Random Suo Motu Rants

It is so random, even I can’t make sense of it.

Sifting through the social media crap that piles up in front of me day in and day out is becoming extremely tedious. There’s so much made-up shit in there, you wonder what makes these people do such things. Bill Maher recently said that, “Somewhere along the line the Information Superhighway became Bullshit Boulevard. And truth was roadkill”. The other day, I received a devotional song rendered beautifully by a small kid, with the caption that she is M S Subbulakshmi’s granddaughter. She is not. Why would someone deliberately add a falsehood to a song? Then, there is the steady stream of proud Indians sending out some proud things about which I am instructed to be proud of. Some messages explain how unscrupulous, scheming foreign forces are collaborating with sickular anti-nationals to malign our ancient land of honey and milk, about which I should be angry and react as a proud Indian.

Recently, there was a story in a friend’s Facebook page about a rich man living in a villa and his watchman.

The story goes like this – Rich man living in a villa. Whenever he goes out in his luxury car our watchman opens the gate and wishes, but the master never responds. One day master sees guy opening garbage bags for leftover food. Next day the watchman saw a bag near the dump filled with fresh food, and this became a regular thing. One day the master dies, and the bag also stops (note: the protagonist, thickheaded obviously, still hasn’t connected the food bag to the master). After some time, our dude asks the master’s wife for a raise, who could not believe this guy needed a raise. However, he tells her the story of the food bag. She started bawling because she realized it was her benevolent hubby. Next day onwards the son started bringing the food bag. Wait, it is not over. There’s a twist. Our guy says thank you, but the son too doesn’t respond. Guy is miffed. Later momma explains that the son is deaf, just like his dad. So, the moral of the story is - don’t judge people without knowing the truth.

A whole bunch of people liked it, shared it and expressed their appreciation at the profound meaning of the story. "Awesome," "touching," "great," went the comments. They were all sympathizing and identifying with the poor, rich, deaf feudal lord who “so generously” left the food bag by the "dump" for his watchman. Not with the watchman who had to scrounge the waste for half-chewed breadsticks, but with the boss who won’t pay a living wage to his employee. And the madam and the son continues with that generosity. The guy, instead of being grateful for that, was passing judgments. The f#$%ing serf.

It obviously is his karma. As it was for Rohith Vemula, the kid who killed himself in Hyderabad. A few days ago I was reading stories from the Mahabharata to my sons and I came across this paragraph about Ekalavya after he severs his thumb as guru dakshina for Drona.

“You may think it was a hard and cruel demand that Drona made, but a very important lesson underlies it. A man is born according to his past thoughts and actions, and his body is part of his karma. He must not forcibly snatch advantages denied to him by his physical condition, but must patiently bear his disabilities till he has worn them out, and the way opens before him. Ekalavya would not wait. He resolutely grasped the fruit that to him was forbidden, and the body that had sinned had to pay its debt.

Rohit Vemula too did not wait. He was, and others like him are, reaching for that forbidden fruit, which is irking some people, who would like to restore that old system and show these upstarts their place in society.

I started writing this post a few weeks ago when the Supreme Court upheld the bar closure in Kerala. The Supreme Court, in its infinite wisdom, deemed that only those mallus who can afford five-star bars or have friends in elite clubs need to booze. I wanted to rant against that verdict but then two words – suo motu – stopped me in my tracks. Suo motu is Latin for “You fat f#$k”. This is used by judges when they throw the book at you. E.g. “Suo motu (You fat f#$k), solitary life imprisonment for you for writing dumb blogs and other crimes”. We live in a “kinda democratic” country. Being “kinda democratic” means you can say some things and get away with it. However, there is a non-democratic institution which can screw your happiness just like that and that is the judiciary. A judge can call you “Oy suo motu” and throw you into jail for anything and everything or even make you write imposition (Judge makes police write imposition).

Though “kinda democratic”, there is one no-go area. Religion. Hurting religious sentiments is a big crime in India, as Sanal Edamaruku found when he rubbed the Catholic Church the wrong way. And there are many other such instances.

But then, what about “scientific sentiments”? What about my scientific sentiments that are being hurt every time I see Mr. Gajendra Chauhan, the FTII head, peddling Hanuman pendants on TV for good fortune?

What about my hurt sentiments when I see that prosperous-looking woman selling a “valampiri shankhu” for prosperity?

O Supreme Court, What about my frikkin scientific sentiments?

In the meantime, our city got a new mayor. I was reminded of the Eagles song “New kid in town”, except that in this guy’s case “Nobody’s talking about the new kid in town.” He is invisible. At the same time, another election is approaching. So, the railway god was brought out for the customary light metro gibberish for the capital city, which is into its fifth year of gibberish-ing. The chief honcho is raining promises on the electorate from dark clouds covering the sun. The opposition is waiting for the sun to come out.

As Chanakya, with his brahminical, stern, constipated look, his stretched index finger poking your eyes, said about democracy, “When the fart gets wet, it is time to change the langot”.

Year-end Ruminations

 

Sometimes, even though you don’t want to, you end up thinking of the year that went by. So, here are some random thoughts that crossed my mind, sitting in snowed-out north-eastern Japan, -15°C outside, WhatsApping with friends around the world; something which I wasn’t planning on six months ago. I have been trying, often without success, to keep technology at bay. A phoneless cord? Maybe. A smartphone? No way. That used to be my policy.

 

Things, however, don’t go as you planned, especially with kids around, and I ended up with a smartphone, knowing well that it was a slippery slope. One good thing that came out of it, though, was getting back in touch with long-lost friends over the last couple of months.

 

For Trivandrum, it was again a continuation of the disappointments, neglect, maltreatment, etc. from the ruling class. The Mayoress, the government and its umpteen ministers, including one representing the city, all have conspired to crush the soul of this city. The Mayoress, by failing to find a solution to the city’s garbage issue, into its fourth year now. The government, by actively scuttling any development that matters to come here. And to rub salt in the wound, they have built a monument to ineptitude that stands like a middle finger being wagged at the citizens' faces. That is the “newly inaugurated” central bus station at Thampanoor, which resembles Fallujah after an US bombing raid. The contempt is palpable.

 

Which makes one wonder whether a win for the BJP guy in the last parliament elections would have made a difference. Now, that is another slippery slope. Already there are signs that I may have to read the Gita every day (instead of, say, the Kamasutra) if Madame Sushma has her way and makes it the national scripture. Or, worse still, I may have to reconvert (Ghar Wapsi!) to Hinduism in the near future. Where would I start? Perhaps as an untouchable and work my way up the caste ladder, if that is possible in one lifetime. I don’t want to go through all those karma, reincarnation cycle till moksha. Reminds me of the movie dialogue “What does a snail have to do to reincarnate? Leave the perfect trail of slime?”

 

Despite trying their best, the ruling class (who have suckled at the teats of this city, living here, sending their children to schools here, drinking the water from one of the oldest water supply system in the country, pooping into a sewerage system, which again is one of the oldest such systems in the country) has not managed to kill the city’s spirit...... yet. I believe, it is still one of the best places to live in this country.

 

Speaking of poop - I am now in Japan, where pooping is a pleasure. Here is a rehash from a piece I wrote almost a decade ago. The system was new at that time, but I won’t be surprised if the Japanese have come out with a system that measures the amount of doo-doo you make and flushes the appropriate amount of water. It is all eco-friendly nowadays, you see. Save water.

 

Some 74% of houses in Japan now has high-tech toilets. In comparison, 53% households in India do it in eco-friendly, natural settings, upholding the spirit of being one with nature (nice positive spin, eh?). The potty I have been using here in Japan allows me to set the seat temperature (important in winter) as well as the water pressure, position and temperature. You can set it for automatic flush, so that it flushes when you raise your washed, rinsed and cleansed bum off the toilet seat. Women can also use it as a bidet.

 

I sometimes dream of having one such potty in my house in Trivandrum, but then good sense prevails as my brain reminds me of how fried nuts would look like when the voltage shoots to 4000v unexpectedly in a lightning storm. Have to safeguard the family jewels!

 

Finally uploaded the pictures of potty control panels! Hope you all have an un-constipated New Year.

 

Above - the panel I use

Panel at my in-laws place (Added later to a regular potty)

The one at a hotel I stayed recently (attached to the toilet seat).

Well, this blog also seems to have run its course, looking at the recent output. Wish you all an interesting 2015 and beyond.

 

In praise of Modi and Shashi Tharoor

In praise of Modi and Shashi Tharoor!? Now, that is one sentence I thought I would never write, not even in my wildest dreams. And believe me, I do have some real wild dreams. I don’t buy into the jingoistic propaganda of Modi and his machinery, and I am more or less disillusioned by Tharoor’s performance as our MP. So, why the praise?

 

In Modi’s case, it is for initiating the dialogue on the issue of filth and for launching the Clean India campaign (though we’ll have to wait and see how it pans out). And in Tharoor’s case, it is for agreeing to cooperate with Modi in that endeavour and praising him for it.

 

That praise, however, did not go down well with the local Congress honchos, who began baying for his blood, and got some consolation when he was removed from the post of party spokesman. These guys are following the tried and trusted practice of the political groupings in Kerala of not letting anything good by the opposing team to become a success. We, the people of Trivandrum, are the most glaring example of this. The garbage crisis here is now three-years old. The state government and the city corporation are blaming each other for the stalemate and we are getting royally screwed.

 

Well, “Inside every silver lining, there is a dark cloud!”

 

I have now hit upon this theory that these guys have a much bigger plan. Take a look at the link below:

 

http://www.thehindu.com/news/national/kerala/55-dengue-deaths-in-kerala-in-3-years/article6213781.ece?homepage=true

 

We’re No.1 in dengue deaths and dengue cases reported for the three-year period from May 2011 to May 2014. In fact, we account for more than half of the reported cases. The man you see smiling in the left corner of the picture, the health minister, no less, represents our city. Look at the pride in his face! We also have an equally smug-faced Mayoress, who cooperated in this initiative by not collecting the garbage for the three-year period.

 

This, I think, is part of a secret plan to bring the All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS), for which a big tug-of-war is going on between different cities, to Trivandrum. “See, more than half of the sick people in this state are from here, so we deserve it”. Plus, we need a few more cancer centres because a whole bunch of people are expected to get cancer pretty soon as we are encouraging them to burn their plastic and other stuff wherever possible.

 

I am waiting with bated breath. The question though is whether I will have enough breath to bate!! Because, the Marxists (drumroll) have decided to “clean the city in a scientific manner” on Nov 1, 2014.

 

http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/tp-national/tp-kerala/cpim-on-a-clean-city-mission/article6477367.ece

 

Is the Mayoress involved in this? I don’t think I will bate my breath for that. Not worth it.

 

The fact is, Modi has kicked these people in the nuts and they’re gasping for breath as well as grasping at straws, without realizing that in Modi’s Gujarat, which he ruled for more than a decade, 43% of households still don’t have potties. Not much of an achievement, is it?

 

http://blogs.wsj.com/indiarealtime/2014/06/05/how-indian-states-stack-up-on-access-to-toilets/

 

So, it is highly likely that all this will end up as the usual farcical photo-ops for dudes with brooms, whereas the need of the hour is to reroute rivers through our cities like Hercules did to clean up the Augean stables. If Modi succeeds in that, I will also readily chant Namo*, Namo*.

 

*Regardless of what he achieves, the asterisk is always going to be there against his name.

I Kinda Have a Dream

Next month is the 50^th anniversary of Martin Luther King’s ‘I have a dream’ speech (March on Washington, August 1963). To think that it’s been only about 50 years since black people got equal rights in that “shining city on the hill”, “the beacon of democracy”, “the indispensable nation” is mind-boggling. But that is another story. Here today is my own ‘I kinda have a dream’ inspired by the great MLK speech.  
 

I KINDA HAVE A DREAM

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as just another stupid day in the history of our State.

Some years ago, some great Mallus, whose statues might one day cast shadows on garbage piles, signed some worthless proclamations. This came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of mallus who had been searing garbage piles here and there.

But many years later, the Mallu still is not free to do what he pleases with his garbage, which he has to slyly dispose off in distant neighbourhoods in the middle of the night. Many years later, many Mallus live on lonely islands of opulence in the midst of vast oceans of waste. Many years later, the Mallu is still languishing in all corners of the world and finds himself an exile in his own land, only able to come here once in a while to throw tissue papers around.

In a sense many come to the State's capital to take a dump. When the architects of our city, if there were any, drew up the plans, they were thinking of the hordes of people who will come here with their flags and plastic bottles and Styrofoam food packets and their bodily orifices for excretion. So our architects ensured that all men, some women too, would be guaranteed the unalienable right to choke this city to death in addition to the rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that the State has given the people a bad cheque; a cheque which has come back marked "insufficient funds" to give them the freedom to throw stuff. But we refuse to believe that the bank of government inefficiency is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity for corruption in this State.

It would be fatal for the State to overlook the urgency of the moment. This stinking monsoon of the Mallu’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating season of dengue and Chikungunya. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst by drinking from the tap of municipal water supply.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here to throw a few stones. Some of you have come fresh from the Middle East or Singapore where your quest for freedom to poop by the street side left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Kasaragod, go back to Alappuzha, go back to Kochi, go back to Idukki, go back to Kannur, go back to the slums and ghettos of all our cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be replicated in your cities too. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in wet Mallu dreams involving sultry sirens silhouetted against solar flares.

I have a dream that one day this State will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that some, if not most, men are idiots."

I have a dream that one day on the green hills of Ponmudi the sons of rich guys will get sons of power shovel (JCB) drivers to raze down the hills and make it motta (bald).

I have a dream that one day even Attapadi, a place apparently overflowing with rice and ragi given by our State, will have the freedom to throw the plastic sacks in which the rice and ragi come there.

I have a dream that my children will one day live in a State where they will not be judged by the colour of the plastic packet they throw on the street but by the contents of that packet – Lay’s, Pringles, Kurkure, etc.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, right here in the capital, the vicious caste-ists, their lips dripping with the words of tolerance and love only for their own kind will throw filth at each other; and one day right here, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little wheatish-complexioned boys and girls as well as fair and lovely boys and girls, as sisters and brothers to go to the Secretariat and the Corporation Office and dump their diapers there.

                                 (Diapers and other garbage that some lovely parent throws near my house every few days)

 

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be filled with Big Bazaar bags, every hill and mountain shall be made low to build monuments to greed, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the garbage dumps shall be revealed, and all the fish and flesh and organic waste shall be in those dumps too.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back with.

And if we are to become a super-duper State, this must become true. So let garbage flow from the prodigious hilltops of the Sahyadri. Let garbage flow from the mighty peak of Anamudi. Let garbage flow from Mookunnimala of Ananthapuri!

Let garbage flow into the Ashtamudi Lake of Kollam!

Let garbage flow under the kothumbu vallams of Alappuzha!

But not only that; let garbage flow from the high ranges of Kottayam!

Let garbage flow from Sabarimala of Pathanamthitta!

Let garbage flow from every hill and molehill of God’s Own Country. From every mountainside, let garbage flow.

And when this happens, when we allow garbage to flow, when we let garbage flow from every village and every hamlet, from every town and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all men, Nairs and Ezhavas, Protestants and Catholics, Shia Muslims and Sunni Muslims, and all other caste, religious permutations and combinations and even atheists will be able to join hands and take the next flight out of the country singing, "Free at last! free at last! we are free at last!" “But we will come back once in a while to throw tissue papers!”
 

Back in GOC!

It’s been almost a month since I landed back in GOC capital, and I don’t even know where to start ranting.

First up is the garbage issue. We’ll soon be celebrating the 2^nd anniversary of our hard-fought “freedom to throw garbage anywhere” rights. I am sure our Mayor-ess Moonlight will come up with some novel ideas for celebrating this in style, given her stellar (lunar?) track record.  And hopefully, the state government would chip in with its own stuff, given its deep, anal-expulsive love for the city. Can’t wait for the s#&t to hit the fan. Oh, wait! It has already hit the fan.

Today, Mr. O “Quicksilver” Chandy opened an office for building monorails in Trivandrum and Calicut, which some people say could be run using solar power. Anyway, this man is awesome. One day he is in some Middle Eastern country receiving some major award specially created for him, the next day he is in some other Middle Eastern country with some major “businessmen”.  And then he is in Delhi meeting with the High Command before going back to his ancestral land for some good, clean adulation involving elephants and stuff, and before you could say Jack Robinson or Jose Thettayil, he parachutes into Kawdiar to open an office. You are almost tempted to think that he is somehow deriving all his energy from the “Sun”.  Meanwhile, his office staff members were also making hay while the “Sun” shines. Good for them!

I’m pretty much certain that he parachuted in because there is no road connectivity between Trivandrum and the most important city near it – Kollam. This, unlike what you think, is part of a grand scheme of building waterways connecting major urban centers. In the 1^st phase they have converted a 2-km stretch of the highway, from the IT-hub Kazhakootam to Kaniyapuram, into a waterway. The only problem was, as usual, the authorities didn’t notify the people. Nor did they offer any ferry service. So, people like me, who would have otherwise hired a boat, had to drive on the narrow, muddy banks of this canal jostling for space with other vehicles of the non-seaplane variety. It took me two hours. Next time I’m taking my inflatable dinghy.   

By the way, how did the Brits come up with the Quilon spelling?

1^st Brit: Hey, where are you stationed?

2^nd Brit: Kollam

(Mind you, this is all happening in Morse Code – K is Dah-di-dah; Q is Dah-dah-di-dah. Maybe one guy just wanted to say Po-Dah)

1^st Brit: How do you spell it?

2^nd Brit: QUILON. And you?

1^st Brit: I’m in Koilandi, spelt QUILANDY

1^st and 2^nd Brit: Ha, ha, ha. Aren’t we brilliant?

 

Amicus Curiae, or what?

 Every now and then a word pops up in the media which makes you go, “what the f$#k is that?” Over the past few weeks one such word has been bothering me. The word is amicus curiae, and everybody seems to know it. It rolls off the tongue of TV ladies effortlessly as if they were taught “A is for Amicus Curiae”, instead of “A is for Apple” in kindergarten.  Mind you, these are people who can’t differentiate between Malayalam letters such as ba and bha.

I found out through painstaking research in Google that the word means “friend of the court”, or a person appointed by the court to assist it in deciding a matter. Here the matter is what to do with Padmanabhan’s jewels (or Padmanaba, as the ladies say) hoarded in the temple vaults, at least one of which is guarded by killer snake symbols.  After weighing the pros and cons of a snakebite, the amicus curiae decided to become an amicus regius, friend of the royals. We don’t know what the court will decide. Hopefully, it will benefit the people, as the leftists hope, rather than a bunch of superstitious sycophants.

At the same time, the Hindu groups’ claim that the Left is targeting only them is also legitimate. There is quite a bit of pussyfooting by the Left when it comes to other religions. My hope is that one day a government of ours, left or right, will develop the guts to tax all these religion-related entities – the temples, churches, mosques, ammas, appas, babas, bhabhis, swamis and swaminis. Some small percentage will do, which could be used to develop the civic facilities used by these groups for festivals, etc.

Anyway, we have some breathing space till the court decides on what to do with the Lord’s jewels. If the Lord doesn’t like the verdict, get ready for snake attacks, thunderbolts from heaven and other means through which the Lord wreaks destruction. By the way, do you think the guys who did the divination with the cowry shells know how it is going to end (because the Lord must know how it ends and have told them, otherwise it doesn’t make much sense in being the Lord, does it)? The suspense is killing me.

Whether the Lord likes it or not, his land is now literally a stinking cesspool. The chief minister, while chitchatting with some German kids who pointed out the garbage problem, told them that there is no good model to follow to solve this. He told that to Germans! Germany is a country which even Japan looks up to as a model for garbage handling, recycling, etc. Pathetic. Can someone teach these guys googling? Only a few days ago, a group led by a minister went to China to “learn”, among other things, about garbage handling. There had been umpteen such expeditions before to all corners of the world, but we are still weighing all the options, lest something goes wrong. Perhaps he could go to Brahmapuram and see how it is done in Cochin before we all go down with dengue.    

In the meantime, the city Corporation held a convention with politicians from different parties, social and cultural leaders as well as regular folk. They took some kind of pledge (led by actor Suresh Gopi) about garbage with their hands held out. What more could we possibly ask for? A convention and a pledge! I have a nagging feeling that at least some of the guys who took the pledge had their middle fingers out.

P.S. Continuing with the theme of the previous post – A couple of weeks ago I went to a restaurant called Villa Maya near Eenchakkal. Very high-end, with an ambience that a few years ago would have looked out of place in Trivandrum, but now, doesn’t appear too odd. Signs again of the rising affluence of the city. The prices are five-star-ish and the menu is quite appealing and palatable to Indians. Their operation will need some tweaking as far as some of the dishes I ordered are concerned. First up, the steak. They never asked me how I wanted it. I got a too well-done steak, whereas I like mine rare, or medium rare, at the most. Next is the Quattro Formaggi pizza, a pizza made of four (quattro) cheeses (formaggi). Though reasonably good, it didn’t seem like it had four cheeses in it. It is a new place and probably lacks in experience, but on the whole I think it is a good addition to the city’s dining scene.  

 

The Stink Came First, Therefore...

The New Indian Express has a section on spirituality in its Sunday magazine. I usually skim through it for my weekly dose of humour. This week (June 17) was no exception, but the first paragraph of one article got me hooked completely and I read and re-read it a few times in the potty. Later, I found that piece on the web, book-marked it and read it on my computer. I still couldn’t wrap my head around it. I am aware of the profound lack of profundity in such treatises, and that is what humours me most of the time. This time I was struck by the usage of the word ‘therefore’, which crops up after a long, rambling “reasoning.”  

I am reproducing below the part that boggled my mind. (Yogi Aswini. “Celestial Sound That Perfects All.”  The New Indian Express, 17 June 2012: p9.)

The first corporeal manifestation on earth after the Trinity’ birth was in the form of sound. Om (Aum) was the first sound. It arose from the damru of Lord Shiva. Before sound (creation), there was eternal silence and absolute stillness. It was from here that the journey of an individual began. Therefore, sound can be termed as the first dimension perceived in physical creation. From sound emerges the dimension of colours; from colours emerges everything that we see in the physical creation, including our physical body.

I tried to deconstruct the paragraph, but mostly failed. The words corporeal manifestation bugged me for a while. Dictionary entries of corporeal include: having a body or a physical form; that can be seen and handled, etc.  This was the first time I heard of seeing a sound. So, sound has a physical form?? Hmm. Let us skip controversial entries such as damru and all and go straight to the next sentence.

Before sound (creation), there was eternal silence and absolute stillness. Now, this is being stated as a fact. And I found myself struggling not to fall off the commode, “of course, eternal silence! How could I miss that?” The next two sentences, however, had me totally stumped. Where and what is the connection with sound, and who is this individual when he says, “It was from here that the journey of an individual began.” And before I had time to digest these concepts, the sentence “Therefore, sound can be termed as the first dimension perceived in physical creation” appears out of nowhere, suggesting a logical conclusion from the preceding drivel.

What he essentially said was, sound came first, therefore sound came first.  

It (use of therefore) doesn’t work like that.  “I farted, therefore it stinks.” Now, that is a proper way of using therefore in a sentence. If you are doing it after gorging on really spicy channa masala, beef ularthiyathu and beer, then you could elaborate on the premises. “I washed down some nice spicy channa and beef with beer which made me fart and therefore it stinks; royally.”

I slept on it and then the lord appeared to me in my dream and said, “Son, the stink came first.” I thought he was making fun of me. “Everything will be clear to you when you wake up.”

I woke up and walked out and then it hit me – the stink. It was omnipresent, omnipotent and believe it or not, corporeal. It hit me physically. I realized everybody in my city (and perhaps the whole country) worships it. The mayor-ess definitely does. The Chief Minister and the MP too have their own ways of appeasing it. It is there in the piles of raw waste in Big Bazaar bags, etc. placed religiously at various auspicious spots, where pious folks keep coming and leaving their offerings in an unending flow and show of piety. It is there in the railway stations and tracks. It is there in the carcinogenic fumes rising from smouldering plastic and Styrofoam piles, where the devotees make sure that the flames stay lit eternally. It is there in the Amayizhanchan canal that cuts through the city. It is all-pervasive! I bowed before it and I apologized to the lord for doubting his words. Therefore, stink can be termed as ….blah, blah…. “You farted, didn’t you?”