It is no secret that the INC (Indian National Congress) used the post of President of India as a method of paying back long time supporters of the party.
However, with APJ Abdul Kalam, as the out-going president, many hoped that the party would have gone with someone of the same calibre.
Pratibha Patil is tipped to be the incumbent President. At the outset, I had thought that this was a good sign, symbolically speaking, with India's 60th anniversary of Independence fast approaching.
However, articles in the Indian Express, here and here have led me to withdraw my support for Pratibha Patil (not that it matters since I'm not leading a political party in India or anything). From what I infer, she is being repayed for being a friend of the INC for so many years.
Amit Varma has an article on this here
In other news, Mayawati's assets are said to be at 52 crore. Read about it here.( Note: ToI article)
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
75 years, and still going strong
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to Test Cricket in India,
Happy birthday to you!!!
HIP HIP HOORAY!!!!!
Entertaining a niche audience over the years, the pure connoisseurs!!!
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to Test Cricket in India,
Happy birthday to you!!!
HIP HIP HOORAY!!!!!
Entertaining a niche audience over the years, the pure connoisseurs!!!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The thoughts of an NRI
Taken from here. I have chopped and changed a bit
Most of us left the Indian shores to come here.
We have bid our farewells with teary eyes to our mothers.
We hugged our fathers and left without turning back.
We all came here, some long time back and some recently.
We all were alone in the beginning.
We missed our mothers cooking.
We missed the idli chaats on the road side.
We missed those days when we gathered with friends at a tea stall and ordered tea with samosas.
We missed that girl, whom we used to see daily in the bus, who may have smiled at us, who may even have talked to us in that angelic voice, if only we had the courage to talk.
Most of us grew out of it over here. We all made new friends.
We all clung to each other. We watched countless movies.
We even learnt to cook and throw pot luck parties where we always played Antakshari.
We confess that we even smiled at those beautiful girls across the street.
We all took trips to India; some annually, some less frequently.
We all tracked the "sale" events at Sears and KMart.
We all went to Indian Grocery Stores, and bought Rice and Rotis.
Most of us got married. We, went back home, searching for the love of a good woman-some found it in the old acquaintances from across the bus-stands, some found it in their parent's choice. Some of us took a gamble and married the one looking closest to Aishwarya Rai.
Now what do we do? We all work in software, We go to the community event to socialise, we attend movie screenings, and argue countless times that Honda Accord is better than Toyota Camry or vice versa. At times, late night before falling asleep we switch on the stereo and listen to that old Hindi melody which makes us remember the land that was ours. We recall the green grass, the muddy roads, the wet monsoons, the pretty girls that we never talked to.
We hear the words speaking to us from across the oceans:
A Mother who gave sour medicine to her son, because she wanted him to recover soon, who let her son move miles apart though the thought was tearing her apart, she let him go as she wanted him to be happy and successful, who hides her agony in telling others that her son is abroad.
A Father who understands his son's ambitions and the limitation and frustration he has to overcome of in India, who would not let his voice reveal that says I'll miss you son !, I love you but am unable to express the feeling.
A brother who would miss the brotherhood, though it had often been fights and not talking terms, who can deny the fact that a brother is still a brother, a friend, Who expected you to understand him as his, and when you didn't it upset but moving miles in distances has overlooked all minute failures.
A sister who would not have her adoring one to escort her to help her out of troublesome situations, who knows she has a brother she have spent her life,who wishes he would turn up for her wedding, if not atleast to fondle her baby that longs for an uncle's love & affection.
A friend, who is left with mundane tasks, unable to exchange the chirpy jokes & comments, discuss various thoughts from family, friends, politics, & economics, who visits your home because he still remembers you not only on a day but everyday. Who would jump with joy on receiving a mail, who tries to keep himself free for all the days when his friend is coming back on a holiday.
The girl at the bus-stop, who smiled at you and suddenly finds you no longer there, who changes her route only to avoid the void which seems to be there at the same bus-stop she had been once smiling.
The girl you are married to, unable to understand why she is being sent to a far off land, waiting for her man to send VISA papers, bearing the nagging question of neighbours and relatives asking when are you leaving India.
The girl you got engaged to, and is waiting for you to come back and tie the wedding knot, a social and emotional security, who anxiously waits for his telephone calls and greeting cards to reassure her that you will be back as her man.
Whatever our roles, it is only to say that we still love and care for you, wherever you are, you are still dear to us. We don't know what you have to go through, we only know we have love & wishes to give for you. You might have learnt or the circumstances might have taught you to handle emotions and that time and work are more important than feelings and their expressions but we are still in India and are still the same, waiting and wishing for those who moved away from India,
Most of us left the Indian shores to come here.
We have bid our farewells with teary eyes to our mothers.
We hugged our fathers and left without turning back.
We all came here, some long time back and some recently.
We all were alone in the beginning.
We missed our mothers cooking.
We missed the idli chaats on the road side.
We missed those days when we gathered with friends at a tea stall and ordered tea with samosas.
We missed that girl, whom we used to see daily in the bus, who may have smiled at us, who may even have talked to us in that angelic voice, if only we had the courage to talk.
Most of us grew out of it over here. We all made new friends.
We all clung to each other. We watched countless movies.
We even learnt to cook and throw pot luck parties where we always played Antakshari.
We confess that we even smiled at those beautiful girls across the street.
We all took trips to India; some annually, some less frequently.
We all tracked the "sale" events at Sears and KMart.
We all went to Indian Grocery Stores, and bought Rice and Rotis.
Most of us got married. We, went back home, searching for the love of a good woman-some found it in the old acquaintances from across the bus-stands, some found it in their parent's choice. Some of us took a gamble and married the one looking closest to Aishwarya Rai.
Now what do we do? We all work in software, We go to the community event to socialise, we attend movie screenings, and argue countless times that Honda Accord is better than Toyota Camry or vice versa. At times, late night before falling asleep we switch on the stereo and listen to that old Hindi melody which makes us remember the land that was ours. We recall the green grass, the muddy roads, the wet monsoons, the pretty girls that we never talked to.
We hear the words speaking to us from across the oceans:
A Mother who gave sour medicine to her son, because she wanted him to recover soon, who let her son move miles apart though the thought was tearing her apart, she let him go as she wanted him to be happy and successful, who hides her agony in telling others that her son is abroad.
A Father who understands his son's ambitions and the limitation and frustration he has to overcome of in India, who would not let his voice reveal that says I'll miss you son !, I love you but am unable to express the feeling.
A brother who would miss the brotherhood, though it had often been fights and not talking terms, who can deny the fact that a brother is still a brother, a friend, Who expected you to understand him as his, and when you didn't it upset but moving miles in distances has overlooked all minute failures.
A sister who would not have her adoring one to escort her to help her out of troublesome situations, who knows she has a brother she have spent her life,who wishes he would turn up for her wedding, if not atleast to fondle her baby that longs for an uncle's love & affection.
A friend, who is left with mundane tasks, unable to exchange the chirpy jokes & comments, discuss various thoughts from family, friends, politics, & economics, who visits your home because he still remembers you not only on a day but everyday. Who would jump with joy on receiving a mail, who tries to keep himself free for all the days when his friend is coming back on a holiday.
The girl at the bus-stop, who smiled at you and suddenly finds you no longer there, who changes her route only to avoid the void which seems to be there at the same bus-stop she had been once smiling.
The girl you are married to, unable to understand why she is being sent to a far off land, waiting for her man to send VISA papers, bearing the nagging question of neighbours and relatives asking when are you leaving India.
The girl you got engaged to, and is waiting for you to come back and tie the wedding knot, a social and emotional security, who anxiously waits for his telephone calls and greeting cards to reassure her that you will be back as her man.
Whatever our roles, it is only to say that we still love and care for you, wherever you are, you are still dear to us. We don't know what you have to go through, we only know we have love & wishes to give for you. You might have learnt or the circumstances might have taught you to handle emotions and that time and work are more important than feelings and their expressions but we are still in India and are still the same, waiting and wishing for those who moved away from India,
Monday, June 04, 2007
Mile Sur Mera Tumhara
Many of you might have heard of the Mile Sur Mera Tumhara song on Doordarshan. This was when Cable TV was still a rarity, in India, and our "beloved" DD, ran this many times a day, to highlight national integration. Well, in light of recent events, where people are looking for an excuse to loot, pillage and even kill each other, I thought it might be a good idea, to put this up.
I have put three videos up. The first is the original Mile Sur Mera Tumhara video, as shown by Prasar Bharati. The second is the MIT version of the video, and the final is a MNC employees version of the video (shot in Hyderabad)
Version 1 : Prasar Bharati
Version 2: MIT
Version 3: MNC employees
I have put three videos up. The first is the original Mile Sur Mera Tumhara video, as shown by Prasar Bharati. The second is the MIT version of the video, and the final is a MNC employees version of the video (shot in Hyderabad)
Version 1 : Prasar Bharati
Version 2: MIT
Version 3: MNC employees
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