It’s been a long time given my working hours in the last two weeks. Since, in the meantime, I couldn’t find enough time to write a story or think of something worthwhile to write, this post is a random collection of useless trivia. The format of this post is inspired by the column titled “Gleanings” that appears in the Cricinfo magazine.
Friends
I’ve trouble managing my friends because I’ve trouble mailing and calling them and I can never manage to meet all of them
I find the celebration of birthdays and wishing friends on their birthdays meaningless. There are 364 other days and numerous other ways to make my friends feel special.
My best friends are those with whom I’ve spent time roaming on bicycles on the streets of a town called Ghaziabad.
Love
I’ve been in love once. It was beautiful.
Women
The first time I proposed a girl was in Std. II. I think her name was Bournvita. Or something like that.
For me, an intelligent and humorous conversation with a lady is as good as making out.
Work
I always do better than my peers when there’s a lot of uncertainty and chaos around. If I‘m given set pieces and structured guidelines I’m just average.
I can’t understand why journalists and salespersons are not paid well. They definitely work harder than me.
I think I’m becoming more conniving with every day I spend at work given that I act like a war General always negotiating budgets and deadlines.
Wine
I’ve a special affection for Jack Daniels.
Fun
I prefer being at home reading comics to things like river-rafting, rappelling and trekking.
I hate attending social functions and weddings
I love dogs far more than babies and kids.
On an average, I’ve about 10 ice-creams very week.
Views
In my books , if you can’t be punctual, your existence is irrelevant.
I believe there’s more goodness around than the world credits itself with.
It’s easy to find morons everywhere. I mean everywhere
I’ve been told by people that I’m mean and think too highly of myself. I disagree with the latter because if there’s one thing I know for sure are my limitless limitations and mediocre strengths.
I’m very possessive about my shirts, books, comics, cassettes and CD’s.
Dreams
There are only two things I badly want to do in life.
a. Provide live on-air cricket commentary with Sunil Gavaskar.
b. Make a movie.
I came real close to the first. The second, I haven’t started working on.
I want to do the Tango once with a lovely woman on a cruise a la Al Pacino in a restaurant in Scent of a Woman.
And…
I used to be a great liar in school. They never caught me except my Dad.
I always root for the underdog. Most of the times in my life, I’ve been one.
Someone asked me once what I’m best at, I didn’t have an answer. But if it counts, I think I talk alright.
There’s nothing in my life that I wouldn’t do all over again.
I think I’ve been real lucky in my life to say this.
Monday, October 2, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
The Remixed Halo
When I chose HT 5 months back on-campus, there was a certain halo associated with it. Today after the 3 and a half months after I've spent at HT , I think I'm just glad that the halo has'nt eroded. I think if I were on campus right now fighting for a job in Final Placements, HT would still be my #1.
I interacted with the the entire Management Trainee batch after a long time today. I used to categorize my friends as school friends, college friends, SP friends and Dell friends. The latest addition is this batch of "MT friends". They're all kinds in there. A normally distributed curve of individuals yet they're nice people. All of them. You should meet them! :-)
And you would agree for a company that went to campuses for the first time ever recruiting for an MT batch, picking up 15 students across every B-School that counts in India, HT Media Ltd. did'nt do too bad!
5 months after I selected HT, the halo is remixed. Just that bit jazzier than before...
I interacted with the the entire Management Trainee batch after a long time today. I used to categorize my friends as school friends, college friends, SP friends and Dell friends. The latest addition is this batch of "MT friends". They're all kinds in there. A normally distributed curve of individuals yet they're nice people. All of them. You should meet them! :-)
And you would agree for a company that went to campuses for the first time ever recruiting for an MT batch, picking up 15 students across every B-School that counts in India, HT Media Ltd. did'nt do too bad!
5 months after I selected HT, the halo is remixed. Just that bit jazzier than before...
Saturday, September 9, 2006
Money Money Happy Returns
Inside Dome-2, I was fielding questions from one of the directors of the BPO division of Hexaware Technologies.
“So you really think the idea of being a big fish in a small pond excites you and hence you want to join Caliber Point?”, Guhan asked.
“Well, actually yes. I think your company has tremendous potential. Joining Caliber Point at this point of time makes sense for my career because I like the idea of being in this high growth BPO Sector.”
“Hmm… so is Caliber Point your first choice?”
“Yes. Among BPOs, it is.”
“Among BPOs… did you say? What about among other companies?”
“I think my #1 company is HT Media. I want to go to Media. ”
I was hoping he wouldn’t ask me the oft-repeated, staid and stinking question of: Why Media? Thankfully, he didn’t.
“So do you have an offer from them?”
“Umm… I don’t know. I’d just finished my interview and had to rush into this room.”
“How did your interview with HT go?”
“Excellent, actually.”
“So you’re expecting an offer…”
“I’d be surprised if I don’t make it…”
“All right, Issac. I like the fact that you’ve been honest with me. I think I should do the same with you. I think you should go to Media yourself.”
I laughed to myself. That was the zillionth time I was told that I should be going to Media. The catch being, no Media Company, save HT agreed to come to campus and the ones I’d applied to off-campus had already rejected me for lack of experience.
Guhan continued, “You’ve my number. So let me know if you don’t make it. I’ll make you an offer to join Caliber Point. Thank you for your time.”
“Thanks Guhan. Will do. It was a pleasure.”
I came out of Dome-2 and what ensued in the next 15 seconds rank as some of the most memorable moments of my time at SP and there have been quite a few in that campus. I saw Megha waiting right outside and Vivek was standing with her. Somehow one always tends to notice what the girl has to say.
“Issac!!! Spot Offer, HT!!!”
“Phew… Finally. Thank God.” I said to myself and smiled.
More and much more out of relief than elation. I walked down the stairs and saw Martin, Archana, Aparna, Nikhil and KP and others. Each of them impeccable in their formal attires. Somewhere, they were waiting for this moment as much as I was. I heard gushes of various forms of Congratulations as I walked down the stairs.
“Why aren’t you jumping?” Appy asked.
Archana rationalized. Martin came up with a wise-crack. KP smiled. Megha could hardly keep her feet on the ground and Vivek just stood there, happy.
Guhan followed me down the stairs. He knew something was happening.
We didn’t exchange a word. He glanced questioningly. I nodded. He came close, shook hands and left. Nice, honest chap, I thought to myself and we left for lunch.
What a moment! Beautiful. And this was mine. And being in Placom , I was fortunate enough to be able to share the joys of 146 other of my friends getting their jobs at the Mega Job Fair technically referred to as “Final Placements”.
This was on February 17th and today I’ve completed 3 months at HT. It’s been a steady journey through a maze of Media wisdom. And hence I write this with an understanding of the Media Sector, the standard placement process in the top B-Schools across the country and from my interaction with students from these B-Schools, now settled in their jobs like me.
B-School students across India would never consider Media as a priority sector. It’s bizarre and funny as to how myths and half-truths about Media being less paying, riskier and inflexible for career growth abound even amongst the cream of intellectual capital in India. So here are 3 simple questions and answers for anyone who’s still reading.
a.) Why do B-School students consider Consultancy, FMCG and Banking hot compared to Media? Now if the most obvious answer to that is the fact that Consultancy , FMCGs and Banking on an average pay more than Media, my next question would be :
b.) Were all these B-Schools formed so that students enter into the highest paying jobs in descending order? If the answer to that is Yes, my third question would be thus.
c.) Are we creating about 5000(and more…) money-hungry Management Post-Graduates every year in India?
The fact of the matter is for every B-School Grad, money is a foremost priority and rightly so. Who wants to take up an education loan of 5 lacs and end up with a job that pays peanuts? I’m no one to question anyone’s choice but if the choice of a particular student in a B-School going through his Final Placement rests solely on the expected bank balance at the end of the month, there is something wrong with the MBA education set-up in the country. I refuse to believe that the so called “quality of work” is better in consultancy firms or the training in FMCG’s is world-class. Bullcrap. At the end of the day, your job, your business and your corporate success depends solely on the amount of common sense you’re able to allocate to your immediate deliverable.
Unlike what Dilbert’s bosses would have him believe , it’s a sham to think that there are traces of rocket science in any stream of Management.
I’ve always encountered substantial opposition within my peer group whenever I’ve said that 80-90% of B-School students in India place money as a top-most priority in their choice of jobs.
Maybe I could write a paper on this , sprinkled with enough data and send it to Levitt and Dubner and ask them to pay me 9 lacs p.a. as royalties plus a signing bonus and an undertaking for a Social Security-cum-Provident Fund along with a variable component of 25% on the above quarter on quarter ... Jeez, there I go!
“So you really think the idea of being a big fish in a small pond excites you and hence you want to join Caliber Point?”, Guhan asked.
“Well, actually yes. I think your company has tremendous potential. Joining Caliber Point at this point of time makes sense for my career because I like the idea of being in this high growth BPO Sector.”
“Hmm… so is Caliber Point your first choice?”
“Yes. Among BPOs, it is.”
“Among BPOs… did you say? What about among other companies?”
“I think my #1 company is HT Media. I want to go to Media. ”
I was hoping he wouldn’t ask me the oft-repeated, staid and stinking question of: Why Media? Thankfully, he didn’t.
“So do you have an offer from them?”
“Umm… I don’t know. I’d just finished my interview and had to rush into this room.”
“How did your interview with HT go?”
“Excellent, actually.”
“So you’re expecting an offer…”
“I’d be surprised if I don’t make it…”
“All right, Issac. I like the fact that you’ve been honest with me. I think I should do the same with you. I think you should go to Media yourself.”
I laughed to myself. That was the zillionth time I was told that I should be going to Media. The catch being, no Media Company, save HT agreed to come to campus and the ones I’d applied to off-campus had already rejected me for lack of experience.
Guhan continued, “You’ve my number. So let me know if you don’t make it. I’ll make you an offer to join Caliber Point. Thank you for your time.”
“Thanks Guhan. Will do. It was a pleasure.”
I came out of Dome-2 and what ensued in the next 15 seconds rank as some of the most memorable moments of my time at SP and there have been quite a few in that campus. I saw Megha waiting right outside and Vivek was standing with her. Somehow one always tends to notice what the girl has to say.
“Issac!!! Spot Offer, HT!!!”
“Phew… Finally. Thank God.” I said to myself and smiled.
More and much more out of relief than elation. I walked down the stairs and saw Martin, Archana, Aparna, Nikhil and KP and others. Each of them impeccable in their formal attires. Somewhere, they were waiting for this moment as much as I was. I heard gushes of various forms of Congratulations as I walked down the stairs.
“Why aren’t you jumping?” Appy asked.
Archana rationalized. Martin came up with a wise-crack. KP smiled. Megha could hardly keep her feet on the ground and Vivek just stood there, happy.
Guhan followed me down the stairs. He knew something was happening.
We didn’t exchange a word. He glanced questioningly. I nodded. He came close, shook hands and left. Nice, honest chap, I thought to myself and we left for lunch.
What a moment! Beautiful. And this was mine. And being in Placom , I was fortunate enough to be able to share the joys of 146 other of my friends getting their jobs at the Mega Job Fair technically referred to as “Final Placements”.
This was on February 17th and today I’ve completed 3 months at HT. It’s been a steady journey through a maze of Media wisdom. And hence I write this with an understanding of the Media Sector, the standard placement process in the top B-Schools across the country and from my interaction with students from these B-Schools, now settled in their jobs like me.
B-School students across India would never consider Media as a priority sector. It’s bizarre and funny as to how myths and half-truths about Media being less paying, riskier and inflexible for career growth abound even amongst the cream of intellectual capital in India. So here are 3 simple questions and answers for anyone who’s still reading.
a.) Why do B-School students consider Consultancy, FMCG and Banking hot compared to Media? Now if the most obvious answer to that is the fact that Consultancy , FMCGs and Banking on an average pay more than Media, my next question would be :
b.) Were all these B-Schools formed so that students enter into the highest paying jobs in descending order? If the answer to that is Yes, my third question would be thus.
c.) Are we creating about 5000(and more…) money-hungry Management Post-Graduates every year in India?
The fact of the matter is for every B-School Grad, money is a foremost priority and rightly so. Who wants to take up an education loan of 5 lacs and end up with a job that pays peanuts? I’m no one to question anyone’s choice but if the choice of a particular student in a B-School going through his Final Placement rests solely on the expected bank balance at the end of the month, there is something wrong with the MBA education set-up in the country. I refuse to believe that the so called “quality of work” is better in consultancy firms or the training in FMCG’s is world-class. Bullcrap. At the end of the day, your job, your business and your corporate success depends solely on the amount of common sense you’re able to allocate to your immediate deliverable.
Unlike what Dilbert’s bosses would have him believe , it’s a sham to think that there are traces of rocket science in any stream of Management.
I’ve always encountered substantial opposition within my peer group whenever I’ve said that 80-90% of B-School students in India place money as a top-most priority in their choice of jobs.
Maybe I could write a paper on this , sprinkled with enough data and send it to Levitt and Dubner and ask them to pay me 9 lacs p.a. as royalties plus a signing bonus and an undertaking for a Social Security-cum-Provident Fund along with a variable component of 25% on the above quarter on quarter ... Jeez, there I go!
Tuesday, September 5, 2006
The Irony
All throughout school, I listened to my teachers.
All through college, I listened to my professors and wardens and principals.
At work at Cadburys, Dell, Progeon and now HT, I listen to my boss.
At times I’ve also listened to my friends as an obligation.
When I was seeing someone, I used to listen to her.
All my life, I’ve listened to my Dad.
At church, I listen to the priest.
If God spoke to me, I would listen.
If Satan did, I would be just curious to know what he has to say, so I’d end up listening.
Why cant I just be silent and let somebody else listen now?
What a stupid thing this life is?
All your life (at least till you’re 23 ) , you grow up listening and by the time it’s your turn to talk, it’s not even worth it...
All through college, I listened to my professors and wardens and principals.
At work at Cadburys, Dell, Progeon and now HT, I listen to my boss.
At times I’ve also listened to my friends as an obligation.
When I was seeing someone, I used to listen to her.
All my life, I’ve listened to my Dad.
At church, I listen to the priest.
If God spoke to me, I would listen.
If Satan did, I would be just curious to know what he has to say, so I’d end up listening.
Why cant I just be silent and let somebody else listen now?
What a stupid thing this life is?
All your life (at least till you’re 23 ) , you grow up listening and by the time it’s your turn to talk, it’s not even worth it...
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Dude... Where's my Pluto?
I find even the name funny. I’ve Walt Disney for company. He has a character named after it. Pluto.
And I find the backlash against the International Astronomical Union (IAU) for demoting Pluto to being a ‘dwarf planet’ even funnier. What got me thinking about this was an article in HT about how different groups are coming out in support for Pluto’s planethood. In it was a mention of a society called “Society for Preservation of Pluto as a Planet”. I find this funniest.
Different people, different views. It is also one of the reasons why the world is such a fascinating place to be in. I, for one, couldn’t care less about it. And the way I see it for a substantial percentage of people in the world, this hardly means anything as well. Apart from this chunk of astronomers and those students who are still in school. Even for the students, it’s just another line added to their textbooks which they’ll forget right after their next exam. Calvin was right on the money when he said that all he learnt in school was to “cynically manipulate the system.” For instance, I learnt about a figure called the Rhombus in school. I never had to recall that figure after that. It’s also unlikely, in the near future, that the Rhombus will have any material or spiritual impact in my life
I find the Rhombus phenomenon being applied to Pluto as well. A good number of people will ask us to oppose the demotion. People will wear T-Shirts ($25) , put up bumper stickers ($4), sign online petitions, hold demonstrations, raise a catchy slogan and shout on top of their voices, “S.O.S. Save Pluto!”
My question is: Why?
Do these people think that IAU is conspiring against the planet? Did Pluto give these experts’ from IAU nightmares? Was Pluto pulling their ties and taking down their pants in conferences? Was Pluto bewitching the families of these experts’? Is there a hidden agenda in the demotion? If the answer to any of these questions is “Aye”, I stand up for Pluto. Else, I’m already bidding my friend a warm goodbye.
I think in all of it, there’s a lesson. All of us have a problem when something is taken away from us. We might not need it, yet we want it. We won’t even know what to do with it when it’s with us, but we would want it.
The way I look at it, sometimes it’s just nice to let go off things with a smile.
P.S. : If I actually get a nice Pluto T-Shirt, I’ll buy it.
Paradox, you say? Well, I think it’s funny!
And if it’s there, I’ll just want it!
And I find the backlash against the International Astronomical Union (IAU) for demoting Pluto to being a ‘dwarf planet’ even funnier. What got me thinking about this was an article in HT about how different groups are coming out in support for Pluto’s planethood. In it was a mention of a society called “Society for Preservation of Pluto as a Planet”. I find this funniest.
Different people, different views. It is also one of the reasons why the world is such a fascinating place to be in. I, for one, couldn’t care less about it. And the way I see it for a substantial percentage of people in the world, this hardly means anything as well. Apart from this chunk of astronomers and those students who are still in school. Even for the students, it’s just another line added to their textbooks which they’ll forget right after their next exam. Calvin was right on the money when he said that all he learnt in school was to “cynically manipulate the system.” For instance, I learnt about a figure called the Rhombus in school. I never had to recall that figure after that. It’s also unlikely, in the near future, that the Rhombus will have any material or spiritual impact in my life
I find the Rhombus phenomenon being applied to Pluto as well. A good number of people will ask us to oppose the demotion. People will wear T-Shirts ($25) , put up bumper stickers ($4), sign online petitions, hold demonstrations, raise a catchy slogan and shout on top of their voices, “S.O.S. Save Pluto!”
My question is: Why?
Do these people think that IAU is conspiring against the planet? Did Pluto give these experts’ from IAU nightmares? Was Pluto pulling their ties and taking down their pants in conferences? Was Pluto bewitching the families of these experts’? Is there a hidden agenda in the demotion? If the answer to any of these questions is “Aye”, I stand up for Pluto. Else, I’m already bidding my friend a warm goodbye.
I think in all of it, there’s a lesson. All of us have a problem when something is taken away from us. We might not need it, yet we want it. We won’t even know what to do with it when it’s with us, but we would want it.
The way I look at it, sometimes it’s just nice to let go off things with a smile.
P.S. : If I actually get a nice Pluto T-Shirt, I’ll buy it.
Paradox, you say? Well, I think it’s funny!
And if it’s there, I’ll just want it!
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
The Poetess
“Hi… waiting for someone?”
“Yeah, you too?”
“Yep. Same here. It's funny. Some people just can’t be on time!”
“True. It’s weird. My friend even stays close-by while I traveled quite a distance to get here, yet I was on time.”
“And who wants to go for a movie, half an hour late? I’m actually thinking about chucking this movie now. You wanna take a walk?
“Yeah, but I can’t go far. My friend would expect me to be here.”
“Ah… that’s okay. You study or work?”
“I work for a small company in South Delhi. What about you?”
“I’m working too. Work for Hindustan Times. Just down the road…”
“So… You an engineer?”
“Naa… Graduate in Arts.”
“Hmm... Which college?”
“Correspondence actually… And what do you work as?”
“I just joined the Radio Division’s Marketing Team. What’s your name?”
“Kaavya. And you are? ”
“Issac… I-Double-S-A-C”
“Hmm... does it mean something?”
“Yeah… something like a smile in the Hebrew language.”
“You know, it’s interesting how names come about. In India a lot of names are derived from day-to-day words of Hindi and Sanskrit while in Western countries I’m not sure if that’s the case…”
“True, very true. Now that you said this … Ah... here comes my friend… (How I’d love to continue talking with you! Sigh!!!). Will see you some time then.”
“Yeah, nice talking. See you!”
There’re all kinds of people in this world. Some happen to be just so simple to talk with.
In a city of 14 million people, what are the chances that I’ll meet her again?
None. :-)
“Yeah, you too?”
“Yep. Same here. It's funny. Some people just can’t be on time!”
“True. It’s weird. My friend even stays close-by while I traveled quite a distance to get here, yet I was on time.”
“And who wants to go for a movie, half an hour late? I’m actually thinking about chucking this movie now. You wanna take a walk?
“Yeah, but I can’t go far. My friend would expect me to be here.”
“Ah… that’s okay. You study or work?”
“I work for a small company in South Delhi. What about you?”
“I’m working too. Work for Hindustan Times. Just down the road…”
“So… You an engineer?”
“Naa… Graduate in Arts.”
“Hmm... Which college?”
“Correspondence actually… And what do you work as?”
“I just joined the Radio Division’s Marketing Team. What’s your name?”
“Kaavya. And you are? ”
“Issac… I-Double-S-A-C”
“Hmm... does it mean something?”
“Yeah… something like a smile in the Hebrew language.”
“You know, it’s interesting how names come about. In India a lot of names are derived from day-to-day words of Hindi and Sanskrit while in Western countries I’m not sure if that’s the case…”
“True, very true. Now that you said this … Ah... here comes my friend… (How I’d love to continue talking with you! Sigh!!!). Will see you some time then.”
“Yeah, nice talking. See you!”
There’re all kinds of people in this world. Some happen to be just so simple to talk with.
In a city of 14 million people, what are the chances that I’ll meet her again?
None. :-)
Mr. and Mrs. Arora
Mr. Arora wouldn’t mince words when reminded of his childhood days.
“Yeh poora Nehru pariwaar kameeno se bhara hain…”
He was born months after Partition and could relive those days like yesterday. And every time Mrs. Arora would listen like never before. She must’ve heard this story a hundred times yet wouldn’t fail to take her place on the sofa when her husband would recount those instances all over again.
This time, Mr. Arora was narrating the story to his newly moved in South-Indian neighbor, Mr. Swamy. This was a Sunday morning and they’d invited the Swamys for a breakfast. Ms. Arora’s culinary skills were legendary. The last time she’d invited her relatives for dinner, food kept flying into the plates till 2 in the morning.
Nevertheless, to return to Mr. Arora's story, he was born in September, 1947. And at the height of the rioting in Noakhali and Punjab, his father was trying to get in touch with his mother. His father owned a flourishing cycle business. Flourishing, because the British actually bought and paid for these cycles. Mr. Arora’s father wouldn’t have been able to take care of his wife and hence sent her to Gujranwala to her relatives during her pregnancy, thinking that at the time of her delivery he’ll call her back to Delhi.
She was said to deliver in September and all throughout August, her husband tried in every manner possible to get his wife back to India. He sent her air tickets and got it announced on AIR. Back there in Gujranwala, Ms. Arora was shielded by a close set of relatives. They would massacre her if those goons on the streets found out she was a Hindu. Mr. Arora’s father sent a trusted aide on train to Gujranwala to bring his wife back. He never returned. He was a Hindu.
“Forget the fact that she was pregnant, it was getting suicidal by the minute to stay back in Pakistan for any Hindu”, Mr. Arora recounted with pride.
“All this because of Nehru, that bastard…” Mr. Arora roared. “He wouldn’t let Jinnah become the PM and because Gandhiji trusted Nehru blindly, he could get away with it.”
“Jinnah was fine with Patel becoming the PM as well but Nehru would have none of it. Being the Congress President himself at that time, Nehru did command considerable clout. The country was plunged into the agony of partition, all because of him. While my mother was trying to save her and my life, that bastard celebrated his post of Prime Ministership sipping a glass of champagne with the Mountbattens. Countless, such stories lie untold… ”, Mr. Arora paused for a while.
“Finally, on a train that had men and women perched everywhere from the toilet to the roof, she came with her brother to New Delhi on 21st August, 1947. It was a Thursday. The train was late and my father had slept off on the platform waiting for her. He woke up with the commotion at the station. It was impossible to sight her amidst a sea of humanity. My father’s residence was also burnt down so unless he met my mother she wouldn’t know where to meet my father. Those were the days without pagers and mobile phones…”, he said this with a smile.
“They kept looking for each other for quite some time and couldn’t find each other. Utter chaos held sway over the platform. It must’ve been difficult. They called Dad a number of times from the station too but no one picked up. How could anyone? My Dad was also on the station naa…”
“My uncle suggested to my Mom, that they leave for Bhiwani, another relative’s place. It was important that my Mom went to a place devoid of riots. Delhi just didn’t seem right. And my uncle said they would call Dad later and ask him also to come to Bhiwani.
Mr. Swamy was listening with rapt attention.
“So my uncle took my mother to Bhiwani. And thankfully this time around, things went to plan. My Dad joined us a few days and I was born finally. The troubles my Dad and Mom went over, for my birth. And to think of it, countless, such stories lie untold. At least, my Dad was rich and we had caring relatives. What about others…?”
Mr. Swamy nodded and looked around the house. He didn’t quite know how to respond. He saw a picture on the wall, that of a young lady.
He asked Mr. Arora, “Is that your daughter?”
Mr. Arora replied softly, “She was. In ’84, on the streets of Karol Bagh, she was burnt alive by cronies of that bastard family because she was seen with a group of her Sikh friends.
His voice choked.
“Saala poora Nehru pariwaar kameeno se bhara hain…”
“Yeh poora Nehru pariwaar kameeno se bhara hain…”
He was born months after Partition and could relive those days like yesterday. And every time Mrs. Arora would listen like never before. She must’ve heard this story a hundred times yet wouldn’t fail to take her place on the sofa when her husband would recount those instances all over again.
This time, Mr. Arora was narrating the story to his newly moved in South-Indian neighbor, Mr. Swamy. This was a Sunday morning and they’d invited the Swamys for a breakfast. Ms. Arora’s culinary skills were legendary. The last time she’d invited her relatives for dinner, food kept flying into the plates till 2 in the morning.
Nevertheless, to return to Mr. Arora's story, he was born in September, 1947. And at the height of the rioting in Noakhali and Punjab, his father was trying to get in touch with his mother. His father owned a flourishing cycle business. Flourishing, because the British actually bought and paid for these cycles. Mr. Arora’s father wouldn’t have been able to take care of his wife and hence sent her to Gujranwala to her relatives during her pregnancy, thinking that at the time of her delivery he’ll call her back to Delhi.
She was said to deliver in September and all throughout August, her husband tried in every manner possible to get his wife back to India. He sent her air tickets and got it announced on AIR. Back there in Gujranwala, Ms. Arora was shielded by a close set of relatives. They would massacre her if those goons on the streets found out she was a Hindu. Mr. Arora’s father sent a trusted aide on train to Gujranwala to bring his wife back. He never returned. He was a Hindu.
“Forget the fact that she was pregnant, it was getting suicidal by the minute to stay back in Pakistan for any Hindu”, Mr. Arora recounted with pride.
“All this because of Nehru, that bastard…” Mr. Arora roared. “He wouldn’t let Jinnah become the PM and because Gandhiji trusted Nehru blindly, he could get away with it.”
“Jinnah was fine with Patel becoming the PM as well but Nehru would have none of it. Being the Congress President himself at that time, Nehru did command considerable clout. The country was plunged into the agony of partition, all because of him. While my mother was trying to save her and my life, that bastard celebrated his post of Prime Ministership sipping a glass of champagne with the Mountbattens. Countless, such stories lie untold… ”, Mr. Arora paused for a while.
“Finally, on a train that had men and women perched everywhere from the toilet to the roof, she came with her brother to New Delhi on 21st August, 1947. It was a Thursday. The train was late and my father had slept off on the platform waiting for her. He woke up with the commotion at the station. It was impossible to sight her amidst a sea of humanity. My father’s residence was also burnt down so unless he met my mother she wouldn’t know where to meet my father. Those were the days without pagers and mobile phones…”, he said this with a smile.
“They kept looking for each other for quite some time and couldn’t find each other. Utter chaos held sway over the platform. It must’ve been difficult. They called Dad a number of times from the station too but no one picked up. How could anyone? My Dad was also on the station naa…”
“My uncle suggested to my Mom, that they leave for Bhiwani, another relative’s place. It was important that my Mom went to a place devoid of riots. Delhi just didn’t seem right. And my uncle said they would call Dad later and ask him also to come to Bhiwani.
Mr. Swamy was listening with rapt attention.
“So my uncle took my mother to Bhiwani. And thankfully this time around, things went to plan. My Dad joined us a few days and I was born finally. The troubles my Dad and Mom went over, for my birth. And to think of it, countless, such stories lie untold. At least, my Dad was rich and we had caring relatives. What about others…?”
Mr. Swamy nodded and looked around the house. He didn’t quite know how to respond. He saw a picture on the wall, that of a young lady.
He asked Mr. Arora, “Is that your daughter?”
Mr. Arora replied softly, “She was. In ’84, on the streets of Karol Bagh, she was burnt alive by cronies of that bastard family because she was seen with a group of her Sikh friends.
His voice choked.
“Saala poora Nehru pariwaar kameeno se bhara hain…”
