Two Drops of Cricket

Why Cricket is not just a sport in India??

I was six years old when the first time I learnt how to see the scoreboard of a cricket match on TV. It was a very thrilling experience as it gave me sense of learning as well as an edge over my friends. Since then cricket remained an integral part of my life till recently. I grew up calculating centuries and man of the matches of Sachin and Saurav. I grew up watching cricket matches on TV on roadside shops once electricity had gone in my house. I grew up connecting to neighbor’s cable network to watch India and Pakistan match when there was no cable connection in my house. 


Like millions of my countrymen, I don’t know when and how I learnt to play cricket. Playing cricket is as natural to any Indian kid as learning his mother tongue. When I say kids, he might be from hill or plain, from Kashmir or Kerala or from Gandhinagar or Guwahati. Indians don’t discriminate when it comes to cricket. India played its first international cricket match in 1932 but the fever of cricket gripped India completely in 1983. The year India won the world cup of cricket for the first time and when it was least expected from them. It was one of the rarest of rare incident in India’s post-independent history. It was a sudden transformation of Indian Cricket Team from minnows to mighty. India was never the same after 1983. Parents started putting their kids name as Kapil, Sunny in north and Srikant, Prasanna in south. From a little known sport in the country, it became a magnet for youth and old alike. Commercialization of cricket helped it grow stronger, more powerful and more attractive. Four years after winning the world cup, India hosted world cup tournament along with its arch rival, Pakistan. It further pushed the charm of cricket in India. It made cricket more glamourous, more appealing and finally irresistible. It was a nightmare for other traditional sports where India was once a stalwart. Hockey, kabaddi, wrestling and badminton were few of the casualties of upsurge of cricket during that time. Very few among current generation know that Cricket is not our national game but Hockey.


Cricket has got unique charm that appeal to India and Bharat equally. The easily available bricks as wicket, any shaven wooden log as bat, any kind of ball and moreover the laziness involved in the game truly captured the psyche of India. Fields, gully, roof top, road all turned out as cricket field. The involvement of 22 plus people in a match also fitted India’s large and dense population. The growing interest of people in cricket hiked interest of our ‘sportive’ politicians in cricket. As the sweet attracts flies, money and popularity attracted our politicians. Governing bodies at state level as well as central level became money spinning machines and these machines needed crafty hands for operations. Who else in India are craftier than our seasoned politicians? All the state cricket association as well as BCCI is today controlled by politicians from almost all the parties. Is there any other reason for large scale involvement of politicians in cricket other than money and popularity?? It is very hard to imagine.

In spite of handling an important ministry like agriculture, Sharad Pawar could not relinquish his duty towards cricket. Farmer’s suicide and increasing inflation did bother him at times but IPL was the most endearing issue for him. Same was the case with evergreen charming ex parliamentary minister Rajeev Shukla Ji. In spite of shuffling between law and amendments, he never forgot to spin his time for BCCI and IPL. I guess cricket is the real secret behind his ‘lethal’ smile. Arun Jaitley is known for his eloquent speeches and

understanding of constitution but he always reserved his slog overs for Delhi Cricket. Farooq Abdulla ‘Sahib’ was handling ministry of unconventional energy but he maintained a very conventional attitude, meaning just doing nothing towards Jammu and Kashmir Cricket. Jammu and Kashmir cricket could not develop much and remained buried in snow under the patronage of Abdulla sahib. From Abdullah and Anurag Thakur from hills to Shashi Tharoor in Kerala, Cricket unites not only public but politicians too. It was the irresistible force of cricket that even prompted our very powerful ‘Italian madam’ to show her overjoy during India - Sri Lanka final of Cricket World Cup ‘2011. I don’t know how many Italians understand cricket. Extra ordinary flow of ‘patriotism’ and frenzy acts of cricket lovers post world cup victory was well expected and politicians might not know quantum theory or atomic number of mercury but they always knew the pulse of public. Showering award like Bharat Ratna first time to any sportsperson and that to a cricketer was a well thought plan to capture the popular mood of the mass. Cricket has become a religion and we find cricketers as our new avatars, new gods. Our politicians show themselves as the greatest preacher of this new religion just to collect the ‘chadawa’ (donation) from devotees like you and me. Betting and match fixing only showed the vulnerability of this new religion and mortality of our new ‘Gods’. The nexus of politicians, corporates and cricketers don’t leave cricket as a mere sport but a different type of entertainment where the public does not know what they are watching; a sport, a well-directed action packed movie or an illusion??

A Techie's Day on Road

A Techie's Day on Road

Place: Sector 23, Gurgaon

6.30 am: My alarm bell rang. I dismissed it.

7.15 am: I finally got up as rays of sun started entering my bedroom.

7.45 am: Seating comfortably on sofa listening devotional song on 'Sanskar' channel with tea, biscuits and 'The Hindu' newspaper.

8.40 am: Started doing exercise after taking five minutes nap. Five minutes nap is a real power booster.

9.15 am: Took bath, performed puja and got dressed up for the office.

9.20 am: My cook started making breakfast. Hot ‘Potato stuffed Parantha' with curd and mango pickle sent by mom was ready. Yesterday it was 'poha'.

 9.30 am: Cleaned the Scooty and started the engine.

9.35 am:  Got stuck in traffic jam as a bull came in the middle of road. I was maneuvering my scooty carefully through the minimum small gaps of traffic. But the reckless auto stopped my way. After 10 minutes, first traffic jam of the morning was cleared.

9.45 am: Saw the time. Was getting late for office. Gave pace to my scooty but got bumped up by 2-3 deep potholes, present in the middle of the road for months. Cleared half the way to office before stuck in another jam at the cross road. No one was ready to wait for others to pass. But due to some invisible miracle, traffic got cleared in another ten minutes. Second traffic jam of the morning was cleared. Indian roads are altogether a different and difficult arena. Everyone in rush. Someone will give left indicator and may not turn left. Someone might not give right indicator and may turn right. But someone might give left indicator and really turn left. You have to be sheer and pure Indian to drive safely in India. If your vehicle does not get a scratch after one month of purchase, consider yourself as god’s own child. A high level of concentration is needed to drive on Indian roads. I am not surprised why Yoga and meditation started in India. All motorists look like moving ‘Yogi’ to me. You may be the best motorist from some other country but when you drive in India, you may have to doubt your driving license. You don’t meet with accident because of your mistakes but someone else mistakes, rush, whims or rigidness. Sometimes it is felt that motors are not propelled by engine but by horn. Even One Way roads can become your way , my way or anyone's way. It is icing on the glory of Indian roads. Indian roads are classic example of ‘Inclusive Sustenance’. Nitish Kumar would be the happiest person to read these lines. Here not only cycle, rickshaws, trucks, tractors run along with Honda, BMW but also with goats, dogs, bulls or cows.

10:15 am: Finally reached office. I got some water and then reached my desk. No morning greetings. All were Indian colleagues. Everyone seemed to be busy like bee. I felt embarrassed for reaching late.

10:16 am: Supervisor arrived with his queries on my work status. Not much pleased with my pace of work, loaded me with another bundle of work.

10:30 am: After checking mails and chalking out plan for today's work, went to fetch half cup of free coffee from vending machine on my floor. The quality of tea was pathetic, so I had to take coffee in compulsion.

1:00 pm: My friend asked me for lunch. I requested him to wait for ten minutes. The wait prolonged for one hour as some urgent work arrived. Mind it, all works are urgent here. But the friend was still waiting.

2.00 pm: We, group of four people reached canteen. Had hot and sumptuous lunch that included rice, hot roti not frozen one, 2 vegetables, lentils, salad and a piece of ‘gulabjamun’ (sweet) too. We went for ten minutes stroll and bought 2 ‘happy dent’ chewing gums, necessary to dispel the upcoming bout of sleep post heavy lunch.

2.45 pm: Back on my seat.

3.10 pm: Bout of sleep started to arrive. I started fighting the nap with chewing gums and some happy banter with like-minded colleagues.

5.10 pm: Tea break became necessity. Went with friends and had hot samosa, roll and tea.

5.40 pm: Back to desk. I came with ‘steel resolve’ to finish all the pending work in an hour.

6.00 pm: Half of colleagues started to leave office. First girls followed by boys. A thought came to my mind to reach office on time and leave on time from tomorrow onwards. A Wishful thinking.

7.15 pm: Almost all of the day's work was finished. Stretched my hands, shook my head. It was time to leave. Only 3-4 colleagues were there. But then my supervisor arrived. He asked me to prepare an excel sheet of status of all the modules of my project. He insisted on its urgency and the need to finish it by today itself. There was always urgency as if tomorrow would never come.

It accelerated the flow of blood to my head and increased my heart beat. I started preparing the sheet; calling team members on their mobile phone to know their work status and consolidating the details.

8.20 pm: Work was done finally. Supervisor had already gone. I took my scooty keys and started to leave.

8.30 pm: Got stuck in the long traffic jam. I was getting impatient with pollution, hunger and heat. No invisible miracle anywhere. But finally traffic was cleared. No policeperson came but some civilians had to come forward and clear the traffic.

9.30 pm: Finally reached home. Drop dead tired. I started sharing the day’s frustration with roommates. It was a strong tonic and mood booster. Got some smile on my face and relaxed.

10.00 pm: We started having dinner that included ‘kheer’ ( rice pudding with milk) along with our favorite show on television.

11.00 pm: Finally went to bed with the story book/novel.

11.45 pm: Lights off and good night

Next Day:

6.30 am: My alarm bell rang. I dismissed it.

7.25 am: I finally woke up as rays of sun started entering my bedroom.

7.30 am: No power. I had to wait for the power so that water gets warm in geyser.

7.50 am: Tea with biscuit with no ‘devotional songs’ as a neighbor had come to talk about his son’s future plan after his pre graduation.

The day started but it would be a different day, new challenges on road, new hiccups at work place, new dishes in lunch and dinner and a new twist in the life will be in the offing.

In US, your morning can be taken by your office but not your evening, for sure.

 In India, your morning may or may not be yours but your evening can not be yours, for sure.

Two different countries can affect the same person in two different ways.

 It is the truth of a techie.

A Techie's Day in WEST

A Techie’s Day in WEST 

Place: Jacaranda Club Apt, Plantation, Florida

7.25 am: My mobile's alarm bell rang. I dismissed it.

7.32 am: I finally got up from the bed.

8.15 am: I put the corn flakes (mostly almond honey) and milk into bowl and then into microwave for 2 minutes. The availability of electricity and water supply is guaranteed and so is the proper functioning of microwave.

8.27am: I took the lunch box and the laptop bag. I locked the door and started running towards the bus stop.

8.30 am: The bus was always on time. It waits for not more than 10 seconds.

8.30 + 8 sec am: I arrived like Shahrukh Khan of DDL J, movie and boarded the bus. The driver gave a wily smile acknowledging my habit of reaching just on time. I reciprocated and thanked god that I made it that day also.

8.50 am: The bus reached Sunrise, nearest bus stop from my office.

9.00 am: I reached my office after 10 minutes of walk that included observation of surrounding greenery and listening typical Hindi songs from my I - touch. I exchanged usual morning greetings with my colleagues that included Mexicans, Pakistanis, Columbians, French and Americans apart from Indians.

Work started smoothly. There was not much work pressure, not much push or follow ups.

1:00 pm: My friends asked me for lunch. We gathered at a common place for the lunch. I had not seen many American colleagues eating together a different trend from Indians. I opened the lunch box that had three roti, which was frozen before it was baked in the morning and the vegetable I cooked at night. No sweets.

1: 45 pm: I was back on my desk.

5.25 pm: My friend asked me to leave for the day.

5.30 pm: We left the office. We boarded the bus after ten minutes of walk.

6.00 pm: I reached home. Traffic runs smoothly most of the time in US. People drive their vehicles in their lanes. Traffic rules are followed in letter and in spirit.

6.20 pm: I was ready to savor the best time of my whole day. Tea and snacks in the balcony.

7:00 pm: I went to play lawn tennis and then for walk.

8.15 pm: Cooking time started and lasted for one hour.

10 pm: I started eating dinner along with any Indian movie or serial available on my laptop.

10:45 pm: Time to go to bed with any available story book or novel.

11:45 pm: Lights off. Good night.

Next day

7.25 am: My mobile's alarm bell rang. I dismissed it.

7.32 am: I finally got up from the bed.

8.15 am: I put the corn flakes (mostly almond honey) and milk into microwave for 2 minutes. The availability of electricity and water supply is guaranteed and so is the proper functioning of microwave.

8.27am: I took the lunch box and the laptop bag. I locked the door and started running towards the bus stop.

And the day starts again as it was yesterday. It was very easy to predict for tomorrow also.

A Cup of Tea

A Cup of Tea

Like most of my countrymen, I also prefer a good cup of tea than anything else to start my day. A strong cup of tea in the morning set the tone for rest of the day. It was September. Sky was clear when I went to bed but I woke up to a surprise. The morning was not a regular morning. It was something you could just imagine. It was a misty morning filled with heavenly serenity. A thin light layer of fog had covered the green grass of the park, behind my house. Leaves of the trees were oozing with dew. My nostrils were filled with bout of fresh air. An innocent smile spontaneously spread across my face. I felt the thirst for a strong ginger tea. Thankfully all the basic ingredients like milk, ginger, tea and sugar were available in my house. Something difficult to find in a bachelor’s house when it was needed the most. The tea was ready and the aroma of tea was giving me ‘the morning high’. I took the cup and went to the back of my house. A perfect cup of tea and a foggy morning; a rare combination of pleasure and energy. I was into nature’s lap and my mind was getting gentle pat from nature’s careful hand. Time went by. Sun started to rise and fog started to fade. But thanks to nature’s touch, I was a revived person.

Though tea is just a beverage but it has taken an important place in our day to day life. It is not only the tea which is important but the company of people and the ambience in which we sip it. It was said you needed two to tango. But I would add, you need two and tea to tango. There were few occasions when the tea was not just a sweet brown liquid but a special memory adhesive which dipped deep into my heart and stick to my mind for months and years.

I remember my college days and the old aunt’s small tea shop. Three of my very close friends who were also my last bench comrades, had a common ‘adda’ (location) at that tea shop. After our classes, we always found ‘jannat’ at the tea shop. Venting out our common anger against the college authority, boring classes and tingling naughty discussions about college girls used to make our life much easier. Sometimes discussions also delved into our falling assessment marks and our anxiety over upcoming semester exams. Sometimes our discussions fluctuated from regional politics to international one and sometimes from bollywood stupid movies to Hollywood superb movies. And all those discussions were over a typical south Indian steel cup of hot tea. A pack of ‘tiger’ biscuit along with tea was like a treat for us. We were often short of two to three rupees when it came to foot the complete bill of Rs 13. We had to negotiate with shop owner aunt by using amalgamation of Hindi words with few Tamil words we had learned. Though ‘tiger’ biscuit was a cheap one but I never found the same taste in any of the biscuits I ate after my college days.

There was one more cup of tea which was special for me. It was January. I was going to my home town (Muzaffarpur) from Delhi. It was an early morning, around 5 AM. The train had stopped at an unknown small station for a very long time. I woke up, took my purse and came out of the train coach. Very few people were seen at the platform. After walking for few meters, I found a tea shop. The tea vendor was making tea on coal fire. The mere spot of the tea on coal fire at that time was like dream come true for me. I gained speed and ordered a cup of tea. The tea was put into the earthen pot. The aroma of tea in earthen pot was seductive. I was sipping the tea but got distracted by the shrill deep voice of a female. She was a tall Muslim girl wearing black salwar kameez. She was very fair and her big blue eyes were glowing from the top of her ‘hizab’. She had come for tea. She was holding a hundred rupees note at the tea shop and the tea shop owner had no change. I went closer and gave a five rupees coin to the vendor. She was hesitant to take the tea but I insisted. The tea shop owner missed no time and forwarded her the earthen pot of tea. She looked at me from the corner of her eyes and said ‘Shukriya’. She said world was small and she would return my five rupee coin. She went away. I stood there speechless with my half filled cup of tea. The siren of train brought my senses back. I rushed towards the train. But my eyes had captured an unforgettable picture.

All the above mentioned cups of tea were special to me. But the most special as well as the most precious cup of tea I had at Karol Bagh, Delhi. I was shopping with my mother. After the exhausting stretch of three hour shopping, we went to a south Indian restaurant. This was the first time, I took my mother to a restaurant after I started earning. We ordered two plates of masala dosa and two cups of tea. We finished dosa but were still waiting for the tea. I asked the waiter, the reason for the delay. He said it was a special tea and it took time. He had hiked our expectations from the tea. Finally the star attraction of the restaurant, ‘the tea’ came. The first sip of tea justified the delay and glorified the reputation of the restaurant. My mother and I enjoyed every sip of the tea. All our exhaustion had vaporized by the steam of tea. It was the costliest cup of tea I ever had in my life. But I had no rues. I had the costliest and the best cup of tea with the most precious person of my life.

So just not sip your cup of tea but feel it and seal it in your memory because tea is just not a sweet brown liquid.

Kolkata still living in packets of 2 and 3

                        Kolkata still living in packets of 2 and 3

My relationship with Kolkata is older than my age. The relation started much before the year Calcutta became Kolkata. My grandfather spent most of his life there. My father spent prime time of his youth there and my uncle could not leave Kolkata for one or many reasons. Thanks to the genetic relationship , Kolkata was never a strange place for me. I was a regular visitor to Kolkata since my childhood. Kolkata was my intermission junction on my way to my college of engineering at Vellore from my home town, Muzaffarpur. Coromondel and Howrah Chennai express were my loyal trains.

My affair with Kolkata took big seven years break due to my posting in Delhi. But thanks to the company I work, I returned back to this old grand mega city of East India on a short deputation. While rest of India has changed a lot, most parts of Kolkata have changed a little. Though few parts of Kolkata specially south Kolkata got major revamp in these years. Skyscrapers, high rise corporate buildings , swanky flyovers have come up which compelled me to rethink whether I was  in the same Kolkata . But my notion changed as soon as I moved towards Howrah from Salt Lake. Congested roads, traffic moving like snail , pavements encroached by street vendors , trams and rickshaws pulled by hand reminded me the old nostalgic Kolkata. If anyone willing to witness the population explosion of India at a single place , then he or she must visit Howrah railway station. Here we don’t see faces of people but just heads.Heads having black , brown or grey hair ,even no hair too. But the real struggle of ‘aam aadmi’ at Howrah railway station starts when a local train, the life line of kolkata arrives at the platform. You need not to step up to board the train. You will be automatically pushed by the agile crowd into the train. The regular passengers know where to position themselves in the train bogie to bear minimum hassles whereas novice co passengers like me get maximum elbowing. But as soon as the train starts, people forget about their problems and enjoy the journey. Generation next use ear phones to listen songs from their mobile sets whereas people traveling in group specially office goers start their chit chat on topics ranging from vegetables to parliament.

The journey of a local train is incomplete without the train hawkers. I was surprised to see how hawkers were still able to sell sweet or salty almonds , digestive golis, and lots of other eatables in the packets of Rs 2 and Rs 3. Not only eatables you can buy pens , towels , slates , toys of local brands having standard quality from these train hawkers at  relatively cheap rates. The deboarding process from train is almost similar as the boarding process. You need not to step down from the train . Crowd will do that free service for you. I deboarded at Konnagar station.

After having the rejuvenating experience , I stopped by a tea shop which was also selling hot samosa. I ordered two samosa and a cup of tea. The quality of samosa and tea was par excellent. I asked the shopkeeper, “ how much?” And his reply could not stop my laughter. He said Rs 5 for two samosa and Rs 3 for a cup of tea. I don’t think anywhere in India we can find such a quality tea and samosa at such a cheap rate. With a big smile on my face, I moved further to stop by a sweet shop.I was again surprised . Rs 3 for a sondesh and Rs 4 for a rasgulla. Am I still living in India of 21^st century affected by high inflation with UPA govt in centre for last ten years? Any national level football team can dare to beat Mohan Bagan but none of Indian state can compete with Bengali sweets. I think there is some magic in the sugarcane grown in Bengal. My mouth started watering just by writing these words. Kolkata is known for its street food. Rolls , Jhal Murhi , Puri -Sabzi are few of most common and well known items. If Bengal is a paradise for people with sweet tooth , it is kaba for non vegetarians. Bengalis eat fish or chicken almost daily. Though the preparation of fish or chicken may vary every day. Here in Kolkata , you can have sufficient meal for two people with three vegetable curry in just Rs 50. Montek Singh Ahaluwalia would be the happiest person to know this.

Though Kolkata still lives in packets of 2 and 3, a sense of satisfaction can be seen on the faces of people living here. People don’t hesitate to talk to strangers. Knowing Bengali makes you an immediate member of grand Bengal community. The change in demography in recent years has increased number of people who can understand as well as speak Hindi. Closeness among family members , zeal to travel , a sense of beauty , love for art makes Kolkata a beautiful place to live. And my genetic connection with Kolkata makes me nostalgic again.

“Khub Bhalo, na ie te Darun aache” ( Not only good , its very good )

And The Award Goes To…..

And The Award Goes To..

The title of the article draws picture of a glittering award ceremony where stars from Mars and Venus descend on the planet Earth and million pairs of curious eyes glued to millions of television sets. And the host dispels the cloud of suspense by announcing the most worthy recipient of those coveted awards. We are used to imagine such award ceremony. But award is equally important and motivating in everyone’s life as for those stars. Be it a school child, a wrestler, a sweeper or a luminary of any field. Awards had been elusive to me on many occasions but there were occasions where I felt I was an inch closer to 'The Prestige' which was directly linked to awards.

I was in class 8^th. My annual results were to be declared. I had worked really hard to get the first position in my class. I was waiting impatiently in the queue of students for the results. The principal of my school was going to declare name of the student who got first position in my class. Hormonal rush was too high to stand there. The principal finally announced name of the girl which pushed me back and snoozed my hormonal overflow. I was awarded second. She was the same girl who had secured first position last year too. The whole class including me had serious doubts over her capability to get the first position. But she had double edge over me as she was taking tuitions from the teacher who was teaching science as well as mathematics in my class which I was not doing. Like a poor looser, I was finding it difficult to digest the result. Unfortunately there was no ‘RTI’ those days to look into the papers. I reached my home with a heavy heart. I threw my shoes and socks on floor and bag and trophy for getting second position, on sofa. I went closer to my ailing grandfather. Looking at my downcast face, he understood; the results were not as per my expectation. He held my cheeks with his thin palm and wiped droplets of tears which started to roll down. He looked into my eyes and said, “Don’t worry. You have stood first. We all know and one day everyone would come to know". He handed over a hundred rupee note to the maid and asked her to bring gulab jamuns from the famous 'Bansi Sweets' for his grandson. The mere imagination of delicious gulab jamuns settled cozily in hot sugar syrup, viscose my tears and brought cheers to my face.

I had got similar fate two years back in a different school. I was getting second position in my class for three consecutive years. Reason: The boy who was securing the first position was the son of a powerful school teacher. I kept on cribbing till the board exam of higher secondary. When the board results were announced, I was declared the topper of my class. I was not only the topper of my class but I had also broken record of the student who had secured highest marks in the school history so far. Sadly my grandfather was not there to see what he believed right from the beginning. His words had finally come true.

I grew up. I graduated and got job. Life started to teach the nitty - gritty of the world. When we enter corporate world, awards are given in the form of appreciation, perks and promotions. But the parameters for choosing worthy candidates for such things had changed neither in school nor in corporate. Candidates are not chosen just based on their capability or conviction but more than that. That included the rapport that you enjoyed with your supervisor or sometimes your grand supervisor. Most of the readers might have experienced this in their lives. We cannot blame anyone for the biasing or favoritism but the human nature which seeks nourishment or massage of ‘ego’ at regular intervals. Like good oil massage gives you good sleep. A good ‘ego’ massage gives you good perks especially if the size of brain of your supervisor is not more than a mole.

This human tendency is not limited to schools or corporate but wherever there are humans. Of Couse it has to be. Be it the film industry where awards are given not just to appreciate the performances but to keep the buzz alive. Some of the coveted awards are always fixed for the chosen mega stars just to ensure their presence in the award ceremony. As the presence of these megastars ensure the commercial success of these award ceremonies. Nonetheless some genuine actors and theatre artists avoid such hypocrisy of award ceremony which has become tool of appeasement with an eye on money and status.

We cannot restrict just film industry to such tactics. Many literary awards too are being fixed. Higher is the intellectual level, better you should be in the ‘egos massage’ business. If the author is singing paeans of praise for the authority in charge of such awards generally government bodies, then the authority tries its best to provide them comfort to facilitate such praise singing throats. If you sing coarse then your throat will be stifled. ‘Parshuram ki Pratiksha’, a book written by Ramdhari Singh Dinkar which was difficult for the Nehru to digest post China defeat, was banned for years. The classic case of famous author, Janki Vallav Shastri. He was awarded Padma Shri twice and he rejected it on both the occasions. This shows his belief on such awards. The controversies surrounding such awards also get mileage with the recipients like journalist Barkha Dutt, hotelier Sant Chatwal and many more like them. The leaked video tape of Nira Radia showed how Barkha Dutt was working to fix ministerial portfolios in central govt. The role of Sant Chatwal in infamous ‘Cash for Vote’ in parliament is also dubious. Such highest civilian awards have become subject of mockery. There are numerous such cases where awards are given on the merit of loyalty ignoring the merit of personality of the recipient.

Though I don’t have expectation of such coveted awards, thanks to the parameters set for getting such awards, I feel pity how general public is made fool so openly. It is better to sit on boundary than to join ‘EGO Massage Parlor’. It has been rightly said that there are many slips between your cup and your lips.

As the award goes to…