I have had enough of this year

Why Neither The Superstitions of Solar Eclipse Nor The Marketing Strategies of Father's Day Sentiments Have Any Bearing On Me?

Today happens to be Father's Day as well as Solar Eclipse. Father's Day or Mother's Day is a marketing concept, and hence I do not celebrate either of them. I respect my parents immensely. I value the immense love, affection bestowed and the sacrifices of my parents.

Today was a unique day. It happened to be Father's Day, and the solar eclipse came as a package from the calendar. Today also happens to be the longest day of the year. I don't know about the superstitions associated with the longest day of the year but definitely in the knowledge of those entwined with Solar Eclipse. During college, in private conversations, I used to invite my friends to have a cup of tea and pakoras with me, in a graveyard, during the solar eclipse. In this age of the easily offended, I don't think I would dare to post such an invite in any social media.

My father was a religious person with a moderate education. He believed in God till his last breath. He used to pray to Lord Muruga before leaving the house in the morning for work, and repeat the same on return. He went on yearly pilgrimages to various temples of Lord Muruga. Mary's feast is immensely popular in Bangalore, and it transcends religious beliefs. My father was an avid participant in these prayers. With such a background, it would seem that he had a lot of superstitions, but that was not the case.

He believed in God and his power but not the customs associated with the worship of God. Blind belief in the name of religion was not his cup of tea. I had never seen him suggesting black magic as a reason or solution for our family problems. He was a believer in thoughts but a rationalist in actions. He used to vehemently preach to us that instead of having movie stars as idols, we should have scientists as our role models. God was etched in his soul, but science was in his brain and heart.

He had given a vaccination for all his children as mandated by the Government. It started from my elder brother who was born in the late 1950s. Chickenpox meant treatment in the local government hospital though the regular South Indian religious rituals were followed. It might surprise the reader that this custom is practised even today in many Non-Hindu families in South India. 

My father had a minor paralytic stroke in the early 1970s. Many of the relatives suggested to go in for black magic or native medicine, but my father decided to go in for allopathy and recovered fully well. 

The usual treatment for Jaundice in South India is to grind a bunch of leaves called `Keelanelli' and administer it orally to the patient. However, my father was an exception to it and got me admitted to a hospital for treatment, despite a difficult financial situation at home. 

Irrespective of whether it was a fever or the kidney ailment of my eldest brother, he always believed in allopathy. He always said modern science is proven and the only answer to the problems of life. How did an individual who had limited education possess such maturity of thoughts? Was he, despite his belief in religion influenced by the ideas of Periyar, the great social reformer of Tamil Nadu? I have every reason to belief that this was the case.

I remember during 1980 when there was a solar eclipse, he only restrained us from seeing the sun. Other than that, it was a routine day for all of us. There were no rituals on that day. From a young age, aversion to auspicious/ inauspicious time, day, or date was sown in our minds. We were never thought to be selectively vegetarian. I came to know about numerology and lucky stones only after I started seeing satellite TV. Watching science programmes on Doordarshan was mandatory. 

I am an atheist, but going by the present definition of a pious Hindu, my father was an undercover atheist too. Thus, today ends with me neither celebrating Father's Day nor getting religious about the solar eclipse. Being childless helped my cause of disregarding Father's Day.

 

Darren Sammy Racial Abuse Allegation - This Too Shall Pass

Darren Sammy has recently made a statement that while playing for SRH, he was called `Kalu'. If it is true, it must be an Indian Cricketer. We have a massive obsession for the fair skin and genetical avarice towards dark skin. I will dwell later on how fair skin after caste leads to apotheosis in Indian society.

If unification was a religion, sports is the high priest of it. If sports is the high priest of unification, cricket in India is `God's favourite priest'. Racial abuse in such a sport, that too in a society which proudly believes in `Vasudeva Kutumbam' is iniquity. The players who indulged in this are the truest anti-nationals. If found guilty they should be banned from the sport, their records erased, they should be jailed and declared as person non grata.

IPL has been the hell house of controversies since its inception.  Allegations of match-fixing, seedy night parties, tales of sexual abuse, and not to mention mediocre cricket have blemished the reputation of cricket's showbiz event.

Racism has no place in sports. The IPL governing board should immediately order an enquiry into this issue. It should be conducted through video conferencing mode, and telecast online. Let the truth come out. Let those who have to be shamed, be shamed.

There is an Instagram post going around of a particular Indian player calling Darren Sammy as Kalu. These are the days of fake news and photoshopping; hence I refuse to believe this post until it is conclusively proved as accurate. In one of his twitter posts, he talks of an Indian gentleman legend and associates him with this term `Kalu'. It would be bilious if this legend too had called him `Kalu'.   Investigate everyone associated with SRH during this period. Government of India should crack the whip, if the IPL governing board does not order an inquiry by the end of this week, i.e. second week of June 2020.

Caste defines an individual in India, and next comes skin colour. An individual coming from a low caste with dark skin is considered unintelligent, perfidious, and generally heathen. Being born in an upper-caste makes one priggish, and a coruscating skin colour ennobles its bearer. Cracking jokes or abusing an individual about his/her skin colour or caste is considered Dionysus.

Our Bollywood dumb asses went ballistic with `black lives matter' when the George Floyd issue broke out. These are the shenanigans who do not mind endorsing fairness creams for a few dollars more. One would be curious to see which hypocrite Bollywood star tweet on this issue, especially if it is proved correct. Will they dare to take on the might of IPL and call the bluff on racism, I doubt. Everyone is eagerly awaiting that great man from Bollywood whose blood boils when commentators question the indifferent performance of BCCI XI, and he expresses it on his Twitter account.

There is an air of expectancy how one or two most followed twitter accounts that react on every other injustice happening around the globe, react on this issue. The account did not condemn George Floyd issue itself for apparent reason.

It is pertinent to recall what happened during the match-fixing scandal at the beginning of the century. The South African cricketers, including Hansie Cronje, fixed matches, but they admitted to their role when confronted with facts. Their teammates also named and shamed them during the enquiry. Neither the believed to be guilty Indian cricketers gave themselves up nor their teammates named and shamed them.  `The Monkey Gate' scandal involving Andrew Symonds witnessed a re-run of this bonhomie. We all know what will happen to the Darren Sammy issue; it will die a slow death. The only doubt in one's mind is, will SRH go one step ahead, and file a multi-million dollar defamation case against Sammy.

Why I Did Not Become A Singer? - A Confession

While growing up, all of us want to become a singer one day and the next day a doctor. The third day we would be holding a paintbrush with the intent of becoming an artist. When on a summer day, we saw an aeroplane flying over our head, we desired to be a pilot. When siblings or bullies in school gave us a thrashing, we all wanted to become a cop and arrest them. During a cricket season, our life goal was to become a cricketer, The weirdest of the kids would want to grow up to be a lawyer. I too wanted to be all of these at some time or the other while growing up. I felt I should confess why I could not become any of this but ended up being what I am today.

I earnestly tried to be a singer and enrolled in singing at the school annual day programme. The teacher asked me to be a part of the chorus. My voice made the chorus coarse, and I was coaxed never to croak err sing again.

The thoughts of making me a doctor were given up when I questioned why human beings required two eyes, nostrils, and ears when they could do with a single head and heart.

I still cannot draw a straight line, and the twisted straight line is too bland to be accepted as modern art. Such being the case, I gave up hopes of becoming an artist.

There was no point in making me a pilot when I could not jump from one stair to another without stumbling. My parents did not want to risk passenger lives while the plane was landing.

A cop is expected to be vigilant and intuitive. Obviously, a kid who is sent to buy two rupees worth of green chilly, and returns with 2 kg of them does not make the cut. Similarly, a soldier is expected to be fit and quick not take an eternity to do a left-right step while marching.

Desires and reality never match each other unless you have some skills. If you cannot hit the ball out of the pitch, and when you expect the ball to catch your hand, you can never be a cricketer no matter how much desperately you want to. I badly wanted to become a cricketer but played the game very badly.

An academically challenged kid should not hand-over his progress card to parents immediately on reaching home. A kid who does so can have no hopes of becoming a lawyer.

When I was growing up, knowing typing and shorthand were as important as having Aadhar Card or Arogya Setu App is these days. I too joined a typewriting training institute for learning both these life skills. The principal, after a couple of months, said to my father `Don’t waste your money, his time, and test my patience.’

For no reason, I didn’t dream to become a postman or a milkman or a bus driver.

I ended up by chance or luck being what I am today.

Hatred Against Tik Tok Is Just A Class Subjugation, And There Lies The Opportunity For Liberals

TIK-TOK HERE IS A COMMON NOUN. IT CAN REPRESENT ANY SUCH PLATFORM ON WHICH SHORT VIDEOS CAN BE CREATED AND UPLOADED. 

Many things are being held against Tik-Tok these days. One of them is that it is a national security threat. National security interests are non-negotiable, and if it is true, this app and any app which poses such a risk must be banned. I UNDERSTAND THAT THE GOVERNMENT'S BAN SHOULD HAVE BEEN IMPORTANT FROM NATIONAL INTEREST 

The regurgitated arguments against it are, the content on Tik-Tok is unimaginative; it spreads hatred, superstition, fake news, and vulgarity. This fact is undeniable. The material these days on YouTube, TV channels and print media are no better. Tik-Tok is just the T-10 version of the existing media. Tiktok is one of the many such platforms. The name Tiktok is used as a representative of similar apps and is not its endorsement per=se. 

 Tik-Tok is not my forte. I can never be a creator of content on Tik Tok because I neither have the attitude, aptitude, nor inexactitude to do so. During the COVID-19 lockdown, I received a lot of Tik-Tok videos from friends, colleagues, and family. A Tik Tok video should not be viewed with the mind of a connoisseur. Tik-Tok Videos are made by patrons who have neither the means nor the time nor the intellect to make a critically acclaimed content.

Upper Middle Class hates Tik-Tok Users, especially that section of the upper-middle class which is narrow-minded, lacks critical thinking, is parochial, and are hypocrites of the highest order. They are jealous of the fact that the lower middle class has got a medium of expression. Upper Middle Class is under the false impression that all the intellect is their privy. Shattering this misconception is essential. Tik-Tok as of now is a medium to showcase PJs, dance moves, and mini-skits. The content creators are usually lower middle class, people in primary professions, homemakers, and teenagers.

Tik–Tok can be used to revive liberal ideologies on the verge of extinction. It can be used as a useful tool to spread social awareness, restore communal harmony, raise awareness on environment, improve scientific temperament, explain the process of creating economic inequalities, demask historical distortion, and expose fake news. Tik-Tok is the best option available to detoxify the thought process of the society because it is going to reach the masses.

The larger population cannot read lengthy books to imbibe the principles of democracy and communal harmony. They cannot understand the threat to the environment or appreciate scientific temperament as dished out in the conventional media. They don’t possess the critical thinking abilities to decipher the distortion of history and impious dissemination of fake news.  Enlightenment of the masses is possible only through new age mediums like Tik-Tok. The ball is firmly in the court of the intellectuals. The intellectuals who care for equality in the society can step in and develop content on Tik-Tok, which is factual, precise and sleek. The question is whether they can gather their wits, and return it for a winner. The vital thing to note is that the cost of making a Tik-Tok video is minimum, but its reach is maximum.

How `Coming Out As Dalit' By Yashica Dutt Resonates With My Life? ?

Coming Out As Dalit – A Memoir written by Yashica Dutt is a wonderful book of the authoress who has come out in open with her Dalit identity after years of hiding it. I am not going to review the book. The book has not only been written from the heart but after a lot of research. There are happenings from her personal life, which are also contained in the book, and have a relevance to the problems Dalit societies face. I belong to the Dalit community. What I am going to do is going to pick some lines from the book, and relate it to the happenings in my life.

The authoress in one of the portions of the book states that Dalits who fearlessly come out with their identity offend upper castes the most. She hits the top gear right at the beginning of the book, and there is no slowing down in exposing the caste predators.

It took me almost 25 years of existence to come out with my identity as a Dalit, and after that I too had nothing to hide. The authoress came out with her identity because of Rohit Vehumla, and I did it because I realised that no matter how much of a Hindu I tried to be, I was always a low caste, and in the context of independent India, a freeloader.

Caste is Ubiquitous

Ask any Dalit who has worked for the Government, who was as efficient as his upper-caste peers, with an interest in progressing his career, he will bet his last pie to vouch for this thought.

Hiding Caste Identities

We are living in the times of lockdown to contain the spread of COVID-19 virus. We are required to wear masks when we come outside to not contract this disease. Dalits will never find this difficult because for the better part of their lives they wear a mask of an upper caste person to avoid being ostracised.

My father was polemical to hiding our caste identity but wanted his children to grow outside the earmarked Dalit areas of Bangalore. To be fair, most house owners never asked us about our caste except one who insisted that we should not cook non-vegetarian food. Our economic condition did not allow us to regularly consume non-vegetarian food, but my parents went heads over heels to comply with this condition. Possibly ashamed of being born as Dalits, my parents avoided all those things that could reveal our caste. Over a period we performed poojas, marriages, funerals, and festivals befitting an upper caste. We were indirectly acknowledging that the Dalit customs were inferior.

How do Dalit legends and ultra-legends hide their caste identities?

Dalits try to hide their caste identities but legends do it by ridiculing Dalits, and even by criticising the move of Babasaheb to provide reservations to Dalits. They even label the acts of successive Governments to extend reservation as a regressive step.

The ultra legends are the ones who say that castes no longer exist in the society. Over the past few years, the Government has made it mandatory to celebrate the birth anniversary of Dr B R Ambedkar in a befitting manner, and the ultra legends who work in Government offices ensure that they don’t turn up for this function.

However, when it comes to claiming reservation in promotion, or quarters allotment, or getting relief from being reprimanded for indifferent work/corruption, or getting medical/engineering seat for children, or BDA residential site allotment, they will swear about their being a dalit on the Manu Smrithi itself.

My brother also works for the Government, and he is a Dalit Ninja Warrior. Wish I could insert a sound clip of him in this blog describing such bilious masqueraders. Many in Government service have used their Dalit identity to get promotions, get elected to lucrative employee cooperative societies, and when they reach the helm trample the Dalits working under them. They are more upper caste than upper-caste themselves.

I prominently display a photograph of Dr BR Ambedkar on my desk ever since I entered Government service. The aforesaid masqueraders have advised me to remove it to avoid the wrath of the management. I did not pay heed to it, and till date my table contains an image of Babasaheb.

Embracing Vegetarianism in to-to or selectively 

Between the age of 18 and 24, I had embraced vegetarianism due to a misconception that being a non-vegetarian is imbruing humanity. Having exorcised that belief, I am now a passionate non-vegetarian. Caste Hindus become vegetarians during certain days of the week and select periods of the year. I have no objection to it because it is their belief and they have been conditioned so for ages. Dalits who for ages were maimed, raped and assaulted for entering a place of worship or trying to behave like a caste Hindu, follow these conditions religiously. It does not prick their conscience that even during this period of abstinence Dalits across the country are butchered by upper castes.

Assuming that possessing a flawless English knowledge can hide your Dalit identity.

 Three months after I joined my present job, I came to understand that one of the upper caste officers had enquired with my boss whether I could read and write decent English. There have been quite a few uncharitable remarks about my ability to express in English. I don’t claim coruscating English knowledge but these remarks were made against me because I am a Dalit, because we are assumed to be unintelligent. As pointed out by the authoress, Tina Dabi, the daughter of a civil servant couple, is accused of wrongly availing reservation, even though she had scored more marks than general candidates in the main exam. It was only in personality test interview that she did not perform to her potential. The matter of fact is that more often than not when a Dalit commits a mistake in Government service, it will reminisce in closed corridors how reserved candidates are a useless lot and a virus in the system.  

 My father’s formal education was limited but he had a great passion to better his English. He relentlessly pursued this goal by reading many English books and even consulting my English teacher on some doubts. A relentless pursuit to attain an ability to speak and write English impeccably is part of my genes. It is the only language in which I have an acceptable proficiency.

Anti Reservation Protests in AIIMS during 2006

 Mandal Commission Protests was the first big anti-reservation protest I was a witness to. I will reproduce two incidents from those protests which will explain the contemporary hatred against Dalits. 

 During the protest, I saw a young lady holding a placard `Wanted an SC/ST Groom with a Government Job’. Inter-caste marriage is the best solution for eliminating the caste system. This placard was not an invitation but intimidation of a community trying to assert itself.

 During the Mandal Protests, I was pursuing ICWAI course. My friends, a few of them who knew my caste status had warned me not to tell to anybody that I was a Dalit, as if otherwise I was proud about flaunting my Dalit identity. The classes for this course were held in the evenings in a prominent Christian college in Bengaluru. Please excuse me for reproducing this crass graffiti from the Men's Restroom.

At a height, it was written `if you can p**s till this point, you can become a fireman.

At a lower threshold, it was written, this height is enough for SC/ST.

I too laughed it off shamelessly but that graffiti has stuck in my mind as an epitome of the hatred that is present against Dalits.

 Dalits were always the despised lot. The contemporary hatred is fuelled by the fact that some of us have escaped the dragnet of caste humiliation thanks to reservations, and a need is felt to prevent further hostages getting away through this method.

The book is well written and must be read by all Dalits who are ashamed of asserting their identity. The Upper Caste would do well to encourage such an assertion. Dalits asserting their identity would mean the end of caste discrimination, and also the ignominious reservation. Once the stain of reservation goes from the face of India, we can look forward to only meritorious doctors, engineers, scientists and administrators. None of the IIT Engineers and Doctors will leave this holy land for foreign shores. This could mark the return of the proverbial `Sone ki Chidiya’.

Happy World Book Day - My Journey With Books

Today is April 23, 2020, and the world is under lockdown to contain the spread of Corona Virus. Today is also the World Book Day.

The entertainment zones are closed. The watering holes have gone dry. The weekend trips cannot be undertaken. The sporting events have been suspended. The places of worship are soulless. The TV Serials and Web Series have no new content to offer. Many of the mobile games cannot be played for fear of action by the cops, and some of them are getting tedious. The memes on Corona Virus only remind us that we have been consigned to our homes by a virus.

We the book worms/book nerds/ book lovers/ bookaholics are finally ruling the world. We can travel to Paris. We can feel high without having a drink. We can read the original version of Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. We know what happens when viruses capture the world thanks to science fiction. We can go the Drones Club. We have retained our freedom, imagination, and not fluttered by staying indoors. We are the envy of all those friends and family who ridiculed us for being book aficionados, and never cultivated a habit of reading. We can go on a train journey unravelling murder mysteries. Today, they are left only to watch the Corona ticker, and crib about its impact.

I too would have been in the unfortunate lot but for my father drilling the need to read books. My cousins used to desist visiting my home because my father used to inexorably advise them to read books. However, we had to listen to him, and slowly but surely I took interest in reading books. My father was not a scholar but knew that books can ennoble lives. He used to always say, when you start earning, buy one good book a month and read it, you will be able to deal with life in a better way. It took me nearly a decade and a half of working life to realise this irrefragable truth.

With his limited means, he used to buy me some books. There used to be a friendly shopkeeper who used to lend us new comics at Rs.1 per day. The books used to come on Friday night, and should be sold the next day morning. My father used to get the books from him, and it was my responsibility to read it by next morning without crumbling the pages. This was an unintentional introduction to speed reading.

Once in a month, on Sundays, we used to visit the bookstores in MG Road. Those days books never came wrapped in plastic, and book shop owners were always kind enough to let people read books in their shops without buying them. When my father had some money, he used to buy a book or two. After the knowledge trip, our trip back home was conducted on two legs, because that was the only way the home finances could be managed. Bangalore still had all the habiliments of a garden city, and thus a six kilometre walk on a Sunday afternoon did not break a sweat. Amar Chitra Katha, Tinkle, Wisdom, Aesop Tales, formed the staple diet. The bigger books were mostly about freedom fighters.

Later I joined the City Central Library. I was around 12 years at that time, and was allowed to go to the library alone. There I read about Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, Sherlock Holmes, Discoveries, Inventions, Cricket History, Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, Gulliver Travels etc. After I joined college, with my first scholarship amount, I was allowed to join the British Library. One book, I profusely remember having read there was a science fiction book, whose name I don’t remember. In that book carnivorous plants take over the world, and human beings are consigned to their homes. During college days, I was an eager participant in debates, and as usual not having much knowledge on the subject, I used humour to ensure that I could speak for a couple of minutes on the topic. My English Lecturer had suggested me to read PG Wodehouse to sharpen the quality of humour in my speeches. I was more interested in making a career in commerce than paying heed to his words, except read a few pages of a collection of short stories suggested by him.

After finishing my studies, I landed up a stable job, and a good income. I forgot reading books, and better part of my spare time was spent in travelling to and from work. On weekends, if I was not required to go to office, I used to roam, watch movies, and eat in fancy restaurants. After I got married, I used to read an odd book or two but nothing serious.

The good advices given by our parents and teachers, and ignored by us have a strange way of coming back to haunt us. In 2008, I stuck a psychological roadblock, and had to seek medical attention. It was during one of the sessions, my therapist suggested I should cultivate hobbies like reading books. He suggested I should read someone humorous like PG Wodehouse. There I was, having been given both these advices for free, now being told the same, after a heavy dosage of drugs, and a sizeable amount of fee.

I tried to be wise, and again took a membership of British Library. It has a sizeable number of PG Wodehouse titles. Though I was reading the books, but an attachment to them was never there. It is at this point, I purchased `White Tiger’ by Aravind Adiga. It is then when I realised what difference it makes to pay and buy a book. When you buy a book, you are more likely to read it. You can’t call yourself a genuine book lover if you buy pirated copies. If you don’t reward the author’s effort, you can never appreciate his work. In the last 7 to 8 years, I have not purchased a single pirated copy.

It took me a lot of time to move from PG Wodehouse works, and most importantly humour to other genres. Being associated with book clubs helped in this endeavour, especially We Read Therefore We are Book Club, Bangalore, and The Book Nerds, Dehradun. The wide spectrum of well read individuals I meet in these gatherings helped me to try out other genres. During this period, I read mythology which I thought was sacrilege to do so, being an atheist. I learnt to appreciate the fact that Mahabharata was beyond religion.

During the last seven years, I have read books on travel, mythology, politics, dictators, unethical medical practices, growth of fascist organisations, science fiction, democracy, stoicism, conspiracy theories, origin of humanity, graphic novels, dystopian novels, cricket, murder mysteries, casteism, satire, self-help books, and poetry. The number of purchased but unread books is crossing the three figure mark. Kindle has helped to read more books, one it saves space, and is easy to carry.

My parting thought to you would be to start reading. If you are old, it is never too late. If you are young, you don’t have to get to late 30s to start reading. Reading is the best hobby you can cultivate. You can buy a book, put it aside for years, and one fine day pick it up to read. The book will never crib that it was ignored for so many years, but will impart all the knowledge it has. Book is the best inheritance you can leave behind to your successors. Stay safe, take care. Happy World Book Day.

Today Is Not Just Dr BR Ambedkar's Birth Anniversary

Today is not just Dr BR Ambedkar's Birth Anniversary.

Today is the day which ensured that SC /ST can stop considering themselves as sub-humans.

Today is the day which started the argument that casteism was created by the Britishers.

Today is the day which compelled  some people to say to me, have we ever ill treated you on the basis of your caste.

Today is the day when the discourse changed from "born for menial and ignominious work" to "they too should compete on merit"

Today is the day which has enabled a few SC/ST to claim all the benefits available but pretend in public that they are not from those communities.

Today is the day which ensured that the oppressed are more than willing to embrace the oppressors and the oppressor to agree in public that the oppressed are in fact human beings.

Today is not just Dr BR Ambedkar's Birth Anniversary.

A Humourless Story When Everything Was F****d Up

It was the middle of May, and Raja was travelling seated besides the engine driver of a goods train. The train was crossing a naxal infested area who were prone to attack goods train. Luckily, that day the mercury was hovering around 48 degrees, and even the naxals choose to stay in the shade. Raja had to still cover 1795 kms, and the entire journey had to be covered only through bus, lorry, goods train, and auto in the ration of 4:3:2:1. The entire journey was 2500 kms. The route had been well defined, and it was an arduous one. After he got down, Raja lost his cool, opened the Whatsapp messenger, and should the worst possible expletives into Kuldeep’s window. He knew it is of no use, because Kuldeep’s sim was not reachable but he had to vent his frustration.

Raman his colleague and best friend was not having it easy either. He had to travel 500 kms on a road roller. To compound his problem, he had to do so by avoiding toll boths except at one place where a river crossed the path. He had another 350 kms to cover and the journey was back breaking. He too dialled Kuldeep’s number, and though he received the pre-recorded message `this number has been switched off’, he abused with the worst possible words.

Pradeep had a shorter journey to cover but nonetheless fraught with dangers. He had to travel 50 kms on his 7 year old son’s bicycle. The path chosen for him had its share of poisonous reptiles, and leeches. He too was abusing Kuldeep.

Their entire progress was being monitored through a camera fitted on their bodies, and a speed cum route tracking device. Any cheating would mean starting the journey from Point Zero. No body dared to cheat. All were angry with Kuldeep. To be fair to Kuldeep, he was not making them do this nor these three guys responsible for what he did. Their boss had subjected them to this tribulation. His brief was simple, complete this task or repay my loans within 15 days or face a criminal case. Each had taken loans running in lakhs, and would never be able to repay the amount in such a short period of time. I am not responsible if you split your hairs when I mention that even their boss did not want to subject them to such a task, though he had a special dislike for Raman.

The boss was also Pinky’s father. He was also the owner of `Goods Safely Transporting Corporation’. There is no need to know his name because it is as immaterial as keeping an ice cream parlour open during lockdown. GST Corporation had its reach throughout the country, and was headquartered in a district of South Karnataka. The question will arise why Pinky’s father, a Punjabi had his company’s headquarters in a district of South Karnatak. The cryptic answer is, he could not do successfully what Kuldeep had done. The next question could be, why a transporter has to be necessarily a Punjabi. The answer is simple, there is something called creative freedom, and using a cliche is the foremost among them for a writer of limited abilities.

The guy who was making the three do these tasks was `The Beneficiary’. Only he could help `Pinky’s Father’ out of the mess that Kuldeep had created. In every office, there is an individual like him. He is most incompetent at most tasks. People who are more skilled stomp him like a doormat. Such individuals usually cling on to their job because they do whatsoever the boss desires. They don’t just bootlick but even shine them.

Offices are not also devoid of Raman’s. The super talented and hard working guy who suddenly falls out of favour with the boss. The boss usually necks him, and Pinky’s father ideas about Raman were no different. However he could not do so because Raman was the GPS, processor, monitor, and even the power connection of GST Corporation.

Raman knew in and out of GST corporation. His exit could not only result in loss of business efficiency but also expose the underbelly of GST Corporation to the authorities. Pinky’s father might have been unaware of the mess that Kuldeep was creating but when it came to business acumen, he was sharper than a knife made of German steel (cliche alert!). A transporter at times has to do a lot of diversions in his career. At times he has to pick consignments from isolated areas of the coastline, and at other times he has to drop consignments and people at the same isolated areas of the coastline, for transportation to greener pastures. Many a times he has to transport precious wood from deep in the forests. One as a transporter cannot avoid fleets of old trucks getting burnt to ashes in fire, and claiming insurance for the same. These are business secrets but the problem is snakes like Raman collect evidence for the same, and also send it to their relatives abroad for safekeeping. In such cases shrewd businessmen like Pinky’s father give a hefty raise to creeps like Raman, and shift them to a different location. He also transferred the technical operations to Bangalore alongwith Raman.

Pinky was brilliant at studies. She outdid her father, and completed matriculation. Everything in this world is relative. Pinky’s grandfather could decide the welfare of any human bone in this particular district of Southern Karnataka, and hence it did not matter that Pinky was at home while someone else was answering her paper. Nobody asked her biometrics, or Aadhar card because the examiners did not want to lose their identity. Subsequently, she started working in GST corporation as the General Manager (Complete Operations).

It is time I blow the lid off what Kuldeep did. Kuldeep came to GST corp to sell a few financial products. He did sell a lot of products but most importantly Pinky sold her heart to this DTH (Dark, Tall, and Handsome) Guy. The closeness of Pinky and Kuldeep was visible to all including her father. However, there was nothing much Pinky’s father could say to Pinky about her dalliances with Kuldeep, because Pinky knew some dirty facts about his relationship with Shaheen who was just two years older than her.

However, Pinky’s father was a canny businessman. He used his contacts and got a better assignment for Kuldeep in Bengaluru. However, there is nothing much that can be done about a video that has gone viral, a loan that has become a NPA, and most importantly a love that has gone beyond PDA. All of a sudden, Pink got interested in doing a course in `Creative Cooking’, and she too left to Bengaluru. Pinky’s father asked his property caretaker Ganesh to keep a watch on Pinky’s movements surreptitiously. Ganesh was a master in such activities but he did not act on Pinky’s father’s instruction, because of what he had done to Ganesh’s sister, and moreover why would he report that his nephew, whom he had set up to trap Pinky, was a shady character. He never reported to Pinky’s father that Pinky was indulging in creative cooing with Kuldeep.

It is difficult for an average story teller to keep the suspense for a long time, hence we try to confuse the reader with irrelevant details. I like, subscribe, and share this idea. Raman was no Ram, he was in reality Kamdev. Only thing good about him was he ensured that his acts ( both nocturnal/diurnal) did not bear any fruits unlike Kuldeep’s. It must be quite clear to the reader that Kuldeep had got Pinky pregnant. If you didn’t get it, please stop reading this story, and go watch POGO channel.

Raja was the offfice administrator. He had good grasp of many languages but poor knowledge of his work. He had the gift of gab, and could breath sarcasm in any language. As he himself claimed, leadership was not about talent but about the ability to graze cattle effectively.

Pradeep was the nicest of the trio. He was the accounts manager. Pinky’s father used to often remark, `Eagle’s eye’ should be replaced with `Pradeep’s eye’. Not a single mistake took place in accounts. He was honest to the core, and to the interest of his owner.

Beneficiary started working in GST corp as an accountant being a commerce graduate. But his contribution in accounts did not add up to much, so he was shifted to the logistics division. He hardly had any logic, and hence that posting too met its end. Finally he was made the PRO, and used to do all wheeling dealing on behalf of Pinky’s father. He had a lot of mediocrity in his dishonesty, and hypocrisy in his earnestness. He was a guy who was often bullied, badgered and ridiculed by the trio of Raman, Raja, and Pradeep. He could not respond because he was as essential in GST Corp, as a sun film is in a Men’s Saloon or a No in Kim Jong’s regime. Nothing much would be missed if either of them are not there. He knew one day his time would come.

That one day came when a badly cheated, fully pregnant Pinky turned up at her father’s house. She had a few months back eloped with Kuldeep taking with her a good cache of cash and jewels. This was after her father had suggested her a MTP. Kuldeep had disappeared with her cash and jewels, she finally reached her native place thanks to her father’s network. Her father still objected to her pregnancy but no longer he could prevent her delivery. It was essential that Pinky’s would-be-child has a surname, and there was not much time to find Kuldeep. Pinky’s father secretly envied Kuldeep because he had done what he could not do to Pinky’s mother, get her pregnant and run away with her valuables.

Much before cleanliness became a national passion, it was our pursuit to find a dustbin to dump all our sins. Finding a Bali ka Bakra was one of the first baby steps taken by our civilisation. Beneficiary was chosen to be Pinky’s husband. He was unmarried, incompetent, and most importantly it was impossible for him to find another job. Thus, an offer was made to him by Pinky’s grandfather to Beneficiary. Beneficiary considered the proposal with the same seriousness an individual considers when he gets a seat in a Metro train during peak hours. A worthless guy like him could inherit Pinky’s net worth, and hence he decided it was worth his effort, and agreed to provide his surname to Pinky’s baby. However, he demanded his pound of flesh, that the three be subject to the torture of reaching office through the most bizarre means. Pinky’s father readily agreed to it, and conveyed it to the trio. Though they resisted in the beginning, they gave in when Pinky’s father demanded that they repay their housing loans and car loans in the next 15 days or face a criminal case.

The task was completed, and beneficiary was feeling on top of the world. He had further plans for the trio, and he conveyed to them that this was merely an appetiser. The three wanted to strangulate him but their financial commitments prevented them from doing so.

The wedding was scheduled on the morning of the next day (as per the wishes and customs of Pinky’s Grand Father). Next day morning Pinky was missing from her bridal chamber. There was hustle and bustle, finally she turned up alongwith Kuldeep as her legally wedded husband. Kuldeep had an attack of morality when he realised that Beneficiary may inherit all the property of Pinky just for providing his surname to her baby. He made up with Pinky, and with the help of Pinky’s mother got married to her on the same day of marriage in a temple.

Beneficiary on seeing the couple prostrated before the trio.

What Is The Name Of The Fourth Son

Someone’s mother has four sons. North, South and East. What is the name of the fourth son. Private message me the name of the fourth son. If you lose, you have to repost.

I lost to............................

If you have not read this riddle at anytime during the Corona Lockdown on your Facebook timeline, it means you are practising social distancing even on social media.

Never before in the history of mankind has a punctuation mark and reading between the lines been so important.

They should ban capital punishment, and instead subject the convicts to such riddles, I will bet you my last Kingfisher share err bottle, the convict himself will plead the Honourable President for capital punishment.

One of these days I want to lose to all those putting this riddle on their status, and tag all of them in a single post so that Facebook ensures that I never gets to see this riddle.

All said and done, it is not extinct, this COVID-19 oops this riddle. Let me come to the point, how are we going to overcome COVID-19, err. How to ensure that this riddle is removed off Facebook. That was a bad joke but not as epic as this riddle.

Have you ever wondered, what if a person is really named `What”. What will be his problems dealing with such a name? But What to do, all that you can think about is to defeat your friends and family by exploiting the clever use of punctuation marks in the sentence `What is the name of the fourth son”.

This, is the story of Someone’s Mother’s Fourth Son, Mr. What. He was aware how much turmoil his name was causing on social media. He often lead an anonymous life to avoid abuses from those who lost the contest trying to guess that What was his name.

Mr. What once went to a city on his business, don’t ask what business. He had his booking in an undisclosed hotel. The name of the hotel was not disclosed at the request of its ex-owners. When he reached the hotel, the name of the hotel shocked him. It was ` Hotel North, South, and East But We Don’t Know What Is The Name Of The Fourth Son?’. Mr. What knew what was the problem, and what were the reasons why the ex-owners had asked that the name of the hotel should not be disclosed to him. By Providence, there was only one `King Suite’ in the hotel, and he had booked it.

He tried to be diplomatic, went inside, and asked the receptionist ` Miss Whatever your name is, What number of King Suites you have in your hotel?’

Receptionist `Of What concern is that to you?”

`What is the harm in telling me’

`One’

`Ok, I have a booking of that for one week’

Receptionist in a vengeful tone `What is your name!’

`What is my name’

`Mr, does COVID -19 affect brains, I am very serious , What is your name?’

`I solemnly affirm that, What is my name’

Receptionist ` Ok, show me your Citizens ID’

Mr.What shows his Citizens ID, and it is clearly written, Name: What, Mother Name: Someone’s Mother.

The receptionist lifts her head, gnashing his teeth like a `B-grade Bollywood Villain of the 70’s and asks `Are you that What!!! I have lost two times because of you to my friends, and from the hotel owner, I have become its receptionist’

`How could you lose twice on the same riddle?’

`It is because of your mistake’

Mr What `What? I cannot believe it. Whatever it is give me the room keys’

`Mr. What, you know what you will not get what you want’

`What do you mean, I have booked it well in advance, and paid for it through Whatsapp’

The receptionist, this time managing the look of Dracula, from Ramsay Brothers movie replied `Sure, you will get what you deserve, Mr What’

`Ok, What is the check out timings?’

`You have already been checked out, and now get out’

Mr What walked out of the hotel, and he could hear the receptionist lamenting `What I was, What have I become just because I could not what was the name of the fourth son’

Mr What went to another hotel, stayed there, and came back to his home town.

What & The Bulb

After many weeks, One day, Mr What went to buy a LED bulb. He went to the shop, and asked the guy at the counter `Give me three LED bulbs for a mid-sized living room’

Guy at the counter `What is the size of the room’

Mr What `Did you use a full stop or a question mark at the end of room?’

The counter guy never knew the importance of punctuation marks, and replied `It was a full stop’

Mr What replied `What is my name, it is not the size of my living room.’

The shopkeeper with raised eyebrows asked `Are you the descendant of Mr. James Watt?’

`No but I am equally famous on the social media because of a riddle in my name’

The face of the guy at the counter turned red, just like the Bollywood Hero of 80’s to whom the name of the killers of his parents have been revealed, and he enquired in a menacing tone `Are you that What?’

`Yee...sss, but what do you know about that What?’

`Not much except that because of that riddle having your name, my sister from a hotel owner became its receptionist’

`What is my fault if she loses two times on the same riddle, that too her property’

`You should have notified that you have changed your changed name back to What’

`But how do you know that I changed my name from What’

`My brother-in-law worked in the Citizens ID Department’

`I did once but the social media would not accept it because they would lose their most favourite riddle to which most of their friends lost. They made a public petition online, and compelled me to change my name back to Mr What. Tell me, What prevented your brother-in-law from informing you that I have changed my name back to What’

`What to say, he had divorced my sister by then agitated at her lack of intelligence’

`and because My Sister didn’t know this, she again gave the wrong answer, lost her hotel and became its receptionist’

`Can I have the bulbs?’

`I can give you but on your head, get lost’

Mr. What finally bought it online.

Mr What has requested Netizens through me to have some sympathy on him, and stop this riddle online or else he will authorise me to post more of his What Adventures. The choice is yours, What is your choice ? Or ! Or .