The way we paint life

What can be more beautiful and laid-back to start 2015? Happyily recoiled on my sofa with a mug of hot chocolate in one hand and a good book in the other. I am talking of my present close knitted affair with "The Snow Leopard" by Peter Matthiessen. Travel writings have a wonderful way of bringing us close to landscapes, people and habitats, culture and traditions, soul and sanity, and obliteration and oblivion.

A book, an act or a place transports us to meditate on life and its philosophy. Sometimes we despair and sometimes we laugh out loud. Who facilitates our reflections on life? Who is the harbinger of one's introspections? Life is a vast cauldron where the cook empties ingredients both bitter and bland. The meal prepared is feasted upon by all but taste buds differ. But then feasting environs differ from one man to another.

"Keeping steps with that restless, rapid music,
seasons come dancing and pass away -
colours, tunes and perfumes pour
in endless cascades in the abounding joy
that scatters and gives up and dies every moment."
                                                                    Gitanjali, Rabindranath Tagore.  

What is fascinating about life is that it is not important what humans think of it - we are just a miniscule in the entire canvas - but how life raptures us in its splendour. Some may qualify the phase as a "trance" but I love calling it "comma" before a "full stop". The life we weave around before hitting the "comma" glorifies the texture, the pattern and the shade of one's fabric. None of us are skilled at what we weave but we are crafty in spirit living every moment of our lives though most of us fail to realise the essence of life's art.

Life is a fascinating subject. The birth of an heir in a Hindu household is ushered in by blowing conch shells signifying the celebration of "life" or the existence of being. The hallmark of a man speaks of the life one conceptualises. The shades of character in a man vary that owes its allegiance to the roots of his birth, cultural sanctuary, knowledge and experience. A man's ethos in conducting one's mind and soul to steer clear of the grim scenery at hand makes for a fitting tribute to life. In today's world we very often term it as "crisis management" or "reputation management" bringing out the light of the man and a leader is born.

Living in adherence to one's convictions throughout a man's existence is a "life" in cognizance. Rarely a man succeeds. The seasons that come and go during his being brings with it sun and snow, rain and rarity. The canvas has all colours in it, only the painter's incandescent style gives the life's framework a whiff of fresh air. That does not mean non-existence of a drab portrait whose insipid strokes cannot be brought to "life". Like in death - the shell of the soul perishes but not the soul that is yet reborn. Of course this has to do with the way of how I see "life".  

"All life is a journey, not a home; it is a road, not the country; and those transient enjoyments which you have in this life, lawful in their way,—those incidental and evanescent pleasures which you may sip,—are not home; they are little inns only upon the road-side of life, where you are refreshed for a moment, that you may take again the pilgrim-staff and journey on, seeking what is still before you" - Anon.  

In the company of bibliophile

"The habit of reading is the only enjoyment I know in which there is no alloy. It lasts when all other pleasures fade. It will be there to support you when all other resources are gone. It will be present to you when the energies of your body have fallen away from you. It will last you until your death. It will make your hours pleasant to you as long as you live." - Anthony Trollope

 

Books have been my world ever since life's epicarp mellowed. In my earlier posts I have written about my love for pen and paper especially the printed ones, smell of the de novo pages unwrapped from a plastic sheath just bought or the yellow crusty pages of a book pulled from the shelves of a library. The touch and feel of the inked words spun a magic on me and even today the whiff of the mad rush charging my senses of holding a book in my hands is no different. Reading and collecting books, more so, adds to the space my soul yearns for in this life.   

 

To me, the joy of reading books and reliving the author's fine prints of life knows no bounds. I can happily stretch my lazy bones on an elbow chair for hours together unmindful of the clock chimes and way behind the usual meal timings. Giving a miss to baths too. I am candid enough to voice that in yielding to the euphoria of the book world, I am, from childhood days quite remote and reserved.

Often your love for something can reach the brim of someone's benevolence. People mistake your aloofness as conceitedness. Not all kinsmen regard your conduct pleasing. You tend to become clumsy in all that is sociable.  If your life's priorities are notably different from that of others and not conventional enough to suit the society's fabric, you'll be cut out of the customary pie.

Folks who know you long enough will be happy to tow the line of conformance in all walks of life as long as you lie low in their circle. Folks who feign unfamiliarity of your nature often try best to exploit you going miles that are preposterous in nature. Knowingly they enjoy opening the can of worms for someone who rarely mingles with the crowd let alone talk. Those who genuinely don't know your "outlier" character is bound to misinterpret you.

So is the company of a bibliophile welcoming?  The response would be a mixed one I suppose. Observing all these years, especially in the circle of kith and kin, a muted affair holds onto the twig of the ties. For people who share their lives with such oddities can be burdensome. Normal people whose activities are commonplace, works the other way around - they coax bookworms to come out of their safe ports and engage more with the life's flow. Their perceptions are, indeed, baffling sometimes unnerving themselves completely. Very few weigh their options well with the booklovers and take delight in sharing their mindspace with them.

However bibliophiles seek no pleasure in disquieting their mindset and hardly view life's prism from common man's lens. To them, books are paragon of excellence offering insights and wisdom of both the acknowledged and the anonymous world, answering life's uncharted territories. They rarely bow down to peer pressure, albeit a few, and freely ride the road less travelled.

I have often believed that holding onto one's love resolutely leaves you with a deep satisfaction abound. Book readers and lovers may not have a goal to score but they are spirited inwards searching for life's cognizance. The gladdening of the heart, while holding a book in hand, is immeasurable. Maniacs they may sound yet they become monstrous upon finding any damage done to his/her precious collection. For the love of books, imagination soars, innovation runs deep, impact is creative and the future of mankind metamorphoses into absoluteness.

Relish  reading!            

Mejo mama and me

I lost my mama, 'mejo mama' as we fondly addressed him, last month to a disease that is yet not known to our family and neither his doctors. As William Hale White rightly mentions in his book Clara Hopgood: “Whenever anybody whom we love dies, we discover that although death is commonplace it is terribly original. We may have thought about it all our lives, but if it comes close to us, it is quite a new, strange thing to us, for which we are entirely unprepared. It may, perhaps, not be the bare loss so much as the strength of the bond which is broken that is the surprise, and we are debtors in a way to death for revealing something in us which ordinary life disguises.” So very true.

 

Mejo mama was my mom's elder brother but not the eldest in the family. My maternal grandparents had five children - my mom being the only doting daughter. The family had already lost a son, who had been terminally ill, in his spring. With my maternal grandparents long gone, mejo mama's demise knelled death in the family after a period of twenty years or so. And of all my mom's brothers and cousins, mejo mama was my favourite.

 

The difficult part lies in explaining my darling handsome mama. It was my parents' annual ritual to ferry us to our both paternal and maternal households every autumn during the Durga Puja school holidays. Dividing between the two households and trying best to keep pace with our parents, my sister and myself fitted well into our mom's childhood den. Not to forget the mollycoddling of all our three mamas.  

 

Somehow I was more attentive to mejo mama since my childhood days. This fact did not dawn on me till I lost him. Mejo mama, matured and measured in every word he uttered, could enthral his immediate audience dishing out tales of all hues and shades from his official postings all over the country. I, for one, would regale and remain spellbound to such chinfests. He would summon complete attention from all huddling nearby and narrate buoyant, jocular and spirited anecdotes of his travel journeys, office colleagues and environment replete with culture connotations from all corners of India. Mama would recount each story, be it food, festivals, climate, personality or culture and ways and means of life, with impeccable details. His odysseys were all ambrosial. Driving back memory lane I can say that his vivaciousness and zestful attitude towards life hooked me as his steadfast admirer. More so my love for travel can be credited, in some measure, to his chronicles.

 

Ranajit Mukhopadhyay née mejo mama was a stickler for spruceness and unswayable discipline although he was not difficult. A morning person, he would routinely do his pranayam and yoga for better health after waking up and perform his morning ablutions followed by puja. He would then comfortably squat on a hand-woven 'asan' or sit on an old chair by the window side to devour the regional daily, happily tended to by mami, his wife, with frequent cups of tea and a big breakfast. His Sundays would unravel with cleaning the house surroundings, picking up veggies and groceries for the week ahead, washing his own clothes, putting them on clothesline, ironing his cleaned and dried office wear and polishing his shoes spotless. An avid organiser of accoutrements, his books, notes and family albums remained uncluttered and chronologically stacked. 

Eating habits in all my mamas' households are nothing to be noteworthy of barring my mejo mama's place and this too can be held accountable to my mama who took immense delight in picking up the fresh green veggies and river water fish for daily consumption. He also took much joy in inviting people at home for lunch or dinner. Never once did I miss his earnest invites which I readily looked forward to. Mejo mama's yearly voyage to places far and wide or sometimes nearby his hometown with a coterie of friends was a score on its own. Renowned for deft organisational skills and a genuine companion, he was the brain behind every sojourn. This character trait of his etched a personality whose service was often called upon by friends and families.

I remember, when during my adolescence, I was diagnosed with Cushing's syndrome and had to be rushed to Christian Medical College, Vellore for better and proper treatment, he did not for a moment hesitate to accompany my mom there. My family was passing through a rough patch but mejo mama acted as a beacon to my already devastated mom. During our stay in Vellore, my mama used to frequent the roadside eateries and on one such occasion I recall mama happily furnishing out details to my mom of his gluttonous 'dosa' eating venture. My mom had to restrain such exploits of mama as she was afraid of him falling ill on the journey leg. Not only did he cherish food, more of the roadside variety, but also spiritedly referred others of his recent findings.

 

On our journey back to Calcutta he felt ill and that was clearly showing on his face. His feeble nature surfaced whenever he exceeded his physical limits - here was one such case when my mom was apt to understand that mama's body became dehydrated. Inwardly frightened as she was yet outwardly for the sake of mami and given the nature of the timing when we had to depart from the health city, my mom's poised nature, astuteness and decisiveness helped mama regain his original bouncy self - he was made to sip lemonade every half an hour till we reached home.

 

Not only did he accompany his relations to other metropolitan cities in India for better treatment facilities but also his friends who easily banked on his sense and sharpness. Moreover his pan India postings helped him to be coherent in all his dealings especially with professionals. His lithe nature saw him actively involved in most of our family weddings and other events' organisation.  

 

My mom echoes that mama's arduous efforts in building the family's economical backbone stands out from those of his other brothers. Yet somehow he was not at peace with himself, remained much unstructured all his life. His knotty familial relations plagued much of his thoughts that acted like a ball and chain to his mental grit. Mama was greatly instrumental in designing houses of his kith and kin yet he vehemently failed in building his own edifice. The labyrinthine like relationship fringes belayed his facile individuality. 

 

"J-O-O-Y-E-E-T-A" was his beloved ahoy on spotting me - the man whose cessation of life made us all fall down virulently as mejo mama's physical presence was an umbilical connection to his soul. Mejo mama - RIP. 

 

 

 

 

Mejo mama (right) with my mami (left) - photo taken shortly after their marraige

 

The canopy overhead

A long time ago when the planet Earth came into existence with vast water bodies and vicissitudes of land mass the canopy overhead echoed Percy Bysshe Shelley:

 

"Heaven's ebon vault,
Studded with stars unutterably bright,
Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
Seems like a canopy which love has spread
To curtain her sleeping world."

During my childhood days I wished I would open my eyes to a rose cushioned sky just before the majestic sun spread its rays over Mother Earth. But city lives are frenzy. You wake up to see concrete monoliths outside your room. Over the years on my travels I always preferred putting up at rooms with wide open windows or verandah unveiling a pie of unclogged nature. Waking up I could just gaze at a stretch, for hours, at the open sky or the lush hills or the sky kissing the sea below. Simply to devour what nature gifts us every day that we rarely acknowledge.

The sky as we see it leased mankind key ingredients for sustenance - sunlight, pregnant clouds, rain, hailstorms and a starlit marquee for the nights. Nature's aura is unrivalled. Without them the entire ecosystem would not have thrived in the first place. Notwithstanding the sky is marvellous in its embellishment. It never reveals itself without a splendid palate of hues and shades - joyous and jubilant, sadness and surprise, fear and fury, anger and antagonism.

I have often found myself fixed at an open rugged natural landscape unlacing its charm slowly to the huge canopy overhead making love. The sky radiates a unique glow sculpting its exuberance seamlessly. The euphemism is limitless. The sky, all of a sudden, can change its conniption raving and ranting in ecstasy.

"When you realise how perfect everything is you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky" - Buddha. 

 

What a journey it would be if you happen to be a floating cloud on the sky! I could traverse millions of miles effortlessly hanging loose over the earth feeling so very pleased to pass over the cherished places held dear to my heart. Globe-trotting as viewed through a 'cloud' lens.

In old days we did not have the privilege to study space and science and record the services of meteorologists. In villages men with good eyesight have a long history of observing and recording the weather’s 
ups and downs and predicting what it may 
do next. One can watch the film 'Swadesh' to understand how people reined in the ability to talk about the weather - well not the ignorant masses I mean.

Descrying is the blue sweep overhead - from farmers, space enthusiasts, star-gazers to kids and outdoor sportsmen all look up above the lofty sky for a glimpse of their interests and passions. It is a haven of solace and sentiments. Often people who read the sky rhetorically are mesmerised by its enigmatic behaviour - its transports one's emotions far and wide and play a Delphian dude with our ethos. Even nature spruces up to perfection.

A dark and dismal mind gifts the sky deep roots penetrating its veil looking for the essence of life wafting in out of the blue. The sky, in turn, reads our mind lifting our fettle for the glittering stars, away from pain and remorse, from sadness and shame. The sky, in its reflection on water, is contemplative of life itself. The mirror of water connotes an augury of life where the canopy ruptures to shreds. The sky is an echo of the nature's big league called 'life'.

"Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky" - Rabindranath Tagore.



Random spray of amber lights donning the sky

 
 

 

Being an Indian abroad

 

Dear Mr Prime Minister Narendra Modi,

 

First and foremost please accept my heartfelt congratulations on your spectacular win in the recently concluded General Elections and sincerely wishing you good luck on your journey ahead as the 15th Prime Minister of India. You made history that was well-deserved.

 

You can well understand reading my blog title that I am writing from a corner of the world that transcends Indian borders. Ever since the few state elections in India in 2013 unravelled its rainbow I started following you on social media, listening to each and every electoral rally you spoke at and devouring every bit of news published on electronic media that informed about you, your style and strategies - both good and bad. 

 

This does not mean I was all agog about a Mr Narendra Modi from the very onset but the elections, as the Indian media said, was truly polarised - it was a rare show in a democratic election where the Agenda became 'Modi vs. the rest' - how, when and why have been discussed at length by many eminent journalists  and TV anchors and continue to rule the media headlines even today. 

 

What prompted me to back you, I tweeted earlier, was your steely determination, avowed dedication and unflinching direction coupled with the astute experience you'd being the chief minister of a prosperous Indian state. What made me to shun the ruling party at the helm of Indian affairs was misgovernance, lack of clarity and communication, withering leadership and the elitist arrogance. 

 

I might draw flak here from many of my fellow Indians who would take this opportunity to echo 'Another non-available and non-visible Indian harping on profound sentiments'. Well they have every right to say as I, an annual visitor to my country, never experience the bitter pangs of my countrymen. I enjoy 24X7 electricity and water services which many in India still do not.

 

However in the beginning of 2014 my name allegedly went missing from the electoral rolls and later heard that my name featured (quite surprisingly) although someone had cast the vote in my name!  The irony is I come from an Indian state, governed by a 'peppered' tigress, where our loved ones back home meet 'fear' at every turn in the alley and not tourists or travellers.

 

You would wonder what took me so long to pen my thoughts and wishes to you. I participated indirectly in the biggest festival of democracy whose voice surely got lost in the deluge of the saffron spirit of the nation.

Also I thought to tell you a short story, apologies for encroaching on your precious time, to which I am a part of. Who else is the best person I can relate to apart from our newly elected Prime Minister who superbly connects with the masses?

This evening I was shopping at a health and beauty store when the ever smiling sales woman asked me where I was from knowing pretty well that I was unsure of the products I was picking at in the store. Soon popped my answer and with pride. Going by the nature of women we eventually started sharing the social morsels of our lives. Sad that the parley came to an abrupt end when the lady candidly hit it "Oh you are from India, a big and beautiful country but very unsafe. My husband took our entire family to Mauritius on a holiday last summer. I was interested to visit India, having heard so much about the diverse country and so near to Mauritius. Sorry, said my husband, as India is no longer safe for women".

Well I acted following Mark Twain's quote: "It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt".

For acts and activities, for publications and policies, for conducts and conversations that we are not part of yet being an Indian abroad we are bound to be nit-picked by people of that nation where we are temporarily put up. Being an Indian abroad I represent the image of India, black and white or colour, and need to relentlessly preserve my country's reel negatives.

I hope you have a great week ahead and keep cool in the severe Delhi heat. I know you enjoy relishing Indian cucumber raita which is a sure shot health tonic in scorching summers.

I hope to keep in touch with you.

With warm regards

An Indian abroad

PS: I truly cherish your hard work. To me recently you'd been a ball of fire rousing my lulled spirits. I believe in good faith that you're the right person at the right time my India most needs. 

The ecstasy in the candle lore

What connected me to enjoy candles can be attributed to my visits in temples, churches and monasteries. I have nothing to do with religion but I take pleasure in travelling to places of architectural and historical significance. Candles and incense burning have been an integral part of our culture interwreathed in our  beliefs. Life and death, celebrations and commemoratings - all strike a match with a candle. William Shakespeare justly said: "How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world."

 

The aura created by candles burning in a holy place is reinvigorating to our senses. A sanctified place has indeed a lot to offer to human mind - blissful and beautiful. All depends on how one perceives such an experience. I tend to reckon with the fact that the spirit of the shrine architecture, ambience and the age-old tradition of offerings made to gods sheathed in man's handiwork adds to the splendidness of a divine place - candles are just an innate part of the spiritual flavour.

The vivacity hugging a birthday party is all about health, hilarity and happiness. The fun starts with a cake cutting ceremony which is incomplete unless candles are blown off. As the wick of the candle burns, with a flicker of hope, and the wax produces the flame, the candle burns shorter and shorter we know that life is not eternal but the spirit of our buoyancy breathes forever.

The faith reposed in a relationship on a candle-lit dinner setting radiates a certain warmth and worship that percolates to one's immediate surroundings. The dinner is just a metaphor buttressed by none other than candles burning to embrace the feeling that life is not frigid but friendly.

Mother Teresa once said: "Joy is a net of love by which you can catch souls" and such is the intoxication of life's ruination that after the darkness of the night disappears, the sun kisses the day with resplendence. The candle burns out at death to throw wide open to the enigma of creation spilling out in the aurora.

Candles are the first blush of life and flickers to the cusp of death. They illuminate the life's phases of nascency, marvel and celebrations just as sunlight beacons a bud to blossom into a flower. The brilliance of insight leading the way out of ignorance. Likewise there is a new beginning after a withering - the path of journey illuminated by light and candles do provide a mesmerising glow in darkness. Hope and strength coupled with thriving and vivaciousness is resplendent on life's lighted path. It is inherent in us to be afraid of the open dark pit of life that which is unknown, unexplored and unapprehended. A dull, insipid and vain odyssey has hardly any fascinating stories to tell to generations next. A candle wipes off the darkness and clears the  shadows fallen on a sapless life spreading large the vigour and verve. The bright light of which transcends ages and boundaries.

"Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared" - Buddha.

The verve around the voting

 

In a democracy like India which is as diverse as it could be elections every five years ring in much like a bugle call that signifies the start of a critical long drawn battle. A handful wakes up on time eager to take opponents head-on. The majority dilly dally and take much time to come out of their foggy senses as such is the human nature. The interesting part, however, tunes in the last leg of the fight.

 

Indians love elections because of its startling and striking nature. The lure of the chaos on the ground, showcase of public obscenity, the laxity from the everyday mundane affair which is an inherent trait in the work ethos of an Indian are too much at stake to be ignored. The social media sycophant and the so-called popular panel discussions on TV are no less imminent.

 

In relation to my age, maturity and interest I have not observed any election, be that national or state, as electrifying as the 2014 national election in India. It is certainly rip-roaring to the core. 

 

The frontrunners in the 2014 election episode are Narendra Modi of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and Rahul Gandhi of the Indian National Congress (INC) followed by oddballs like Arvind Kejriwal, Jayalalithaa Jayaram, Mamata Banerjee, Mulayam Singh Yadav, Mayawati, Nitish Kumar, Uddhav Thackeray, Prakash Karat and so on. In a nutshell a bunch of buffoons promote themselves to the 'idea of India' whatever that maybe on the democratic palate. Indian soil has produced many a statesman, scholars, philosophers and social reformers and impoverished political leadership never cropped up on an average Indian's mind but for the last decade.

A lot of writing has been on the wall since long. Demurral in decision making process and absence of stalwarts at the helm of democratic institutions led to acute indiscipline, nepotism, corruption, mistrust, lassitude and anarchy through and through. One can well imagine the wear and tear of the socio-economic fabric of a complex and myriad country, the panorama of caste, creed, religion, language, food, lifestyle and social parameters changing with every turn of the alley. As in flowering plants rupture of pollen tube makes way for fertilisation so has 2014 punctured the blight of the post independent Indian diaspora to unravel India's élan vital.

Going by the journalistic essays and research and relying on the prudence of my good sense I take it that Narendra Modi, as it stands today, is the clear frontrunner. His staid attitude towards governance as he has been instrumental in running the state of Gujarat in western India over 10 years although discoloured by the 2002 riot can of worms is the talking turkey political investment his camp is serving the Indian electorate. News of vote bank politics, secularism, polarisation of votes, riots pennon the media, panel discussions and political rallies yet to an aspirational young Indian such contents lack fuselage in the 21st century.

As a young Indian I never find the think tank, be it on primetime TV or elsewhere, discussing much on how do we find India's chassis 10 years from now on environment and climate change issues,  wildlife poaching, traffic and transportation planning (lived in India's three major cosmopolitan cities - Calcutta, Delhi and Bangalore; this comes naturally to my mind), building world class Indian universities and museums, theatres, libraries, preserving our heritage and architecture and imaging an Indian port of safety, security and freedom from religious and gender bigotry.

I feel ashamed that a chunk of our populace yet does not have basic access to water and sanitation, education and health care even after 67 years of Independence. However owing to a good education and intraurban backdrop I have transported my desires of an India to a greater next level and never did tomfoolery ideas of caste, region or religion venture in my 'idea of India'. I can strongly advocate my fellow Indians, young and productive, will think in the lines I outlined and postulate ideas and beliefs befitting to the organic and spiritual growth of India.

Having said that the 2014 elections in India is a harbinger of 'nest egg' for many unknown Indian faces. If you closely look at a rally rather than listen to the contender's speech you realise a lot of apt groundwork has gone into making a rally fructify. Road-side food makeshift vans, valet, stage fabricators, security personnel, young party workers, flag bearers, florists, electrical vendors, printers, drivers, reporters and cameramen, techies and a huge number of productive hands outsourced that goes without saying making brisk business courtesy this festive season of elections. Not to lose out on the election tourism - so many NRIs have flocked to India to exercise their franchise or the international media making a beeline to all the locations where the contestants are heading to.

I feel this is good for them as the busy period in India is helping them to upgrade their marketing skills and be productive. It also helps with a clear stream of income for the ordinary hardworking people as they have to sell their labour in order to break bread, send children to schools, install an electric line in their houses and a little extra income will help them increase their purchasing power. They can recoat the paint that have peeled off the walls of their house before the onset of monsoons, buy a bicycle or a two wheeler or open some savings accounts with banks or postal office. No one reports such stories in media which can be an interesting read - 'the election by-product'.

Most of the rhapsody centres around who is wearing a special cap, poverty porn fuelled by politicians and media editors (who claim in galore on camera that they are experiencing election heat outside the air-conditioned studios!), the TV interrogations in thy name of interviews, who is meeting whom, why are spaces in the electoral form left blank, why is a manifesto so late, is there a wave of an individual, or is a recent book by an ex-media advisor to PMO a tool for the opposition rather than shying away from the truth of confirming to the family run business of the 'idea of India', hate speeches flying in full colours from all corners but the essence of the discussion is 'who spread the animosity first', who's sharing the dais with whom and who's absent, how much flower petals had been arranged for on the day of a roadshow, who's trending more on the social media, what is the conspiracy behind a contestant being slapped and the Gandhian way of reaching out to the culprit with a flower, politicians crying on cameras, the brouhaha of Indian media of what media in the West and self-proclaimed intellectuals are saying about our candidates, and the list is endless. 

The burlesque is still not over and will continue till the morning of May 16. However there are some good journalism, analysis and comments coming out of the election heat too. Funny but intelligent adverts and punch lines, making women and young voters aware of the need for voting are not lost in the din.

India is a colourful country and the elections are psychedelic. Child-like sparrings thrown at each other 'We need a leader not a reader' vis-a-vis 'We do not need a bleeder and pleader', enthusiasts getting their body and faces painted with voting symbols, selfies with inked fingers displayed with media harping 'Did you vote? Get yourself a chance to win...by showing a selfie of your inked finger', nonagenarians being carried on backs to the polling booths, music blaring at rallies idolising slapstick contestants like 'Hamare desh ki aankhon ki taara hai Mulayam Singh' are quite a jesting. The musical chair competition is in full swing 'Kaun banega Pradhan Mantri?' but the grim news is there's no prize for guessing that! 

India's biggest gag show is on and the political parties' bazaar is proud to float the sale of 'democracy' discounted up to May 16 morning! Desfrutar shopping!