Orphanage

Location: Orphanage named ‘Our Home’ in Hyderabad

Characters:

Agneya Reddy (Agy) – an entrepreneur who also runs an orphanage with 12 boys and three caretakers.

Aditi (Adi) – newly-wed wife of Agneya

Savitri – Agy’s and Adi’s housekeeper.

[The incident is told by Aditi in first person]

Walking towards our bedroom, I heard Savitri charged up on the phone. “Seems something’s wrong,” I said and volunteered to check, when she came out, “Sir, baba fell down.”I thought that was too succinct for her reaction I overheard on the phone.

“Anything serious?” he asked stopping in his tracks.

“Nothing. Small fracture in right leg. He is back from hospital.”

“Umm” he said walking back, when she added, “They were playing.”

I stood looking at both, and felt Agy was not happy with what he heard.

“Who’s baba?” I asked him.

“The youngest child at Our Home. He’s fondly called baba. So, madam, may I ask for a slight revision to our plans. We’ll first visit him and then proceed on our walk.”

 *************

Two hours later we were at the orphanage. The atmosphere was unlike what I saw over the weekend when the boys had jumped over Agy. Today it was quiet, I was told it was study time between 5pm and 8pm. I found the boys at their desks in the hall. It seemed like a mini classroom. Two of the caretakers were in the kitchen and one nursing the 6-year-old boy, who was lying in bed with a plastered leg.

The caretaker woman stood up seeing Agy and started convincing he is absolutely fine. “The doctors said, nothing to worry. Small fracture only…”

“When did it happen?” Agy cut her short.

“Evening Sir, after he came from school.”

“How”, he asked flashing The Agneya stare. She began stammering and recounting what happened incoherently, when the other two caretakers joined us in the room. One of them chipped in, “Sir, the boys were playing. Running around, he fell down. So weak he is.”

Hearing the noise, I presume, the cute little boy opened his eyes, which was swollen and reddish from crying. Agy sat beside him, his tall frame bent over the tiny little one on the bed. So very feebly he lifted him on to his lap, cradling the child. “Your hands have muscles, that’s why nothing happened here,” he said pressing his small arms. “Now you need strong legs, too.”

“Paining,” he sobbed.

He ran his palms over the little one’s plaster gently and then planted a kiss on his forehead and said, ”You’ll be fine in two weeks. If you be a good boy and take medicines what aunties give you, then when the doctor removes this plaster, you’ll see muscles inside. Biiiig muscles!....”

It was another Agy I saw there. Caring and protective and oh so soft!

He will make a wonderful father!

When I returned from my imaginary family world, he was still conversing with the little boy, who was now cheerful and protesting at something. “No, you ball, I will bat.”

“Ok. Done deal,” Agy said and gave the little one a high-five. He precariously laid him back and kissed him again.

“Has he eaten food,” he stood up and asked the caretaker woman standing still beside me. I wondered if she even breathed. I noticed the other two women were missing.

He walked into the hall and the boys simultaneously looked up. Some sat smiling at him, while others acknowledged his presence and quickly returned to their books in front of them.

“How are you guys.” How can anyone exude such authority with so much ease, I wondered. The playful Agy I saw just moments back metamorphosed into the controller.

 “Fine.” I heard a collective reply.

Even in his track suit, T-shirt and running shoes, once he stands upright and holds his chiselled chin up, he can ooze attitude effortlessly. Hands in his pockets, he panned the room for a few seconds and said, “I will be out in the veranda. Those of you responsible for Amir’s fracture will come and meet me within the next 10 minutes.”

He walked out. Turned at the doorway and tapping at his watch, repeated, “You have 10 minutes.”

I saw the boys sneaking glances at one another. So innocent-looking children.

Gosh, what is he going to do!

He was seated on a chair in the veranda, facing the door, when I joined him after quickly checking on Amir. The little one saw me peep in and smiled. His angelic face scooped my heart. I went over and hugged him.

“He’s so cute,” I said sitting on a chair beside Agy.

“Umm”

I couldn’t read his expression. It was definitely not angry or irritated. But it wasn’t soft as when he was with Amir either.

“What are you going to do?”

He didn’t reply. Instead he looked beyond me asking, “Yes.” I turned to see the three caretaker women huddle near the door.

“They were playing, Sir,” said one of them. “Yes, Sir,”chorused the other two.

“You’ll said that already. Anything else.”

They pulled away meekly.

Shit! He’s one hard task master!

“Will you punish the boys?” I was anxious.

He didn’t reply. Turned his wrist to see the time and crossed an ankle over his opposite knee. I looked for the groove on his chin, and heaved a sigh of relief on not spotting it.

A little later, a tall lanky teenager, about 14 years old, appeared at the door. With his head bent down, he was looking up at Agy and me alternatively. The tension in the air was building up. Agy was holding the same incomprehensible expression, but now his eyes were rested on the boy. But the dark pair was not steely as it were in the morning nor was it narrowed like when he was talking to me a couple of hours before. Which means, he is not angry or irritated and neither he is impatient or desperate.

“Yes, Aditya, what do you have to tell me,” he asked after what seemed eons.

“Aa..am..amir…threw my bag…I..he…didn’t listen…my book tore…he again…pulled my bag down…

“Are you speaking to the floor or to your feet, Aditya.”

Gosh! Let the boy just say it!  

I felt pity because he looked up at Agy and continued stammering. “I tied a rope…behind…across...the kitchen door…called him…told to see…a snake…he ran excited and tumbled over the steps…I didn’t…I didn’t want to hurt him…but…his ankle swelled up…I …I was scared…

Agy put his foot down and stood up, still holding his gaze.

The boy mumbled “I’m sorry”.

Please, don’t do anything to the boy! I prayed but couldn’t gather the courage to say it loud.

Agy walked towards the boy and he dropped his head again. He stood looking down, shoulders drooping, fear etched on his face. I once caught him glance up at Agy as he went closer. He repeated, “I’m sorry.”

Agy patted him and said, “You are courageous. You have become a big man this moment.”

The boy’s face brightened up. “It takes a lot of courage to own up one’s mistake. You have done it. I’m proud of you.” And he hugged him. He held him for a few seconds patting his back, when I realised the youngster was weeping. “Hey, men don’t cry.” Agy smiled, straightened his shoulders and said, “What reward do I give you being so courageous. You can ask me for anything.”

The boy stood, eyes widened. “Go ahead, anything.”

“Can I have a green Nike shoes. All my friends in class have.”

“Call your aunty.”

He took two notes from his wallet and told the caretaker, “Take Aditya to Central Mall on Sunday. Buy him the shoes he wants.”

The teenager was so excited, it was hard for me to believe it was him who stood fearfully just moments back.

“Ok Aditya, now what’s the punishment you will choose?”

Shucks, leave him be! Agy please, I pleaded silently.

The colour from the boy’s face drained in a jiffy. Bewildered he stood looking up at Agy.

“You are helping nurse Amir back to health. Clear.”

He nodded, a slight smile appearing on the young face.  “Amir will get restless because he will not be allowed to walk. Once you return from school, you will carry him around. No play time for you until Amir walks. Clear.”

“Yes, Sir,” he replied happily.

“Happy? Do you think Amir will trust you?”

The boy’s face clouded immediately. “This is your chance to gain his confidence back. You need to spend time with him. Alright. He is the youngest kid here. You are a big man now. Shouldn’t you be protective of him.”

The youngster nodded. “Go. And study well.” He patted the boy once more and smiled.

Aditya took two steps and turned back and hugged Agy.

My man! I felt so proud at the way he handled the issue. As I got up to leave, I heard him tell the caretaker woman, “I want to meet you’ll. Call the others.”

I sat back. When the two others came, he asked, “Do you’ll have my mobile number?”

“Yes Sir,” said one immediately reciting the digits.

“Yeah, we have,” said the other two.

“Then why the hell was I not informed of the incident.”

Shit! I noticed the groove partially forming on his chin and my heart started racing.

“That’s one. Secondly, you three should be leading by example. I will not tolerate lies. If any of you intend repeating it, ensure your bags are packed.”

“Anything else I need to know.” His eyes now bore into them.

“No sir,” they chorused.

“Good night.” He snapped.

He took my hand, said, "Let’s go baby."

Kamala Das hides behind winter's mist!

I straighten my back, heave out a guff of air and close my eyes. I am tired. No, it’s just my eyes, I tell myself and cut two pieces of cool cucumber, place it over my eyelids and sprawl out on my mattress.

Ahh! That guff of air again blows out of my mouth. No, it’s not my eyes. I take off the cucumber pieces and lie staring at the ceiling. I am exhausted. Yes, I tell myself and stretch the length of my body and lie still.

Ufff! My chest is again gulping in air to blow something out of my system. I sit up, utterly confused about my feelings. I am not tired. I am not exhausted. But it is aching. An aching within to know a great writer. She took me there within her. She ripped open her soul to me, but I couldn’t see. Or did I see?

I’m longing to wipe the mist and see clear. I want to know Kamla Das aka Madhavi Kutty aka Kamala Suriya. Who is she? Apart from being one of the greatest Indian writers and poets, who is the real she?

Most of them love to hate her and the others love to judge her. I love her for her boldness. I always believed she was a woman ahead of her times. But I didn’t want to judge her. And so when I got her memoir “The Love Queen of Malabar” – by Merrily Weisbord, I dedicated four days of my life only to her.

When I turned the last page over, I had more questions than when I had four days ago. The memoir is Kamala Das’s emotions in raw blood. You can smell them. But you can’t name them.

A woman who called out to females of the world to fly out and see their hearts dance, meekly played the docile housewife, enduring an abusive marriage, calling it her “destiny”.

She’s a hypocrite, I scream.

I continue reading when she says, “I gave my dead body to him [husband] not my mind.” Then why didn’t she come out clean in her autobiography ? ‘My Story’ is anything but transparent. “To protect my children. They respect their father.”

She’s orthodox and timid, I scream.

That’s when I read her claim to have “unshackled” herself from orthodox, puritanical morality. She sanctions infidelity for women in loveless marriage. Yep, the jigsaw puzzle seems to fall in place. Her passionate love poems are a testimony to her relationships!

She was attempting to lead by example, I say.

But then she soon complains, “Talent is an abnormality, like a sixth finger”.  So what do readers decipher? She was abnormal? How can someone who published poems before age 15, who read the likes of Oscar Wilde in early teen be abnormal?

She lacks clarity, I fume.

She goes on to justify her sexual desires to that of Lord Krishna’s antics, and I’m rolling my eyes. “I traded sex for love,” she says and I’m holding the edge of the table.

She’s a pervert! I scream.

“In my culture women cannot admit that they enjoy sex,” she says and I feel she’s ordering me to shut up and stop blowing my top off.  “It’s the woman’s body, but the man’s bed, the man’s home. But I can’t do that, I want the bed to be mine,” she explains.

She, indeed, has a mind of her own! I nod.

How else can one define her religious conversion? In order to live with her lover, a person born into an ultra-orthodox Hindu family adopts the Muslim faith in her 60s calling the ire of her family and the community at large. And she names her conversion a “sexual awakening”. Now that sure demands some gumption!.

Hats off! Kamala Das, I salute.

But my jubilation does not last long. When she says, “I worshipped the men I fell in love with,” I close the book and try to recollect what I read in the early chapters. Yes, she did say “I hate sex”.

Then what was the awakening she felt when she converted causing religious riots in her home state and exposing her own life to unlawful fanatics by falling in love with a younger Muslim man?

She’s a liar, fucked up her own life, I resign.

When she fires a blatant salvo. “My writings are confessional.”

Oh my! This woman is taking readers for a ride! I scream.

But I soon see her apprehensions when she fears for her grandkids’ lives; her excitement of flying to Canada to meet her ‘sister’; the thrill she exudes talking to elderly women like girls understanding their puberty; the trepidation of making politically correct statements to protect herself from religious maniacs; her stark description of a widow’s voidness… “I am not a family property,” she says and adds that she has responsibility to her readers.

That’s a hallmark of a great writer! I acknowledge.

I confess a hundred times over because she excites and inspires readers – one and all. A lay person who just wants to frolic in ether on her words; or seekers who want to emulate her; or critics who are tasked with analyzing her words; or librarians who are duty bound to categorise and label her… she disappoints none.

But why did I read her memoir? No. I didn’t read. I grabbed and voraciously savoured it. Because I wanted to know her. Understand the person behind the artist. The soul behind the writer. Through her conversations with the author, she took me inside her. She guided me through to her darkest nooks…but alas! she left me stranded staring at her soul.

All I can say with conviction is she took each new incarnation to its outer limits. She disliked organised religion, even as she sung paeans to Lord Krishna. She hated sex even as she admitted she waited for more than six decades to know what a man’s touch is. She believed love is divine and should be practiced but adhered to social norms.

Kamala Das had conflicting loyalties.

Even when she gave the author permission to go ahead and write about her intimate and dark secrets initially, she contradicted in the presence of her brethren later.

Why? I scream. As if in answer, she says, “Life has been a game for me”.

She was cheated of a normal life. So she created a persona through whom she could celebrate life. “I detached myself from this body and watched this persona move towards this lover, observing myself in the role of a lover, the role of a woman loved , as though I was another person,’ she says.

That says it all, I assume.

When she says, “I am a remarkably successful fake”. “I want to tell them [readers] that I am a fraud”.

I can see her smile through the pages and even imagine her large eyes crinkle at me, when I’m reminded of her beautiful couplet…

I hide behind my dream/ Like a mountain does behind winter’s mist

Kamala Das experimented with life to write. So even as she strayed away from social norms of her times, she clung on to the defiant cultural bonds. And when her soul took wings she let it soar but camouflaged it in colourful hues.

What hues are those, I saw

When you took me in

I saw the flesh and smelled your blood

I heard your cries and felt your breath

I stepped to touch and you pulled away

I saw you smile and guard your door

What hues are those, I saw

When you took me in

I shut my eyes to capture those hues

But see colours different each time I try

What hues are those, I saw

When you took me in!

Smart ass!

[Disclaimer 1: Any resemblance to real cats and rats, living or dead, is purely coincidental 

[Disclaimer 2: Any resemblance to real men or women, living or dead, is purely your imagination]

Location: Animal Kingdom

Venue: Rat colony

Characters:

Big Boss: The cat 

Leaders: One senior-most rat head; Two assistant rat heads

Staff: 30 rats

Every Monday morning the Cat visits his team that stays in another location. The agenda of his visit depends solely on his mood. If he has a peaceful week, he’ll joke with the rats, eat, drink and leave. Else, he sits by himself and leaves.

********************

One Sunday evening, as the four rat heads were in deep slumber, they heard a thundering sound at a distance. Irritated, they all rubbed their eyes and sat up. As the disturbance persisted and the melee sounds increased by the minute, one of the junior heads volunteered to check it out.

He stepped out and began walking in the direction of the noise. From a distance he saw his Boss – The Cat standing in the center surrounded by leaders of the animal kingdom. All the leaders were animatedly speaking.

The junior rat head strained his ears, from under the tree about 200 yards away. He feared going any nearer. After a while of spying, he heard the mention of the name rat. That’s it! He scurried back to his colleagues.

Panting and ranting, he said: “We are in trouble. Our boss is being questioned… they are blaming us ….something we did wrong...”

The four rat heads jumped up wide alert.

“Why didn’t you hang around until you learnt what the issue is? asked the worried senior-most.

“What if I was caught spying? Why don’t you make a visit, sir. You have the authority?”

“I guess I know what it’s about. The boss was talking of surprise checks by the King to all colonies beginning next month. I’m sure they visited us last night while we were asleep and found our colony dirty…”

“Why didn’t you tell us senior-most?” shrieked rat head no. 1.

“Yeah, I would have ensured the rats tidied up the place, but I didn’t know either,” said rat head no.2.

“I would have spared no effort in training all mice to behave well, only if I had known,” sighed rat head no.1.

“Now what do we do? The cat will surely torture us tomorrow,” cried the two rat heads. “I’m already feeling sick,” said one, when senior-most snapped: “No one is falling sick. I want both of you with me tomorrow.”

“Now both of you go and ask your respective teams why they dirtied boss’s cabin and the visiting area. We’ll discuss the matter in the afternoon meeting. We need a strategy by the time the boss comes tomorrow,” ordered senior-most. “Ideally, we need to sack at least one.”

***************************

Rat head no. 1 calls his staff for an urgent meeting and starts his monologue. “I have told you numerous times, not to step into boss’s cabin or the visiting area. And if you do, to tidy it up. The in-house colony rule says all of you are equally responsible to keep both the places clean at all times…”

“We never go there. You only told us not to venture into those places without you,” said one.

“Yes, you don’t have to remind me what I said. Now I want to know why you guys didn’t clean up the place.”

“But when did it get dirty. And how can we know it got dirty…”

“Shut up. All of you will face the music tomorrow when the Big Boss comes,” said rat head no 1 and walked away.

           *******************

Rat head no.2 also calls his team for an SOS meeting. He just informs them that the Big Boss is unhappy that his cabin and the visiting area were dirty when the King visited the colony the previous night.

“So all of you must be prepared for a dressing down tomorrow. If the Big Boss calls any of you, please own up your crime,” he said and walked away without entertaining any discussion.

            *******************

The rats huddle and gossip. Rats from team two tell others that the King had visited their colony.

If they knew the King was visiting, they should have told us, opined some. And all the others nodded. When one of them said, “But who dirtied the places?”

“None of us have access to the place,” said another.

“Exactly”, all chorused.

“You know what, I saw senior-most take his four friends there. They were all sitting and boozing,” whispered Naughty.

 “OMG! Were our heads there as well,” asked one innocently.

“No those two idiots were sleeping,” replied Naughty.

“But how can you be so sure,” asked Wise.

“I had gone out to pee, that’s when I heard some laughter. So I tip-toed and sneaked through the door and I saw them. But listen, no one is telling them I was out that night. We need to stand united.”

“Yes. Yes. We are all united,” They said in chorus.

              ******************

Meanwhile, the two rat heads met behind closed doors. “What do you think is the real issue?” asked no. 1.

“Whatever the issue, senior-most will try to blame us. We need to stand united,” asserted no.2. “He is very dodgy when it comes to owning up,” he added.

“Let’s go meet with him. We need to know how Big Boss can bring the King without telling us. After all, it’s his prestige issue, as well.

             *******************

Senior-most avoided them the whole day citing various reasons.

The next day Boss – The Cat  arrived. The entire colony was shrouded in an eerie silence. Senior-most followed his boss to the cabin, as the two heads stood giving threatening looks at their teams.

“Give me a few minutes, senior-most. I’ll call you. BTW, are all in today?” he asked.

Seeing senior-most walk out, the two heads run to him.

“He’s real serious. He wants to meet everyone. He asked me if all are in. Call everyone to the lobby,” he said and walked towards his room.

Meanwhile, Slimy slipped in behind senior-most and said, “How are you Sir?”

“Not fine at all, Slimy. We are in deep shit.”

“I hear so, Sir. But you know what that Naughty is spreading rumours about you. You should be careful. I thought, I’ll alert you…”

****************************

Senior-most gives a commanding look to the rats in the lobby. He said: “All those who were on duty on Sunday will be penalized for not cleaning up boss’s cabin and the visiting area.”

“But, we are not allowed in there, Sir,” shouted out one.

“I don’t want any excuses. Don’t you all know the rules of our colony? How many times should I reiterate? When you see the places are dirty it is your duty to get it cleaned. Your heads have a hundred other things to take care of. It is your duty to inform them and ask permission to do the cleaning. Ultimately, it’s your responsibility.”

“But how who dirtied the place, Sir,” asked slimy cheekily.

“That’s something I’ll tackle later. First I need to pacify the Boss before he blows our heads off.”

“The rota says Group 5 was on duty on Sunday. So I’m forced to suspend white mouse– the supervisor of the group – for a week.”

“How can you do this to me,” cried white-mouse.

“I was given strict instructions by rat head no1 and 2 that I’m not supposed to cover Boss’s cabin and visiting area because they are executive locations, and that the heads themselves will take care of those places.”

“When did we say that,” asked the heads in unison.

“Is that clause written in our rule book, white-mouse,” asked senior-most.

“No sir.”

“Then what audacity do you have to blame your heads!”

“Now please go to The Boss and apologise before he summons you. Otherwise your arse is on the firing line. Meeting dispersed.”

All scurry away leaving white-mouse wondering what has befallen him.

            *******************

As white-mouse sat analyzing the events, Boss - The Cat passes by. Seeing him alone, he asked: “What happened white-mouse. Aren’t you keeping well?”

“I..i..imm ff fine Boss,” he shivered.

“Go tell senior-most that I need to address the colony now. Rush,” Boss- The Cat said.

“Boss, I’m sorry. I will see your place is neat at all times hereafter…please….”

The Cat cut him short and said: “Oh! so you are in-charge of my cabin. I’m impressed. My cabin is well maintained. Good job. Now rush and call everyone for the meeting.”

               *******************

When Boss- The Cat arrived at the podium, senior-most huddled beside and whispered, “Boss, I’ve already taken action against the rat responsible for dirtying the place…”

“Don’t involve me in such trivial matters, senior-most,’ The Cat spat and turned to address the rats.

“Good morning everyone,

“I will not take much of your time. I know it’s early morning on a week day and all of you are busy. I called to inform you that all of you need to be vigilant while roaming out. There are rogues in the kingdom. The King and other colony bosses are trying all their best to nab them. Meanwhile, it’s up to us to stay safe.

“Did you’ll hear a thundering sound yesterday noon?” asked Boss – The Cat.

“Yes boss,” chorused the rats, while the two heads glanced at senior-most.

“Well, as we were holding our annual budget meeting under the banyan tree, a huge branch fell down. Apparently it was half sawed. That’s when the Dog Boss said his people have been complaining of thieves roaming around stealing wood. Luckily, I managed with minimum injury.

“Anything else you would want to bring to my notice?”

White-mouse got up and asked: “Are verbal orders to be followed, because...”

“Sit down, white-mouse. Boss- The Cat has no time for your stupid doubts,” yelled senior-most and turned to The Boss and said: “Nothing, boss.”

“Good. Stay safe. BTW, I have a bit of disappointing news. I know how eager you all are to meet the King. The King was scheduled to visit our colony next month, but now the plan is indefinitely postponed, until the thieves are caught.”

“Have a nice day. And please be safe.”

Boss – The Cat takes leave. Senior-most escorts him to the door. The rats walk back abusing their heads. The two heads sit back cursing senior-most.

*****************

Rats arse

[Disclaimer: Any resemblance to cats and rats alive is mere coincidence]

Frienzed rats scurried around early morn

as they got whiff of the cat stretching!

Little did they care about ethics,

Protocol, rules, guidelines

vandalised; they

scurried to hold the weakest scruff!  

When the cat comes,

Let’s stand united, pleaded one

Let’s lie down low, suggested another

let’s pray he doesn't turn up, wailed one! 

Rats have sullied the conference hole,

The king will not pardon the cat,

gossiped senior-most rat head

And racked his brain hard! 

While rats prayed and collected around

Their leaders met and rehearsed schemes

looking over their shoulders

they dusted seats and wagged tails!  

Later, each rat head feigned ignorance

I was sleeping," defended one

I was exercising, claimed another

I was making the budget, said senior-most! 

At last the cat arrived, whiskers sharp

Rat heads snibbled, rats huddled

Senior-most tip-toed behind the cat

While rat heads threatened family of action! 

After closed-door talks, walks out

senior-most, authoritatively;

Straight to white mouse - the family cook

You are suspended, he's told. 

Why? 'Rats soiled conference hole'

But where is that hole, asks white mouse

This ignorance is unpardonable, shouts senior-most

I'm in-charge only of kitchen hole: white mouse. 

Your arse will be fired! if you squeal further

Senior-most threatened,

Go lick up my hole clean, quick

Else the cat will chase you to his!

Chetan Bhagat’s dream for us

All of us have dreams. But how many of us have dreams for our country? India’s Bollywood [script]writer has one. I’ve read all of Chetan Bhagat’s books, simply because I’m in awe at his courage to throw away a lucrative job to follow his heart. Period.

Now I salute him. He’s taken yet another risk of stepping out of his forte – fiction. Has he landed on his feet?

Well, he’s testing the waters himself. His cautiousness is glaringly evident throughout the book. He misses no opportunity to say that he is no expert of what he is speaking and that the ideas and solutions are merely his opinion. “The essays are by no means perfect; they can at times be too simple or idealistic,” he clarifies.

So somewhere within, does he feel the literary world has not accepted him? I remember watching a chat show on one of the channels where he was snubbed by the veteran Tavleen Singh. She said something on these lines… I’ve not read your books. If I remember right, he didn’t reply. I wondered, then, why he was making a mockery of himself in public.

Not anymore.

Chetan Baghat took to writing because, he says, he has a dream for India. Sounds pompous, isn’t it? He didn’t want to be a typical “armchair NRI advisor”, he adds. Now that’s some confidence. He goes on to say that he has so much love from his readers “that other writers cannot even imagine it”. Would you call this arrogance? Well, then here’s the rest…”However, I don’t get literary praise. It’s okay…” he adds. A man with his head on his shoulders; A person who knows where he stands? Definitely!

Similarly, he’s clear about why India is in the ‘mess’ that it is. His essays on politics, society and youth clearly reflect the reasons. He believes only the youth in India can change the country if they change their mindset and elect the right people to lead the nation. Therefore, all his solutions to the various issues plaguing the country involve youth - who want love and money.

He urges the current generation to leave a country that the youth of today will be proud of. “The next generation may say this was a time of turmoil, but let them not say that we sat doing nothing.”

Corruption, education, secularism are his pet topics. To begin with, Indian education system should be revamped. It is “turning out servile, course material slaves,” he believes.

Also that India lacks community values unlike the US. He urges all to do away with caste-based politics and voting, which is the prime cause for all ills in India unlike the US. Send the right people to Parliament, he pleads.

Comparison to America at regular intervals is discomforting. Why emulate only the US? I guess, when a considerable proportion of desis still hold an American trip as the ultimate status symbol, he can be pardoned.

His desperation makes him mince no words as he bravely takes on the rich and famous. He rips apart Kingfisher, the BCCI and the real estate mafia, giving some stark calculations [the investment banker raises its head] and offering valid solutions to help the country prosper and for youth to retain faith in their homeland.

He even nudges human emotions by discussing terror attacks. But a few of his solutions to social ills are trivialized. If Bollywood movies could change over the last three decades, our mindset about serious issues can also change, he opines. I can’t digest this one.

Similarly, his take on Lerds [liberal arts students] versus nerds, and an open letter to Sonia Gandhi does not sit well with the theme of the book. And the two short stories included are way too childish, to say the least.

But that is absolutely forgivable – this is his first non-fiction work.

“What Young India Wants” is an honest book! The mention of his own suicide attempt is ample proof of his intentions. “Don’t fix history, please look at the future,” says it!

So what’s the writer’s ‘Great Indian Dream’? That every citizen should work hard, prosper and succeed through innovation and hard work and once successful, every citizen should give back to the society that made him or her what he or she is.

Let’s stop being typical Indians. Stop being cynical! Read the issues the book raises and his suggestions. You may agree or disagree with him, but as he says, have your own opinion.

Isn’t that the beginning of any change?

Hats off! Chetan Baghat!

[Picture Courtesy: Book cover - www.flipkart.com; Profile: www.chetanbhagat.com]