Note the eyes                                                      Still spying                                                  Never alone at Bayan


                                                                       

                                      They are watching                                                                      Stony stare


                                                 

                                                                                   The eyes without iris



They saw through closed eyes. 

They saw it all, the rise of the empires, the reign of the God Kings, the city that materialized from bricks of sand stone, the culture that evolved when subjects worshipped the emperors, the life that was busy and then… they saw it fall. The faces in Bayan look upon you from every corner, glimpse at a stone, gray, ruined, ancient and the faces materialize from history, unexpectedly. They are looking, they know….they have seen it all.

It’s not the famous Temple of Angkor Wat, its smaller, its in bricks but Bayan is haunting. Located at cycling distance from Angkor Wat, Bayan is a sight that’s sudden. The gate, it has the faces, the eight eyes that stare, pass under and approach the temple. Nothing will prepare you for what awaits. Everywhere you look, they are watching, for centuries, before history they have started to see, when you are at Bayan, you are never alone.

In the 13^th Century, the benevolent Jayavarman VII built the Angkor Thom, in the middle of the “Great City” he put its crowning jewel, the Bayan Temple. Originally there were 54 towers, each with the eyes….eyes that have no iris and eyes that saw it all. The sculptors froze life in its stones, mothers cooking, babies playing, monkeys, goats, fish, crocodiles, boatmen and the sea. Hands had curved what the eyes had seen. Bayan remained unfinished, workmanship was mysteriously abandoned…but the faces were erected, the eyes were done….the watch had begun.

After Jayavarman VII the Khmer Kingdom started its decline. The sunset did not ring in the closing of a successful day, the sunrise the dawn of joy. The far ends of the kingdom were breaking out, the waves of humanity, the Khmer’s Thai subjects proved more treacherous than the seas they had navigated. The empire was soon reduced to small fragmented kingdoms. And those eyes, those without iris saw the processions pass away, not of victory or conquest, but of despair and dejection, like floods they passed underneath the gate of eight eyes, the mothers did not cook, the babies did not play, the monkeys, goats and boatmen…they just walked, away. Farther from Angkor Wat, far away from Angkor Thom. 

Those eyes shut out the world, they did not want to look upon the demur of what build them. They turned away in pain, in neglect, the forest knew their grief, the forest understood, it gave them cover, pulled the green blanket over those eyes without iris, they slept, they mourned, they vanished….into that from which they had been conjured. Then there was only the forest…..till now.

Archeologists from all over consider Bayan as the best, the most exciting, delicate intricacy, perfect architecture, great engineering, to me…Angkor is a story…of magic, the rise of a kingdom from the foamy seas, the Apsaras from heaven who made it their home, the Gods who ruled over it….the hands that wove Angkor, the vision of the shut eyes that gave us Bayan…to see forever.

As usual my entry describes only my thoughts on visiting Bayan Temple, in Cambodia. Under no circumstance is my piece historically accurate or tourism wise informative,
 
                 

Tags: vacation

        
Lotus                                                                                   Beach 

    
Beach                                                                                Big Buddha
                                                                                      
                                                                                   
                                                                                                   To waterfall

There’s nothing to see. Its not a great place for tourist spots. And yet we want to be back. May be for good. Ko Samui makes you a vagabond, a wanderer, a back-packer, even the hippy Mum always warned you about. Ko Samui makes you want to keep walking ….the narrow streets, lined with shops, the overbearing smell of food, the splash of colours, the drunk crowd milling around, the cycles going in circles, the bikes that make a statement…Ko Samui is not your pristine Maldives or Cairns, it’s a poorer, shabbier, gawky cousin. But isn’t dusky Draupadi always more attractive than the ivory Sita? Don’t you just love the not so perfect? 

Everything happens in slow motion in Ko Samui. The town wakes up late, never goes to work, eats breakfast, opens  shops, sits and talks with neighbours, drinks some, eats some more, keeps talking, a few smokes and some more food, customers, some sales, a lot of bargaining…”Swadika” …”whe a you fo” (where are you from) type of conversation with guests, music on the roadside, laughter , clapping, artificial lights on till dead of night, sleep late and yes, you guessed it, wake up late to start a lazy Ko Samui day all over.

The painting shops, they are like orchids, colourful and growing in clusters. All kinds of paintings for the discerning. Even the comics style. I loved the painting shops. The sweaty artists who barely communicate in English. They talk well in art. Their paintings say all Ko Samui wants expressed. Dingy shops, stench of fresh paints, canvas behind canvas, hands quickly wiped on towels, one furtive look, a calculator and the deal is done. All and sundry are art lovers in Ko Samui.

Shacks like Goa, like Mahabalipuram. Open, dirty, local crowd, cheap liquor, but the girls ? O yes the girls, lovely, petite fairies that serve you food, bring you drinks. You will love the girls, they exist only to please your every hunger, fulfill your every appetite, the women of the night in Ko Samui are virginal. Even their grotesque make-up cannot conceal the subcutaneous purity. They are beautiful.

The beach is incidental, the big Buddha an apology, the waterfall non-existent, the shopping phenomenal, the city? LIVING. Don’t look to see in Ko Samui, absorb. The atmosphere. Only watch what cannot be seen, only feel what cannot be touched. Ka Samui is all in the space between the ears, know it there and you will want to be back like us. May be for good.

Draupadi – The principle female character on Mahabharat, the great Indian Epic. She had 5 husbands, could be resentful and bitter if the situation demanded.

Sita – The archetypal Indian wife. The principal character of Ramayan, the other great Indian epic. A long suffering, forever miserable soul who tolerated misfortunes with protest. 

The Lotus that I want to Eat – The name of my entry is inspired by Lotus Eaters, by Somerset Maugham. It’s a story about a gentleman who visited Capri as a banker, left all, settled there and died a pauper in the Island. Its almost as if the beauty of the island killed him. I have seen cairn too, but that’s a story for another day.

 
 
 
 
 

Tags: vacation
Current Location: Gurgaon
Current Mood: content

                                                                                                                         

There are these days. Days when your mind sleeps. When it cries. When it’s sad. You ask why? There is no answer, There’s no silence either. It’s an echo. A hollow sound. Then you know you are in for a miserable time. I am going through those days now. I never know why they come, why they last, I am just so happy to see them go. It is a time when I am sad. Its not a sorrow that cuts through the heart, it’s a sorrow that invades my whole being. Like sugar in milk and not like fruits in the custard. Many have told of this. I have read of such a state. I have also heard it said that this is diversion for those that have everything. The luxury of sorrow. I do not know if that is so. May be it is, because when I am such, I never know why. I wallow in sorrow and am unaware of the motive, I volunteer to indulge in it. I allow my mind to be sad. I luxuriate in sorrow. Only me, only us, only we can choose to be sad, the rest of nature always has a reason. But we are the ones with “reason”, we have intellect, we are God’s chosen ones, our mind makes us we, our mind lets us dominate the rest, our mind also makes us sad. Without reason. The boon and the bane of being us.

There are those amongst us that have never known this feeling. This sorrow that pervades. They usually are those that do not overuse the mind. That do not think so much. The world outside, the real world of tables, chairs, music, conversation is what holds them. They live in the physical world. They feel in the physical world. They feel like the rest of nature does. Sad when hurt, happy when loved….they are lucky . They have “reason”. They are truly God’s handiwork. God meant us to have reason so we know good from bad, not so we can be sad. For no reason.

Sorrow is a feeling. Of the mind. But it’s a feeling that takes over. When you are in a happy state you can expose yourself to tragedy, be sad for a while and bounce back into the happiness that welcomes you with open arms. Happiness is happy that you are back. The anatomy of sorrow is different. Sorrow is a jealous lover. It takes over your life. When you are sad, no comedy is funny. Sorrow does not welcome you back with open arms. Sorrow does not let you go in the first place. 

Sigh, again and again, each breath is an escape for that which is trapped. Cry, as much as you can, each tear is a depletion from that dark pit. Beat it by indulging in it. Be sad, be saturated, an overkill will kill it. Pain will bring relief. You will not know why, but you will escape. Run as far and wait. It will not be long before sorrow finds you again. Before those days are back. Days when your mind sleeps. When it cries.

 

Tags: me
Current Location: Gurgaon
Current Mood: sad

                             
                    The shadow that waited                                                                                     The lamp that was dark

                                                                                    
                                                                                                                        Pain that laughs
 
                                                                            
                          A land that never was                                                                                                    God who paints

Its got bad reviews from movie critics, that’s natural, Saawariya is not a movie. It has a story that can be told in two lines, leads who are not stars, not a scene where the male protagonist gets violent, none where he kisses some luscious lips, not even the background of the scenic Swiss Alps or the bustle of the New York City, its certainly not a movie, so why did a movie buff like me love it so?

Because, it’s a painting, that moves. Even before you have caught your breath at its beauty the scene changes, another one appears and you are left wondering if this is the stuff dreams are made up of. Saawariya is made by an artist who paints in celluloid, a painter who creates in motion, a creator who makes only beauty. Sanjay Leela Bansali does not tell a story, he sings a ballad, his song is as much a homage to Dostovevsky’s White Nights, as to beauty itself. Each frame, each set, each prop, each person, each motion signals …only beauty. The focus is on the eyes. You watch till you are not sure if your other faculties exist. The beauty engulfs you till his dreamland is yours , his fantasy ….your life, his city…..your dwelling. Saawariya is to movies what poetry is to the daily, or the humble ‘diya’ to the strobe lights. Its soft but its lilting, its tranquil but its in motion, its liquid but its luminous. However take warning, its not, on any account, a conventional motion picture. 

Therefore Saawariya is not for you if you are a lover of movies, it’s yours, if you are a lover alone. Saawariya is for you only if the Taj Mahal stuns you, the Pieta in Roma makes you cry, the smile on Mona Lisa makes you dream. The ancient man was an artist too, if his spirit haunts you, Saawariya will stay with you, much beyond the theatre and its show time.

It has overtones of Moulin Rouge but the director has bettered the look of that movie. I personally felt the language should have been a bit archaic, more like the soft Hindi that is spoken in Lukhnow, the language of philosophers and songsters and not that of the young of today. The songs too leave a lot to be desired, they pale when compared to Hum Dil de Chuke Sanam or Devdas. Though I hated her in Laga Chunri Me Daag, I loved the prostitute with the golden heart in this narrative. In Saawariya she is a perfect fit, a nautch girl in a fairytale is a harbinger of good tidings, a singer of love melodies. She is pure and she is true.

The actors have done justice to their roles, including the new comers, but that’s about all there is to say. Nobody outshines the mellow glow of Sanjay Leela Bansali, and its his personality that looms large over all aspect of Saawariya. He is the God of his surreal atmosphere and the God is a painter here. Watch Saawariya if you must, but go with the right set of expectations, otherwise you will be left wondering what the creator was trying to say, while you miss how he said it all.

 
 
 
 
 

Tags: movie
Current Location: Gurgaon
Current Mood: impressed

                                                                                
                              Moulin Rouge - Set                                                                         Saawariya - Set


                                                                                        
                      Saawariya - The Blues                                                                     Moulin Rouge - The Blues 


                                                                                                             
          Moulin Rouge- Buzz Luhrmann                                                             Saawariya - Sanjay Leela Bansali

I may be entirely wrong.

 

But I am reminded of Moulin Rouge, the movie, while watching the trailers of Saawariya. The sets and even some scenes are reminiscent of that. I love Moulin Rouge. When I first saw it, I thought the lead should have been one of our girls, Nicole Kidman was just not pretty enough. Saying that is saying a lot, those of you who need to forgive me for that blasphemy, do so now. But she was just too porcelain, our girls are more lifelike, living. Personally I find Indian women far more beautiful than their Caucasian counterparts. Unfortunately that does not extend to the Indian men.

 

The opulence, decadence and retro glamour that pervades over Moulin Rouge is painted onto Saawariya as well. The lights. Yellow bulbs that glow bright, placed in a row, outline the structures…..restaurants, shops….in the centre stage of both movies.  Both movies have a balcony, high up. Where the female lead stands alone, melancholy….ruminating about romance. The lighting is again either those bright halogens of stage performances or velvet blues and violets of the nights. 

 

Sanjay Leela Bansali, the painter who paints in motion has perhaps paid his unconscious homage to a classic in Saawariya. Often times what is very beautiful stays on in the mind long after we have seen, felt, touched it. May be for Sanjay Leela Bansali Moulin Rouge was like that. It certainly was for me. I would, if I could, emulate Moulin Rouge in my creations. Even if I succeeded in replicating a miniscule fraction of what Buz Luhrmann had done in that movie, I know I would have created history…….inspired by history.

 

 

 

 

Tags: movie
Current Location: Gurgaon

   The look !                              R Balakrishnan - Director

           Dapper & Sugar                  Kum ya Zada ?


The guy, and notice I cannot bring myself to call him the old man is not only not sweet, he is almost bitter. Arrogant, adamant, annoying and Amitabh, he is way ahead of the ‘angry young man’ the generation before us grew up worshiping. He is adorable and endearing too. However I felt that portraying Budhadeb Gupta was an easy job for the veteran, there were props like the cute ponytail and his impeccable London wardrobe to help. The most difficult roles for any actor, and this is just my opinion, are those of the average, regular, normal, everyday people like us. An eccentricity or even one overwhelming characteristic makes it easier. Amitabh had many such to bank on for Chini Kum. Plus Budhadeb’s charisma is natural to this actor, thus he is brilliant casting which looks delectable and fulfills all its promises in this movie. To my mind Kankana Sen Sharma in 15 Park Avenue was an exception to this rule. Mithi was mentally retarded and yet her role was probably the most difficult that Kankana has enacted till date.

Tabu however portrays just another well-educated, upper middle class girl, one of us, who happens to do only one thing unusual. She does not dramatise it, it’s a not a rebellion, she is not out to make a point, she might even advice her daughter to be a conformist, but she just loves a guy who happens to be older than her Father. And she marries him. A digression but Tabu and Irfan Khan have something in common. Even though they become different people, I watch them on the silver screen, they are obviously actors, but they never seem to be acting. Debu of Life in a Metro just cannot be Mr Ganguly of Namesake. Tabu is Nina in Chini Kum. A natural…..sweetener.

The character I can’t get over though is the waiter with the ‘teeth’. His accent is not regional, though my country probably offers the widest variety in that, it’s his. It’s unique. The ‘hiedrebedi zeifreni pilau’ he keeps taking back and forth has made an immense impression on me. I am constantly trying very hard to imitate his style of speech.

Most of the dialogues in Chini Kum are right out of life, when intelligent people converse that’s how it sounds. I am not sure however if a nine year old can talk like ‘Sexy’, even if she is super smart. I have not figured why the pain of her death is a part of this movie, but it is blended well.

On the whole, Chini may be Kum but this sweetness ought not to be missed even by the diabetics J

 
 
 

Current Location: Gurgaon
Current Mood: cheerful
Current Music: chini kum hai

                                                                                        

                                                                                                  Kiran Desai







                                                                

               The Scared Old Cook                                                                                                                     Beautiful Sai



                                                                        


                                                                                                          Cruel Old Judge 

 

If Sai is the protagonist then she does not inherit much from the Judge and thank God for that. The Inheritance of Loss is not a tale of hurt and pain in the manner of The Last Burden. Kiran Desai has not packed negativity into the pages in the garb of realism. (I hated The Last Burden for its pre-occupation with everything depressing. It is the most boring book that I have read.) Kiran has not sentimentalised the feelings of her characters, she has simply stated those. It is left to her reader to conjure the emotions and dwell in them. The same clinical spirit pervades her description of nature, if its beautiful, the reader needs to figure that, Kiran is content to describe it as it looks to her. The book consists more of Kiran eyes and ears than her world inside. It’s for the reader to feel the story, the author, just tells it.

 

Since our coming of age, we are a bit obsessive about the colour gray. We have almost forgotten that characters can be white or black. All monsters need not, do not have a salvaging quality. All good people do not have a Mr. Hyde lurking inside. The Judge has nothing likable, I could not even pity him, I leered in his misery like a sadist. Sai, Biju and the Cook, I loved. Honest and good hearted people, nothing cheap, nothing petty, everything human. In today’s literature where fantastic beings sleep with their siblings and middle class heroes with their old maids, it takes guts to create a straight-forward Judge or Sai. Kudos to Kiran for showing that courage.

 

Her long descriptions, which seemed verbose to me at times disturbed my comprehension of the story, I found the juxtaposition of many descriptive expressions in the same sentence interfering with the smooth flow of my reading. I thought punctuations were missing in places.

 

I liked the book enough for me to recommend it for its content and did not like it enough, not to be surprised at the awards it has won. The style I found new and feel lukewarm towards, the story I found old and completely adore. A father’s love, a neighbour’s envy, a lover’s lust, a servant’s obsequiousness and an old man’s egocentricity are everyday elements of our everyday lives, read the Inheritance of Loss to know the great story they can come together to knit when set in the backdrop of militancy and the Kanchenjungha.

 

 

In the absence of visual material, I have drawn the characters this time, forgive me if they are not very artistic.

Tags: review
Current Location: Gurgaon
Current Mood: artistic

Gangulis with baby Gogol                        Tabu as the new bride Ashima


the Gangulis at Taj                                                                          Jhumpa Lahiri

She does not look like a Bengali , even by a long stretch of imagination, but she most definitely emotes like one, with the slight raising of the eyebrows, hint of a smile , silent exclamation of the eyes, Tabu is not a perfect Bengali in Namesake but all perfect Bengali’s are left wishing that she were.

 

A Bengali bride, especially in the 70s would not have a ‘mehendi’ design , no matter how simple, on her palms, I wish the design washed off from Tabu’s hands quicker, I would have convinced myself that its only ‘alta’, like on her feet. Tabu’s parents looked too young to be convincing, she herself does not seem to age at all throughout the movie.

 

Irfan Khan is a different story altogether. I know too many well established Bengali men of Mr. Ganguli’s caliber and age (my Dad!) to distinguish Irfan Khan at all, he seemed to have blended into the character seamlessly, my ‘antoric abinandan’ to him for a stellar performance and for managing to look like a middle aged Bengali man. Listless, peaceful, utterly domestic but sharp, creative, perceptive and extremely well read. An unromantic but perfect husband, a liberal but influencing dad, a reticent but successful professional.

 

The movie is phenomenal , Namesake for once in my life has made me proud of our bhery Bengali English. There is such a sweetness and affectionate approval in the portrayal of the Ganguli family that I almost felt good that we are unable to speak English like it should be spoken. For me, the accent symolised complete acceptance of our way of life in the movie. It’s a Bengali’s film. Mira Nair is exceptional in being able to integrate the Bengali psyche into Namesake. Its difficult when one is not born into a race to understand that so completely. I am sure Jhumpa Lahiri’s writing had a role to play in Mira’s success. 

 

A movie that depicts nothing but happenings in the life of a family, no climax, drama, hysterical emotions or a moral, has still managed to remain with me long after I have exited the theatre, to that extent Namesake, the movie ( I have not read the book yet) is much like The Suitable Boy as both just depict ordinary life to bring out how extraordinary it actually is. Both convince that domesticity, family bonding and parental love are things to be cherished , to be valued beyond all valuation. 

 

I loved Namesake and would like all of you to enjoy it too but then as Tabu said in a typical Bengali Mom style to Gogol, I can only recommend what’s good for you, as for the rest, please do as you wish. 

 

*-------*-------*

Mehendi : juice of a leaf used to make patters on hands and feet on Indian women on religious and social occasions. The dye lasts for at least 2 to 3 days depending on the quality.

Alta : Liquid red colour used to make designs on the feet of Bengali women on religious occasions. Very unstable, usually washes off after one shower.

Antoric Abhinandan : Heartfelt Congratulations

Bhery : Very

Tags: cinema
Current Location: Gurgaon
Current Mood: cheerful

        
 The First Sighting                                                                                 The Watering Hole for animals within Jungle Mantra    

                                                                                                
           Probir                                                                                                                                      The Haunting Ruins 
                                                              
       
 Forest Dawn                                                                                          Full Moon Night

       
The Folk Dancers                                                                                   Ira

  THE STRIPES

My feelings after visiting Bandhavgarh, the reserve forest in Madhya Pradesh. I visited with my husband Probir. Stayed at the Jungle Mantra , which is the second best lodging there, the first being staying in the core area of the forest , which is illegal and therefore has no accommodation. Shailin & Rhea own Jungle Mantra. Shailin is a perfect English gentleman whose sole purpose in life seems to delight and entertain his guests. He can also conduct classes on good manners. Premi is the head steward. Naresh drives the resort jeep with more pride than I would a BMW, he is also an authority on the forest. Sidh Narayan is probably the best guide in Bandhavgarh, may be one of the best in India. His knowledge is supreme. The above mentioned people conspired with the forest and the ruins of past civilizations on the hills to give us one of the best vacations we have ever had. I must not fail to mention Ira, the 13 month old elephant and the full moon night at Bandhavgarh which have to no less extent contributed to making this holiday so memorable.
*******

The forest talks, we stopped listening 250,000 years back. That’s approximately when the homo-sapiens were born.

Bandhavgarh is a forest, but it’s more ….. It is that which engulfs no matter what and erases all memory of a time when she was unknown. Once a lover, she doesn’t let go, nights are spent in the agony of separation, days in the hopes of being with her. Bandhavgarh afflicts with a madness that has no cure.

We tasted her, with all our senses, at the forest gate at 6 in the morning, throughout the day at the hills and at midnight. The fog, chill and the green. We tasted the forest and knew we were doomed. The sun and the fog, as they rise on the forest horizon and from the forest floors at dawn, make sounds. Forgive the ramblings as that of a lover but I have heard them. The birds take cue, the langoors dutifully wake up the rest. The forest comes alive.

But it mocks at night, they laugh throughout the velvet of the forest night, the dark blue, the gray, the black are filled with the hyena’s laughter. It brought back what I wanted to forget, it unleashed the demons I had exorcised, the fear walked about, around the Jungle Mantra lake with the hyenas and jackals paralyzing me in a state of sleeplessness.

Stand at a bird smuggler’s stall and record the noise, visit an urban park and do the same, take your dictaphone to the cages at a zoo and tape the sounds, play them all together, no that is not the sound of Bandhavgarh. The leaves know the language of the ancients here, the breeze is the tongue, the birds are the songs, the butterflies the poems, the eyes are also the ears here. I heard the blue of the neelkanth, the brown of the deer, the shine of the peacock. I was no longer sure if I was seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling. I drowned in the forest, I lost consciousness.

Flanked by the plateau that looks like Ira’s head on all sides, the forest offers a variety of sights. Savanna like grasslands where deer herds wander, water bodies where exotic birds congregate, thick vegetation through which ‘The Stripes’ see you, even when you don’t see them.

Bandhavgarh has the highest tiger density in India. Within the core area of 105 sqkm, Sidh Narayan told us there were 45 wild tigers. We saw 5 of them in 4 days.

There were 40 jeeps parked around when he was lolling in the shadows. We were crowding around him with our worldly concerns, our polluted breaths, our silks and zaris, cameras and binoculars. He did not care, I did. My first sighting of the tiger had no magic. His sister joined in to watch us. The motley crowd of humans trying to get a look. They were two now, always behind the leaf, the bamboo, the grass. I drank in their beauty but my soul was not touched.

The second time was breathless. She was walking on the hills, we were parked on the forest road. She was only visible while crossing the clearings, when she was out of the shadows of the vegetation. The jeep followed her on the road. She was regal in the forest, we were anxious on the road. We wanted to create memories for a lifetime. She gave us the opportunity.

The day we were preparing to return, she rewarded us. It was our last jeep ride into the forest, Sidh Narayan, I, Naresh and Probir were discussing global warming. Probir stirred…we looked, there she was, 100 feet from us, walking towards the jeep, graceful, slow, haunting, magical. ‘The Sripes’. We stopped, she walked on, in beauty, till close enough to touch. She was fluid, she was a poem, a creature of the myths, a being of God. A living legend. Four humans watched in complete silence as the forest whispered in our ears; “You are privileged to see her when no other eyes are spying, no engines roaring, no lenses focusing, no other souls drinking”. Since that day we have two lives. That before she walked and that since she has.

The ruins of Bandhavgarh hills mystify, I lived in history when I saw them. I wanted to imagine, visualize the past. I scurried for small hints in the architecture, small details in the forest department’s boards. They fell short. I came away feeling like a trespasser, a thief who stole a glimpse at a world that is not hers. A world she had no right to see. The high spire of a temple that is abandoned since the last 100 years peeped out of the forest and gave me a dream. I dreamt of being a pilgrim, of being there at the feet of God. Of belonging. In another life, another time.

The people of Madhya Pradesh are like their forest. Un-spoilt, un-polluted and simple. They adopted to our demands like they knew us for a lifetime. Sidh Narayan educated like the teacher of the ruined hill school, the village dancers celebrated like we were royalty, Premi served like we were having our last meals. Jungle Mantra gave us a hymn for life. Shailin’s hospitality created a thirst for more and Bandhavgarh…..oh yes Bandhavgarh …she afflicted us with a madness that has no cure. 




 

Tags: vacation
Current Mood: contemplative

Moily Report is the most relevant govt. of India literature that I have come across recently after The Right to Information Act. I strongly believe, rid of the rampant corruption that plagues my country, we would have progressed even faster. Corruption is the norm here. Moily Report suggests ways of addressing that.
I have reservations though about how neutral or ethical the functioning of the various departments recommended by the Moily Report would be if they are headed by politicians or beurocrats themselves. I wish good corporate citizens like Naryana Murthy, Ratan Tata and Azim Premji were allowed to man such panels. I know these icons of clean business do not have time to run the country, I just wish they had the power to throw off the unethical ones from the teams that do.
Punishment meted out to the corrupt should be exemplary in my country, so severe that fear acts as a deterrent in the minds of the ethically weak and materially greedy.
Somehow, I think that most of the recommendations of the Moily Report will fail to be executed and the corrupt babus and ministers will gleefully continue to guarantee a high position for India in the world corruption index. With Manmohan, Sonia and Kalam, all perceived to be clean people leading the country, this is the best time for some serious anti-corruption measures. I will wait with bated breath to see what comes out of the Moily Report , will you ?

Current Mood: anxious