I was playing a game with myself, its not supposed to be played alone but I had no one around to play with.
The game is pretty simple, one has to think of one word associated with the word given to you.
I took the words India, Bharat, Parliament, Politicians, Media, North India, South India, Yoga, Agriculture, Industry, Defence, BPO, Temple, Mosque and People.

The words associated with all these ones were infact terrible. Starting from Toothless Tiger (India), Dead (Bharat) to Idiots (People), I couldn't think of any good words. I found that very irritating that I can't find some good words for my own country. I am not sure if its only my perception or its the perception of others also, that for India, we don't have anything good to say about. Lets not talk about the history here. I live in the present and I see the present. It really does not matter to me that Mohenjodaro had a good drainage system or the number zero was invented in India.

Is it because of the portrayal by media or is it because there is actually very few things left good about India?
I had some questions about our current situation which I found immensely disturbing...



If our constitution is the most important document, why don't I read or hear the word itself anywhere in any media, book etc?
What about the famous preamble? I just remember the word, nothing else.

If agriculture is important, why are there so many malls in Gurgaon, which was an agricultural area?

What about the selling of agricultural land in other areas for manufacturing or residences?

Manufacturing seems to have grown in India but doesn't it seem that more and more MNCs are coming to India for manufacturing and not many are coming for R&D?

Why are we so gaga about BPOs? Forgive my harsh language, but BPO workers are only highly paid clerks, the use of brains in the job is minimal or non-existent, the hours are reckless and work environment is also bad.

If we want to remove the caste system, why is there a small column in every form for caste? This way no one is actually going to forget the caste system. Give everyone a free, compulsory, basic education and then remove the column. Make it criminal to ask for a caste, just like its made criminal to ask for sex-determination.

How come we don't have any biogas plants even near metros? Aren't they supposed to be producing cheap electricity? What about villages?

Why can't I think of one planned city created after independence except Chandigarh?

Why can't I think of one symbolic building created by the government of India after independence? The Parliament house, the Rashtrapati Bhavan, the Red Fort were all created before independence.

If all the things Indian are good, why do foreigners come and tell us that, eg yoga, when we ourselves don't know how to practice these?

How do we have another country's prime minister (Dalai Lama) living here in India and then we don't even raise our voice in support of his country (Tibet)?

Why does it take 57 days to start-up a business in India? All the bribery and red tape are hurting India only.

Why are silent protestors lathi-charged and violent protestors shot down? Additionally, why is there a minimum of one bandh every week in two highly educated states of India?

Why is the north-east totally neglected that I can't even count the number of states in that area?

Same thing about Lakshwadeep and Andaman? I heard it pretty expensive to go over there cause no one wants to go over there.

How come Haridwar and Varanasi are the oldest and holiest cities to Hindus and also one of the most filthiest?

How is that Bihar produces a large number of IIT and IAS students but the state is one of the poorest?

Why does the Indian defence forces have the best officers but 30 year old weapons?

Why do so many people want to leave India that there are regions in India where in every family, at least one person has emigrated?

Why has the government not able to protect the minority Hindus in Kashmir, the only state where Hindus are a minority?

Why do we become so happy about Sunita Williams or Bobby Jindal? They don't live here, they don't work here.

If India has a good education system, then how come all sectors in India complain about unemployability of freshers?

What is being done to control population in India?

If Mumbai is overcrowded, why is no one else trying to develop a new city of dreams?

Why has India never demanded the return of Kohinoor from England? How about any compensation from that country?



India's case is similar to the United States of America. Even they had nothing in common when they first joined together to make a united country. But the difference has been in the path chosen. They chose to take pride in their country. We chose not to take that pride. If the United States stands for unity, its because their leaders have screamed at the top of the voices, that even though they belong to different states, they are a one country. They still scream it. They take pride in their country, even if that becomes arrogance. Just noticing the difference in their response to terrorist attacks and ours makes me worried. The pride in the country also comes from its heroes. India does not have any heroes...

"So Miss Foster, why are you here?" I asked her.

"How in this world did you know?" She asked.

"You both have the same eyes" I replied frankly.

She laughed and took out something from her purse.







I called up my clients, case solved. Meet me at my office the next day. I have all the answers.

They came running up. I asked the chef for three daily-specials. The girls were in for a shock. Better to delay the shock for some time.

It's show-time. I placed the pictures of the Ray and the girl on the table. I asked each one of them to give a confirmation on Ray.

"The other picture is of the girl whom I saw meeting Ray. Does anyone of you recognize her? Has any of you seen Ray meeting her?", I asked. All heads shook in negative.

"Ok, let’s remove her sunglasses and her hat. Now?" I gave them a new picture.

The room filled up with shouts and shrieks. Of course, everyone recognized her now.

She was Dan. She was Louis. She was Vince. She was Albert. She was Ray.

Amid the din, Agnes shouted, "Why?"

"Just a stupid bet with her sister, but for real money. The stakes went higher with each new girl. They are daughters of some rich tycoon and were apparently bored in life. So this stupid bet."







“I want you to join me and some friends on a cruise, just a thank-you for not revealing our antics to the police or to our father." She said.

“Oh, that was easy, the all expenses paid trip to Bahamas for the girls was a nice gesture on your sister’s part.” The 3 week trip did good to the girls, had to do good, it was part of the settlement, I asked for.

"And here’s an invitation to my sister's marriage, don't worry, as a girl this time. She is getting married on the cruise and wanted you to come to her real wedding.” She handed me the card and smiled sweetly.

"I'll be glad to come. I am retired now and bored these days as well." I winked at her.

I got the site to write an article on him and his method, hopefully we might get a clue from someone and maybe even warn a future bride whose groom might go missing on the wedding night. But the chances of the second thing happening were bleak. After all, right now the would-be bride would be at www.happyhearts.com.

A hit, on 25th January, 2007. Some girl googled "My boyfriend does not like being photographed." Debra met Ray on 25th October, 2006. Ray was a writer, did not like being photographed. It could be a coincidence but no harm in following the lead. Seven hours and no sleep later, I landed up in Debra's town. Nice town, bad jetlag. Ahhh.

I clicked some photos of Ray and sent them to the four girls. 24 hours later, positive match. Two of them wanted to come here and confront the guy. I refused. I couldn’t allow my clients to interfere. They paid me to do the job and their coming here would had ruined it all. They would definitely not get an answer to their why.

I coerced Debra to play it on. She wanted out immediately. Give me one week. That's all I asked from her.

The cat and mouse game started now. I kept a 24 hour vigil on Ray. 2 days passed. This guy was pretty cautious. 3 more days passed. Damn, this man was leaving me with no choice. He did not make any mistakes. I might have to confront him myself after the week got over.

A slow town, a different time zone and a boring vigil. But how could I doze off? How could I make this mistake? I was a detective, dammit.

I did not see the girl going into his apartment. How could I? I was dozing off. But I did see the girl coming out. Dark sunglasses and a hat hid most of her face. I had to let her go. I couldn’t follow her and leave Ray here. Ray came out 3 hours later. Pretty slick.

Sobbing women, what should a man offer to sobbing women? In my early days, I was man enough to offer my handkerchief. Not anymore. The box of tissues is always open and always full. Help yourself ladies, will ya. But that day, the ladies sitting in front of me were not sobbing at all. They were only confused.

www.brokenhearts.com

Agnes and Marie met at the site, it was purely by chance, I guess, but maybe not. Both shared the same story. Both met a guy, knew him for 5 months or so, before deciding to get married. The night after the wedding vows, the groom disappears. Leaves a typed letter, with just one word "Sorry". One week later, divorce papers arrive, fully signed.

One guy's name was Dan, other was Vince. But the appearances match. It was definitely the same guy. Agnes lived in this town and invited Marie. That's where I was brought into the picture. They wished to know why. Why? Funny word. People are willing to do anything for a why. Even spend lots of money. I don't come cheap and they knew it. But still they wished to hire me. Why? Ha, not me. Anyways it was my gain.

I spent a week on the net. A case like this might have similar occurrences before or after. I was able to get information on two more similar ones.

Agnes and Dan met on 2nd April, 2004. They got married on 1st September, 2004. Dan disappears same day. "Sorry".
Julie and Louis met on 15th October, 2004. They got married on 13th February, 2005. Louis disappears same day. "Sorry".
Marie and Vince met on 8th March, 2005. They got married on 15th September, 2005. Vince disappears same day. "Sorry".
Jessica and Albert met on 5th May, 2006. They got married on 5th October, 2006. Albert disappears same day. "Sorry".

Dan, Louis, Vince, Albert were all writers. Impressive. Writers can spend all the time they want, not writing at all and still not raise any suspicions. Mental block, whatever. There seemed a gap in between, but it was ok. There was a pattern and there was definitely someone who was following it. Now all I had to do was follow the pattern. Simple, isn't it?

Sadly, there were no pictures of any of these. Apparently he did not like being clicked, said he looked horrible in photos. Naive girls. Or maybe one hell of a smart guy.

"Tell me something interesting, something bizarre". She continued, "Not for the magazine, not for the readers, but for me. You have given me all the juicy stories, those will keep my editor satisfied. After all you are the great Rancho, the most famous detective in this town, you must have something behind that reputation other than spying for jealous husbands and wives."

The past lunch hour had been indeed pleasant for me. Since announcing my retirement, a premature one, there has been a lot of interest in my work, this interview being one of the many which I have given in the past few days. Lunch with a hot reporter in a five star, that's not bad for someone who, these days, sits idle and watches tv all day.

Most people know of me as Rancho, my place as the Ranchos. Well that's the name of the pizza place I own. My office is just above the shop. Ordinary people enjoy a meal below. Troubled people come upstairs. Downstairs is all music and laughter. Upstairs is all quiet.

"Bizarre, I don't know. There have been some unusual cases. But after the cases were solved, they didn't seem bizarre to me at least." I tried my best to avoid going into this.

"Oh come on, be a sport, It's strictly off the record, only for me. The great Rancho being so shy, it does not look good. If you humour me, I'll put a cute picture of yours with my article." She insisted on.

"Flattery, I got no use for that. As for the cute picture, there is not going to be any cute picture. In fact, you won't put any picture with your article. Your editor already agreed to that." It was fun playing with reporters, especially the sexy ones.

Her jaw dropped open on hearing that. "My...my editor, you called up my office?"

"Did you forget that I was a detective? That's not nice at all, Miss Swan or should I say Miss Foster? Miss Swan, incidentally has taken a leave of absence due to the sudden demise of her father, sad, isn't it?" Well, the cat is out of the bag, no need to hide it anymore, this is where I show my true colours.

Living life with prejudices is seldom easy. Especially when you know they exist. Many people believe that city-people are better living beings than village-people. Or people in western countries are better than us.

And with that, thoughts also come up accusing women of being fools. The bad road habits of some of them or the look of disinterest in some of them when some serious discussion comes up, make up the relevant reasons supporting that thought. And any exception is well an exception, not a daily thing.

Been brought up in a family where my parents did not do any discrimination between me and my sister has been a major aspect in my life. Though being younger, many times I felt that she was favoured more than me, talk about reverse discrimination :)

But what about that now? Are women really not as strong, as intelligent, as "good" as men? I have met both dumb women and intelligent women in my life. To think of it, I have also met both dumb men and intelligent men in my life. So how about it? Well, whatever the answer might be, I surely should not care about it.

I should not care about it because I already have an answer. And that answer is, it does not matter. Why should I apply the scales to weigh men, to women also? What if the reverse happens? If women start weighing men on emotional stability and communication skills and ability to connect with people. That would be a real horror for all men, isn't it?

It's all a matter of expectations. Women are expected to act dumb, so many of them act dumb. Or when everyone says women are bad drivers, some might not even care to actually check whether they can be good drivers or not. They remain bad drivers. You keep telling someone, you can't drive properly, you can't drive properly, day and night, chances are that s/he will actually never learn how to drive properly.

So where does that lead me to? How am I supposed to behave? Unconsciously I know, nearly all men are MCPs. Their first reaction would be to blame the "woman-ness" of that person. So if I am in a group of men, and the subject comes up, what do I do? Do I start reinforcing their statements with cute little anecdotes or do I make the discussion serious, accusing them of their own prejudices?

Well I don't agree with both the ways. So I start giving cute little anecdotes about my own dumb acts followed by some of my boss's, just veering the topic off a bit. Then I move on to cute little anecdotes about the people in the group itself. Well, they can't fight with me on that since I already made fun of myself in the first place. The discussion takes a new turn, all the older things are lost, with everyone busy trying to save themselves from the banter, hopefully understanding that anyone can have a few dumb moments.

What else I can do? I am proud to know that I am also a MCP. Can't really hate myself for that. And after all, pride comes before a fall. So either I remove that pride or I fall. So, already working on removing the pride and MCP-ness in self and others. The fall will hurt more...

When I get married, will I beat my wife? I guess so but only in a game of badminton. I am hopeless in others :)

This idea has been on and off in my thoughts for quite some time. While watching the nth movie on multiple personality disorder (MPD), I got thinking that if this is for real, then how does anyone decide which is the real self? Leaving aside the one murdering psychopath and other docile personality, suppose all the multiple personalities are harmless. Is there a real self in that case?

I guess multiple personality is considered dangerous by the society because of the basic premise that everyone is supposed to have one consistent personality. Once consistency is there, the society knows how to deal with that person or avoid that person. The society can put him/her in neat boxes on a psychoanalysis sheet and then try to figure out why s/he did what s/he did. Psychologists still try to figure out why Hitler did what he did? Why Gandhi chose non-violence instead of violence?

Even we do it everyday. Why did he say that? Why did she do that? Why was he friendly with me today? Why was she so rude to me? By putting people in neat boxes, we try to answer all these questions but getting the real answer might be lil difficult since these neat boxes attribute more on the personality factor.

Lets add environment to that. Some answers become slightly clear. The effect of environment may also completely change the answer. He snapped because he was tense and had a verbal lashing from his boss. She was sweet because she just finished a box of chocolates and was feeling pretty happy.

But isn't the effect of environment on self, considered bad? Isn't that the mantra of Control Your Environment, Control Your Life. I can actually picture a book with this title in the self-help section of the local bookstore. But alas, no one can control the environment. So maybe it means controlling your reactions or better it means preventing your instantaneous reactions from coming into play.

I can't be totally oblivious to environment either. That makes me living in a black hole, which I am not actually. So it's not a black hole but a dream hole and I am floating around in blankness. Well that might make me a meditating sage also.

So if I am defined by my box-personality and controlled reasonably by my environment, that makes me a certified normal person. Any psychologist will be happy enough to give me a certificate of mental fitness and stability. My personality is consistent and I am a happy person.

Am I? I am neither a control freak nor a complete pushover. I am somewhere midway. Happy and contended. Am I?

What if I want to do something that my personality does not allow me to do? I get a whole load of mental resistance or reluctance depending on what I want to do. Now do I blame myself or my environment or my personality? Blaming self is easy. I can't do it. Period. Or the environment. It's not conducive. Period. Personality takes the best blame. My personality does not allow me to do that. Not my fault, not my environment's fault. It's my personality.

Everyone wants a great personality, a cool attitude. So if I am blocked by my personality in doing the things, harmless of course which I would like to do, is mine a great personality? I guess not.

If I go about developing a great personality, I may take some time to do that. I can still do the thing which I want to do and since I am fighting my personality to do it, either it becomes weak or becomes strong as a result of it. It will be affected, one way or the other and I don't know beforehand in which direction the effect will be. If I feel great after performing the task, it will become strong. If something goes wrong or my conscience pokes in, screaming betrayal, it will become weak.

Suppose I try a different thing. I split my self. And in turn create a new personality. That makes me a multiple personality. It's common enough. I am sure you have heard people saying, "I don't know what happened and how I did it. Its not my usual self." That's a personality split. Maybe knowingly, maybe unknowingly. I want to do this knowingly. I don't want to suffer from MPD. I just want a dual personality, one primary and other secondary. If primary creates a resistance, the secondary takes over. Once the job is done, the primary is back.

Don't comic book heroes support that? Normal weak human beings by day. Crime fighting superheroes at night. Of course, the reason behind this is to "fit in". But whatever the reason, they also have a dual personality. And they also sometimes fight villains who have psychotic MPDs. Alas, comic book heroes are not real.

Seems scary enough? We are not able to control ourselves through one personality and here I am talking about juggling between two. But what if I don't want to be defined by the neat boxes? I want to exist in 2 of them, in 3 of them, even in between the boxes. That will surely scare any normal person. Enough to put me on the path to psychosis. Suppose the juggling slips out of my hand, it becomes random. I won't control myself then. Some random switch will.

Maybe I should have a monthly fusion schedule, to fuse both the personalities. That would be like the patches in softwares. Every year, I bring out a new version. All patches neatly integrated. A new version of the personality, the mind software.

Or should I see a psychiatrist right away? These thoughts are too dangerous to be left inside my head and need to be pushed out fast...

The case seemed simple enough.
The man was found next to his murdered wife, her blood all over him.
His fingerprints on the knife plunged deep into her chest.

A normal family, a happy family.
Husband was an accountant, wife was a dressmaker. No kids.

It seemed the husband left his office as usual at 5:30, grabbed a paper from the local stand.
He then took a bus and reached home. The elderly neighbour saw him coming at 6:30 and then his wife at 7.
Both of them were fond of him and always spent a few minutes in pleasantries while passing him.
Same thing happened that day also.

At 7:30, a scream filled the otherwise quiet air of the neighbourhood and then silence.
One of those screams, which chill your blood to the core and your heart actually skips a few beats.

The neighbours rushed to the house and were horrified at the scene.
Multiple stab injuries, wife dead, husband standing next to her dead body, smiling.

Everyone got a shock when the defence lawyer entered an insanity plea.
It did not make any sense. It was normal happy family.
No one had ever seen the husband display any abnormal behaviour.
Neither his office colleagues, nor his friends or his neighbours.

No abnormality, no signs of psychosis.

The case proceedings were marred by the death of the prosecutor, a car accident.
Nothing unusual about that. Drunken driving, hit a tree at night.

And our star, the husband, in court, always smiling.
No signs of regret, no signs of nervousness.
A hundred serious faces in courtroom and one man smiling.
I know it sounds funny, but it was horrifying.

My husband does not want me to take interest in his criminal cases.
Says I am too innocent to learn about the daily horrors.
But this case interested me, intrigued me.
I begged him for details, nagged him but nothing came out.

So I sneaked into the courtroom, sat at the back.
Farthest from my husband, the defence attorney.
Hating the bastard who killed his wife in cold blood.
And sitting there all smiling.

The man's defence statement was no defence statement at all.
He doesn't remember what happened that day.
He doesn't remember that he had a meeting with his boss.
A lunch date with a client, a talk with his neighbour.

He accepts this as unusual and says that he is going mad, seeing visions.
He doesn't know why he killed his wife, he does not even remember killing her.
And so the insanity plea, the asthmatic bastard.
Taking out his pump out every hour or so and smiling on.

The court appointed shrink's analysis seemed inconclusive.
He did not say that the man was fine but left enough doubt on the jury's mind.
And on top of that, my husband made a good closing statement.
Questioning the analysis and still maintaining the defence plea of insanity.

It took the jury almost three hours of deliberation.
The three hours, which I spent nervously in the old cafe next to the court.
The cafe was very quiet that day.
Homicides and murders were unusual in our small town.

And then the news came.
The jury had reached the conclusion.
Not guilty, the husband needs to go to the state's mental disorder facilities.
I could not believe it. This man was guilty like hell.

So it's a drinking night for my husband.
Another victory under his belt.
I planned to grill him when he comes back.
This time, he has to answer me, Why?

My lawyer husband comes home.
Totally sober. That's surprising.
Still I decide to confront him after dinner.
I need to know the details.

He smiles and says he knew I was in court all the time.
He says he did not want to stop me this time, that it was good I saw it myself.
The man's wife was having an affair and he got to know a few days back.
He had decided to murder her in cold blood.

But why, why did you help him get away?
Money, honey. He paid good money.
That fills our house.
That pays for your clothes and your food.

And the insanity plea? The cruel smile, the perpetual smile?
My husband smiles back, says,
Our Father in heaven,
Give us our daily nitrous oxide.

Well I hope its not a April Fools surprise :)

The article Why people do what they do actually got comments from the author of the original article.

The original article is Geetanjali Krishna: Why people do what they do.

Nice surprise for me. I don't know how Geetanjali came to know that I had put it up. But she was nice enough to put her valuable comments

It all started with a silly argument.
My parents were fed up with shoes inside the house.
So we had a new rule.
The shoes will be kept outside the house. All of them.
You can imagine 11 pairs of shoes lying outside on the floor.
What a mess...

It was night-time.
Time to sleep. Time to get the shoes inside.
My dad had picked up the shoes and brought them inside.
My mom was now cleaning them, when I entered.

Mom, to Dad - Yeh jutte yahin darwaze ke paas rakhne hain.
(These shoes need to be kept near the door)
Dad, to Mom - Acha, main rakhta hun.
(Ok, I'll keep them)

Mom, to Dad - Arre, aise nahi. Doosri tarah se.
(Not this way, the other way)
Dad, to Mom - Kaise, theek to hai. Tum khud hi rakh lo.
(How? This seems ok. You do it yourself)

Dad goes and sits nearby.
Its a hot day. No respite even in the night.
The house has a main wooden door and a second mesh (jaali-waala) door.
The main door is open to let the air in.

Me, to Mom - Ek rack kyu nahi le lete.
(Why don't you buy a rack?)
Dad, to Me - Faltu ke paise nahi hain.
(We don't have useless money)

And I am surprised, this did not seem an expensive item to buy.

Me, to Mom - Aise vertical nahi rakho. Horizontal rakho.
(Don't keep vertical. Keep it horizontal)
Mom, to Me - Kya hai? Kyu faltu mein sir kha raha hai?
(What? Why are you bugging me, uselessly?)

Me, to Mom - Rasste mein rakhne se problem hogi.
(It will create a problem to keep them in the way)
Mom, to Me - Kya problem hogi. Raat mein kisse bahar jaana hai?
(Whats the problem. Who is going out in the night?)

Shoes finally lined up on the floor. Blocking the path to the door.
We all sit down. And poof, the light (electricity) is gone.

Me - Main darwaza band karke aata hun.
(I'll go and close the door)
Mom - Sirf jaali waala band karna. Garmi hai.
(Only latch the mesh door. Its hot)

Its completely dark. No one has bothered to light a candle.
I try to avoid all the shoes and then inevitably stumble down.
I land on my knees and I hear a hisssssssssssssss.

What? Where? What was that sound?
I look up. Towards the door.
Outside I see nothing, its all dark.

The spray, the white spray.
I see the white spray, accompanied by the hissing sound.
Someone is spraying something, next to the door.
I can only see the spray coming in.

I panic, try to get up.
By the time I reach the door, I am totally drowsy.
Oh shit, this can't be happening.
This is one of those ppl who put people to sleep and rob them.

Shit. I try to grab the main door.
My fingers slip from the handle.
I try again. Able to move the door.
Bang. The door gets closed. I latch it hurriedly.

I fall down. Land up on the floor with my back to the door.
Sitting down, head swimming.
I try to yell. Only a whisper comes out.
Me - Mom, darwaze band kar do saare, kissi ne spray kiya hai.
(Mom, close all the doors. Someone has sprayed something)

I pass out...








And then I wake up. Drenched in sweat.
Certainly not a pleasant dream, I think.