A question of ethics... is it ?

This blog could have been easily mistaken for an ex-blog(connection will be clearest to the sole reader of my blog) , owing to the inaction on this web page, but this blog is alive. What has kicked it into action is a rather amusing editorial in TOI , 28th December. the article is poignantly called 'a question of ethics' Mr. Tarun Das takes great pains to take us by the finger into the world of the good heart- ed corporations, he gets visibly carried away in the process and goes to the extent of saying

"In India’s strong, noisy democracy with a very free media and about 600 million people living in poverty, corporations need to be looked up to, not looked down upon. Importantly, they need to be viewed with respect and affection, not fear and trepidation."

Now obviously implying that Indian corporations have'nt contributed to the (exsisting?) fear and trepidation in any way. People who oppose them are a bunch of psychotics who like making up imaginary enemies. This almost maternal gushing continues and Das' article takes on a didactic cum defensive note when he says ,

"Business is not only about accumulating wealth and glory. It is not about growth for the sake of size. It is about being a good corporate citizen."

Anybody reading the article could have easily imagined that either he feels un-natural love for corporations in genral and Tata's in particular(a disease lots of Indians are afflicted by) or he gets a huge discount on everything form salt to cars -otherwise to call the company's policy as comprising of strictly "No hostile takeovers.", just a few days from the death anniversary of Tapsi Malik who was found raped and murdered during protests against the takeover of land in Singur , seems a little too indulgent .

Lots of Love
Mr.Das
Hope one day i too can learn how to be a
"good corporate citizen"

The music of another world...

The end of innocence could have been a deliberate parting

For not wanting to lie dead in a sea of eyes that look

But lips that refuse to talk

Why do you mourn then?

Coming of age could have been a shattering

Of all that I thought, held everything together-

The essential goodness of ‘us’

Why do you rejoice then?

Why do you ask me if these words are happy or sad?

Words often get drained in the music

And the music will be someone else’s

Here and there , nowhere actually

Arundhati Roy writes about the judiciary and the former CJI

here

'how much will we swallow" ?

The song just changed from Prince's little red corvette to Eagles' hotel california. The same old playlist, the same old me.

Interesting day today. Koyel and i joined the protest at North Campus for a few minutes. Later in the day a talk on why the Indo-US nuclear deal is a disaster in the making. And as the absolutely delightful speaker (Prof. Achin Vanaik) said , "how much will you swallow?"
This question hangs in the air.

A rainy evening , momentary panic on being stranded on auto less dark road and finally day (almost) culminating in nice home food.

The same old playlist, the same old me.

City love

Wet streets that smell of rain, the fading day pierced by headlights of cars that look washed and clean, an old song playing on the radio and a shaky auto ride. I feel like a hedonist trying to drink as much as I can, of the beauty of the city I call home. It’s not your conventional beauty and nor is it a perpetual one. There are times when I hate the city almost with a vengeance. But today I feel a strange calm descend, I am happy; I don’t want the journey to end. If I could just keep roaming the roads of this city looking at the grand Lutyens trees that stand oblivious to the awe struck me, the lit row of shops in Janpath, that exotic looking Persian carpet which hangs at a window, that freshly painted bus, the white imposing CP at it’s seductive best, abstracted people, rows of ice cream carts at India gate, the smell of an old, dusty library with it’s old, dusty books hangs in my head. I want to freeze all of this, in now, a rainy Tuesday evening. To remember at a later time when I will hopefully be shaken out of my reverie by a child begging on the road or when I am felt up in a (freshly painted) bus.

While someone else would be contemplating afresh their love for the city. That’s how we live with her and she with us. Some love some hate.

“Pozzo- the tears of the world are a constant quantity”

--Waiting for Godot

Of love and other demons

Of love and other demons.
The search for what can never be.

Exorcise me then …try
I know you can’t .

They fake concern
I fake recovery.

Naphthalene balls smell of childhood winter clothes.

I like.