the guardian of the sone ki chidiya by attracting foreign investors through the Free Trade Agreement (FTA) with various countries, the latest being with the UK. (By the time my blog is published, there could be more on the list.) 

To the uninitiated, India’s economy had surpassed the UK in 2022 to become the world’s fifth-largest economy. Currently, in 2025, it has surpassed Japan, positioning itself as the fourth-largest economy, according to IMF.

See the irony of it all. The British people, who once almost caged the sone ki chidiya, are now seeking India’s help to boost their sluggish economy. 

The colonizers, who left their imprint on India’s social and cultural identity, are today impressed by India’s digital identity — the Aadhaar system. Prime Minister Starmer has shown interest in emulating such a model, modifying it to suit his country’s needs.

And the irony doesn’t end here. The Indian Air Force will soon be training fighter pilots in the UK. 

Undoubtedly, life is a full circle.

***

Click, click, click …poof, poof, poof … Mom, can I borrow the newspaper if you are done reading?

***

Me: What’s all this Gen Z protest about?
Friend: AI. American Interference. 

HAPPY DIWALI and A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR

Source of the image – https://shorturl.at/bv1XQ