Can I sue God?
Can I question God?
Living in a land where I dare not question even my political leaders, I can’t
even be thinking of it.

Incarnated in a country whose culture is so
deeply imbedded in religion and the hue and cry of tolerance and intolerance about
it alike, a country with ethos and beliefs which deem divinity as absolutely
sacred, I would rather expel the notion even before it takes derivation and
foundation in my thoughts.
Theology, spirituality,
mysticism or holiness being the root of our culture, could I even imagine suing

Perhaps, there is an
Indian lawyer who thinks otherwise. So here he goes, filing a case against
Hindu God Lord Ram over the alleged mistreatment of his wife Sita.

According to the
petition filed by this lawyer, he has claimed that Lord Ram had banished his
wife Sita to live in exile in a forest, which is highly “hypocritical” and “cruel”
and which according to him has no valid reason as she was later found innocent
of the charges that forced her into exile.

His petition claims how
can a man be so cruel to his wife that he sends her off to live in a forest,
without even thinking for a moment how a woman could live alone amid wild and
ferocious animals, including reptiles and mammals, in the forest, even after
she had sworn in front of fire to always live with her husband.

Quite ironically, the
lawyer has included Lord Ram’s brother Laxman too in the suit stating that he
was as much an accused as he had helped Lord Ram in “renouncing” Sita and hence
a party to the crime, i.e. misconduct against woman.

Though the suit may
have been dismissed by the Court as not tenable being beyond logic and facts, the
dragging to court of the chief protagonist of the Ramayana and conceivably one
of India’s most revered deity has surely thrown up some amusing possibilities that
I can conjure up.

*  If Ram would be standing in the docks while being questioned, it may imaginably
be the first time that the Judge will be calling the accused, “My Lord”.

*  It may end up as a fight of Ram against Ram, with eminent lawyer Ram
Jethmalani ready to appear for the petitioner in his case filed against
Lord Ram.

*  Once a precedent of suing Gods is set, the next on the anvil may be Hanuman
to be sued for travelling to Sri Lanka without visa and passport. It seems now
the entire monkey clan will be jailed for the alleged crime of their fugitive

*  The first time ever, I have seen the Lord moving around in flesh and
blood was as Arun Govil in the epic soap opera. I sincerely hope this poor guy won’t
be arrested for his acting hystrionics.

It surely seems to be a
case of growing intolerance against the Gods too. Looks like this Kalyug isn’t
safe even for the Lord!
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Give it up – Is it abnegation or surrender?
Give-It-Up bug is really infectious. I am getting worried, it is following me
everywhere. Or am I hallucinating? I really don’t know, but this creepy-crawly
surely seems to have infected my system.
My better
half has the habit of switching on the radio as early as she wakes up to soothe
her spirits with the old Bollywood numbers belted out by the dozen or so FM
channels. Perhaps, it’s a bit more than that since it acts as my alarm bell too
as I am forced out of my slumber every morning hearing the hoarse voice of our
esteemed Prime Minister.
Oh no! Our
PM hasn’t started singing for movies, but his voice surely resonates in between
those melodies. I am woken up by his appeal to give-up. He proclaims the joy of
giving up the LPG subsidy, which I am not sure strikes the right chord or not,
but it surely compels me to give-up my sleep immediately.
As I finish
off my morning chores, I have been subjugated since childhood to the habit of
switching on the TV set to keep myself abreast with the latest happenings on
this planet that I am destined to survive. There again I see the most venerated
bearded citizen of our country with his appeal. I give-up once again, this time
it’s the pleasure and gratification of catching up with the current affairs.
As I leave
in the pursuit of yet another day of livelihood to my work place, I am scared
to death to switch on the FM channel in my car yet again, and hence embark on a
silent journey with a feeling of travelling in a hearse. I give up my right to
a comfortable musical journey.
Thanks to
the Mumbai traffic and the numerous signals I encounter on my short journey of
just a couple of kilometers, I am constrained to stare out of the car window,
just because there is nothing compelling enough for me to look into the decrepit
interiors of my wagon which I could confidently call my own, having just
managed to complete the full term of the EMI.
There again,
it is. A big hoarding with our honorable Premier staring straight at me as if I
am the most notorious criminal in  this
country’s list of most-wanted who-is-who. Yeah, I admit, I haven’t given up on
the subsidy so far, but since morning didn’t I give-up on a lot of things, my
dear PM. And, yet again, I am giving up once more. This time, it’s the urge the
stare out of the car window.
During the
course of the day, I encounter many occasions of Give-It-Up and every single
time, I oblige. Sometimes consciously and sometimes unwittingly, but oblige, I
really do. I reach office and find that my reserved parking has already been utilized
by some obnoxious jerk and I give it up to settle for another corner.
Just when I
decide to have my lunch, some unwary client walks in and spends the next full
hour raising his innumerable queries expecting answers to his satisfaction, the
definition of which is left to his judgment. So I give up my favorite lunch time
determinedly trying to explain the intricacies of the income tax act over an
empty stomach.
While I
return back home in the evening, I can’t help myself from stealing a glance at
the large hoarding and yet again I and our beloved PM make eye-to-eye contact.
Having given up so many things since I woke up in the morning, I am honorably
and scrupulously satisfied of my achievements, but my country’s premier doesn’t
seem to be a bit amused.
As a tax
paying and law abiding citizen of this country, it would not be far-fetched of
my thoughts to expect at least a sly smile from my Prime Minister if not a pat
on my back, for all these Give-It-Ups that I have efficaciously endeavored
during the day. My PM isn’t satisfied and his gawking gaze makes it abundantly
clear that all he wants from me is the LPG give-up and nothing short of it.
I reach home
and as I sip on the steaming hot tea so lovingly served by my by-this-time
convinced better half, made by her on the gas stove fuelled by the LPG, against
the purchase of which I am entitled to a fee hundreds of bucks as subsidy, I
keep wondering.
I ponder
whether I need to add this one more Give-It-Up to my already overflowing cup of
woes. I conjecture that if I relent and do so, would it be an act of abnegation
or that of surrender.
I wish to
tell my honorable Prime Minister that I am ready to #GiveItUp. I would love to
do it as abnegation and not surrender. I wish to tell him that I am ready to
take a hundred steps towards nation building, if our politicians are ready to
take a single step.
I wish to ask
my PM and ask it loud and clear for the whole country to listen. I wish to ask
him that when we, the citizens of our country are doing our best for the nation
building, is it not high time that our politicians too start repaying some of
our generosity.
I wish to
give a piece of advice too to our PM. I would like him to tell his ministries
to learn to manage their finances while they permit me to deal with my conscience,
the way I want.
A bemused
and amused, yet utterly concerned citizen

Foot Note:
Abnegation –
the act of giving up something, especially something you would like to keep.
Surrender –
the act of giving up something because someone in authority says you have to.

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The day I read my own words
There was a time, not
so long ago, when I decided to write. I had a few ideas, few thoughts which
were my concepts and philosophies, which I just wanted to pen down. I
scribbled, I wrote and then finally I published but I still wondered would
anyone read it.

I inscribed as it was
my passion, I had presumed and anticipated that if not anyone else, I would
read it myself. I would read and be happy that I wrote.

I wrote and I loved
that I had networks who appreciated what I composed. I was happy that I didn’t
have to read my own words. I gathered that if I penned honestly, there would be
others who would read it.

This enthused and
stimulated me to new heights; I kept writing and piling up words and my
repertoire built up over the period. I started off writing my personal views
being serious content but gradually progressed to opinions and comments, then
to reviews and surveys too.

While I wrote, I became
a more voracious bookworm than before. I read and re-read but I never imagined
that I would read my own veracious words. But one fine morning, I woke up to
read my own words. Hey there, it was not like I felt like reading what I had
written but it was like I was forced to read.

As I picked it up for
reading, I thought I would be reading a different perspective of a subject that
I had written a few days back. As I read the first para, I thought, dude! that
sounds so familiar. 

Then I dismissed the
thought and read further. Hey man, this is eerie. The second para sounds even
more similar, and the third one and the fourth one too. Then reality dawned on
me, it’s copied. Para to para! Verbatim it was, letter-perfect and word-perfect.
Now that sounds
interesting. There I was a year back, wondering whether anyone would even read
what I wrote. And a year later, if not anyone else, at least I was reading what
I wrote.

I feel inspired that I
could inspire. I could stimulate someone to just lift and paste. More than
anything else, it at least meant that what I am writing made sense.

Whenever I have sat
down to write, these words by Aidan Chambers falls so much in place for me. “I
huff and puff and struggle with each sentence, paragraph and page – sometimes
with every word as well”.

I remember the story of
a boy who copied an essay on dog from his elder brother’s book. The teacher
caught him and this boy replied, I never copied, the essays are bound to be the
same, we both have written about the same dog.

On a serious note, I
have one piece of advice to these easy writers. Write if you can, and if you
can’t just don’t write. In this digital world, every word written is recorded
and archived. The dog may be the same, but you should at least be aware that it
would bark or wag its tail differently every time.

So in case you think
copying is easy stuff, it may make your writing easy but your life complex. The
author of the original would surely read his own words and you would have to
eat your own words.

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