Transcript Of An Unreserved Exchange

Altruism, Bhikku, is mostly the ability to say "Poor Bastard" in times of strife.

- October 2, 489 BC

It was one of those days when one couldn't do anything, because there was just too much to do. I wanted to take a break, but felt too guilty to actually get up and leave. For the tenth time, I looked at my to-do list for the day.

"Want to get a coffee?". I turned. He stood, smiling. We walked to the vending machine. He got his coffee. "I don't know how you drink that stuff, man. It's ditch-water. Anyway, want to walk outside for a bit? It's nice outside. As nice as Dallas is going to get, anyway." "Sure." We stepped out into the blinding Texas sunlight. Near a nook just below the roof, a mockingbird was fighting a starling for nest space. In their strange way, they were charming without being beautiful. Suddenly, I felt light-headed.

"Hey, I meant to ask you this earlier. All this fuss about reservation, what do you think about it?"
He shrugged. "What's there, man? I'm neither rich nor old enough to be a right-winger."
"Not rich enough, sure. But not old enough? Dyooode." He grinned, and nodded his head in reverse--his head tilted upwards slowly and came down even slower. It was his equivalent of eye-rolling. I continued, "No, seriously. What do you think?"
"I haven't thought about it much, man. Obviously, all the players have an agenda. The numbers they are throwing out are all vague and probably cooked up. Plus it's not clear whether reservations at the higest level have worked so far."
"Naa, actually, I don't particularly care for the details. If they haven't worked, maybe we just haven't found how to make them work. I'm more interested in the principle of the thing. Is the idea itself fair?"
He grinned, his eyes twinkling. "There you go again. Do you ever consider details? And you call yourself an engineer."
I smiled. "Fuss with details if you want, mate. I'm headed towards top management. Big picture & vision, c'est moi."
He did his reverse nod again. "Whawdever. But anyway, what's your problem with the idea of reservation?". Quotes in the air while saying idea.
"For one thing, merit and quality will go poof if you put in some arbit constraint like caste or economic status or whatever."
"I could argue that exam scores don't reflect merit, and at any rate, this exam merit is kinda overrated. Look around. A well-trained monkey can do what most of us are doing. But anyway, let's say your exam merit is directly proportional to work quality. Even then, why obsess over merit, and make it some kind of God?"
"But, if you concede that, what else is there? "
"Equality, maybe. Justice, fairness, and all that. I guess we all implicitly agree that we want everyone to be equal. And obviously those guys got screwed."
"Then why not reservation only for schooling. Why reservation in higher education?"
"I'm just guessing here--I'm FC myself--but I'd think that atmosphere has a lot to do with how well we're doing. You and I are riding on a culture of education that goes back centuries. Those guys aren't. Money or high school education won't give that culture. People need to believe they can study and understand complicated things, and for that they need living examples.'
"A right winger would call that half-baked liberal bullshit. That kind of thing will only slow down the entire economy and hurt the BCs too. But anyway, isn't your culture of education stuff vague and intangible? How do you quantify it and make it public policy?"
"Dude, you were the one interested in the principle of the thing. And anyway, all your trickle-down macroeconomics is just as vague as my culture of education."
"Touche'. About the principle of the thing.."
"Just a minute. That's a pretty bird, the blue one. It's a woodpecker 'aan?"
"No, itsa bluejay. Not that many here, but I see quite a few near my house."
"Yaa, your area is nice. Very green. But anyway, you were saying something when I interrupted. Sorry."
"Thatsokay. I was saying, uhhh ...right, I was saying: Let's agree that those guys don't have a culture of education. Basically, my greatgrandfather screwed them over. So why should my son pay the price for that. I mean, given that he got the same education as another guy and scored higher, why should he suffer? What kind of fairness is that?"
"See, I agree it's not a win-win situation. There are only so many resources going around. If you've had an advantage at some point, you have got to take a hit at some point, right? If you really want equality, that is."
"Yaaa, but why would anyone want equality like that? You're talking about some turn the other cheek kind of stuff, right?"
"I don't know, man. Didn't white people kill other white people so that black people won't be slaves any more? And what about Gandhi? He was real, and popular too, in case you forgot."
"Yeah, but those are just bursts of, errr, altruism, right? What about Iraq today, or Darfur, or Afghanistan or Palestine, or Gujarat for that matter?"
"Actually, I like to think that we're slowly becoming more decent. Five centuries back, would there have been the same outcry about Iraq and Darfur here in the US?"
"So you're saying people are becoming more altruistic?"
"If you put it that way, it sounds kinda silly. But what I think is that when something is particularly wrong, some far-left loony makes a big noise about changing it. Initially, it sounds shrill and idiotic. But slowly, change becomes more acceptable and even inevitable. And only then society accepts it."
"Well, loonies make noises about lots of things. How many actually take off, and at any rate, why is now different from 1100 AD?"
"The way I see it, the average receptivity to liberal loonies is increasing. Not constantly, but in bursts. Everytime there's a Jesus or a Gandhi, it's a moral example. And I think that kind of thing has an inherent appeal to it. On the average, of course. There are always people who'll detest it, and there'll always be steps back into some particularly barbaric stuff."
"Well, the way I see it, even if people are more broad-minded today, it's only because they can afford to be. Life is more comfortable now, see?"
"Yeah, but it could well have gone the other way. More comfort could have led to more greed. Survival of the fittest and stuff like that."
"Actually, I meant to bring that up too. Isn't a population of altruists mathematically unstable, Darwinism, etcetra?"
[shrug] "Sure, if everyone else turns the other cheek, the guy who starts slapping will be king. But mostly, this altruism business doesn't take much. It's a question of realizing that some poor bastard needs something more than you do. And when you really think that its' unfair, you'll voluntarily give away stuff but you'll do it carefully, with minimum loss to you and maximum gain to him. But first, you have to concede that some sacrifices need to be made, not wait for Kancha Illiah and Arjun Singh to tell you what those changes are, and push their agenda."

We walked in silence for a while. We had finished our circuit of the building. Somehow, the idea of going back inside made me sad in a childish end-of-summer way. "Want to go one more round?"
"No, babu. Got work to do."
"What work?"
"Making some slides. Presentation to show ___'s architecture will increase complexity by 4x"
"Really?"
He grinned. "Sure. The front-end complexity does"
"Let me guess. The front end's not the really complex part."
"Well. Just remember that you didn't hear that from me".
"What about fairness and justice, comrade?"
"Fairness is all very well, my friend. But ___ is the Evil Empire and I'm fighting a just war."
"All you shady liberal types. Damn."

And we walked back, grinning.

Note 1 : As always, this was meant to be a story, not a statement. I freely admit I know next to nothing about reservations.
Note 2 : Some stories just happen to sound better in first person.

A Revelation, Some Moaning and Alvida

You are *this* close to popularity, Bhikku. The public will surely admire you, if only they find out you exist.

-- The Diary, May 13, 506 BC.

In the past, gentle reader, I have often called you a Hindi-speaking imbecile, an immoral bootlegger and a villainous serial rapist. I regret it now. I shouldn't have stopped there. You are all that, and much more. Why else would you hand to S~, that Satan-worshipping son of a what-not, the greatest triumph of his pathetic life?

But perhaps I should explain, because you clearly aren't one to understand subtlety. If you had even a nanobrain in that airhole skull of yours, you would have recognized that the last post on this space was written not by me--Byron's backside and Updike's underwear that I am--but by someone with the writing skills of a komodo dragon. Aye, my gullible readers, the real perpetrator of the last post was my bosom acquaintance, that poultry-thieving, soymilk-drinking scumbag S~.

Let it be said that S~ is not without his virtues. In his own way, he is quite accomplished. He holds the all-American speed and scoring records for True Love. He has been in and out of True Love with every Bombay girl born between 1972 and 1984, and on one occasion he was writing ghastly love poems about a Patel girl whose name he had heard on the radio 3 minutes ago. His talents, moreover, extend beyond romance. S~ is also the only man I know of, whose spare-time hobby is a Ph.D. His computer skills are legendary. He once found my missing socks by searching on the internet. Give him a computer, and give him a car, and he will bring Osama bin Laden to you, provided you are a Bombay girl, of course.

There are, however, things that S~ is not good at. Subtraction is one of them. Another is writing articles on other people's blogs, and yet, that's exactly what he did last week. I now relate the tale of how that came about. All great stories begin with a phonecall. This one is no exception.

B: Hello. Yenna machan, wazzup?
S: Busy, babu. Just did G~'s groceries. Man, girls do groceries too often. Now I need to go drop off N~ at her boyfriend's place.
B: I note that your loserhood continually grows.
S: That's what you think, moron. N~ is going steady with this random Bong dude now, but who knows what'll happen later? They might break up, and I'll be ready for it. As my grandfather used to say, one should always be prepared.
B: I don't even want to know your loser theories any more.
S: Jackass, at least I'm regularly getting kelas from chicks. You are doing nothing. You are a bigger loser.
B: Ha! But I'm an artist. I'm writing a blog.
S: Oh, that stuff. Why don't you go off drugs for a while? Maybe you'll stop writing such long pointless crap.
B: You're just jealous, comrade. I have a fan following. Eight different people have left comments on that space so far. And I'm not even counting L~T~ as people, considering his doubtful mental condition.
S: Sure, mate. People are leaving comments on your blog, but are they reading it?
B: What do you mean? Of course they are.
S: Of course they aren't. No sensible person would.
B: Says you.
S: I'll prove it. Let me write a piece on your blog. Nobody will notice the difference.
B: Yes, they will. They'll appeal to the UN. They'll send you letter bombs.
S: No they won't.
B: Will too.
S: Will not.
B: Will too.
S: Wait, let's talk reasonably. We'll make it a bet. I write one piece. If nobody comments on the difference, I get to put line to P~'s new roommate. If not, you can put line to her.
B: That's so childish.
S: It is?
B: Of course it is. I haven't seen P~'s roommate. How do I know she's worth letting you spoil my blog?
S: My word of honour. Jilukku jikkan figure.
B: Wogay, I trust you. Write this stupid piece and send it to me.
S: Awright. You get lost. I'm getting late for N~'s ride.

And so he wrote this piece, and I put it up, confident of victory. After all, while mine is pointless crap, his is pointless crap with bad grammar. I expected at least three signed petitions decrying the verbal diarrhoea. None came. Those readers whom I know, I asked them gently if they liked it. I saw a glassy look and a sheepish smile. And then I heard high praise. Excellent, they said. You crack me up, they said. Wonderful stuff, my lad, they said. That casual remark about Azerbeijan, great touch, they said. Not a critical word. No complaining, no enquiries about my mental well-being, no suggested improvements, and absolutely no spitting on that vile piece of Llama-poop.

It's clear. Nobody really reads this stuff. I can write down Timbuktoo's national anthem here, and I'll get some irrelevant comment from my "intellectual" cousin. (Actually, this is fun. She's not really reading this. I can say anything I want about her, and she won't even go tell my mom. D~, you are a stinker. You are a moron. Shame shame puppy shame all the monkeys know your name. Hahahaha!)

These days, S~ calls me everyday.

S: Yullo, maplai! You really should update your blog more often. People are waiting to comment on it, I mean read it.
B: Yeah, OK man.
S: No, seriously. You're really witty and very profound.
B: Dei, stop it. You won. Now don't gloat.
S: No, I don't want to gloat. Honestly. But heh-heh-heh, loser, nanananaNaaaanaaa, chi chi cheetangol, drr-drr.

I can't take this anymore. Somebody please kill S~ and leave me a note with the good news. But remember that just killing S~ doesn't make up for what you did to me. I'm katti with you, forever and ever and ever. Disappear, and never show your ugly mug here again.

[still from Children of Heaven, 1999]

Beauty Is In The Nose Of The Beholder

If you truly never found curd rice beautiful, Bhikku, then you have not loved. For what is love but an animal instinct.

In one of those rare moments when yours truly happened to be in the presence of a powered-on television device, he glimpsed at what can only be referred to as the ugliest African non-American couple on earth. At that moment, something hit me, like a bird hitting an airplane propeller. It was a revelation; a revelation of two deeply mysterious and appalling things- there are loads of ugly people in this world, and what's more, someone finds it in their heart to be with them. How did this come about? Did human evolution poke out Bwana's eye and make him lust for Tn (That's her name, you jackass, and not the state I'm from.)

This is not an everyday ablutionary introspective exploratory extrapolative audacious thought, but rather a hyperlink to the true meaning of beauty. Like all those with an incessant urge to click anything underlined in a window, I clicked on it and landed in a place of no return, a place where I find Subramaniyam handsome and Pankajam maami ravishing. What is this beauty? Or more importantly, what is not beauty? S~, please resist the temptation to look in a dictionary and just listen to the master, for it is I that is destined to show you the light.

Like all great people who start an answer with a question, let me throw one in - Have you seen any foul smelling person you thought was handsome or pretty? No, cries the mass. Why?, I ask. Beauty is just another smell. You do not see it. You cannot touch it. But you sense it. This is how you are wired, my boy. Barring Simon Tatham, humans have no escape from the aesthetically-challenged. And regretfully, there is no hope for the uninformed brown man, who shall always lose out the battle of luring the opposite sex (or whoever else you would want to lure). For he is considered a pariah if he steps out of the house without a dab of cow dung and its related products. Note here that insolent posterity will plagiarize my theory and add a Mallu name to this smell - pheromone. Of course, you, dear reader, may not be alive to see that.

Coming back to the pimples on the face of the Earth, I ponder why some appear beautiful to only one gender. Why oh why is Michael Douglas a hit only with the babes and Thalivar Rajinikanth a hit only with the men? (To the agnostic, may I point out that its always the men that buy posters of Rajinikanth, with a heart full of pride, I must add.) Some say that its "empathy". Some say that its "money". Well, I say its just popcorn transference. Everyone likes the smell of popcorn. Most normal people watch movies in theatres, which have the smell of popcorn. Most movies with the above mentioned actors (Note how I clearly avoid the subject of whether they can act or not. Loyal readers would've expected me to walk off on a tangent here and talk about what constitutes an actor, whether Hillary Swank should have been given the best actress/best actor award, can Donald Duck really act and so forth. But drrrr to all of you. No digressions this time!) play in theatres where normal people watch movies. Summing it up, I say the transference of odor is what leads to this impression of beauty. Cruel world! Fortunate men.

Au contraire, I don't really like to say au contraire.

What is not beauty? Definitely every female that your female "pal" considers beautiful. As with most complex concepts, women have the polarity reversed. Quasimodo cute. King Kong cute. Dobbie cute. Uma Thurman ugly. Penelope Cruz ugly. Aishwarya Rai ugly. That should've given you a hint, you moron! Well, a great philospher, who shall remain anonymous, once said that women generously compliment anyone not challenging their beauty. That greatly simplifies my job. To find things that are not beauty, just ask a woman what beauty is. These kind of things takes tact and I do not recommend for the unprepared.

In a world whose motto is "survival of the prettiest", one ought to grow past the inevitable (fact that you are not an object of beauté) and give a shot at salvaging what's left. Clearly, I want to make my remaining stay on this planet a tad pleasanter. Feel free to plagiarize from other communities, like lip plates from the African Mursai women, lip plugs from the Amazonian Zoes, brass rings from the Burmese, beer from the Irish. Or even other species, if you are more the adventurous type, like peacock shawl, Chiranjeevi costume. Copying is not a sin, sayeth Moses! I stop here and just call upon Allah to insure that I meet a prettier you or the prettier of you. Let’s leave the finer definitions of other terms foreign to Brownistan - like hot, cool, sexy, smart etc - for later.