Tag Archives: vip

THE VISION AND MISSION OF MOST POLITICAL PARTIES IN INDIA—to win elections

Copyright@shravancharitymission

 

excellence field track events political parties

WELL SUMMARIZED BY A TV ADVERTISEMENT

    Some TV advertisements become immortal. You just can’t forget them. They are so very interesting and relevant that they occupy your mind space forever. I too, remember one such advertisement quite vividly, and if I’m not mistaken it was from Nike where the script runs as follows:

    There were two guys walking in the jungle. Suddenly they hear a tiger’s roar and get frightened. The guy who is ahead makes a request to the guy behind him. To pass on his Nike shoes from the bag.

    The guy holding the bag says,

   ‘You think, by running with these shoes on. You’ll outrun a tiger?’

    ‘No,’ replied the other guy and smartly added, ‘I will not outrun the tiger. But I will definitely outrun you and that is enough to save me from the tiger.’

    Isn’t this the manner in which most political parties of India are run today? As their only mandate appears to be, to keep ahead of their nearest rival. Which is often witnessed in TV debates too. Where, they only remind each other of the final tally of wrongs the other party has done, as compared to them.

    Excellence will never flow out of this attitude. For excellence, political parties need to openly accept their mistakes and shortcomings if any. To forge ahead like a rocket, without trying to defend the indefensible.

    Remember. When a political party admits to their mistakes and shortcomings. The general public gets a positive feeling about their being honest.

*

By Kamlesh Tripathi

*

                                                   https://kamleshsujata.wordpress.com

*

Share if you like it

*

Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life threatening diseases. Should you wish to donate for the cause the bank details are given below:

NAME OF ACCOUNT: SHRAVAN CHARITY MISSION

Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

IFSC code: BKID0006805

*

Our publications

GLOOM BEHIND THE SMILE

ONE TO TANGO … RIA’S ODYSSEY

AADAB LUCKNOW … FOND MEMORIES

REFRACTIONS … FROM THE PRISM OF GOD

(CAN BE BOUGHT FROM ON LINE BOOK STORES OR WRITE TO US FOR COPIES)

*****

 

 

BRITISH IMPERIALISM TO INDIAN VVIPISM … if only George Orwell was alive.

Copyright@shravancharitymission

 

british imperialism georgeorwell indian vvipism

    Novels and movies are the best mirror of times for they often spill the beans, whereas, history can be contrived and VVIPISM most certainly, imposed.

    Nothing has changed. In this scathing and zipping novel ‘Burmese Days’ written by George Orwell way back in 1934, Indians and Burmese are referred as niggers and beggars in some pages: and thus denied membership in a local European club in Upper Burma.

    To come to think of it, what has changed in India, even now? Earlier the Britishers used to keep Indians at an arm’s length, today the VVIP Indians do the same. For you still have special roads and parking areas, grand lounges, devoted policemen, z-class security and even muscle power for the VVIPS. The list doesn’t end there. For you also have several allowances in terms of free passes and tickets and subsidies only for the VIP race. The only difference is, we are not referred as niggers or beggars anymore but as Aam Aadmi.

    The book mentions that in British regime when an illiterate domestic servant used to misbehave he was sent to a prison with a chit—15 lashes. And today many VVIPs continue to do the same in the event of dissent.

    Perhaps, there was an opportunity for this great writer to write another book on India after the British Imperialism on Indian VVIPISM titled “Indian Days.’ But sad, he is no more.

    In the ‘QUOTE-UNQUOTE’ below there is peace 1 and peace 2 that tells the unkind ways in which many Britishers thought about Asians. But since 1934 Indians have moved on and so will the Aam Aadmi of India.

QUOTE

Peace 1

    “The old type of servant is disappearing,” agreed Mr. Macgregor. “In my young days, when one’s butler was disrespectful, one sent him along to the jail with a chit saying ‘Please give the bearer fifteen lashes’. Ah well, eheu gugaces! Those days are gone forever, I am afraid.”

    “Ah, you’re about right there,” said Westfield in his gloomy way. “This country’ll never be fit to live in again. British Raj is finished if you ask me. Lost Dominion and all that. Time we cleared out of it.”

    Whereat there was a murmur of agreement from everyone in the room, even from Flory, notoriously a Bolshie in his opinions, even from young Maxwell, who had been barely three years in the country. No Anglo-Indian will ever deny that India is going to the dogs, or ever has denied it—for India, like Punch, never was what it was.

    Ellis had meanwhile unpinned the offending notice from behind Mr. Macgregor’s back, and he now held it out to him, saying in his sour way:

    “Here, Macgregor, we’ve read this notice, and we all think this idea of electing a native to the club is absolute—–“ Ellis was going to have said ‘absolute balls’, but he remembered Mrs. Lackersteen’s presence and checked himself—“ is absolutely uncalled for. After all, this Club is a place where we come to enjoy ourselves, and we don’t want natives poking about in here. We like to think there’s still one place where we’re free of them. The others all agree with me absolutely.”

    He looked around at others. “Hear, hear!” said Mr. Lackersteen gruffly. He knew that his wife would guess that he had been drinking, and he felt that a display of sound sentiment would excuse him.

    Mr. Macgregor took the notice with a smile. He saw the ‘B.F.’ pencilled against his name, and privately he thought Ellis’s manner very disrespectful, but he turned the matter off with a joke. He took as great pains to be a good fellow at the Club as he did to keep up his dignity during office hours. “I gather,” he said, “that our friend Ellis does not welcome the society of—ah—his Aryan brother?”

    “No, I do not,” said Ellis tartly. “Nor my Mongolian brother, I don’t like niggers, to put it in one word.”

    Mr Macgregor stiffened at the word ‘nigger’, which is discountenanced in India. He had no prejudice against Orientals; indeed he was deeply fond of them. Provided they were given no freedom he thought them the most charming people alive. It always pained him to see them wantonly insulted.

    “Is it quite playing the game,” he said stiffly, “to call these people niggers—a term they very naturally resent—when they are obviously nothing of the kind? The Burmese are Mongolians, the Indians are Aryans or Dravidians, and all of them are quite distinct—-“

    “Oh, rot that!” said Ellis, who was not all awed by Mr. Macgregor’s official status. “Call them niggers or Aryans or what you like. What I’m saying is that we don’t want to see any black hides in this Club. If you put it to the vote you’ll find we’re against it to a man—unless Flory wants his dear pal Veraswami,” he added.

Peace 2

    “It’s all very well,” grumbled Ellis, with his forearms on the table, fidgeting with his glass. The dispute with Mr. Macgregor had made him restless again. “It’s all very well, but I stick to what I said. No natives in this Club! It’s by constantly giving way over small things like that that we’ve ruined the Empire. This country’s only rotten with sedition because we’ve been too soft with them. The only possible policy is to treat ‘em like the dirt they are. This is a critical moment, and we want every bit of prestige we can get. We’ve got to hang together and say, ‘We are the masters, and you beggars—‘ “ Ellis pressed his small thumb down as though flattening a grub—“ ‘you beggars keep your place!’”

UNQUOTE

*

By Kamlesh Tripathi

*

https://kamleshsujata.wordpress.com

*

Share if you like it

*

Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life threatening diseases. Should you wish to donate for the cause the bank details are given below:

NAME OF ACCOUNT: SHRAVAN CHARITY MISSION

Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

IFSC code: BKID0006805

*

Our publications

GLOOM BEHIND THE SMILE

ONE TO TANGO … RIA’S ODYSSEY

AADAB LUCKNOW … FOND MEMORIES

REFRACTIONS … FROM THE PRISM OF GOD

(CAN BE BOUGHT FROM ON LINE BOOK STORES OR WRITE TO US FOR COPIES)

*****

 

 

 

#VVIPS: IF YOU COULD ONLY SPARE DAINTY FLOWERS- IN YOUR THANKLESS BOUQUETS

Copyright@shravancharitymission

 

b1b3

 

 

 

    ‘Earth laughs in flowers’ – Ralph Waldo Emerson

    Each flower is the heart throb of the garden where it is grows, and so also the emblem of ‘earth’s laughter’—as Emerson puts it.

    But it is sad to see on TV these days. How people in droves, mindlessly present flower bouquets to VVIPs and Heads of States who mechanically pass it on to their personal security staff, standing next to them. And you get a disgusting feeling seeing these lovely flowers being insulted.

    Perhaps, callous VVIPS do not have the time and mind to visualise and feel about the labour pains ‘Mother Earth’ undertakes to deliver each flower. And the blood and sweat of the gardener in bringing about this exquisite beauty.

    Therefore, won’t it be wonderful to leave them in the garden alone, than to give them premature death in thankless bouquets. So I would plead to our PM Sri Narendra Modi to stop this culture of bouquets.

   And, for tokenism one could think of plastic or paper flowers. That too under—‘make in India’ scheme.

*

Posted by Kamlesh Tripathi

*

https://kamleshsujata.wordpress.com

*

Share if you like it

*

Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life threatening diseases. Should you wish to donate for the cause the bank details are given below:

NAME OF ACCOUNT: SHRAVAN CHARITY MISSION

Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

IFSC code: BKID0006805

*

Our publications

GLOOM BEHIND THE SMILE

ONE TO TANGO … RIA’S ODYSSEY

AADAB LUCKNOW … FOND MEMORIES

REFRACTIONS … FROM THE PRISM OF GOD

(CAN BE BOUGHT FROM ON LINE BOOK STORES OR WRITE TO US FOR COPIES)

*****

 

 

 

 

Feudalism Lives- Rachpal Singh makes his guard put on his shoes, democracy sheds a tear

Copyright@shravancharitymission

By Kamlesh Tripathi

New Doc 60_1 (2)

Sardar Rachpal Singh, also minister for Planning and Implementation in government of Bengal forgot at his convenience, Guru Nanak’s all time relevant teachings; so also the umbilical and noble duties that a Sikh is supposed to perform in a Gurudwara by allowing his security guard to tie his shoe laces. And, further shamed the martial race by hiding behind a measly back pain, the reason why he allowed the security guard to tie his shoe laces, when Sikhs are known for their unimaginable pain enduring capacities.

But let me also point out as to why security personnel posted along Netas, VVIPs and bureaucrats are getting into such a demeaning form of Chamchagiri? Why can’t they refuse on the face of these VVIPs as this is not part of their job?

And what will happen if one guy refuses, hundred guys refuse and thousand guys refuse?

THE MENACE OF #LAL-BATTI #CULTURE … THE WAY OUT

Copyright@shravancharitymission

l2l1l3

A lot is being discussed about the menace of Lal-Batti (Red-Beacon) culture in India. I hear and see many suggestions on TV and newspapers. But largely those suggestions are of routine nature and may not be helpful. For now, only a paradigm shift will make the difference.  Therefore, to get rid of this menace we require some out-of-the-box thinking, and to that effect my suggestions are as follows:

  1. Stop manufacture of Lal-Battis for general market forthwith. These red-beacons should be manufactured only against specific orders, emanating from the Government of India, for constitutional posts, and as approved by GOI or the honourable Supreme Court of India. Treat it, as a dangerous commodity, such as sale of acid or even live cartridges.
  2. Honourable Supreme Court has approved of certain constitutional posts, where Lal-Batti can be used. Barring these no one else should be allowed to use Lal-Battis, and if anyone is found breaking the law he or she should be fined for a minimum of Re 1 lac, plus additional amounts for misdemeanor and dishonour of the honourable Supreme Court orders.
  3. Dismantle the entire fleet of government vehicles with red-beacons, which are only misused by Netas and Bureaucrats, barring few pool vehicles and vehicles for top dignitaries. For the rest, provide them with car loans, basis their salaries and entitlements. Also, provide them with fuel and maintenance allowance and even driver allowance like in private sector. This will save crores of hard earned tax payers money as Capex. It will help in eradicating corruption and will also root out the unnecessary evil of lal-Battis.

*****

‘ARROGANT INDIA’ INTIMIDATES THE ‘MEEK INDIA’ – THE CURSE OF LAL BATTI- VVIP CULTURE

Copyright@shravancharitymission

123

India belongs to we the VVIP and the rest can go to hell by drowning themselves in the sufficiently large Arabian sea or the Bay of Bengal, and for the rest who can’t reach there umpteen rivers are there or climb atop those lofty mountains or any sky-scraper and jump from there, for there is no place for NON-VIPS in India anymore. This is what the meek India is coaxed to feel by the arrogant India, shamelessly, personified by these VVIPs in flesh and blood. This VVIP class (Politicians-Bureaucrats-Judiciary) is not even 1% of the Indian population; but in the manner 1% of the world’s population controls 48% of the world’s wealth, these VVIP’s too control the entire India.

Perhaps, some of these VVIPs must also be feeling that Mahatma Gandhi, our father of the nation was perhaps an idiot, to have travelled third class and roamed in loin cloth, to live a life of simplicity; which we are not. And, so grab everything out, of the frail guts of this cattle class, of meek India.

And, for the meek India, Maharajas of the ancient India or Viceroys of the colonial British Raj, as if had never left but only got swapped by the arrogant India. Today, arrogant India very blatantly exploits the meek India by the sledgehammer of VVIP-ISM; by blocking roads for endless hours, taking their vehicles right up to the tarmac where their aircrafts are parked, by having separate lanes for themselves and also insulting senior citizens, differently abled persons and children who are made to stand in long queues while they walk in at the last moment by-passing security cordons, with their gun toting security guards. They delay lacs and lacs of workers going to office and factories by their stupid traffic movement and then talk of industrial output. They kill patients in ambulances by halting ambulances and then talk of health.

456

In the British Raj, in many cities of India there were some roads and lanes, where Indians could not enter during certain hours (such as main roads and mall roads in many cities) and pitifully we find the same atrocious culture seeping back to haunt the meek India in a more aggressive manner, just to satisfy arrogant India’s egos.

Today, meek India is standing at a crowded crossroad, not knowing which way to go and whom to look at, as all look to be the same, and in the process is losing faith in the institution of democracy that comes through the windows of these elected representatives of political parties and their cahoots in bureaucracy and even the judiciary. For starting from Congress that invented the VVIP-ISM post British Raj; today even BJP sings the same tune after having promised to go the other way, and who knows, tomorrow AAP that started primarily on anti- corruption an anti- VIP culture too may get lured to VVIP-ISM.

And what is more mystifying is the posture in which ‘arrogant India’ approaches ‘meek India’ with folded hands with a promise to serve as a dutiful ‘Public Servant’ thereby exploiting the simplicity of the meek India and once they are elected they show their real ugly face and feudal mindset.

They do everything under the sun to justify the VVIP-ISM- the hateful Lal Batti culture. They operate like parasites on hard earned tax payer’s money and refuse to reform themselves. They inculcate venomous values in their children too and would never bury the skeleton of being called the lord and master.

So what did ‘meek India’ get post-independence? They got Bapu’s- third class, his loin cloth and above all his simplicity and values; and the arrogant class? Well they became the modern day Maharajas and didn’t let the Britishers leave India in the real sense.

#50 SECONDS OF #DEATHLY #PANIC

Copyright@shravancharitymission

123

By Kamlesh Tripathi

 

Death! I’ll’ tell you how she looks. I saw her from close quarters; only yesterday, while returning from office. She looked like a terrifying combination of a battered vehicle with a soiled number plate and a ghostly appearing driver who vanished into thin air in a flash of a second. And, it all happened on 21st November while returning from office.

I had just crossed Noida Golf club and was approaching the next traffic light signal on the roundabout of the Metro Station where there was a long queue of traffic waiting to cross. Moving slowly, by now I was as under the Metro station building and on the extreme right lane, inching along the high road divider, so high that while being seated in the car you could not see the traffic on the other side of the road. I was at peace as the traffic was disciplined, enjoying music; and relaxing in the company of fellow cars around, mostly returning from a hard day’s of work. Ahead, of me was a silver coloured Maruti Zen. The traffic light had gone green again, is when I realized I was about two hundred feet from it, and since I was still quite behind, I knew my time to move the car will only come by the time the light goes red again.

And, rightly so the cars ahead of me started moving only when the traffic light had turned red covering the empty road left by the cars ahead of them. I also rolled my car and stopped close to the roundabout. From where conveniently I would have crossed over in the next green light. I guess I was now just about forty or fifty feet away from the traffic light at the roundabout. To my right, continued the road divider with its fancy collection of green plants giving that fresh smell and adding to the beauty of the boulevard that ended after about twenty feet where it approached the roundabout. It wasn’t dark near the roundabout as the street lights were well lit.

A couple of seconds must have passed, is when I saw the rear lights of the Zen ahead of me flash, with that typical sound of a car being locked by the electronic remote switch. I then saw a skinny man, of medium height, perhaps the driver of that car in chappals, wearing dark coloured trousers, a half sweater getting out of it and walking away. And, very soon he reached the end of the road divider, where it ended at the roundabout and disappeared. I wondered where and why?

That gave me an uncomfortable feeling when it suddenly dawned in me, where has he gone? Why has he locked the car? And what is inside the car? Remembering the electronic remote switch that he had flaunted. Hope this is not a car bomb. I asked myself in panic, just when the traffic display read forty two seconds, to go.

The fright in me had set in. There was a car right behind me, so I couldn’t have inched backward, nor I could have gone forward. I imagined, what if this junk explodes? It will take me head on. There will be no chance of a survival. And no one knows where this bloody fellow has gone? All this must have happened in just about fifteen seconds.

Ahead of the Zen was a Mahindra Scorpio and on the left of it was the recently launched Tata Zest in its sexy blue colour which I still remember. Behind me it appeared was a Maruti Alto and to my immediate left an Innova where a guy was merrily talking on his mobile.

They say the fastest thing on earth is your mind. That had begun to sound in low decibels, as if my death-knell by a locally devised Molotov cocktail placed in a car. But the other part of my mind had suddenly started moving in top gear with my report card. In a flash it displayed things, that were undone, badly done and also successfully done in my life. It had also opened my conscience, my can of worms. Who all I had cheated and who all had cheated me; and with who all I was not fair and who all were not fair to me.

I remembered all my friends, including my girl friends. Some, unfamiliar voices reminded me, how I had hurt my Parents. Then suddenly a husky voice probably the voice of death said, ‘you have not made your will. Not explained your property papers to your wife, nor to your son, nor even to your daughter-in-law. And where have you kept your insurance papers, will they be able to find it; and what about the passwords, for if you die here in this blast your passwords might also die along with you in the computer, and what about your spiritual agenda and visits to various temples that you always wanted to carry out. All that will now have to be done in your next life provided you’re born as a human being.’ I could feebly make out, all these deadly voices were coming from that God forsaken Zen. When, suddenly I felt the flash was over. But the bomb was still alive and ticking. I suddenly missed my family.

The bright screen of the traffic light now read twenty seconds, to go. It was now or never. I quickly gathered myself, picked my phone, office bag, and moved out of the car and started walking in the reverse direction of the car when the guy sitting in the Alto behind my car said,

‘Where are you going sir, the signal will be green soon. Heeding to his advice I turned around to look at the signal in extreme fear, is when I also saw the driver of the Zen walking towards his car adjusting the fork of his pants and what lay beneath. I asked in some dismay.

‘Where did you go?’

He smiled and raised his little finger. But I had no expressions to return.

I sat in the car and slowly moved behind the Zen. There were no traffic cops there, to whom I could have narrated this episode. For them to be cautious and on the prowl about any such planned attacks by terrorists, as traffic signals were a vulnerable point.

That day I also realized the importance of ‘Swacch Bharat Abhiyaan’ of Prime Minister Sri Narendra Modi. And, just how to relieve oneself, one can commit such idiosyncrasies; and the urgent need to construct Public loos along roadside.

Life is so weird for when I was seeing death staring at me. At only a distance of ten feet the other person in the Innova was giggling and speaking on his mobile. Perhaps, these very thin lines can only be managed by Almighty alone. And more importantly,

I am now preparing my will on fast track, and having a hard look at my checkered report card.

46