Posted on by nikita

In Love… 

Neither did I hear any violins in the background nor did I feel any magic in the air. My chiffon dupatta didn’t float in the gentle breeze. But I still experienced love. 

Because my love was different and distinct; it was my love for the word ‘vivacious’. I love the vibration and rhythmic energy the word brings with it when you say ‘vivacious’, true to its meaning. That’s why I instantly fell in love with the word when I first heard it in my Social Studies class in grade 7.

The word belonged to Mrs Mulberry, my SS teacher. For me, she is the OG of the word; I don’t need to look for its Latin, Greek, or French origins. 

While my love for words began unknowingly in my formative years, my love for the violin was stirred by the invisible violins that played in the background of some Shah Rukh Khan movies, inspiring me to take violin lessons in my younger days, without considering the challenges of choosing it over other instruments. For almost 2 years, I learned violin only to give it up; I couldn’t cultivate the patience to take me further beyond the famous bhajan Vaishnav jan to tene kahiye… 

For want of more patience, I soon realised I had good ears for the music that flowed through the violin, sailing like a chiffon dupatta, even if I couldn’t play it myself. Since then, the instrument has stayed with me as a relic of my past, which I recently dislodged from its resting place, hoping to give myself one more chance at playing it. But after almost 25 years, even after changing the strings, all I could produce was a screeching sound when the bow passed across the instrument’s strings. 

I learnt two things: 1. Changing the strings, obviously, cannot change me into a good violinist. 2. I need to change the bow also. 

Wiping the beads of sweat from my forehead with my non-chiffon dupatta, I bowed to my violin; I let it return to the case from whence it came, much like a living being returning to the place it originated from. 

‘Deep indeed’! I told myself, indulging in some self-praise. How else could I develop the ability and panache to praise others? 

Surprised by the depth of my thought, I wonder whether the source of its origin is the ultra-divine atmosphere around me these days — Oh-my-friend Ganesha days, with aartis and bhajans, loud enough for the lady on the 15th floor of the building, almost 150 mts away from my society, just like I hear aartis and bhajans played in her society. And these are played at a given decibel three times a day, presumably prescribed by the OG–Omnipresent Ganesha, I mean.

No one can match the devotion Indians have towards their gods and goddesses. After bidding adieu to Ganesha, preparations will begin to welcome Amba Ma. For nine days,  garba lovers will swirl, dance and make merry; for many, garba practice had already begun on the tarmac at the Vietnam Airport, at the Great Wall of China, and other tourist places. 

Enthusiasts like these proudly carry their immense love for culture wherever they go, even though many perceive them as uncultured. But isn’t appreciating one’s own culture better than misappropriating someone else’s culture?

This time, the case in point is yet another Italian luxury brand, Fendi. The brand used Indian—specifically, Gujarati—artisans’ traditional mirror, bead, and thread-work embroidery for its handbags. The modest embroidered jholas or handbags, that women carry during Navratri, became embroidered baguettes worth 9.5L each without proper credit, except for paying the craftsmen — the unacknowledged OGs. 

The foreign brand’s immense love for traditional Indian craftsmanship, obviously, swiftly gilded like a chiffon dupatta across millions of mobile screens in India; nothing can go unnoticed in the age of social media. Probably, the khaman-dhokla-thepla gang must have been hurt the most, and to avenge Fendi’s cultural appropriation, many would vow to visit famous tourist places in Italy like the Colosseum or the Vatican Museums, and play garba in vibrant chaniya cholis, and kediyas and dhotis embellished with beads, mirrors and embroidery. 

While their dance would reflect Indian culture, the ungrateful faces behind foreign brands like these will be reflected in 475 mirrors, recreating K. Asif’s set design for the memorable song, Jab pyaar kiya to darna kya.

*****

Student: The text states that Vasco da Gama discovered the sea route to India.
SS Teacher: Historical misinformation. 

Source of the image: https://sl1nk.com/gma9dzm


Posted on by nikita

Unfiltered.

black and white protest in kano nigeria

What you will read today in this blog, readers, are my unfiltered thoughts—thoughts born out of disappointment, disgust, and distress. Excuse my grammatical errors and abrupt transitions. That’s how our mind works when it is disturbed, I suppose. Sometimes it fails to understand chronology. And so does my mind. And so does my blog.

*****

I’ve been following the CJP protest at Jantar Mantar for quite some time. For a broader perspective, I also did some background research on who’s who in this protest. Listening to so many people on TV debates and podcasts with polarised viewpoints, honestly, I feel quite confused. Whom to believe? Was this protest about students’ concerns and complaints, or had it been born out of political angst and agenda? 

Of course, our education system has flaws, because it is created by humans who also have flaws. And I am as disappointed with it as the students. I also understand that it must have been exhausting—mentally and physically—for the students who had to bear the consequences—with some ending their lives—of the corrupted people—the ones who supplied the NEET-UG exam paper and those who demanded it. 

There’s always a supply and demand angle to such leaks. So, is demanding the resignation of Mr Pradhan, the Education Minister, sufficient? Could it be the first step towards a better education system?

That’s a general opinion. A similar view was also shared by one of the NEET aspirants on a news channel. She believed that at least asking for a resignation would serve as a deterrent for the new minister who would fill his place. Okay. Makes sense. But then, what if the same thing happened under the leadership of the new minister? 

In this case also, Mr Pradhan didn’t leak the paper; people working under him, and those working under these people, and many down the ladder. In fact, the person who leaked the paper was the paper setter. 

What I am trying to say is that the problem isn’t just the minister; it’s the corrupted system. And how, where, and when does corruption begin? It begins with us—the people of the country.

How many of you have handed a 100-rupee note to the policeman when you are pulled aside for flouting some traffic rules? How many of you have gotten your driving license without appearing for the driving test? How many of you have bribed the pujari or pandit or maulvi or whoever for a VIP entry to the sanctum sanctorum at a religious place? How many of you got a fake sick leave certificate from your family doctor?

These are just a few day-to-day life instances. Corruption has seeped into us to such an extent that sometimes we don’t even notice it until such incidents occur. And then it becomes very easy to play the blame game. 

Okay. Blame the government’s policy. Blame the system. Start a protest. Demand a change. Question a policy. These are the democratic rights of every citizen of India. 

But with rights also come responsibilities. Were the protesters using language befitting a responsible citizen? How does one justify the vile and vulgar language used by many protesters at Jantar Mantar to voice their dissent? How can one agree with expletives used for the Prime Minister of the country?

Was it just for social media reels? Performative? For likes and followers? Where’s the accountability—something the protesters kept demanding from the government? 

Would such language have been tolerated during the time of the Emergency in India?

*****

Student: Uncle said that the school trip is always free for you.
Teacher: Not free of the responsibility for 100 students for an entire week. 

*****

I’d like for readers to share their thoughts on this issue/protest by replying to this blog. You can also DM if you have any opinions/observations. I can post your views, anonymously if you wish, as a reply to my viewpoints.

HAPPY GURU PURNIMA


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

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

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