May God Save the Japanese!

If there is no island called Japan, if there is no race called the Japanese, if there is no fortitude, a car or an LCD TV might still remain a distant dream. Even as the Indian middle class parted with a bulk of their savings in exchange for inefficient cars, bikes and electronic and household goods, destiny had planned a different fate. May be that’s karma. May be not. A new age had dawn on the Indian sub-continent. And that was the early 1980s.
The coming of Suzuki with its flagship model, the Maruti 800 has revolutionized the traffic scene in India since 1985. That year is more a landmark in the history of empowerment of the middle class Indians, than in automobile history. The erstwhile traffic scene lorded over by the ambys (ambassaddor cars) of Hindustan Motors Company, peppered with the Bajaj Chetaks, Bajaj Supers and Lambretta scooters was steadily dominated by the more efficient and affordable 800 cc cars. A new club of confident and happy middle class thrown up by the Maruti-Suzuki partnership was born. The possibility of owning a four wheeler at affordable price continued to inspire Government servants in India thenceforth. One day I was riding my Yamaha gladiator when tiny drops of rain began to lash me. I reached home completely drenched. I checked out from a car dealer the price of a cheapest car in his show room. He politely chose to hang up the phone and call me later. Meanwhile I checked all my sources for a possible amount I could gather up at short notice. Then a call came and I was told that I could own Maruti-Suzuki 800 at an amount slightly more than two lakh Indian Rupees. Suddenly I realized that a car is within affordable range. That was 20 years since the coming of the Japanese car maker in India.
The value for money offered by the Japanese Company had since thrown the erstwhile car makers on the defensive. As they didn’t have the courage to launch a competition, they watch! Even the western car makers, who had been casting hungry eyes on the Indian market, became thoughtful. At last they decided to fine tune their engineering skills and reason with the Indian middleclass. Thus the General Motors, the Fiat Company and even the Ford Motors started to roll out low budget cars albeit with so much skepticism. And as a net result, there was a bloodless coup in the Indian market; the Indian consumer overthrew King Amby. Today partnership with a Japanese automobile company has become something like a pre-requisite to have a place in the Indian Market. A segment of Indians that has benefitted from such equation is the youngsters which had called off the longtime friendship with the Yejdis and rajdoots. In fact the youngsters who had been charmed by the sleeker, sportier, more efficient and cheaper bikes from Japan, had since considered products of Hindustan Motors or Bajaj as relics of the past. On the other hand the Hitachis, the Sonys, the Panasonics and a host of other Japanese companies with their electronic goods products made the voices of favorite singers like Lata Mangeskar and Keshore Kumar more melodious. Even movie stars like Padmini and Mithun Chakraborty appeared even more glamorous on the screens of a Sony or Panasonic television sets. And all the credits go to the Japanese ingenuity.
The number of staff working in the companies operating in the country had been more or less fixed. But the coming of the Japanese companies apart from offering highly efficient goods at affordable prices, has since thrown up a myriad of opportunities for skilled and unskilled labor.
I have been praying for new innovations and breakthroughs in car making business before my car has outlived its utility. If the west has something to offer, well and good, but I have a feeling that something better should be there in the East.

I never knew that the tectonic plate of the Pacific was so fragile. And following the colossal earth quake on that fateful Friday, waves of dreadful tsunamis rushed toward the shores of the island. The next moment all you see was the multitudes of dexterous hands that had been working tirelessly in the making and packaging of the much coveted automobile parts lifelessly sticking out amid the horrific tangle of wood and rubble, no complaints! Even shipping containers obviously destined for harbors in developing countries like India piled up disorderly along the devastated coastline. My God!

Pillars of Glory

When a Magi Sees No Sign

A Christian website has characterised Herod as-
Herod was a crafty individual with a silver tongue. This type of person is common in every business, government, and church. He or she is someone who is sweet and polite but decaying on the inside. Now that Herod had discovered where the child was to be born, he set the trap.
Even as many a Herods rule the world on a permanent basis, instances of Star shining forth are few and far between. Historians put Christian revivals that happened so far under certain broad categories such as Contents [hide]
1 17th century
2 18th century
2.1 American Colonies
3 19th century
3.1 Britain
3.1.1 Australia
3.2 Scandinavia
3.3 United States 1800–1850
3.4 Europe: Le Réveil
3.5 1850–1900
3.5.1 1857–1860 Revival in America
3.6 Britain and Ireland
4 20th century
4.1 Wales

The ironny is that scholars find it convenient to study revival efforts of missionaries as a component of empire expansion of Contemporary kings and Governments.
Thus the apostle Paul in his second epistle to Timothy has written:
...But continue thou in those things which thou hast learned, and which have been committed to thee: knowing of whom thou hast learned them;

And because from thy infancy thou hast known the holy scriptures, which can instruct thee to salvation, by the faith which is in Christ Jesus.

All scripture, inspired of God, is profitable to teach, to reprove, to correct, to instruct in justice,

That the man of God may be perfect, furnished to every good work

Blonds and the Biharis

You are witness to the never ending spectre of Biharis milling in every industrial and construction site, every railway station, every city and everywhere across the globe. Even as speculations about possible extinction of people with the beautiful blond hair is making headlines, the population of Bihari speaking people are swelling like the river Kosi in monsoon. It is estimated that the number of Biharis in India alone have crossed a whoopping 82 million as per the 2001 census. Besides the Bihar Industries Association is said to have estimated the number of Biharis outside India at a staggering 20 million, which is almost a quarter of the state’s population.
There is no estimate of the blond population in the world. But the blonds seem to have by nature preferred small family and in certain cases, no child norm. Speculations about extinction of the blonds may not be true. But one thing is clear. The blond’s population lags behind in one crucial aspect-multiplication. Compared with others like the Biharis.
The blonds are naturally beautiful. The world may have millions of efficient, intelligent and able-bodied Asians, Blacks or Hispanic. But a blond is a blond. The only competition comes from another blond.
Ironically the bonds population is not multiplying like others like the Biharis. A stagnant population means that the level of inter-blond competition will either remain stagnant or come down eventually. A time may come when a blond hair is preserved in museums. If you have the nerve, imagine the day when a black man will take the role of a 007 top British Spy in the Hollywood thriller series.
And if such a day comes, your brothers from Bihar may become even more assertive than merely being a bhelpuri seller in Mumbai streets.
Someday you may hear a Bhojpuri accent from some barefooted Bihari lasses in James bond movies. Or some progenies of Shatrugan Sinha might be contesting for the role of the British top spy. After all reports from some British tabloids have never rubbished such a possibility.
And if a Bihari plays a leading role in a James Bond movie, even a Zomi from the far eastern corners of India might as well grab a role in the next movie. Yes there is no dearth of talent and determination against odds like ‘discrimination’. You have world champions in boxing and MMA, which is short for maximum martial arts, if I am not mistaken.
If some day a Zomi MMA champion takes the role of a villain in a bond movie, he is most likely to invite bond to an exotic locale in the banks of Tuivai. A game of cards between heroes from East and the West.
In India, a 90 mm frame with a casino, aclub hall or a bar seldom discounts an item number.
So, you will find a thatched roof hall well adorned with light works of Uptown cable and a bollywood item from a scantily clad punjabi girl descending the illuminated steps with a Chaiya Chaiya remix with toppings in traditional mizo by some Aizawlian.
Then only commences the game. James Bond on the one side and a Zomi kungfu master on the other, eclipsing the rest- a Chinese noodles tycoon, an Arab businessman, mafiosos of Italian or Russian origin, etc. gracing the desk.
The dialogue may easily be like “a putting (not ‘a put’)” if James Bond is a Bihari.
The villain, in deep trouble would be asking, “Exkiuuse mee?”
“Putting, Putting,sunna? you hear?” repeats Bond.
This'd hardly clear the confusion. The Zomi has to ascertain if that’s a put.
“Do you meeen a Put mister Bawwn”. Suddenly Bond'd lost Patience.
And he would say, “Arre same yaar, put ya putting. Mung dekta saala!”
…
Thus an era of Indian Istyle commences in the world post blond domination.

A Simple Work of Art

Some man feel a sense of class
Focussed in the company of page three people,
On a creation utterly useless and sickening.
Have a knack of appreciating,wasting time,
Objects that seem to have born by mistake,
Asserting their intelligence through vocabulary,
Abstractness as a benchmark for learning.
For them is there no ploughing jobs, nor monsoon woes,
Lives of the giants, a story scripted, they believe,
Is an ideal way, a high yielding crop, to sow,
As long as another loser good-for-nothing ear,
Register them in the network of the conglomerate,
Baptised a fiction to dissipate.
Guaranteed a bumper harvest is, a reputation destroyed,
For they that sweat not and had lost frugal appetites,
Long for a diet perverter than mere vegetables,
Spoons and plates, relics for them have appealed like,
They need pipes and needles, things that suck!

sweet hitch hiker

That I am not a cab driver, no question there is,
Nor have I plans for a switover of profession.
Reach I the workshop driving my own car,
Never look for passengers to earn side income,
Nor have inclinations to offer lifts,
The good samaritan instict, being an exception.

In a wilderness of office goers jamming the traffic,
Riding a car meant for four, I do play a part.
Then a companion gracing the windscreen, I noticed one day,
My favour,someone that had never earned.
Its warm to have a companion, here ofcourse,
Than not having one living creature at all,
And being all alone.

Amidst plastics, metals and glasses,
Things that don't breath, only respond to commands,
A sense of connection, you do feel,
With a single living being, close by.
Communication unspoken, a peculiar flow,
The atmosphere so calm, pervades.

Un-honored prediction

It could have been the voodoo, peculiar charms, amulets or things like that. Destiny seemed to have been twisted beyond imagination. Something you just can't believe. First you thought that the likely teams of the FIFA WC final match is a forgone conclusion. You just can't think of a squad capable of defeating Brazil before reaching the finals. Similar fate seemed imminent for teams standing in Argentinas way. That was how things appeared at first glance.
It happened one night when you didn't even feel like watching the match that the saffron clad team slotted the jabulani past Barzilian goal keeper. Dunga's boys had to wait for another 4 years to retain the trophy home when the FIFA World Cup is held in their own country. Then there was another shocker. That's when the the fraternity of football lovers all over the world witness the unmatched team spirit and fitness level of the German squad. And you are tempted to believe that it's the German blitzkreig not Maradona's passion against the Dutch team that's on offer Sunday night. It's not, however, over till it's over. And the Spanish Armada was calm and composed just before the start of the second semifinal match. That was Wednesday night. I had predicted a 4-0 win by Germany. As the clock ticks in, I started losing confidence in the Germans. Because if the Germans have a fast-paced style and lethal counter-attacking instincts, coach Vicente Del Bosque's team left not a space for a golf ball to pass let alone a jabulani. And yes my apprehension came true. Germany just couldn't make it into the finals. And worst, the horse I have been bagging for, Mario Gomez was let loose at the fag end of the game.
That's a lost match for the Germans. And that's a manifestation of poor prediction as well.