Infinite Energy

Dr Ramdas Verma, a scientist with a Phd from MIT and 25 patents in high-tech electronics, has solved man's age-old problem- how to get infinite energy off a finite planet. It is now amply clear, even to Nobel-prize-winning economists from the 'developed' nations, that the era of cheap fossil fuels is over. It is in this newly opened space for innovation that Dr Verma had his world-changing epiphany. Before we get to that, a paragraph about what a world famous scientist is doing rotting in Bangalore, when he could have been getting in and out of long black cars with beautiful women on his arm. (For example, Dr Verma is younger, better looking and has more hair than Salman Rushdie)

Alongside his awards-filled modern science education in some of the best schools in India, Dr Verma also found the time to get a classical Vedic education before leaving for America on an MIT scholarship. Over the next thirty years, Dr Verma worked very hard and managed to attract great wealth to himself. At the age of fifty, after many ex-wives and their various children had siphoned off all the money they deserved, Dr Verma found himself rich beyond his wildest imaginings. This was when the Vedic component of his education boomeranged on him and he decided to give all his wealth away, stay in a mud hut, wear a dhoti and live a truly Gandhian life. (This conversation when first initiated in San Fransisco quickly led to Dr Verma's latest divorce). As a halfway measure, Dr Verma moved into a modest ten room mansion in its own four acre parkland on the outskirts of Bangalore and used only a fuel efficient SUV for driving twenty kilometers into town for buying hand-sanitizer and potatoes and other such necessities.

Back to Dr Verma's epiphany. Dr Verma all alone in crowded India met a social activist who told him somewhat rudely that:
a. If he wanted to give all his money away, why didn't he just start (ideally with me said the rude social activist) instead of talking about it
b. About helping poor Indians- has Dr Verma seen or smelt his target audience and why doesn't he, for example, travel in a Mumbai local train during peak hour to gain this valuable and unforgettable experience

After spending three sleepless nights over it, Dr Verma flew down (economy class on a cheap airline) to Mumbai and decided to brave it. At the railway station, automatically pushed into an overcrowded local train by the press of the crowd behind him, Dr Verma stood squashed by his target audience on all sides. A distinctly spiritual experience then slowly overtook him. He saw some flashing bright lights and had an experience of Savikalpa Samadhi (he was able to immediately identify it because of his classical education). In this heightened state of consciousness, Dr Verma noted that a young man, seen through smelly armpits and gaps in dirty beards, was shaking his right leg rhythmically. The young man was sitting opposite another young man who too was involuntarily shaking his leg. And, in his moment of insight Dr Verma saw a cross section of the entire train with thousands of nervously but rhythmically shaking men and women legs. Eureka, Dr Verma shouted and thinking that this was the name of their station many people got off and Dr Verma was un-squashed.

Dr Verma was secretive about the details of his solution. He hinted that there is an international conspiracy to steal his invention and a renowned journalist from Australia, Mr Jay Cummings, has chronicled one such conspiracy in detail on a platform for strange people called The Archdruid Report. However he explained that the broad details involve the quantum mechanical piezoelectric effect, pre-stressed mechanical springs, lithium-ion wearable batteries, wireless micro-electric magneto-hydraulic transmissions, prana that fills the known and unknown universes and most importantly of course distracted men and women (which Dr Verma, Buddha-like, claims is 100% of all men and women). In other non-technical words, Dr Verma has created a revolutionary new way of harnessing the nervous energy floating free in the universe, and yes it can be stored and can do many times more work than what our current infrastructure for Industrial Civilization needs. Being fabulously rich, as we mentioned earlier, Dr Verma could have easily funded the research and development and taking-to-market of this revolutionary new technology, but big banks from America, that got third degree burns in the fracking conflagration of 2015, are lining up with blank cheques in charred hands. Friends, when the world is gratefully flooded with this technology, remember that you heard about it first here. This is the future of energy! The future of technology! Dare we say, the future of mankind itself! And, you know, it may soon be sidling up quietly and nestling itself next to your skin.

(This was written as an entry to 'The Great Squirrel Case Challenge' at The Archdruid Report)

Guilty milord

At the end of Raja's strenuous work-day, a visit to his favorite pub with his favorite friends seemed like the perfectly correct thing to do. A call to his wife Rani to the effect that he was going to be late at work and suddenly he was in the middle of a laughing party of his friends and beer mugs were twinkling everywhere.

Rani called and he motioned his friends to silence, put his beer mug down and took the call. 'Yes, I am on my way home. Stuck in a traffic jam at Brigade road. I will be there in half an hour.'

He disconnected the phone and started to smile at his friends when he noticed their expressions. They were looking with sick horror at something behind his back. Raja turned around slowly and saw a six foot, 130 kilo, saari-clad woman who looked like his mother-in-law inflated with a bicycle pump.

'So this is the traffic jam at Brigade road', thundered the giant. 'I have told Rani hundreds of times not to trust you.'

'But I...', began Raja and the giant shouted. 'Not another word, this has gone on for far too long.' And she held his collar in an iron grip and lifted him up as if he weighed nothing.

Raja looked back helplessly and discovered his friends had vanished from the scene and curiously, the pub, one piece at a time, was turning into a courtroom.

The last to appear in the courtroom was a frowning faced lady judge. With severely tied back hair she looked like an extra dangerous version of Raja's old school principal.

'Mr Raja', she screeched, 'the big fat lawyer here has accused you of the following:
a. Never listening to anything your wise and wonderful wife has to say and always telling her lies
b. Knowing ZERO or NOTHING at all about bringing up your two beautiful children
c. Not knowing even the a,b,c of running a house
d. Never washing any dishes
e. Never making any tea for your wife
Many other charges against you have been dropped because this court does not have the time to go into your numerous faults. What do you have to say for yourself?'

'I...', began Raja and the lady judge screeched, 'Enough said! We have given you a fair hearing and your answers make it clear that you are guilty. Take him away and lock him up!'

Raja now noticed the guard who came forward and pushed him with the sharp end of his spear and he woke up to find his wife's elbow on his chest. She radiated beauty and peace in the half light. There was another hour of sleep left before she would begin playing her forehead-creased-nagger role and he would play his callous-lying-escape-artist role.

I will start washing dishes and making tea, promised Raja to himself as he gently moved the elbow away and went back to a dreamless deep sleep.

Straaaight hogi!

Manjunatha and Ramesha are sitting by the side of the road waiting for the bus. The road forks into two in front and on all sides the ragi fields sway ripe in the bright afternoon. There are no other people to be seen anywhere and the peace of rural Karnataka is thick around them. They are sitting silent as if inside them they have nothing left to say. Manjunatha is slowly chewing on a blade of grass.

The fast moving dot on the road grows bigger and materializes into a car that brakes screeching to a halt. 

The dust raised by the car settles slowly and silently over them. A young man with dark glasses swiftly steps out and walks closer trying to save his polished shoes from the dust.

'Bangalore ka rasta kaun sa hai?', he asks pointing towards the two roads ahead.

'Is this the way to Bangalore?', he asks in English pointing to the left turn when Manjunatha and Ramesha stare blankly at him.

'Bangalore?', he says again pointing to the road that goes straight.

Manjunatha and Ramesha cannot see where he is looking behind his dark glasses. He seems to be addressing a spot exactly halfway between them.

'Onde straight! Straaaight hogi!', says Manjunatha and within seconds, screeching, the car accelerates and speeds away, leaving more dust in its wake.

'You have traveled all over India and speak good Hindi don't you?', asks Ramesha, 'Why did you not reply to him?'.
 
Manjunatha smiles slowly and says nothing.

'Why didn't you ask him to take us to Bangalore? Our bus won't be here for another half an hour.'
 
Manjunatha continues to smile and says nothing.

'And why did you tell him to go straight? That way is at least 20 kilometers longer and very crowded near the city.'

'Did you see how fast he came and went even when he didn't know the way?', asks Manjunatha as he goes back to chewing his blade of grass. They wait silently for their slow bus. 

Two gentlemen

The elegant looking gentleman with the white skin and the dark suit collided messily with the elegant looking gentleman with the dark skin and the white dhoti-kurta as they tried to reach the middle of the Shatabdi train compartment. They picked up the random pieces of luggage off the floor.
 

'Sorry', said the white skin in the English accent that he reserved for the natives.
 

'Soary', said the dark skin in his Malayali-English accent that he preferred over his educated Indian-English accent.

They smiled at each other in a cultured gentlemanly way and found their seats. They smiled again when they discovered that they were sitting in seats directly facing each other across the center of the compartment. The train began to move and in the settling down and the looking out of the big windows at the station passing by, they forgot about each other and were soon lost in their own thoughts.
 

The white-skin's thoughts went something like this:
'One more victory for western civilization. The standing ovation after my speech felt good. I don't know how much longer it will take these darkies to work with real technology. Maybe its the hot climate that makes them lazy! But these darkies...'
 

He looked up at the dhoti-kurta-turban clad Indian opposite and noted the chandan teeka on his forehead.
 

The dark-skin's thoughts went something like this:
'One more victory for eastern civilization. Cutting the ribbon with all the TV cameras around felt good. Some of the kids who sang had real talent. It is good that there are some like me to uphold our parampara. Otherwise every body on this train will be dressed like this white man...'
 

He looked up at the suited-booted figure opposite and noted the uncomfortable looking necktie.
 

'Barbarian', thought the white engineering professor, 'with his face-paint and his strange headdress'. And he smiled at the idea.
 

'Uncivilized, uncultured vulture', thought the dark classical musician, 'with his black pieces of flapping cloth'. And he smiled at the idea.
 

Catching each other smiling the two gentlemen smiled another warm, open, friendly smile at each other.

Knnar

Baasses Telgram said:

CRUPTION IN KNNUR STOP WELL DIGGNG MONY HADPOED BY PLTICIANS STOP INVESTGT IMMDTLY STOP DONT STOP STOP

So, today I fly first time to South India, to Knnur in Krela for a spacial sttory about cruption. Oh, saary I have naat intraduced! Hallo! Mysalf Stwinder Singh. I am rporter for Chndigad Times. Krela is gaads own country and I look faarwad to trip. I will meet a rporter from the Knnur Times there. His name has many vowles and many 'ZH' in it and I am crrusponding with him as KP. The real name is vary diffcult to prnounce. 

KP meets me and takes me to Knnur town. He is vary thin with beard, jeans, khadi kurta, jhola and in Pnjaab the pliice woudd prbably arrest him as soon as they see him. Aalso his inglish is vary funny. This is sampel.

KP: Gud mourning Singhji.
Mysalf: Good maarning KPji.

KP: I hope you haad a playcent flite.

Mysalf: Yasji. Thank youji.

KP: Lettus go to the municippalitty oafice aant get some nollage about your khase.

Do you know how the val-digging scam wrks? In Narth India this is wat happns. The gorment has mney far dvelepment and the local pltician says there is no watr and gives prposal far making val. He takes 5 lakhs far this praaject and spands it aan shmmi kbabs and tnduri chicken. After some years pltician says the val watr has msquitos and is kasing mlaria and takes anothr 5 lakhs from gorment to fill up val. He again spands the mney on shmmi kbabs and tnduri chicken. When the gorment  comes for inspaction and meyyurment the pltician tells great story about watr and mlaria but there is nothing to see except size of plticians tummy full af shmmi kbabs and tnduri chicken.

In Krela the val is called a Knnar. And the place is Knnur. And I am getting Knnfused.

Mysalf: KPji what is there to see in the Knnur?

KP: It is a hill station in Karnadaga. You kaan go there by bus. But I thote you waanded to see ole the kinnars in Kannur. Why are you waanding to go to Coonoor?

Mysalf: KPji let us find out how mny new vals you have OK? My had is chakring!

There are only five new vals in Knnur and KP and mysalf visit aal. The vals have the mixture of plastic packets and watr but aal five are there.

I phone up baass!

Mysalf: Baass! Itthe Knnur ich tho sab theek hega. No cruption!

Baass: Oi Stwinder thu kitthe hai?

Mysalf: Baass Knnur in Krela.

Baass: Oi Stwinder thu paagal tho nahi ho gaya? I sad KANPUR in Uttr Prdesh not KANNUR in Krela. Get back immdiately.

It was januvin spalling mstake by telgram pippal. KP draps me to airport and I catch flight to Knpur. Saary for bad joke but I had pleyyarable time with KP in Krela and you know- Aal is wells that ands wells! 

(L to R: Stwinder, Knnar, KP. Captured by Dinkar)

(Note: If you are a Punjabi or a Malayali who didn't like the tone, please read the apology at the end of 'Taaph', a Bengali-English story on this site)

Happy family

My name is Aishwarya and I am 12 years old. If you want to be my friend call me Ash. I have a new photo on facebook because yesterday I went with my mother to Habib's Super Specialty Hair Clinic on MG road and got the extra vital straight hair look. It cost 1000 rupees. My mother spent 2500 rupees for the exclusive glowing face treatment. It took 1 hour more than mine but I didn't get bored. I had my new iPad with me and Habib's has free WiFi. 

My father is the head chef at the ITC Windsor Sheraton Hyatt Manor which is the best five star hotel in Bangalore. We get to eat a lot of super goodies. All free! We also go to other five star hotels. My father calls this market research and because this is part of his office work his hotel pays for this. My favorite food is any type of pizza with lots of extra cheese and I also love five star hotel pastries that are dripping with oodles of chocolate.

My mother cannot even finish one medium pizza on her own and is always on a diet. Since the special power yoga trainer started coming to our house last month both my mother and father have lost 10 kgs. My father is now only 110 and my mother is 80. Whenever my father gets time he also trains at the special 20 Lakhs gym that he installed in one of our bedrooms. Both my mother and father had gone to Singapore to do market research before buying all our exclusive gym equipment.

We have three Internet-ready Sony LCD TV's in our house. (It cost us 35000 rupees each) One in my bedroom, one in my parents bedroom and one in the drawing room for guests. Our maid servant Meera has my old TV in the dining hall so she can relax before she goes to sleep. All of us can see our favorite programs without fighting. By the time my father comes home, my mother has finished her serials and he sits on their bed watching late night movies as she goes off to sleep.

Every year we go for a 2 week holiday to a different country and every Sunday we sit in our Ford Endeavor or our 25 Lakh Skoda Superb and go to a mall and spend at least 5000 rupees. Of course we carry our iPads and iPods so we don't get bored in the traffic jam. We are a small happy family. Don't you wish you were me?

(Pencil sketch by Dinkar. Drawn over and colored on the computer by Aditi and Srikant)

Return gift

Ambujakshi from Lepashki was furious! Her hen-pecked husband Satyanarayana who, in his mind called her 'Amby' because of her bulky ambassador-car-like shape, took one look at her and decided to go on a two week business tour of north India. Far away, he thought, so far away that not a single cell phone signal could find him. He had almost escaped out of the front door when he was captured by an 'Emandi!'.
 

'Aiyyo, Tottally gone!', he thought as he turned to face the tsunami. It took one and a half hours, with many interruptions of 'Are you stupid or what', before he finally understood the full story.

Ambujakshi from Lepakshi had been gifted a pink polka-dotted saari in one of the numerous family functions that she frequented. She disliked it so much that at the very next opportunity she gifted it away to her obnoxious distant cousin, Kanakaratnam from Machilipatnam. Useless saari for useless cousin, thought Amby, as she gave it away with a crocodile smile. 

The reason for the earthquake in Satya's life now was that after four years, the very same pink polka-dotted saari had been gifted back to Amby by Sheshanagavalli from Banganappalli. And, said Amby (pay careful attention now because this is the epicenter of the earthquake), Kanakaratnam from Machilipatnam did not even know Sheshanagavalli from Banganappalli. It was clear to Amby that the saari, gifted and regifted, had traveled across Andhra Pradesh from one useless unwanted relative or guest to another till at the very bottom of the chain of uselessness it had come right back to her.

'So, what do you have to say about that?', asked Amby dangerously.

Satyanarayana considered the question in silence. He was certain that no matter what he said he was a goner. Saying nothing was also not an option! He was searching for the least damaging thing to say when his cell phone rang loudly breaking the uneasy silence. It was Airtel! Probably going to sing its stupid signature song to him. 'Airtel', he thought, 'you have saved my life today. I promise to listen quietly to all your crank calls from now on.'

'Hello', said Satyanarayana to the Airtel song, 'What? My god! Are you serious? Ok, when do I have to come? Immediately?'

'Business emergency in North India', said Satyanarayana to Ambujakshi, 'Let us talk when I get back.'

Satyanarayana escaped and returned home only after he heard that the pink polka-dotted saari had been 'return gifted' once again.

(Illustrated by Dinkar)