+ New Orleans - A Letter to NY Times

* I've been kind of putting my life on hold for the last couple of months. Shouldn't, when it isn't worth it.... 

New Orleans is not the beginning. It’s just the latest. It’s only that till now there has been a foreign agent to focus on, simply because the average American is so content to be totally co-opted by the government. There was no reason why he had to rack his brains for the real reason – the government was raping the world, but ultimately it was taking care of him. Bush has been a paradigm shift. He has been as globally short-sighted as the rest of the American presidents, more rampant around the world, and been stunningly flamboyant about the sufferings of people. Dubya with the imaginary Texan hat on his head has talked about the “axis of evil”, threatened to “nuke ’em”, ruined a nation, but to the average American it hasn’t mattered because it hasn’t affected him. And for those who think with their dicks, it makes for great television, too. New Orleans is different. It has shown, now that there is no Osama or Saddam, that Bush doesn’t know shit, he doesn’t care, and that he has a shockingly bad sense of humour... maybe also that Fahrenheit 9/11 wasn't half as much anti-Republican as realistic. Eight years of Bush will have done incalculable damage to the world, but now at least the average American will realize that it is going to do incalculable damage to America itself. Bush despises the poor (they are an irritating burden who come in the way of his having a whale of a life), couldn’t care less about the blacks, and finds it a great strain to think beyond his oil buddies. Surely, all those rig losses will make their owners instantly rich after their insurance claims. Yes, eight years of Bush will have been a great strain - at least. I don’t think America - or the world - can afford the next four years with an idiot as president.

+ The Magic of Murphy

I didn't know when he came in because Murphy didn't even knock when he turned up sometime last weekend. Must have been Saturday night or so. And the door must have been open. Well, the balcony window was certainly open.

Saturday night was good, and the British Open golf was quite absorbing after Friday's one-sidedness. Sunday dawned and, by the time I was up, there wasn't any reason to feel it was going to be a bad day. But then, I didn't know Murphy was hiding inside.

One phone call was enough to leave a bad taste in the mouth; it didn't help any that this was only the latest in a series of small events that were more or less screwed up. In the night, it started to rain and there was a strong gust to go along with it. It had rained a bit on windy Saturday too, and the inset balcony was quite drenched. I had placed a folded piece of washcloth under the glass door, but it wasn't necessary.

Sunday was different. About 20 minutes into the rain, a glance at the glass door, and water was already creeping in. By the time the rags were found and the swabbing begun, the water was kind of flowing in steadily. Some more checking found that four of the windows weren't waterproofed well enough and water was seeping in between the aluminium frame and the cement. At two places, the water was trickling from the sill on the floor.

This is a new, two-month-old apartment, and dammit, it was evident that the work was shoddy as hell. Not that I didn't know it; it was just that now I was getting unbearable proof. So, do I go and scream at the builder tomorrow? How likely is that?

Every little thing needs to be told about half a dozen times under great stress to avoid immediate violence on my part; and after all that, only a complaint to the builder would get even a hole in the switchboard covered with a switch dummy. The tiles are laid badly, the initial specifications and ultimate reality have huge gaps, there is evidence of silliness and bad workmanship all around....

It has been an unrelenting and unwitting battle of attrition to get the apartment livable, and I am already worn thin. Rather than explain or scream, It would be easier now to just take a club and brain people on the spot.

Looking ahead at the coming week, I am filled with such dread I don't even want to think about it.

Murphy is one real &*%^$&^!!# I really don't want to encounter.

+ Life Is A Long Wait; or, Dharam or Dh-aaraam

Ever been in a situation where a dozen people are accessing two board lines from their extensions? I was. You keep pressing ‘0’ for the ring tone and keep getting an engaged tone. But you can’t afford to let up. So you disconnect and then repeat the procedure. You keep doing it – dozens of times in quick succession, till your pressing the ‘0’ coincides with one of the guys hanging up. It’s nirvana of sorts when you get the ring tone. But while you are still at it, mind-numbingly and finger-numbingly repeating the set procedure in your effort to break through, you realise that sometimes life is a long wait.

Standing at traffic lights waiting for green is another experience – immensely frustrating or wonderfully blissful, depending on your state of mind. Wonderfully blissful?? Well, imagine being totally in the hands of a disinterested system and being led on by something that almost reaches the level of cosmic law. A mile of vehicles in three or four columns, waiting simply because they must. In spite of the smoke and the grime, it is beautifully serene.

(That was a nice train of thought that I can’t even aspire to right now; I am into swearing mode precisely two minutes after I get on the road.)

But all these are understandable waits. And unavoidable. But why should somebody have to wait for a person? Every time? But people do – for Dharam Singh, who is for some strange reason the chief minister of Karnataka. It was a long time ago, just a month or so after he became the CM, that I saw a red carpet awaiting him on Brigade Road. I stopped for a mere moment to take in the waiting scene, and heard a comment: "Oh, they will have to wait. Dharam Singh is always late." And, so it must have been – I didn’t wait to find out.

But, with time, I have learnt that the comment I heard was no bitch. Dharam Singh DOES arrive late for every function. And, looking at what is happening – or rather, not happening – across the state, I can’t think of one reason why he has to be late. Anyway, if he has agreed to an appointment, he had better keep it – being the CM is no excuse. Last week, for the inauguration of the Ramaseva Mandali's Sri Ramanavami Music Festival, Dharam arrived at his own sweet time, while the artistes scheduled to perform afterwards (including mandolin wizard U Srinivas) warmed the sofas in the green room. The most recent instance of Dharam Singh’s tardiness has had the most unfortunate result.

Gangubai Hangal, one of the seniormost classical musicians in the country, turned 93 a month ago – at a squeeze, old enough to be Dharam Singh’s grandmother. For a function at Hubli-Dharwar to honour Smt Hangal, the chief minister arrived two whole hours late while the aged and slightly unwell musician waited. To top that, he left in the middle of Smt Hangal’s programme that followed. The people who have loved Smt Hangal’s music for more years than A-Dharam has walked the earth were understandably livid at this lack of basic courtesy, and have urged Smt Hangal to return the shawl that she had been presented with.

The extreme situation prompted Singh to come out with a feckless statement – to the effect that he himself was very upset about it all but what could he do, he had no time. What about the hundreds of people who would have waited for him for two hours – does he think they were all loafers with nothing to do? What about the Hubli corporator/mayor, who too would have been in the waiting party? Jobless, as well? Is the CM the only guy in the entire state with no time?

Smt Hangal returned the shawl with a statement that she was very upset at all that happened, both as an aged person and as a nationally renowned classical musician. I know my grandmother would have given Dharam of the Deadly Delays a thorough earful. I would of course like to box his ears red and a bit more.

Bangalore is already known for its slowness. Things were always slow; after Dharam, they have more or less ground to a halt. We can do without a guy at the helm who behaves like a mascot for sloth.