Imagining India - Reflections on Republic Day

Before the 'Obamania' falls out of fashion I'd like to share something. The day after the new President of the United States was sworn in, a teacher of mine said, during class, that the reason Barrack Obama won the presidential elections is his exceptional oratory skills and moving rhetoric. I don't completely agree to that. The Obama Effect is an example or sign of 'The Old Order Changeth' - of the old giving way to the new. A single word echoed through a continent for several months. That word was "Change".

Across the globe someone else held up a cup of tea and said "Jaagore". And haven't we all felt the power of it ! So in a country with over 60% of it's population under the age of 25, we could correctly imagine the magnitude of the difference that a change in power could create.

Imagine a population that is not only educated but can also educate. Imagine a population that rises above regional & religious differences. Imagine a population that is expressive. Imagine a population that truly values intellect & is performance oriented. Imagine a population that is individually accountable and responsive. Imagine a population that is void of prejudices. Imagine a population that is alert & invoved. Imagine a population that is globalized, online and connected. Imagine a population that can make the right choices. Imagine a population that is correctly aware: from ecology to AIDS. Imagine an India with its young empowered.

There are two 'official' days for nationalism in our country. And for about 60 years we have diligently spent them acknowledging and celebrating the heroes of yesterday.

Now those revered heroes were not sent by divine intervention during the first half of the last century to free India from its cliched shackles. They were amongst us all the while and just needed an appropriate opportunity to be moulded into the form that we remember them for.

Similarly, I may not know what's wrong with the economy today and how to fix it, but somebody else does. I may not have the talent to shine at the Olympics but somebody else has. But I do have an idea about the effect of a transition, about the potential of the youth and I have shared it with you. And even though it doesn't make me a hero, it makes me matter, atleast for today.

Likewise, let us all see the 'appropriate opportunity' around us. And rise to it too.

We all may not have the big solutions in mind. But if we individually, responsibly, consciously and as a part of a larger whole make the right choices about all that involves us, very soon we'd feel a change: A difference that WE would have made.

The age of 60 is a time for introspection. One can well imagine a retiring individual looking back into his youth, to judge the course of his life and derive a personal verdict. He asks himself whether he has mattered. And in time We, as citizens of the Future India, should be able to answer that question positively.

Into that heaven of opportunity my Father, let my country awake.

Here's wishing you a thought provoking Republic Day.

Thank You & Jai Hind.

- Abhinav Nayar

26.1.09

News Breaking

India’s most popular domestic help, goes by the name Hemraj and after the past couple of months, prospective parents may think twice before naming their daughter Arushi. Why is this isolated incident so irrationally popular? Why do most Indians know more of the crores in the Parliament than the Nuclear Deal itself?

The media thrives on sensationalism! So what? As kids we hold the idealistic opinion that the media is a responsible, morally dedicated, justice pursuing and delivering, timeless being. Then, we grow up. And as we taste the sweet joys of demanding democracy, we realize that like everything else in this country, the honourable media too, is governed by the same laws of democracy. And once we make that realization, democracy doesn’t seem so sweet.

If every television channel at 2 pm showcases hilariously evil plotting between daughters and mother in-laws, it is only because, at 2pm, daughters in Indian homes wish to see scheming against their in-laws. If homicide in Noida gets more airtime than the Jaipur blasts, it is because you and I want it to.

The media is responsible. It doesn’t engage in yellow journalism. The media is dedicated. It ticks 24*7. The media pursues justice. Think Jessica Lal. And the media thrives on sensationalism because it is a spokesperson ‘of the people’ and ‘for the people’. So, technically, it commits no vice in presenting the news or ethically dubious entertainment.

A popular track of a Hindi song, ‘hum tum ek kamrey me bandh ho aur chabi kho jai,’ from the blockbuster, Bobby plays as you see a huge lion, amble lazily into a room and sit beside Dear Lioness on a sofa. A loud voice-over goads the lion to pay more attention to his beloved (think lioness). Well, I am watching Aaj Tak, one of the many 24-hour news channels. “Wait! don’t go anywhere”, announces the presenter with all seriousness, “there’s more...you would be amazed”, she assures. If one is amused, it’s because of the crassness and unimaginative presentation of a could be interesting animal clip. I spoke of Aaj Tak. I needn’t speak of India TV or IBN-7 among others. As students of commerce you might say that a rat-race for TRP’s is only realistic and necessary. All I can say to that, is that the sad thing about rat races is that, even if you win, you’re still a rat.

- Abhinav Nayar

Debating The Mall

The following article was my stand for an environmentally conscious debate on "The Mall Culture in India".

The Mall Culture: A Boon

The Wall Street Journal recently headlined India with the caption, “Ready, Set, Go!” That sentiment has been around for quite some time now. ‘India Rising’ is more than a term; it’s a feeling, a vibe and now visible action that we’re quickly getting familiar with.

Things are finally happening. We’re buying vegetables from air-conditioned glass shelves, simultaneously choosing between brands from different continents and will soon have nuclear power. In this drive to development, things go from awe, to attraction, to habit. And the mall culture in India is one of those things that are habits in the metropolitans while still rouse awe in smaller cities.

Now, the mall culture is symbolic of something very significant – a change that could take the world by storm. India had always been a bearish workforce. But the retail boom in the country proves a change in trends. We are doing exactly what America did. We are changing lanes into becoming capitalists – a bullish economy. And emergence of the mall culture facilitates the realization of our greatest strength – our sheer numbers. The spread of the retails boom and mall through out the country, even in Tier 2 and 3 cities supports the idea of India becoming one of the largest markets of consumption. So people we were working for are now taking notice and working for us. Hence there is more investment from abroad and the subsequent growth.

That was pure global economics. Let’s zoom in a little more. Reliance Fresh was almost inaugurated by stones pelted by the hands of the small-scale grocers it had replaced. Similarly multi-storied malls attract the business away from small-scale retailers. So what? It’s better to adapt to change than to be overcome by it. The sector whose business suffered was that which had refused to change. By opposing malls and large-scale operation we are opposing growth and betterment. The provision of more comfort, utility and a pleasant environment for recreation while still winning on prices is the mall culture’s USP.

What would have made an entire market, haphazard in nature and covering kilometers is condensed well into the attractive 20,000 sq. feet of a mall. It supports systematic development, saving of space and land, provides a better atmosphere, lower prices and an outlook of change which wins consumer satisfaction and so every one is happy.

To say that the mall culture is against the environment would be a farce. Malls are usually located in city outskirts, thereby diffusing the load inside the city in terms of traffic, noise, commotion and pandemonium. It converts that atmosphere into one with soothing instrumental music and underground parking. Gurgaon is a perfect example of what the mall culture is capable of. What earlier comprised barren land and a few factories, today is one of the most systematically developed and rich cities in India, thriving on its malls and subsequent land rate.

The mall culture is a boon. I could almost call it economic charity. It is an industry that brings order into cities, dramatically improves the market environment for both buyers and sellers, is one of the best things that happened to India and the common Indian and yet makes money out of it. To term such a phenomenon as a bane on miniscule grounds would be to obstruct natural growth and progress. The mall culture represents a change – and well, change isn’t necessary, but then neither is survival.

An Identity of Espionage : Movie Review

He was the perfect weapon until he became the target. He’s Jason Bourne (Matt Damon), of "The Bourne Identity" - a cracking espionage thriller, devised by the genius of director Doug Liman and producer Pat Crowley, with a surprising choice of lead actors (Matt Damon, Franka Potente) - a gamble that pays off in spades.

On a stormy night, an amnesiac is rescued at sea by the crew of an Italian fishing boat. Nearly dead, carrying nothing but the bullets in his back, a bank account number embedded in his hip and completely without identity or background, he possesses an array of extraordinary talents in fighting, linguistics and self-defense that speaks of a dangerous past. A bank locker in Zurich, biometrically his, reveals a gun, several valid passports, thousands of dollars worth currency and most importantly a name: Jason Bourne, which he adopts in an urgent search to discover who he is and why his life has been given a perilous turn by those he doesn’t recognize.

The film contains pulse pounding action sequences set in extravagant locations in Europe, cutting edge cinematography and acting that blends realism with an explosion-a-minute plot.

Watch Matt Damon show the true meaning of paranoia as he portrays a man who learns that some things may be best forgotten.

How can the Indian System of Education Be Changed For a Better Tomorrow?

The following essay was my entry for an essay contest organized by the Tatas: How can the Indian System of Education be changed for a brighter tomorrow?

To Sir, With Love?

Am I a Bramhachari, seated in my Gurukul? Marcus Brutus, in the text before me, fervently begs to differ. Doesn’t the fact that our syllabus includes ‘Julius Caesar’ and not ‘The Mahabharata’ amply justify the notion that our Indian System of Education, ironically, doesn’t seem to be very Indian and certainly quite unlike the ancient Sacred Syllabus? Another conspicuous difference between our ancestral ‘pure-blooded prodigies’ and us is that, though we too are born with ‘The Right to Education’, we need not prove it by means of an exceptional lineage. Education today is for all. Therefore just as India, and the meaning of ‘Being Indian’ have changed, so has Indian Education aptly metamorphosed out of ever-altering necessities. Hence, Brutus, ignorantly, makes a fourth error of judgment.

Evolution, they say, is a constantly accidental process. Therefore, one cannot fairly expect perfection from such accidents. Similarly, education, too cannot be just a carry over of its form in the past. Nothing in the education system today is as astonishing as the amount of ignorance it accumulates in the form of inert facts which demand to be ‘known’ for the sole purpose of ‘making the grade’. And that translates exponentially into the number of ‘dropouts’. The applicability of today’s education stands doubted.

Learning – and not wisdom - today is a requisite for survival, which brings us to the question: What is, after all, a brighter tomorrow? It cannot be a mere projection, or an increment in the definition of ‘success’. A brighter tomorrow demands better ‘humanitarians’, eco-friendly citizens, original leaders, and a more congenial society; and education is the fulcrum of it all.

“Man's mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions.” And that should be the impetus an education provides. It shouldn’t be the answer that enlightens, but the question. The system needs to be re-modeled into one that entices to think and reason instead of merely remember. The foresighted educationist must remember that spoon feeding inert facts in the long run teaches students nothing but the shape of the spoon. Syllabuses should be interwoven with applicability and practical projects. The goal apart from knowledge alone should achieve skills of leadership, self-reflection, values and etiquette, nuances of team work, people skills, personality development, strategy and perseverance modeled into simple, interesting and palatable projects and practicals; exercises enhancing conceptualization, creativity and originality should be carefully formulated and implemented.

A poor surgeon hurts one person at a time. A poor teacher hurts 100. Education is one of the most responsible careers and deserves incentives to make it worthwhile for skillful professionals to thrive in this field and in turn multiply their skill by reflecting it to the multitude of untempered metal. And if that makes you think education is expensive, try ignorance.

A good school should be like a good restaurant. You need nutritious, palatable food cooked by a recognized and remunerated chef, served aesthetically & in good ambience. And as far as caliber is concerned, we Indian students sure have the appetite and more.

Halo'ed Be Thy Name

Halo'ed Be Thy Name

The History for Dummies almanac had been on page 2 for about fifty two minutes. I mercilessly sat over it, strangulating the now disfigured rear cover each time my 'aspiring to be long' hair canopied the even more disfigured six string which lay teased on my lap. Strains of Nirvana reverberated in my bedroom and this redundant vista continued, only occasionally interjected with the wiping of my nose. I being all of Sixteen had to do what ‘sixteen year olds’ do – I planned an ‘all night rock pandemonium session’ (enthusiastically referring to the thesaurus to christen it). After an hour, however, the music gradually seemed to fade out.

The centre of my window seemed bright. Now high on Cobain (or feebly attempting to) I drowsily wondered if that was a compliment to my shiny teeth. The spot grew to the size of a fist. Maybe it was my sparkling eyes then. It radiated further – now vivid, I got livid. It lured me, even with a essence of purpose. My senses fashioned feelings which made me believe that I had been made to see this light – feel this light – and eventually be the light. My chewed nails set off towards it. I exited into the balcony. My eyes remained fixed on the glow. It seemed to sense my ponderings and called out to me by a twinge in my nerves. It was soft and warm but not an ally of the eyes. It moved – slow; fast! It reminded me of the celebrated spotlight around Mr. Bond and I was obliged to ‘die another day’. My vision was compelled to give in as the aura encircled me.

Then the silence died. Loud roars, cheers raced in. The light, now huge and all around me grew brighter and flickered in different shades constantly. Ten million brown and black dots were ahead. Their round white sockets pierced seared through me like the million pixels of album art of a classic album. I made a swift move. They roared at the distorted and overdriven noise. Adrenalin surged through me. I was ecstatic. I took off the guitar around my neck, threw it up in air and stage dived into the ecstasy – the energy.

The fall awoke me and I lay on the floor at the foot of the bed for a few moments waiting for the adrenalin to die out and an essence of grief to settle in. I compared the reflection of my dreamy face with the star studded one I had just seen; and lugged myself into the balcony. It was dark – just dark. I faked a countenance of maturity and smiled at the nostalgia. Over-riding it a bit, I picked up a rock and threw it up at the stars – it came down faster than I thought and knocked me out cold. The light returned…

Pre-boards coming!!

Namaste. That's about all your going to see for a while. I've got my Pre's threatening the time i spend on this laptop. So there won't be anymore posts till they get over. See you then. (btw now that this message is over I'm wondering why I'm even writing this which anyway is probably for my eyes only, well see it as talking to myself, again!) I'd like it if you guys (read: Shobhna), as a comment, write in what you'd want to see in the next post. Think of it as topic suggestion. I'm trying hard not to let 'Scrapscape' die because of no 'pieces' left 'on my mind'. Btw while (if) your at it, please allow me to steal some well-thought of names for this blog. Happy Holidays, Abhinav ps. - my mail: abhinavnayar_jsr@yahoo.com pps- I'm being very very very optimistic, I know.

F.A.M.I.L.Y.

Why do we merely inherit identity? Why are the lot of us born under someone else's authority considered rather lucky? A lot more questions answered:

F.A.M.I.L.Y: Why Do You Do What You Do?

Genesis – often to two unsuspecting individuals. Survival – rare fortune extended by those two individuals.

Somehow the needs of a species at large is communicated and made to deceive the likes of individual subjects probably by means of a strange meddling in the 0’s and 1’s of its double helixes to create the Robin Hood of the mammalian genome – a masochistic brew – called love. Each of us is born against the logic of individual instinct. We are born of a person who chokes to let us breathe. Why do such sacrifices not go against the universal ‘Natural Selection’ process of the parent? Is it about the Greater Good?

We grow in a unit of community called ‘Family’. Where we have ‘Relatives’ – we did not pick – often people with dissimilar interests, aspirations, expectations and each with their own set of rights. Rights over us. Responsibilities and duties, to carry on the ‘Family Tradition’. What are these traditions? Why are they made to seem so important? Why are we made to play in a team? But more importantly why are my ‘team-members’ so biased in my favor? Why do they care about the choices I make? Is it biologically etched on to them? And why does my old-man have an influencing (often commanding) say in my life?

These aren’t teenaged retorts thrown ‘in your face’ with a ‘Why’ to begin with, a ‘?’ at the hind and gibberish in between. These questions pick at one of the most incomprehensible connections – those of feelings, fatherhood and family. Those which make us seem ‘human’ in sociological sense. I could forever ask and wonder what difference it makes to ‘them’ whether I wear a black ‘Slayer’ tee to an indifferent social gathering and not grim formals, or why they hopefully make an effort get rid of overgrown hair on somebody else’s (mine) head and face.

The bitch mother of a new litter is notorious for betraying her ‘ladylike feminism’ and going tooth and nail at the unfortunately close passer-by – straying close to her pups, that is. What is so superlatively desirable about those shaggy pups that have already caused pain and displeasure to her? Why the possessiveness? Who or what instills this element of protective parenthood to the extent that a docile creature suddenly turns vicious, and why? Do we the children earn our appeal by the trouble we cause to merely create and ‘own’? And is that earned worth enough to last us a lifetime of care and concern?

They say that ‘by the time a son begins to understand his father, he has a son who doesn’t quite understand him’. Well, in a larger sense, aren’t we all sons who don’t seem to understand our Father?

~ Abhinav Nayar

The Hard Way

Hi, this is a pretty laid back, casual little story about the plain and simple 'hard way'. Hope you like it:

The Hard Way

Spring was just over; the birds and the bees were nestling back into their cozy villas, as he tripped face-first into a not-quite-as cozy slush of mud – the culprit being an idle but misplaced pebble. The stains, a bruise and a soiled ego however weren’t enough to permit his face to contour a frown: he was on cloud nineteen. The humble spirit was skipping his way to school, returning victorious. His report card, the cause of his untamable mood, the envy of a few in his class and excuse for classroom mockery for the rest, lay laminated safely in his pocket.

The boy somewhat enjoyed the attention endowed on him as his peers unanimously clamored for him to take centre stage between social circles at school owing to his thick round glasses, well oiled (scented even) neatly cropped and parted hair, and his enchanted but flimsy black stringed locket which spoke volumes of his devotion to Learning and its Goddess. “The Geeky Nerd: who never caught a bird” was determined not to let this fan following make him falter in continuing to be placed first academically – well just academically.

He found the atmosphere to be just as it was: before the holidays or even a decade – the class jeered, I mean cheered as he slouched in and began his routine of dusting the floor neatly before placing his bag on it. He happened to notice some new faces. Classes began; all was well. Then something happened.

The recess was on. Lunchbox in hand, he braved through a current of ‘non-boys’ who giggled (in awe he believed). His eyes perceived a new face. Hers did too. The ‘non-boy’ left her squad. He didn’t blink. She took strides towards him. He gulped. She waved politely. He ran away. The later events of the day, however were less traumatic. The lady approached him again. She didn’t wave but smiled instead. The boy died but ended up accepting her proposal of friendship.

For the first time he felt ‘cool’ and ‘one of them’. Easy company, easy grades, and an easy life: the boy felt he had it all. The non-boy lent him a new phenomenon called movies, thick almost alien novels, and conversation that would last hours – all without him asking for it. He stopped oiling his hair (but kept the scent), skipped a few haircuts, ‘accidentally’ broke his glasses, occasionally hid away his prized locket into his shirt and often took second glances in the mirror. The exams came and went and he didn’t let that “contour a frown” either.

Then one day it happened so. He was at home, one restless weekend, when the non-boy didn’t call. Sunday passed slowly – he worried whether something had happened. Monday came a tad late. He kicked the stray pebble aside, stormed into class, dumped his bag – and was not jeered at!

The silence was unbearably loud. He realized that the only one not looking at him was the non-boy. He stared as a gesture. She looked away failing to hide an intentional smirk. He was uncomfortable. Known yet more or less unknown faces pierced through him as if the sky was about to tip over: and it did. Classes started. Even the teachers eyed him in dismay. He hid his face away into his books (only an occasional incident now). All was not well. Then one brave pupil broke the ice. He died.

It had happened this way: The exam results had been declared over the weekend and somehow the non-boy topped. He strayed a smile, but then it dawned on him. He figured nowhere in the merit list. He cried; while the young lady pocketed their wager’s promised spoils from her companions. The devastated boy felt exploited: attracted, distracted and duped.

But just as about every story comes full circle, his did too. He revived the ceremony of oiling his hair but ignored the scent. He realized that he could see all too clearly: even without his thick rimmed glasses. The boy had grown up to the conditioning. The exams came once more. This time he survived.

Then one rainy Monday, he drizzled into class. He was jeered at but enjoyed the familiarity. The merit list was up. He smiled no end. He had redeemed himself. Classes started; all was well. He caught the non-boy’s eye, and barely hid a smirk himself, when a tear rolled down from it (which she hurriedly hid). He had finally gotten his revenge, yet somewhere deep inside, he wished certain things done – undone.

Hello World!

Yes it has happened! I, Abhinav Nayar, aged 16 with black hair and pupils, have a BLOG - a space to 'help the juices flow' apart from detaining a sordid account of my philanthropic life. Well maybe you caught me using big words at the wrong places but well I'll make sure this goes deep down into the archive with better and regular posts. As for now I'll post some stuff I penned down recently. Over and Out.