There are four people in the xerox shop doing the work that one is capable of handling. They work only when there is power, which is obvious. Power is a rarity these days. 'Unscheduled' load shedding the Electricity board say with such indifference. Sometimes, their phone isn't answered because the line is dead. From the looks of things, communication is impossible between 'concerned' electricity officials and the telephone exchange.
Next door is a 'paan' shop, where beedis are bought in large numbers. They're smoked like there's no tomorrow. There are wine shops on both sides of the road. Late in the night, after a "Hard" day's work, many a person can be seen drinking OMR outside these shops, and those who can't afford it settle for hooch. Soon they're so sloshed that most of them call it a day and settle into bed, which consists of the thin asphalt of the road. The beat police turn up later, and give them a few whacks. Meanwhile, their spouses are waiting at home, waiting for the money called 'salary' to pay for their kids' 'Government school' primary education. Those below the poverty line, don't even know what an education is, or can do.
The rain gods have failed farmers once again. They fail to reap any produce. Those that do, travel long distances to sell. Often they are disappointed with the prices, and so all is in vain. Tomatoes and onions are dumped in yards. Protests are held. Effigies are burnt.
A few Farmers commit suicide, unable to bear the 'burden' of supporting their families. Compensation is announced for the dead, as if to say his/her life can be equated to money.
Government jobs provide security in these turbulent times. An influential politician's son is promoted, where as the profile of an Civil services' officer, who has come up the hard way, with support from NGO's for his education and coaching, is shown the door.
The 'Assistant commissioner' of the divisional Corporation office, as he calls himself, has a few more assistants working under him. No one under him can question his authority. The irony is, he himself is an assistant to someone:p.
There is a H.P petrol bunk, one of many, that supposedly offers services through the night. Pay a visit after 11, and one will inadvertently find that those 'servicing' vehicles are snoring away. One Petrol bunk needs about ten people to run it. A separate guy to collect the cash.
The Urban Rural divide is unfathomable. Next door to the Radisson hotel under construction, one will find an 'un-official' vegetable market.
'Soil picking' is a proffesion. Child labour is payrolled. Children resort to sniffing Erazex for kicks.
A girl child is sold to a richer person, simply because she is a girl who cannot carry forward the 'family name'. It's atrocious to be associated with such a family.
Some would say it isn't, because IGNORANCE is bliss. Some faiths believe that a kid born is God's will. So they will continue to have children, until God decides they can't. Science is irrelevant in the simplest of issues.
Money equations are in, Truth and non violence was out long back. Gandhi took it with him to the grave.
Our population is our biggest strength. Sure, publish it in journals, magazines, papers. It is our biggest weakness. Democratic movement or not, who cares?
I'm just like any other Indian, voicing my concerns. I still am patriotic at heart.
But really, ask yourselves, Did India really gain independance on 15th August 1947?
Next door is a 'paan' shop, where beedis are bought in large numbers. They're smoked like there's no tomorrow. There are wine shops on both sides of the road. Late in the night, after a "Hard" day's work, many a person can be seen drinking OMR outside these shops, and those who can't afford it settle for hooch. Soon they're so sloshed that most of them call it a day and settle into bed, which consists of the thin asphalt of the road. The beat police turn up later, and give them a few whacks. Meanwhile, their spouses are waiting at home, waiting for the money called 'salary' to pay for their kids' 'Government school' primary education. Those below the poverty line, don't even know what an education is, or can do.
The rain gods have failed farmers once again. They fail to reap any produce. Those that do, travel long distances to sell. Often they are disappointed with the prices, and so all is in vain. Tomatoes and onions are dumped in yards. Protests are held. Effigies are burnt.
A few Farmers commit suicide, unable to bear the 'burden' of supporting their families. Compensation is announced for the dead, as if to say his/her life can be equated to money.
Government jobs provide security in these turbulent times. An influential politician's son is promoted, where as the profile of an Civil services' officer, who has come up the hard way, with support from NGO's for his education and coaching, is shown the door.
The 'Assistant commissioner' of the divisional Corporation office, as he calls himself, has a few more assistants working under him. No one under him can question his authority. The irony is, he himself is an assistant to someone:p.
There is a H.P petrol bunk, one of many, that supposedly offers services through the night. Pay a visit after 11, and one will inadvertently find that those 'servicing' vehicles are snoring away. One Petrol bunk needs about ten people to run it. A separate guy to collect the cash.
The Urban Rural divide is unfathomable. Next door to the Radisson hotel under construction, one will find an 'un-official' vegetable market.
'Soil picking' is a proffesion. Child labour is payrolled. Children resort to sniffing Erazex for kicks.
A girl child is sold to a richer person, simply because she is a girl who cannot carry forward the 'family name'. It's atrocious to be associated with such a family.
Some would say it isn't, because IGNORANCE is bliss. Some faiths believe that a kid born is God's will. So they will continue to have children, until God decides they can't. Science is irrelevant in the simplest of issues.
Money equations are in, Truth and non violence was out long back. Gandhi took it with him to the grave.
Our population is our biggest strength. Sure, publish it in journals, magazines, papers. It is our biggest weakness. Democratic movement or not, who cares?
I'm just like any other Indian, voicing my concerns. I still am patriotic at heart.
But really, ask yourselves, Did India really gain independance on 15th August 1947?
P:S-- I wrote this in tthe 'moment', it may be a little deep, but i'd like to know if others would agree.
source: www.insipid-kish.blogspot.com
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