A Page in History

Spring-cleaning takes time; and we needn’t necessarily wait for spring to start cleaning! I “indulge” in the exercise as and when I feel like it. I say indulge because the endeavour can be an extremely therapeutic one. The longer the interval between clean-ups, the more therapeutic it is. Throwing away stuff that hasn’t been used in years, or discarding stuff that was retained during the previous cleaning, and doing away with all the clutter can actually make one feel de-burdened and free. It is, perhaps, all in the mind, but I enjoy it nonetheless. I like it more so because I often end up discovering things—things I lost ages ago, things I kept so safe that I was unable to find them when I needed them most, or things I had completely forgotten about, but those that had a whole lot of memories attached.

It was during one such cleaning-spree that I found an old pager. Yes, a pager. It is perhaps one of those few tech things that wasn't used much in our country. It came, but didn’t quite get the time to conquer. Before long, we were flooded with mobile phones, and the little old pager became an obsolete piece of junk. I can still take an old radio and tune in to old songs, still listen to the gramaphone, still walk around with a Walkman despite ipods, or still watch movies on a black-and-white TV, maybe not as many channels. But what does one do with a pager?

My son is almost eight, and when he saw the pager, he just couldn’t imagine it as a means of communication. I had to explain that using it was similar to receiving an SMS—you could receive it, but not reply, at least not through a pager. 'Why page when you can phone?' I had to tell him that this was from the time when phones were only static, never mobile. I tried telling him that it was a bridge the world took to go from landlines to mobiles. I am sure the idea has just passed him by, just as the pagers have.

Pagers aren’t exactly obsolete everywhere. They are still in use in Europe and USA in places where cellular coverage is weak or absent, or where such signals can damage equipment and, often, in hospitals where it is difficult to use mobile phones. There have been new developments in the paging industry and might see a resurgence, but not so in our country. The pager is as good as extinct here, and, for all purposes, has beeped its way out.

Bowlout Bazooka: India Scores Wickets

India beats Pakistan 3-0.

We know this isn’t the score line of any goal-scoring game the two countries played. It is the “score” of the Twenty20 cricket match played between India and Pakistan, just yesterday.

Bowl Out—Twenty20 parlance for the penalty-like decision-maker in the event of a tie.

Empty stumps stare at the bowlers to strike out—not a soul between the wickets and the bowler. Five bowlers each; five chances to “score” a wicket.

And I thought cricket was about runs, wickets, catches and run-outs. “Score” a wicket? Now that’s a first, isn’t it? The awestruck Indian captain, MS Dhoni, had this to say at the post-match press conference: “I can go and tell my friends, when I was skipper we won a match 3-0.”

This quirky entry into game gave India victory in match that went the whole curve really. For India the match was as good as lost. Losers’ heads hanging in dejection…UNTIL… 1 run 1 ball…a runout… and then, the tiebreaker—India bowls out Pakistan!

The game sure has changed since I first began watching two decades ago. Transfixed, hours before the TV. The game has become shorter, introduced to us power plays, Duckworth-Lewis, crazy fans, wealth players, and now bowl outs. And, on the not-so-happy side, match fixing and murder(s) (if you count the Cronje crash).

More surprises in store? If the game doesn’t cease to surprise, why should the players be left behind? What say, Mr Stepdown Surprise Rahul?

A Road Towards Me

When I left my newspaper job to take care of my son, it felt as if I had wanted nothing more than to stay at home and watch my kid grow. A husband who travels through the week and no help at hand. Staying home seemed like the right thing to do back then. It was great too for the first few years. The first smile, the first step, the first dash, the first fall, the first injury. I was there to see 'em all. And then came my son’s first day at school.

My son would be gone for a few hours each day, leaving me with nothing specific to do. I caught up on the reading I had so gladly abandoned. I took time out for that haircut I had long wanted. I lazed around, watched TV, and sometimes I just slept to make up for all those years of sleepless nights! And soon, I was upto my neck doing nothing. Before I realized, I began feeling wasted. It didn’t help that all that I had written down during my “nothing” phase crashed along with my PC.

It was around then that I began missing my job, my colleagues, my workplace, and the stepping outdoors for purely selfish reasons. I looked around and even took up a job. But then, it wasn’t easy leaving the kid home at the mercy of someone else. I dragged along for a month and quit. I was just the time start all over again. Only this time it wasn’t a job; it was another kid. I found myself running after a pair of tiny feet all over again.

I was back where I started—those no-time-to-breath days and can’t-get-enough-sleep nights. I was there for everything—the firsts. Again. And then, came the first day at school, again.

Both my kids are away for a few hours everyday, and I have finally found myself something paying that I can do from home. It has its perils (about which some other time), but I still get to be around to watch many more firsts—the advanced kind. Not just that, I also get to do something a little more selfish, but worthwhile—rediscover myself.

Now Showing: Daddy Green Bomb

Ever heard something like this before? An eco-friendly bomb. How eco-friendly can a bomb that can evaporate all things alive be?

The Russians must be applauded and even awarded for this fantastic powerful nanotechnology-driven mass-destructive innovation. They have created this VACUUM BOMB, which, despite being the most powerful bomb on the face of the earth, does NOT harm the environment one bit! They will be awarded the Green Nobel or Green Whatever for this “Dad of all Bombs,” even as I wonder how could this possibly be? How can whatever kills ever be friendly, eco or not? Does its being non-nuclear make it eco-friendly?

To me this seems like the birth (rebirth?) of another long Cold War. Or did the Cold War never really die? Was it on a summer break to be back with a BANG? Oh what a bang this was. Photographs seem like scenes from some sci-fi film shot on barren land.

If the Americans could make the massive ordnance air blast bomb (MOAB) and call it Mother of All Bombs, why should the Russians not make the FOAB or DOAB? (the jury is out on what to call it—Dad or Father). Some things NEVER change. They are never meant to.

While the warring world makes its Mommy-Daddy bombs, the rest of us can just wait till life goes up in smoke.

Mushed up Democrazy

Dreams of a hero’s welcome after seven years in exile couldn’t have been more distant for the ousted Pakistan prime minister. Nawaz Sharif was, perhaps, so lost in his world of imaginary cheers that the stony silence that greeted him at the Islamabad airport must have been deafening.
Not for once would he have imagined that he wasn’t flying to freedom, but a well-laid out trap, all over again. This time too, there was a coup—not the military kind, the emotional kind. Pervez Musharraf managed to shatter Sharif’s dreams for at least a few more years. The photograph, from a Pakistani daily, of Sharif wiping his tears at the airport said it all.
So, what was it that happened? All of us know about how Sharif was so upbeat about his trip back home, and how he thought he could help restore democracy in a country that has seen more coups than elections. We also know now the details of the arrest, the new charges of corruption and money laundering and, finally, the deportation to Jeddah. Some of us who read the news a little more intently also know how some Saudi officials (yes, Saudi officials) cajoled Sharif to drop his protest, and quietly return to Jeddah.
Every time the Pakistani general announces elections, I know it is hogwash. This time, it is no different. The general, however, has found a novel way of silencing his critics—all those who have made a hue and cry over the absence of an Opposition.
What has the brilliant general done to appease the Americans and deride the critics? He has gone ahead a brokered a deal in the USA with none other than Benazir Bhutto. Corruption charges around Bhutto and her now-infamous husband are legendary. Politics truly does make strange bedfellows. Why stick to one corrupt ex-PM, and send off another?
Each of these players, including the USA, stands to gain from this deal. Musharraf gets to keep his head from rolling, Bhutto gets to wear the crown (it doesn’t really matter even if it is made of thorns; at least her charges will be written off), and the USA gets to shout out to the world that it has restored democracy in another turmoiled Muslim nation! All egos inflated.
Had Sharif been allowed to stay back in Pakistan, it would have meant trouble to each of these partners. Musharraf is no stranger to Sharif’s support base. Bhutto knows it would be a tougher fight to the throne. Why not keep what you get in a platter for free? The Americans know controlling a Pakistan with a PM who has considerable Indian support (even if it is closet support, it is more than Musharraf and Bhutto will ever get). Peace between the neighbours was closest when Sharif was around. We know that Kargil wasn’t exactly his doing. The Kargil man is there at the helm now.
Sharif must have figured out that his was a lost cause, the moment he landed at the airport. How could he break through the Triumvirate? The Americans, the General and the Adversary. The Saudis are present too, subtly but surely. They had hosted him for all these years. Could he risk losing his second home now that he was unwelcome in his own land? He knew had to give in; at least for now. Will he be back for his people? Only time will tell.
Nobody loses from this bargain but the Pakistani people, who are so used to waking up to unrest. Political stability is an illusion they know will and can never last. Will the waiting-in-the-wings fundamentalists finally snatch it all?

Being a parent

Being a parent
The pressures of being a parent are equal to any pressure on earth. To be a conscious parent, and really look to that little being's mental and physical health, is a responsibility which most of us, including me, avoid most of the time because it's too hard. —John Lennon
That was John Lennon. That is me, too.
I can’t even begin to count the number of times I have found being a parent a responsibility too big for my boots. I chose to be a parent, but I did not choose whatever came along with being one.
Being a parent is a serious job, and being a conscious one can only make things tougher. What is the right way to raise a child? Do we discover as we move along, or do we discover after we have made our mistakes? Does one clueless mistake make for horribly turned-out children or is it many mistakes put together? Will the one something that I say and do now have an impact on my child’s entire future? Can I undo what I have done once I have understood what was wrong? These are questions that can plague a conscious parent.
What seems acceptable behaviour to you may seem like misbehaviour to your friend. How much freedom is too much freedom? How much constraint is too much constraint? Some us try so hard to make sure that the children have more freedom than we did, or more restrictions than we did, that we end being like our own parents. Does that mean we are the kind of parents our parents were, consciously or unconsciously? Is that why our children are a reflection of who we are? Do we dislike in them what we dislike in ourselves? Are we worried they might end up with the flaws we so hate in ourselves?
It’s been almost nine years of parenting, and I still haven’t got it right. Every single day is a challenge, with each moment throwing up some parenting puzzle I struggle to solve, and by the time I am done, I am facing a new one. It doesn’t get any easier with horror tales of children being kidnapped, molested, put up on porn sites, stalked through e-mail, and finding out one fine day that the “nice uncle” down the street was an organ trader! It gets tougher as they go from toddlers to tweens to teens.

Abuse is a common word, a nightmare, and a disaster of a parenting hurdle. Drugs, sex, child, verbal, physical, mental—abuse is all around us. As parents, we always wonder if we can keep our children safe in world that is far from safe. How good a parent does one have to be to make a child grow into a responsible, mentally and physically healthy adult? It is a responsibility that parents choose to take and yet find no perfect way of going about it.
Is there any such thing as a perfect parent or a perfect child? The child wants a perfect parent, and the parents want a perfect child. That is the way it has always been and always will be. Some things we do, or do not do for our children will always be held against us. It is very long learning curve. We keep learning to be the right kind of parents until we breathe our last and yet might end up feeling some things could have been done differently.