December 31, 2009 Pune, India - As the last rays of today's sun will cease the trailing events of this year, leaving behind a log of memories - bitter and sweet, here I take some time out to recollect them. To say tomorrow would be just as every other day but for many of us the closing moments of today's dusk will imply a completion of a milestone. I understand that this was not a very good year for most of us. Certainly, a year that started with a doom that resulted into job losses, pay cuts, pandemic crisis, terrorism, for many was not a pleasant experience. For the ones who were rather more fortunate to have their jobs retained ran into a great deal of mental stress right since the onset of this year. Recession has hit us all in one way or the other.

It's a beautiful Thursday afternoon here in Pune and I have just finished scrolling through all the pages of the newspaper. It seemed more colorful than yesterday. The dazzling fonts used in the names of the funky Disco Jockeys is tempting me to attend one of the numerous events organized in the city. I reckon, most of the people have already finished planning their schedules. The city cops are on an alert and have been patrolling for security measures. The city spirit is as high as ever - I remember its level during the 31st of the last year. No matter how hard our past was, we are much enthusiastic to open the black boxes of the forthcoming moments. A hope drives us all - a hope for a better tomorrow.

Have a Great Year Ahead!

December 22, 2009 Pune, India - Childhood days are the best days of one's lifetime and recollecting them will only make you feel more and more nostalgic. As a child I had a huge troop of friends whom I used to play with. They were my partners in crime - almost in all the little mischief I used to do - chasing the butterflies, scaring the little sparrows, collecting the dragonflies and honey-bees in a glass jar and then watching them fight, spotting and killing the lizards on the trees, building castles of mud and zillions of such activities. We have played numerous games, most of which do not have even names to be referred to. This post is an attempt to relive and recollect some of the most remarkable games that I have played in my teen years.

Bhavra - The classic 'Top' remains one among my all time favorites. I have nearly a zillion memories associated with this little hard toy. There were times when I used to reckon that I could conquer almost anyone in the world by means of a rope and my Bhavra (top). Here goes the game. You need a Bhavra and a rope. Last but not the least; you need at least one partner to play with. The game starts with drawing a small circle on the ground, preferably with a chalk. A stick is placed inside the circle. Each player attempts to bring the stick out of the circle - the fastest one to wind the rope to his Top wins the first chance to do so. The successful player remains out compelling other players to place their Tops inside the circle. Now it is the successful players wish to get the Tops of his wish out from the circle. One collision and here they come out. In this attempt, if any of the Top lies partially out of the circle, the Top owner can try his luck to catch his Top by pulling it up by means of his rope. The last one remaining in the circle has to bear the painful blows of other Tops. The remaining Tops keep on pushing it to a predefined limit marked by a chalk. In this course, if any of the other Tops fail to push the Top on the ground, the positions are replaced; thereby the Top on the ground gets rid of the pain. The ultimate aim is to get one of the Tops outside the marked limit. Just before the Top on the ground is pushed outside the limit by means of a last push, each player must have their ropes worn on their ears. Failing to do so, the player who’s Top is on the ground can touch any of the failing player and can ask him to place his Top in the circle for the next game. If none of the players fails, the same player's Top is placed in the circle or the next game. Once, the Top on the ground is out of the limit, the remaining players shout in chorus 'Kaan Ki Jaali Chuti'. That is fun, believe me. At the end of the day, some time is spent on counting the individual pores being made of each Top. A pore or a hole on your Top is not an accolade - the lesser the better.

Lagori - This game was the most popular games during my pre-teen days. I have seen some kids playing this game in my locality as lately as yesterday. It is one of the most exciting games esp. if you are outdoor game freak. In order to play this game, you need two teams, a minimum of seven on either side. You would further need a small rubber ball, strong but soft - softer the better, you would realize the need for the ball to be soft once you receive your first hit on your bumps. Lastly, you will need around seven stones shaped in the form of chips of different sizes. The broadest one goes at the bottom and the smallest one at the top. Each team stands equidistant from the heap of the stone-chips and aims at it with an attempt to disintegrate the neatly arranged heap of stone-chips. The team at the receiving end catches the ball. Each member of the respective team attempts his/her turn to break the heap open. The teams keep on trying this turn by turn, each time with a new team member. The team that is successful in breaking the heap should now arrange the heap back to its original position. But wait, this ain't that simple. The team at the receiving end tries its best to hit the ball to a member of the opposite team while they try to avoid the blow on their bodies. The breaking team members gain a point if they successfully re-arrange the heap and shout 'Lagorcha' implying that they are done with the rearrangement. On the other hand, if the receiving team is successful in hitting a member from their opponent team, they gain one. The game thus continues and the fun never ceases.

Gotya - A Desi or Marathi name for the age old marble game. Marbles have always fascinated me. And I hardly could remember all the marble games that we used to play when in school. Unfortunately, Gotya or marbles is now being regarded as a game of poor kids. In India these days, this game is well known mostly among the slums. I remember a couple of Goti costing around 5 paisa (a 0.05th part of a Rupee) but, as time passed by the cost has been increased steeply. Nevertheless, the precession loving kids have always been great fans of marbles. I used to have a huge collection of marbles at my home which I remember was donated to smaller kids once I reached standard ten. Being a grown up kid, I now wish to refrain young kids from playing marble games given that it nurtures gambling.

Vitti Dandu - The more well known name in Hindi is 'Gilli Danda' which is a game placed using two pieces of dried wooden sticks - one small (Vitti or Gilli) and the larger stick (Dandu or Danda) nearly three times the smaller stick. The smaller stick is bluntly sharpened at both the ends, almost resembling a pencil pointed at both the ends. The Dandu is sharpened at one end which is used to hit the smaller one at its edge such that, the smaller stick or Vitti flips above the ground giving room for the larger stick to place a strong blow at it. The game is usually played using two players but not restricted to it since multiple players would definitely add to the fun. That's all about the technicalities. Here goes the game - A small pit is dug in the ground at the periphery of which the Vitti is horizontally placed. A first player holds the edge of the Dandu perpendicular to the horizontally placed Vitti, ideally at its center so that when pushed, it is thrown at the farthest possible distance. The Dandu is now placed on the pit and the first player waits for the second player to aim the Vitti to strike the Dandu. If the throw of the second player fails to strike the Dandu, the first player gains three free shots to blow the Vitti far away. On the other hand, if the second player succeeds in striking the Dandu, the player positions are swapped. The game is almost endless and only fatigue can compel the players to end it.

Lapa Chapi - The traditional hide-n-seek needs no newer explanation. Lukka Chuppi is what it is precisely referred as in Hindi is one of the most popular games. I am sure that children of today wholeheartedly enjoy this game till date. This game needs nothing special to be used. All that is required is a bunch of playmates to play with - the more the better. The game typically starts with a process called as Sutane (Marathi) or Chutana (Hindi) which is basically performed to elect one player who is going to search the other players. Once the player is elected, his job is to go at an isolated place and count a predefined series of numbers (usually 1 to 100) while the remaining players get busy in hiding themselves. After the player finishes counting the numbers he starts the search. As soon as he identifies a player, he must shout the identified player's name followed by the word 'Stop'. The most important part of the game is that before the searching player calls out a name of the identified player, he must be very confident about his name. If he mistakes, that means he is landing himself in a huge trouble, usually by attracting seven turns to find all the players. That is something really painful and evening times really add to the misery of the searching player. The remaining players who are hiding themselves keep on doing so while they secretly and swiftly attempt to pat the searching player in his back. That is called a 'Dhappa' meaning that the searching player has to start it over again. In the course, all the players who were stopped earlier can now hide themselves again for a fresh game. The game might turn frustrating for the searching player if he is really naive. The hiding players try their best to fool him, sometimes by even exchanging their shirts - that is what we used to do. This was one of the most enjoyable games of my childhood.

Abaa Dubi - The name of the game might resemble a name of some Arabian country but believe me that it has no linkage to it by any means. This is one of the weirdest games we have ever played. At times, it could sound similar to the game Lagori but the only difference is that you really do not need the stone-chips here. A soft ball is all that you need to play this game. Now comes the part that you must be waiting for - the rules. Well, to your dismay let me tell you that this game has no specialized rules. Just grab the ball hit it hard to the one you like. The only constraint is that you must stand at the place where you picked up the ball from. That may really sound awkward for the first timers but believe me as the game progresses; you keep on making friends and foes. Of course the one who hits you the most is your foe. But that again does not imply that friends cannot hit you. You will enjoy the way friends turn out to be foes and the way your enemies turn out to be buddies. Nothing lasts for more than a minute and that is the beauty of this game. But just make sure that you don't hit someone's eyes or gonads lest the game won't remain a game.

Pakada Pakadi - The easiest of all the games. All you need is a bunch of players all scattered around the playground. The player who is going to touch the one random player among the other players is elected. The game commences and the passing starts. The player who is touched must chase and pass the touch to some other player, possibly the nearest player. Failing to pass the touch immediately makes the player to come out of the game. The ultimate player is termed as the winner.

No list of such nostalgic games played by the kids on the Indian soil would ever be exhaustive. Although these games are widely played and enjoyed by the kids, they are not really recognized much. But the gist is that they are an integral part of my childhood. I really wonder how many of the kids dwelling in cities are aware of such games today. Given that most of the kids today are caught behind the joysticks, televisions and PC games, I am sure that the count is not plenty enough.

December 05, 2009 Pune, India - Being a city cop was never exhilarating for Head Constable Shinde, who had been serving the Mumbai Police department for eleven long years. Just as every other policeman, he led a mundane life that toggled between the hour hand of his old wrist watch.

But, today was a bit different day.

It was 8:00 PM when he arrived at home. His three year old was fast asleep. It seems like the right time to present his wife the gift he had brought for her, he thought. He was sure that this was going to cease all her complains she had against her husband.

"So Vidya, What do you think about this one?", he asked as he presented the gift and naughtily grabbed her towards him.

"Waa! A new Mangalsutra!", his wife exclaimed as she seemed so reluctant to believe what she saw. For a moment, she looked at her husband's face with gratitude. Although she was unable to contain her feelings, the very next moment, she looked down. A thought ran across her mind.

"You didn't like it?", Shinde asked after he read her expressions.

She shrugged.

"No it's not that, I liked it very much", she replied calmly "But, a ten grams of gold ornament received from a policeman is what made me feel sad"

"Oh! Vidya, you are impossible", the cop was really annoyed after he saw his wife not patronizing his expectations. He just recollected their quarrel that took place last month over her craving for a new ornament.

"I am sick of your dual-ended words. What is a poor policeman supposed to do?", he spoke with outrage.

Realizing that her gift had valuable emotions of her loving husband attached to it, Vidya was in a no mood to engage her in a dispute. She didn't utter a word and kept the unwrapped gift box aside on the table.

Ring Ring - The telephone bell rang.

"Shinde, there is an emergency. Please report on duty as soon as possible. There is another attack on the city. Make sure you report back to the police station as soon as possible", the voice over the phone said.

"I need to go!" Shinde said, trying to regain his senses back from his graveling family issues.

"Dinner's ready, please have it before you leave... ", she said in vain. Just before she could finish her say, he was out on his motorbike heading towards his duties.

He reached the police station in a few minutes. The city was under chaos. There were multiple incidents of violence and bloodshed in various parts of Mumbai. There were unproven rumors of the city being under an attack. The head constable was constantly in touch with the updates from the control room. There is an ongoing shootout in the vicinity of the Railway station, the instrument updated Shinde and his colleagues.

The chaos among the citizens were worsening with every second that passed by. By this time, the control room had reported several casualties and the toll was still on.

"ACP Jadhav, there has been a blast near Kama Hospital and three gunmen are suspected to be around the hospital. Cover up the hospital along with Constable Shinde and four junior constables immediately", a voice from the police control room directed the team.

Equipped with their service guns, a couple of vans filled with a dozen policemen headed at the venue. It didn't take much time for each one of them to realize that their service guns were proving futile against the planned attack of the intruders which was backed with the forte of modern ammunition. Despite being aware of their sapless plight, the six policemen tried hard to gain the control of the situation.

Shinde was shot thrice on his shoulders and twice on his left thigh. The last thing he remembered were the faces of his wounded colleagues and the blood-soaked uniform of ACP Jadhav. His subconscious mind instructed him to play a dead man, as he kept recording the moves of the events around him. But he was helpless when his consciousness gradually faded away completely.

Gradually, the fierce combat had mellowed down into a steep ocean of tears and blood.

"Beep beep...", a hoarse sound brought Shinde back to life.

He opened his eyelids gently, as he tried hard to recollect his memories. A severe ache in his back brought all his memories back to life as he tried to move his body on the hospital bed.

Shinde noticed that he was surrounded by a team of journalists, doctors and a few other policemen. Vidya was sitting just beside him. Her wet eyes looked red, just like the blood-stained cotton bandage that was glued to her brave husband's right shoulder. She held his hand and gave him a serene smile.

"Didn't you like the new Mangalsutra, Vidya?", he asked naughtily.

She looked back at him, puzzled. She wished she could cry, but she knew that it would be an insult to his courage to do so. She was a wife of a man who brings her the ecstasy and agony, both at the same time, all in a day's work.

"I wish, I could ever understand you... ", she replied, as she passionately hugged her wounded husband.

November 27, 2009 Pune, India - Man loses health, to gain wealth and loses wealth, to regain health. I really have no objections if your take on this statement of mine is inclined towards the lighter side but, it really concerns me to see so many lifestyle-obsessed creatures around who are so much negligent to realize that their sedentary way of life is killing them bit by bit everyday. For instance, a Project Manager in a multinational organization has been holding the same position for the past fifteen years. He is proud of his status quo and all the recognition and awards that he has fetched during the course of his work in these years. Interestingly, he is a Manager among his team-mates, a Manager among his relatives and still thinks that he is a Manager at home. On similar grounds, a professionally qualified doctor makes it a point that he prefixes a 'Dr.' before his introductory name. He is tagged - professionally, mentally and spiritually to his professional identity. There is nowhere he can escape from his identity. Certainly, monotonous lifestyle and the acquired perceptions therein, have been compelling us to fade away the real self within us.

I was stuck up literally at the phrase - 'my hundred percent', yesterday when I was at a brief session conducted by the organization 'Art of Living'. I generally refrain from getting involved into spiritual stuff and that is the perception I had in my mind about this organization. Spirituality is something that takes us to a different world, a world which is just very loosely connected to the world we are living in and working in. But that is not exactly what this is all about. I have been practicing a few exercises of Pranayam and Kapalbhati for some weeks and have been intrigued by the amazing results I have obtained. Probably, this could be the reason why I decided to join the session.

'"Yes, I give my hundred percent to my work" - was the instant answer to the presenter's question that was obtained from almost all of the participants. My concern was that how each one of us was so confident about our performances given that we really had no metrics to measure it. That would have been an obvious answer from a subordinate to his superior when the same question was shot at him during his appraisal discussion. But the context of the question here, had a larger scope - much larger than what most people had imagined in the room. A simple exercise proved every one of us wrong. We were asked to stretch our hands sideways, slowly and to the best of our abilities. That's our best, each one of us anticipated. However, when the same exercise was asked to be performed in a single jerk, we realized that we had almost stretched a lot more than before. Our best was now a bit behind our new bests - we pondered.

To say we are living our lives every hour and each passing day but, the real essence is that we are actually dying every single day, every single moment. Every single person in this world is chasing his own dreams, endlessly and carelessly. His aspirations have no upper bounds. To be very terse with the point I am trying to make, he is loosing his own self between his attempts to achieve his goals, trying to be like someone else - role models. Long working hours on a chair, occupational responsibilities and stress have been depreciating the quality of modern life. There has been a steady decline in the physical activities of a modern man which just adds more concerns to this health. By this time, you must have realized that the thoughts running in your mind at the moment are harmonious with the message I am trying to pass.

With my quell for physical fitness, for three prolonged years, I was a dedicated visitor of the fitness centers and gyms where I used to carry out heavy machine workouts. The results I obtained thus, were impressive but failed to live up to my expectations when I met with an accident a couple of years back. The aftermath of the surgery almost turned me down with a drastic loss of health. All I lacked was the 'core energy'. Just ask a professional body builder to perform any of the advanced Yoga exercises and enjoy watching him accepting his defeat. The reason being, he lacks the core energy which is not linked to muscle strength. Well, for all those gym freaks, let me iterate that building bulky muscle mass and curving your biceps is not really the true definition of fitness. It is something which is linked to your thoughts, mind, body and spirituality.

I have been practicing a few types of Pranayam for a few weeks and that is the greatest way I have found to achieve fitness of body, mind and soul. I am sure that most of my Indian friends must be aware of Yoga, Meditation and the benefits involved therein. My experiences have revealed that nearly all of our fitness problems are linked to our stomach and breathe. Kapalbhati Pranayam is the one that has the power to cure and prevent almost all of the common diseases. A regular follower, will find no chance to complain about his health problems. I have been experiencing the results almost within two days. Tough to believe my words if you are very naive to the topic but I urge you hard to give it a go - you won't really mind to spare mere 20 minutes of your time for your health every morning. You may choose to take help from some institutes or tutorials in order to start with Pranayam.

There is just too little space here to enlist the benefits of Kapalbhati Pranayam. This morning, I had been to the rest-room before I took up Kapalbhati and later, was compelled to visit it again. This is when I am able to say that I am giving my hundred percent in my work. Pun intended but yes, I am serious!

November 25, 2009 Pune, India - Hussain Rizvi, a twenty year old front office executive at the Taj hotel in Mumbai who managed to hide himself in the second floor pantry during the 26/11 terrorist attack in Mumbai was more fortunate than the 40 Muslims who died in the incident. Salim Shaikh, a poor delivery boy from Wadi Bunder who helped transportation of the injured and the dead bodies to the hospital is so furious that he says that if he happens to encounter a terrorist, he will kill him. Nahid Merchant, a Muslim fashion designer who prays five times a day says that he hangs his head in shame when the terrorists compare their illicit success with the historic Battle of Badar, which was fought to protect Islam. Naeem, a fruit seller in Bandra complained that his business has gone down because people are scared to come out of their homes. Ram Singh, a North-Indian comb seller in the local trains in Mumbai who was at the CST railway station when the attack took place and helped the transportation of the injured to hospital says that he never bothered if the body he was carrying was that of a Muslim, an outsider, a Maharashtrain or a Shiv-Sainik.

We, the residents of Mumbai have been living around amidst our own internal issues and differences but history and occurrences have always revealed the fact that whenever there has been an external attack on our integrity that possibly poses a grave threat to our values as a human being, we have stood united and fought back the situation, forgetting all of our inequalities. No doubt, Mumbai is known for its this evergreen spirit. The 26/11 carnage completes one year today but the marks that this incident has created in my mind will always remain fresh, reminding me of the Martyrs who died for a great cause.

There were numerous interrogations that were carried out by the press and media reporters pertaining to the aftermath of the terrorist attack. Most of the immediate reactions spoke in a single voice, blood for blood. They had seen it spilled around on the railway platform, in the Leopold Cafe and the Nariman House, a part of it belonged to their dear ones and of the ones without whom they had never imagined their life. However, there was one comment from a Canadian wife who had lost her husband in the attack that moved me to a great extent. She said, that she had nothing against Ajmal Kasab, the sole terrorist who was caught alive in the operation. She would not like to see him given a death sentence, rather she would be happy to see him work for humanity for rest of his life.

Most of us do understand that terrorism is an ideology which results out of immature, shallow thoughts about an issue. People like Kasab, to whom we refer as the terrorists are mere bots who fall easy pray to the leaders of the terrorist groups. They say that they fight for Islam - I hope they even understand the meaning of the word religion. No religion teaches us to perpetrate violence and perform carnage of the innocent citizens.

My six year old niece, who only understood that there were some bad men killing innocent people in Mumbai, asked me why they did so. Often curious to answer her every question, I was embarrassed that day to not have any convincible answer to quell her interest.

Accolades: This post was chosen as the Best Post from the Indian Blogosphere by BlogAdda - their topmost pick on 28th November, 2009

Who : Neeraj Shinde
What : Terrorism Will Only Bring Us Closer
Spicy : Neeraj comes out with some real gems quite frequently and this is one of them. The basic message which the post wants to convey is Terrorism is not based on any religion and no religion preaches terrorism.

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 4; the fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

November 07, 2009 Pune, India - She was turning sixty-five today and it was the greatest day of her life. Not because it was her birthday, rather because it was a day when she had received the greatest gift of her life, a one day-old grand-son.

The old granny had spent her entire life within the four walls, the old house of her in-laws. Her being physically challenged had almost always proved futile to de-motivate her in life. She had always been a loving mom of two kids and a responsible housewife. It was more than ten years now that she had lost her husband, the memories of whom were the only thing that she was living for.

She loved her kids more than anything else. They reminded her of everything she had faced in her life and most importantly, the sweet memories of her husband.

"He just looks like his grandpa", she said unable to contain her excitement as she scrolled her wheelchair towards the cradle of the newborn.

"You are right Mom", said her elder son who was amazed to see the enlightened face of her Mom. He noticed that she was actually laughing with tears in her eyes. He had never observed Mom acting this way in the past several years.

"You're crying Mom?", the son asked.

"Am I?", she interrogated as she rubbed her wet eyes with her saree, "These aren't really the tears dear", she tried to evade the situation.

She looked at the little angel who had just added an unusual zing to her painful life. She touched his tender fingers with love.

"You know son, his fingers are just like the ones you had when you were born!", she said as she caressed the little hand of the baby.

She recollected the memories of her life. Everything seemed so green in her mind. She continued to go back in time, back until she was drowned into her farthest memory - the young face of her poor father and the warmth of her mother's lap. They loved her so much, just like their other daughters.

Love must be blind, she thought as she looked at her crooked leg which was resting on the foot board of her wheelchair. They simply overlooked the need for vaccinating their little daughter, she recollected.

"By the way Mom, you didn't tell us what present you wish to have on your Birthday?", the son interrupted her stream of wandering thoughts.

She shrugged as she smiled. Her face had a spark filled with life, vigor towards unfulfilled dreams and ambitions.

"I wish, If I were a baby again!", she murmured.

I have wandered in the corners of various cities of India, big and small; and it is almost the same all over. I can sniff a strong scent of regionalism in the air of Maharashtra these days. The Vidhan Sabha elections are just over and the results depict how this regionalist ideology is gaining support for false and undemocratic 'Vachak-Namas' of the myopic politicians. It is difficult to say if this is truly a victory of the voters who call themselves the sons of the soil, the most common 'Marathi Manus'. Certainly, it is a big failure of the nation's basic values - democracy and secularism when such political parties get ill-deserved success and undue significance to their ideologies. I am in a no mood to comment on what mission or vision is being beheld by the political parties like MNS or Shivsena in Maharashtra. Whatever might be Raj Thakeray's motives behind forming a new party - his fickle relations with his cousin and other relatives stand no good with the interests of the nation.

The common Marathi-Manus travels in the crowded local trains and buses in Mumbai and other big cities of Maharashtra. He feels meek and ignored when his seat is suddenly captured by a Bhaiyya (a derogatory term for a North Indian in Mumbai) who was standing just next to him. He feels superseded. This Marathi-Manus is harmless and non-violent naturally and hence he feels it okay to surrender his seat to the other. But such occurrences are mundane and the discontent keeps on accumulating with the passage of time. He is unable to vent out his disgust and displeasure until one day he finds a leader who speaks his language. He talks about kicking the *sses and thrashing the cheeks of the intruders. Our common Marathi Manus is motivated by his raging public lectures so much so that he votes for the leader in a furore of unthoughtfulness.

Leaders like Raj might be awesome leaders but their ideology and modus-operandi, if confined beyond a local Gulli, will cause tremendous harm to the state and nation’s integrity in the ultimate sense. It is very easy to gain votes by virtue of an awesomely entertaining, crowd attracting public lectures based on sympathy towards the unlawful rage of the Maharashtrians. The party can be successful in securing a short lived success by means of regionalist methods. It just means that some people have trusted you and it is your duty to live upto your promises. When it comes to power and ruling a state, a party must understand that they are ruling a state or a country and not merely representing a community.

I have a brother who is a couple of years younger to me. I had agonistic feelings when he was born and when Mom paid more attention to him. My young and unfledged mind felt neglected, which at times made me unhappy. That was it, my novice days but today, my brother is one of our greatest strengths. When in school, we pledged saying all Indians are my brothers and sisters a countless times. Certainly, several decades after independence, we are no way a novice country. What is making us so immature to support and preach such ideologies that puts a probable risk to national integrity?

The Marathi-Manus quibbles about being deprived of several things - admissions to reputed colleges, job opportunities or a vacant seat in a crowded bus. But there are reasons and far neglected root causes to all of these problems he is facing since years. The so called intruders are trying to dominate him just because they have the heart to live away from their hometowns, toil and excel in their feats. It often makes me feel sad to see a mere handful of Marathi folks moving and settling away from Maharashtra. Marathi-Manus is undoubtedly hardworking and talented but since years he has confined himself to his age-old taboos which are adding restrictions on his own mobility and growth. Our constitution gives every Indian equal right to mobilize and explore newer dimensions of life, work and opportunities. He can be the next Ambani, a CEO of a multinational organization, a space researcher or a lead vocalist of a death metal band, the world is an open space of opportunities. But that's possible only when he manifests the true meaning of 'Marathi-Manus Jaga Ho' - wake up!

Accolades: This post was chosen as the Best Post from the Indian Blogosphere by BlogAdda - their topmost pick on 7th November, 2009

Who : Neeraj Shinde
What : Marathi Manus, Lead or Misled?
Spicy : This post is a must read for all of us so that none of us get into regionalism. It is important for all of us to realize that we are ‘Indians’ first and then comes our States, where we live. Neeraj has this post with a very strong and relevant message. Neeraj, it’s applaudable for someone to raise and write about it.

November 02, 2009 Pune, India - The housemaid had almost everyday seen the plump little baby yelling over the milk bottle. She had been working there for close to a couple of years. Although an integral part of the family, she had the feeling of being detached - for the very own reason that she was a mere maid within the family. Of course, she had her own roles to play in there but her most important role in life was not very different than the role being played by the baby's mother. She was the same is the very basic aspect - the role of being a mother. The only difference the maid could think of was that her baby cried due to the want of milk, whilst the other cried to evade drinking it. That's the irony of her life.

The reasons why an underprivileged despises the privileged could be many and many-a-times born due to shallow thinking or lack of the same. Yesterday, I happen to come across a mob from the slums thrashing a couple of metro sexual guys on the road. The dispute nearly disrupted the traffic on the road. I really do not want to learn the background behind the dispute. Unfortunately, all I could make out was that the whole thing had a blend of the poor despising the rich.

As a tiny kid, I played with Jeetu, a playmate from my neighborhood. I was always passionate about Jeetu's new toys that always inspired me for a new demand to my father. Thanks to my papa for standing true towards most of my demands but a feeling always dwelled into my mind that always reminded me of the envious state of Jeetu. May be that is the reason why I kinda hated him in those days. When it comes to the society, a similar feeling emerges into the minds of the underprivileged. It is present all over - in the mind of a localite when a group of IT professionals walk towards the Bannerghatta Road in Bangalore after a movie at the PVR in Forum mall, in the skanky language spoken by the grocer or a fisher women in the market when a big fat lady refused to buy her product at the quoted price and in the eyes of the hungry beggar who is pathetically looking at the beautiful college girls and boys having a lavish bucket chicken at the KFC, Gold Adlabs Mall in Kalyani Nagar.

For some, it may sound as envy but I believe it is something that has a deeper sense to it. I always had a very different feeling whenever I look at the construction workers who build skyscrapers but do not own even a hut to live in. They keep on moving and building temporary huts at the construction sites and live the life of gypsies. We do remember the name of the builder who built our houses but the worker who had literally carried bricks on his head cannot be even forgotten - just because he was never remembered at all. This is how it has always been.

The differences between the rich and the poor have always been existed. It hurts to see the pits and heaps among the varied sections of our society. Something that is a necessity for some is a much deprived privilege for many. Wealth and riches is not always a result of unfair practices. Almost all of the times, people secure their social statuses by their own merits. To be able to enjoy the view at the top, you must have dug your foundation strong. That's all an underprivileged must understand. The Pareto's principle will continue to hold true to the extent that the 20 percent of the population will hold 80 percent of the wealth. However, both have always been the two sides of the same coin and one cannot really exist without the other. Things will certainly change when the rich and the privileged understand the sentiments of the majority - that they still have to sail in the same ship, the very existence of which is based on the poor, laborious rowers down under.

October 21, 2009 Pune, India - This is my very first attempt to get involved into a 55 fiction story. I have been going through this genre of literary writings for a while recently. The stuff reminds me of the precis writing exercises during my school days.

Stunned? Now, if you are one of those who are parenting a child and still wondering the reason behind this, then I owe you nothing but pity. Child abuse is penetrating deeper and deeper into the veins of our society yet there has been a very little or negligible awareness in this regard.

I really wonder, how many of us would dare to stand up against this sadistic behavior. I also wonder how many of the parents are aware of their child's past and if s/he could ever gather the guts to speak that out. Many grow up, carrying a faint memory of their past somewhere in the corner of their brains yet prefer to keep mum.

Is it ever going to stop?

Parents of today, are getting busier than ever before. Baby sitters and neighbors have always been ready for their rescue. But, you could never adjudge their trustworthiness. The next time when your child says that s/he doesn't like someone, believe it because there is no face that a Roshan Uncle possesses.

Accolades: This post was referred by BlogAdda - the week of 24th October, 2009

Click on the image to get linked to the Spicy Saturday Picks post by BlogAdda on 24th October, 2009. They just keep dishing such wonderful posts and the least a community can do is support them.

The downpour seemed almost unstoppable. She stood in front of the kitchen window watching the rain. A sudden thunder, although a few miles away, scared her for a moment. She looked out of the window over the roof of the adjacent house. Her sleepy eyes were glued at the romantic pair of the pigeons. She always loved to watch birds. The newlywed held the window pane with her hand and secretly continued watching them in their nest. They made her think of her husband for whom she was waiting eagerly.

She was recalling the last three months of her new life and realized the way things had changed drastically in her life. Often she felt sad to have been departed from her parents’ place. It was her mom to whom she missed a lot. She remembered how she had convinced her mom, that she would be able to adjust herself in the cramped house of her in-laws. Things seemed so difficult to her in the start, her mind was so skeptical about her new life, new family members and the most crucial was the man on whom she had relentlessly believed to live her life with. She was not really bothered of it all. She liked what her parents had chosen for her future. Was it her parents? Not really, they had merely supported her decision. Never in her life before, had she given a thought to the fact that her life would change so much all of a sudden.

Her mind continued to wander in the past until she went to sleep.

She saw a dream.

"We don't wish to hear that again! A gold chain and a ring is what a groom's ritual must consist of" spoke a hoarse voice.

"I am sorry...", said a meek voice, "I really cannot afford this. Please try to understand my situation. This was never brought up before the engagement. I am really sorry. I cannot afford it. I am already struggling with my debts" the voice pleaded.

She woke up wide awake. She was able to feel the sound of the racing heartbeats. It was not a dream for real. It was the resurrection of the events in the past. Everything seemed so green in her mind. The dream made her revisit the wrinkled face of her poor father. She cursed herself for being the reason behind the soaring EMIs he paid to the Bank. His savings had yet proved futile to buy a golden ring to his son-in-law. The dream reminded her of the cries of her weeping mother who was equally helpless as her husband's savings.

She was unable to take the pain anymore. It was her mom's voice that she was dying to hear . She came out of the kitchen. Her mother-in-law still seemed uninterrupted by her approach in the drawing room. She walked up towards the telephone and dialed a number.

"Hello, Ma... It's me, Seema" she said, hastily.

"How are you Ma...? I miss you a lot... I just called up to say..." her speech was interrupted as her mother-in-law pulled back the receiver from her hand.

"Shut up, you freebie! It's not your mother who pays the telephone bill" said the in-law as she banged the receiver down on the table.

Her eyes were now filled with tears. She came back to the kitchen window. Her eyes were transfixed back to the pigeon’s nest. There were three of them now. The female bird held her eggs. The other two were filling her beak with the food that they had brought.

She burst out crying.

Accolades: This post was chosen as the Best Post from the Indian Blogosphere by BlogAdda - the week of 20th October, 2009

Who : Neeraj Shinde
What : The Lament Of A Golden Ring
Tangy : The plight of many women in the Indian Society has been portrayed in this post by Neeraj. Neeraj has been dishing out some wonderful posts from time to time and this is one of them. A post which you cannot miss reading.

October 10, 2009, India - It was the Monday Morning again and numerous things were haunting his weary mind. A weekend proved futile to soothe his much pressurized mind and soul. Why there has to be a Monday every time after the Sunday evening, he thought as he blamed himself for his state. Life has always been like that and today was a no exception to it, he tried to convince himself as he took his seat in his cubicle. He opened his office bag and got out his laptop computer, placed it on the desk and turned it on.

He continued to stare at its booting screen. With every moment that passed by, his blood pressure rose just as the loading progress bar which gradually moved towards the right. He looked down at his pot belly and thought about the escalation of the issue that took place in his project last Friday. It was not that he was a bad employee at work; sometimes things just happen and get out of control. Nevertheless, it was time to confront the new week. He must overcome all his fears, no matter what and that was the need of the time. He held his breathe for a while and started to recollect the events that occurred last week. Just as his laptop completed loading its contents into its memory, he seemed to be back with a recollection of all that he needed to complete for the day. Life has become so mechanical and it simply sucks, he thought.

A smile spread on his face just as he glared at the wallpaper of his computer - the car that he had recently bought. It seemed an expensive one but not for the ones who can easily afford it by paying all in hard cash. He loved his possessions just as every other office guy. All that life expected from him was to work for them, spend long hours sitting inside his cubicle and carry strains, tensions - Tit for Tat. Nothing is fetched in so easy after all, he thought. Despite all that he had, it never fetched him happiness. He hated his work, his boss and colleagues alike. He decided to come out of the early Monday phobia by grabbing a small cup of coffee from the vending machine. It was this liquid, that passed from one machine to the mouth of another that formed the key ingredient of the company's success, he thought sometimes.

I have to drink it, I have to work upon this shit and I have to finish this by this week - his thoughts continued.

He came back to his seat.

"Aahh...” he murmured in pain as a sudden stroke in his heart took over his control.

The very next moment he found himself on the floor. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the pain which just penetrated deeper and deeper with every moment that passed. And then it was dark, no feelings, no stress and no fear. He realized that what happened to him was paranormal. All he now knew was that he was feeling light, lighter than a feather. It was bright, brighter than the sun all over. He tried to look at himself, but it was nothing that he found to look at. It was something supernatural that had took him over. Suddenly, he was glued at the sight he came across. He was able to have a visual sense of his body that was lying on the floor, the chair which was tilted over the ground and his colleagues trying to wake up his body. He waited there, astonished and puzzled. It was him. Am I dead? He asked himself.

"Hello son!” a strong voice diverted his attention.

The voice was divine. It was like he had, never in his life, heard before. Although it sounded strange, he felt like it was kinda familiar. But he lacked enough memory to which he could relate this voice to. He looked straight upwards and halted his vision at a shadow which he came across.

"Yes, that's you my dear! You have decided to shed away your weary and discontented body this time. Follow me my son!” the shadow said.

"What?... Please don't..., God...” he stuttered.

"It's okay son. You have already had a rough journey until here. Don't worry" the shadow insisted.

He looked back at his lifeless body in grief. The office employees had by now gathered at his desk; each one trying his turn to bring him back to his senses. He stole a moment to think about all the pending tasks he had left behind - his family members, his only daughter, his job, unfulfilled promises, dreams and commitments. A feeling of guilt covered him as he felt sorry for hating his job.

"It's too early for me God. I want to finish a lot of stuff. I owe so many things to many people... please... I want to...” he spoke in despair.

The shadow listened calmly to every word that he spoke and to every plead he made. He was restless and seemed with a zest.

"There you are my son. You want to do it. That sounds like zeal to me.", said the voice. "I came to you as I heard your heart saying, you have to do it. Things are always easy when you say you want to. You still have time son. I cannot take you away against the power of your will. Bless you", proclaimed the voice.

A sudden jerk woke him up from the chair he was sitting upon. He took a look around. For a moment, he was unable to understand what was happening to him. Is this a reality or was that a dream? His thoughts resumed wandering into his mind. It must be a dream for sure. He recollected the words he had just heard. It wasn't the voice of the God but a thought from his inner self. He smiled at himself and opened up the email from his Inbox - this time with a zest. His work, now had realized a new purpose and it seemed much easier for him than before.

Most of the times, things are merely done because you have to; but, it makes a huge difference in your life when you do it because you want to.

October 07, 2009 Pune, India - As a child, I had always been inclined towards adventures. During the days when I was so tiny that I was meant to be carried in the arms of my Mum, I rather cried to walk with her finger in my hand. With the passage of time, this passion has seen a drastic rise and my love towards the swaying adrenaline levels has observed no negative momentum. I have been testing my guts right since my high school days - mindless jumping in the sand from the under-construction buildings, somersaults in the school garden for which I had earned an accolade of fracturing my left wrist and so on. Gradually, I had developed this unusual passion for diving and capturing aerial self-photographs. This had just started to soar to a dream of sky-diving until a couple of years back when I was deeply de-motivated by the ACL (Anterior Cruciate Ligament) injury in my right knee.

Well, that sounds serious right? Indeed, I know I had screwed up myself to the extent that my any sort of adventurous moves in the near future were going to be jeopardized. An ACL tear and the subsequent reconstruction surgery is one of the worst experiences one can have in life. This post describes my experience on the topic and possibly guides those people who are looking for this option in order to fix their ACL injury or the so called Sportsman's injury.

The ACL tear: Just before the Halloween of the year 2007, I had been to the Coorg district of Karnataka State in India on a vacation with my friends. The enchanting climate and the mind blasting natural beauty of the place didn't stop me from getting adventurous. We decided to climb a rocky cliff (without any safety precautions or a rope) on our way - now that is what I call a mindless adventure, insane and crazy. Almost all of us climbed mid way of the cliff but I was the only one who decided to jump from a twenty feet high altitude. And now this is where everything went wrong. Neither my mind nor my calculations worked. While I was mid-way in the air, rushing rapidly towards the rock solid surface, I realized the insanity of the decision I had made. Although I successfully managed to land on my feet, a cracking sound from my knee almost immobilized my further movement. Initially, it felt like a bone cracking sound which made me feel it was a fracture. It was just when the doctor examined my MRI scanning report; I came to know that it was a ligament tear - in fact, a complete ACL tear. Immediately after the injury occurred, it was accompanied by the swelling of my knee. The pain was so acute that it restricted even my slightest move.


Why Surgery? Many would be merely traumatized by the idea of getting operated on oneself to fix their ligament issue. Certain doctors may advise not to opt for surgery if the tear is not so significant. In which case, the victim must learn to be extra cautious about his adventurous moves all throughout his life. Although, at times the victim might feel pretty confident that the injury no more exists, he runs a high chance of getting his tear escalated due to any miscalculated body movement. Some victims, over a period of time, so efficiently learn to adjust their knee movements that they never realize that they are still a victim of a chronic ACL tear. In my case, it was a complete tear and I had no option other than to surgically reconstruct my ACL.

The Surgery: Believe me, a surgery is a no good experience. I was half dead, literally in the operation theatre when a wicked troop of surgeons performed their experiments on me. I was injected something using a needle that penetrated deep into my abdominal spine and within a few seconds, I was paralyzed and had zero sensation below my stomach. The surgery was performed arthroscopically meaning, a cut is made into your body and a camera is inserted into it to perform the surgery. The minute aspects of the surgical process are continuously observed on a video screen. I am sure the hospital must be having the recording of the entire procedure, which I would never like to ever watch. For over an hour, I kept on hearing the sounds of the drill machine, scary stuff, reminded me of the jigsaw killer of the SAW movie series. I kept on feeling thirsty at times, probably due to loss of water from the body during the process. Finally it was over. Gradually within 3-4 hours time, I got my sensation back and I was happy to notice that I was actually able to move my left leg.

The Rehabilitation: Life was miserable immediately after the surgery. I spent a few days on the hospital bed with regular appointments of the physiotherapist. My knee was supported by a knee brace all the time. Despite exerting full body energy, sometimes it seemed impossible to lift my knee. I was frightened by my doctor saying, if I fail to perform the exercises, my leg would be a dead leg. This fear motivated me and I gradually picked up the speed. During the first week after the surgery, I used a walker to move around the restroom. Later, I was told to put my entire body weight on my operated leg. The trauma still existed which reminded me of the day the injury occurred. It took another week for me to get out of the phobia. I was advised to use walking crutches for another couple of months. Initially, it was hard to believe that I needed crutches but day after day, I was comfortable using it. I used them for a month and gradually got rid of them. The day I threw them, seemed to be one of the happiest day of my life.

The second and third month, I took extra precautions in every step I took. I made sure that I do not exert unnecessary strain over my injured knee. In the second month after the surgery, I was able to bend my knee completely. Nevertheless, it was still very weak and timid. Exercising was the only way to build up the strength and vigor into the muscles around my knee. Six months passed by and I was by the time used to my new life. By this time, I attempted to run gently and tried to gain my lost confidence back. My exercise routine was now extremely irregular but the strength in the knee improved with every day that passed by.

This month, this nightmare is going to observe its 2nd anniversary. After the accident, life has taken a different turn - not that I have stopped being adventures but I am now able to differentiate good adventures from the mindless ones.