Devaluation of Ministers

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https://howto.informationactivism.org/sites/c4a.tacticaltech.org/files/rupees_front.jpg

"Posts at checkposts were allegedly auctioned for anything upward of Rs 10. Ministers used to recommend officials who were close to them."

...ToI Page 7 September 11, 2015






...Posted by Ishani

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Fox & the Smart Crow

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It is 4 days since I made an ass of myself trying to tell a kids' story to a set of stunned senile grandparents. 

And I have recovered from the shock:


http://gpsastry.blogspot.in/2015/09/ishanis-stardom-grandpas-flopshow.html


For the record, I will now re-tell it here verbatim for what it is worth. It is one of those tweaked tales I used to revel in narrating to Ishani when she was in her kindergarten (now she tells me many tales, highly tweaked). With a cordless mike in my left hand, Ishani standing cheerfully by my side, I acted this out in the open-air quadrangle of her school, 'Cornerstone':

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There was this street vendor with a heap of yummy-yummy delicious golden-brown potato chops (aloo chops) on his cart. 

Pretty soon a young and beautiful crow flew in and perched on the opposite wall. And was watching and eyeing the heap of aloo chops. At the right moment when the vendor turned back, she jumped in and picked up one aloo chop in her beak and flew far away into the jungle. And landed on the branch of a mango tree. And was thinking of biting, chewing, and eating her crunchy-munchy aloo chop.

Just then an old fox was walking below the tree and looked up. You know, old foxes are very cunning. And he wanted to steal and snatch the crow's aloo chop and run away with it. So, he said to the crow:

"Oh, Ms Crow! You are so young and beautiful. And everyone in the jungle tells me that you sing wonderfully. Won't you please sing a song for me?"

The crow looked down and thought this fox is old and so let me sing an old song for him. And she hid her aloo chop below her feet sandwiched firmly between her claws and the branch of the mango tree. And sang a song from the old movie, Missamma:

"Seetaa Raam, Seetaa Raam, Seeta Raam Jay Seetaa Raam..."

for a full two minutes.

And the aloo chop didn't fall down, no way. The old fox was disappointed but old foxes don't give up. So he tried another trick. And said to the crow:

"That was a nice song you sang melodiously. Thank you. I am also told that you are a great dancer. Won't you please perform a dance for me?"

The crow looked down and thought this fox is old and so let me dance a number from an old movie. So she picked up her aloo chop and replaced it firmly in her beak and danced a number from the old movie, Jhanak Jhanak Payal Bajey:

"Tha tha ththaa, thadikita tadikta tadkita thaa...naadir diththa naadir diththa naadir diththaa...."

for a full three minutes.

And the aloo chop didn't fall down, no way.

The old fox was beaten again but old foxes don't give up easily. So he tried a final trick and said to the crow:

"That was a superb dance indeed. You gave me a song and a dance but both from old movies. I may be old in looks but young at heart. Won't you please now give me a song-and-dance number from a recent movie...singing while dancing and dancing while singing?"

The crow then sang and danced the popular number from the movie, Chennai Express. You know the number:

"Lungi dance, lungi dance, lungi dance...."

for a full four minutes.

But, before that, she pushed her aloo chop into her pocket. You may think that crows don't have pockets. But this one had. All of six pockets. Two back pockets, two side pockets, two thigh pockets...for, she was wearing her jeans pant (me glancing sideways at Ishani). 

So the aloo chop was firmly zipped in her back pocket and didn't fall down, no way.

The old fox then gave up and said to the young crow:

"I admit defeat. Everyone says I am the smartest creature in this jungle. But you have proved smarter than me. But, tell me, what is the secret of your smartness?"

The crow laughed and said:

"Oh, you want the secret of my smartness? You want to know the secret of my smartness? Write it down...write it down:

The secret of my smartness is...the secret of my smartness is:

"I study in Cornerstone!!!!"

Cornerstone Public School provides a unique learning experience, replete with outstanding love and care. We also recognize the unique needs of your child and extend full support and cooperation. At the core of it we have an excellent child centric work culture. We look forward to forge a strong relationship between children, staff and the parents.

Sharmila Solomon

Director

http://cornerstonepublicschool.com/images/sharmila.png

http://cornerstonepublicschool.com/

...Posted by Ishani

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Commatose Delhi

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"Suhag had last week said India's borders with Pakistan were active because of frequent ceasefire violations and infiltration bids by Pakistan during a ceremony in Delhi to commemorate the 1965 war."

...ToI Page 10 September 9 Tuesday 2015



gps: Nero fiddling while Rome is burning...






...Posted by Ishani

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'Skidded' Skidded

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https://wronghands1.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/a-tense-situation.jpg

"The car in which the MP was travelling, skid on the road when the driver tried to avoid hitting buffaloes that suddenly appeared on the road."

...DC Page 3 Monday 7 September 2015


gps: I just kid DC there a few minutes back.




...Posted by Ishani

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Ishani's Stardom & Grandpa's Flopshow

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Something like this was bound to happen to a born loser like me.

As I said the other day,

http://gpsastry.blogspot.in/2015/09/im-nervous.html


I thought I would be telling my 'story' to a bunch of 25 kids in pigtails in their cozy classroom, guided by their teacher.

But, no way...

This morning I happened to be the only poor soul to be hauled up the frightful stage, pushed a mike into my hand, and asked to tell my story to a set of 50 senile grandparents squirming in their chairs and looking bewildered...some blind, some deaf, some dumb, and all crazy as coots like me. All I could see was a sea of stunned faces with one half of them asking their spouses, "What is he saying?", and getting a polite nod for a reply.

Like this PGW tale of two deaf men on a London train:

"What did you say?"

"This is Wembley"

"I thought it is Thursday"

"Me too, it is so hot"


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Three years ago I had gifted, willy-nilly, a couple of 'Ishani Booklets' to the charming principal, Ms SS, of Ishani's pre-primary school. And got a sumptuous bouquet in return:

http://gpsastry.blogspot.in/2012/12/boquet-for-booklet.html

I rarely met her after that. And when I got this invite to the grandparents day in Ishani's primary school of which she is now the charming Director, I recalled that I hadn't gifted her any of my recent stories. And I didn't publish any more Ishani booklets after my wife passed away. 

I then recalled that I had blogged half a dozen 'Fables for Clever Girls' some months back. So I edited them up into a file of 25 pages, got it color-printed by my son, got it spiral-bound, inscribed a suitable dedication to the Director, enclosed the thing in a cloth-lined envelope, pushed it into a blue plastic folder, and carried it with me to Ishani's school this morning, ambling in my own casual gait.

And found a huge stage with sound systems and about 50 chairs for the august audience. And was ushered in to sit down in one of the chairs. But I entered the office and found a young lady to whom I delivered my gift packet asking her to please pass it on to her Director, 'after the event'. 

And returned to the audience and hid myself in a chair in the back row.

Pretty soon the band baaza started and I found Ishani walk like an angel on to the stage to deliver her 'welcome' address standing unfazed in front of one of the two mikes. And walk away victorious, with half a dozen other boys and girls of Grade 1 following up. The charming Director was nowhere, the show guided by half a dozen comely teachers. Then there were songs and dances and skits by angelic kids to entertain all of us senior citizens. And the printed program stated that we were then to be guided to the classrooms of our respective wards where we were to mix with the kids and have fun time.

And I was preparing to get up.

Suddenly from nowhere, the Director arrived on the stage with a blue plastic folder in her hands. And I was missing several heartbeats with a throbbing head. And the lady spoke a few extempore sweet words on the importance of grandparents as a species in their loving homes. And then said this (verbatim):

"And here in this audience is a special grandparent who writes and publishes booklets of stories, with his granddaughter in their titles so that she can read them when she grows up. He is a professor retired from IIT Kharagpur. His name is GP Sastry"

And then she delicately opened the blue plastic folder in her hands, pulled out the envelope, opened it, brought out the spiral-bound file, displayed it to the audience, saying:

"Here is his latest collection of stories titled, 'Tweaked Tales for Smart Kids'. I now invite him on to the stage to tell us one of his promised stories"

And I was trying to bend down and vanish.

Then she called out:

"Ishani! Come here and fetch your grandpa!"

And Ishani ran to the stage, curtsied her Director, walked gracefully to where I was hiding (she had searched for and spotted me in the audience from the first moment). And pulled me out with her delicate hands and led me on to the stage...Lead Kindly Light!

And I curtsied the Director.

And she pushed her hand-held mike into my hands and joined the audience.

And I was standing there all alone except for Ishani beaming by my side facing the audience and smiling away.

And I don't recall what happened in the next 3 minutes.

Let it pass.

And I returned to my seat and we all walked away to our respective classrooms guided by our respective grandkids to have some 'fun time'. Everyone else had their fun time...

And I returned home dazed.

Only to the smiles and guiles of my charming D-i-L, Sailaja, asking me how it went.

And I could sense mischief in her smiling face.

And I said, 

"The Director of the school caught me with my pants down"

And she then let the cat out of her handbag that there was a phone call to her from the gracious administrator of the school a few days back asking for the cv of her F-i-L with his correct name and workplace. And asking for a 'set' of Ishani Booklets for display in their school.

And, apparently, she and her fond hubby ransacked my bedroom in my absence, fished out a set; and my son of a gun secretly carried the packet to the school and delivered it in their office.

And I turned out to be the perennial goat.

http://rlv.zcache.com/happy_birthday_daughter_in_law_greeting_car_card-r879b556e776c4b6e93aa84fb80b29a72_xvuat_8byvr_324.jpg

...Posted by Ishani
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The Intrusive Indian

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I guess I was a Britisher in my previous birth.

Yes, I am a firm believer in the theory of rebirth. When I was a youngster at IIT KGP and when my colleagues questioned me on my belief, I used to point out our senior professor, Prof G, and say that he proves my theory. When asked how, I used to ask:

"How could he have accumulated so much cussedness in just one birth?"

As I was saying, I must have been a Britisher. For, I read that no Britisher ever talks to a chap to whom he was not introduced by someone else. 

There were these two prisoners in a New York jail compelled to share a cell. They never talked to each other for all of a year. At the end of which the senior lost his cool and declared:

"I have decided to buy New York"

To which the other replied:

"I have decided not to sell it"

They were my ideal roommates. Myself and DB were forced to share an office in 1975. We didn't speak to each other for all of six months. At the end of which he broke down and said:

"Feynman is a fool" 

To which I replied:

"I thought I alone knew it!"

And we at once traveled to the canteen for tea. And this friendship of souls went on for 20 years.

DB is no more.

And I reverted to my cussedness.

Nowadays I feel very claustrophobic in my apartment. And I go down to sit on one of the lawn benches and gather wool. And to be left alone.

Alas! It never happens that way, for we are a gated community of 600 flats with about 60 senior citizens, fixed and floating.

And during their walks they look at me and are curious, for, I don't walk nor talk.

Pretty soon, a stranger sits down beside me while I look the other way. 

And the quiz starts. 

Irrespective of whether the intruder is a Punjoo or Bangoo or Telugoo, there is no escape from them.

They come in two species: 

The first variety starts by laying his cards on the table:

"I retired as a Superintending Engineer in the Government of Haryana. I passed out as a  BTech from BITS Pilani. I served for all of 33 years and draw a pension of Rs 60,000. So I am not a dependent on my son who works here in Google, the best employer in the whole world. My D-i-L works for Deloitte; you know Deloitte, no? My sweetheart is a home maker though she did her MSc from Allahabad University. Where did you work? Is your job pensionable? What is your pension? Where does your son work? What is his 'compensation'? Do you own your flat or rent?......"

The second variety is more secretive and guarded. He starts:

"Are you a Telugu or Hindi? Where did you work? Do you have pension? How much? Where does your son work? What is his pay?..."

And after getting all the answers, he would decide on how much respect (if any) he should pay me in future.

I am too well-mannered to ask these chaps to go to hell. So I answer all their questions as truthfully as I can and then fall silent; absolutely silent. I don't reciprocate their curiosity.

And they squirm.

And I have this illusion of winning a battle by Gandhigiri.

But alas! It never deters them at all. 

Only one chap told me at the end of his quiz:

"Sir, you are more respectable than I...."

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...Posted by Ishani

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Teachers Day Remembrance

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Good old teacher gps (72) with his good old teacher Harihara Sarma (82), 

Nellore, January 2015

...Posted by Ishani

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