Read This. For Someone Else.
Posted on | February 25, 2010 | Comments
When you post after a 3 month hiatus, it had better be good.
I though this would be a good way to return.
I received this via email from a colleague.
Who personally knows Aditi, the author of this email.
So I’m doing the next best thing I can.
Asking you to read it as well.
__________
Dear All,
This email is actually an appeal and since I want you to truly understand what I am trying to say, I will not take any short cuts.
As you may all know I am a fellow with Teach For India. This stated very simply means, I am a teacher. I teach 45 children in a low income school in Goregaon East and make a difference in the lives of about 300 children in the school, in different ways-big or small.
My co teacher and I took 6 of our students to Oberoi Mall, Goregaon, the other day. This outing was conducted with the aim of celebrating their success. Each one of the 45 children was given a differentiated goal to achieve, 6 of them made it.
At the end of a very happy meal we took them to Crossword Book Store. The sale was on and all the books were out on display. My kids walked in and were truly mesmerized by the sight. The colours, pictures and everything there, was a treat. They picked up books and sat on the carpet, reading.
Some understood, while others simply read.
This is the thought I had while we were there. If you put any child in a place that offers learning, a child will learn without being taught. This store had so much to give.
My class is really colourful. Its walls are plastered with a lot of information. They have storybooks to read, but most of them have been read.
We need books.
Here is my appeal:
In case you people have books, magazines, activity books, picture dictionaries, normal dictionaries, and all or any form of literature suitable for children between 6-14 years – those that you have outgrown, those your children have outgrown, your nieces and nephews, and everyone else – please could you pass them over to me?
I promise, as long as the material is in English, it will be used.
Send me an email on aditirawat@gmail.com and we will find a way to collect the gifts.
Looking forward to receiving support from you. Cause I truly want to believe that everyone wants to help, but does not know where exactly to start from.
Feel free to begin 
Thanks!
Aditi
P.S- please circulate this to everyone.
–
Indira Aditi Rawat
Teach For India Fellow.
Class Teacher- 2B
Divine Child High School
Sanjay Nagar
Malad East, Mumbai.
“One day ALL children will attain an excellent education”
PS: Aditi’s kids won in the ‘Top 20 Category’ in the Design For Giving Project. Out of 33000 registrations.
Here is a little video: Click Here
Tags: Public Appeal > Teach For India
Dear Brother Twitter
Posted on | November 28, 2009 | Comments
Dear Brother Twitter,
WTF.
I don’t know what that means, but I think it is a popular greeting in your world.
So I am hoping you will like it 
In fact in our village we like showing our respect three times.
So here goes.
WTF. WTF. WTF.
I am hoping you will like that more
You will wonder how I found you.
Well, I did not.
Jaggu (aka Jags), our village cybercafe owner did.
You see, Jaggu, Talli and I are country liquor bar regulars.
Every night, we drink and talk about many things.
But lately something happened to Jaggu.
He began talking less.
I mean the Jags we knew wouldn’t allow anyone else to speak once he started.
But this new Jags?
He spoke less. And less. And less.
One night, Jags passed out earlier than usual.
And even as Talli and I were finishing our last one for the road, he started mumbling peculiar words in his drunken state.
Words we had never heard before.
“RT. WTF. Hashtag. Follow Gulpanag. Follow Kareena. Follow Bipasha.”
We were alarmed, brother.
Why would Jags want to follow them?
Who were these RT, WTF and Hashtag?
Why did he want them to follow sister Gul, sister Kareena and Bipasha?
You see, the last time Jags tried following Bansi’s ex-wife (she walked out on him), he was thrashed by the village ladies.
Had he forgotten that lesson?
We were alarmed.
We were drunk.
We had no one to turn to.
So we turned to brother Google.
And that, brother, is how we discovered Jaggu had found you.
For two days, Talli and I explored your world.
And we understood.
It was you who was making Jaggu speak less.
You did not allow him his usual long-winded conversations.
He who speaks less, knows more, says Masterji.
So maybe that is good for Jags.
But late night in the country liquor bar, we miss his long stories.
We really do.
Another thing.
You may be big time popular with many people, brother.
But I must urge you to consider this.
Don’t follow people.
It is not an activity a decent person like you should indulge in.
It might even get you into trouble.
If Bajrangi (our village wrestler) were to find out Bipasha is being followed, we will not be able to save you from him.
So much for this time brother.
Treat this as advice from an elder brother.
Don’t take it in any other way.
You see, even though we seem apart, we are exactly like each other.
Know how?
My life, like yours, also revolves around 140 characters.
That includes me, Jags and Talli
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PS: Can you tell Bipasha I am not following her because I am a good person. I do happen to like her actually…
It’s 26/11. Hi.
Posted on | November 25, 2009 | Comments
It has been a year since I wrote this Post.
Since then, countless rants, reasons, rationale and debates have been posted across the blogosphere.
They continue to be posted.
But today, somehow, I don’t feel like adding to any of these.
Today I feel like sharing this song with you.
You’ve heard it a million times.
Here. Listen Again.
Gullible’s Travels – 1
Posted on | October 27, 2009 | Comments
Yes I am a frequent flier.
No. You would not want to be in my shoes.
You see, things happen to frequent fliers.
Unimaginable things.
Good soul that I am, I would not ever want them to happen to you.
Believe me, frequent flying is no fun, once you’re done with the initial glee and the mileage points craze.
Don’t believe me?
Silly wannabe frequent flier you must be.
You have absolutely no clue of the kind of things that happen to us.
For once, if you travel Mumbai-Delhi-Mumbai frequently, you will know what I am talking about.
Take me, for once.
I dread the 8pm return flight to Mumbai.
Totally dread it.
Yet I have often ended up taking it.
You see, the 8pm flight is strategically timed.
It allows you to finish a meeting at 5.45pm, leave office at 6pm, avoid the late evening traffic, reach airport at 7.15pm.
It also lands you in Mumbai by 10pm.
Which is not too late.
But it’s not that simple.
The 8pm flight is also strategically located between a lunch, a snack, a rushed drive to the airport on one hand.
And in-flight dinner and coffee on the other.
With ZERO major loo breaks.
So when you are comfortable strapped into your window seat, you are also surrounded by many not-so-frequent fliers who ate a heavy lunch, did their meeting, snacked as the meeting got extended, then caught the cab to rush to the airport, hit the boarding gates, made it to the flight and gratefully collapsed into their seat.
Without taking a SINGLE bio break.
What ensues is this.
You take off.
1. A lemon based refresher is offered.
2. Followed by dinner.
3. Followed by tea/coffee.
4. The trays are collected.
5. The captain announces you will be reaching Mumbai soon.
6. The cabin lights are dimmed.
7. You shut your eyes in relief.
That’s when it happens.
One gentleman, seated three rows ahead of you, raises himself a wee bit and lets rip a silent one.
A deadly, slow-death-inducing silent one that owes its roots to the poisonous mix of the pizzas from lunch, the sandwiches from the snack, the lemon refresher, the horrendously same and insipid in-flight dinner and the coffee after that.
Like a viral, the phenomenon is replicated by passengers strategically seated around you.
And it travels.
It snakes it’s way between rows, navigates down the aisle, around the aisle seats, into your row and singles you out.
You.
There is no escape.
None.
That my friends is the single most horrific torture you can be subjected to, 30,000 feet above the sea.
I have been.
Every time, without fail, on every 8 pm flight.
Some not-so-frequent fliers always manage to lay one on me.
In a dimly-lit cabin, with row after row of passengers, there is absolutely no way you can identify the culprit.
And in an air conditioned cabin, the effect is that of surround sound.
It comes from everywhere.
Now do you believe me?
Frequent flying is no fun, my friend.
If you must fly, avoid the 8pm return flight like plague.
Else I can suggest only one other thing.
Go armed with a deo-dabbed handkerchief.
And hope for the best.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
In case you have a similar moving experience, do write in to us.
Gullible’s Travels will be glad to reproduce the same in the larger interest of travelers.
Dear Brother Teleshopping
Posted on | October 1, 2009 | Comments
Dear Brother Teleshopping,
No greetings to you.
Apologies, but I do not know how to greet someone as enlightened as you.
You see, late Sunday night, we were all watching TV at the village square.
Talli, in his usual high spirits, was playing with the channels.
It was he who stopped at this amazing vision:
A man and his wife are seated in their house.
A lady relative is visiting them.
“How is everything?” she asks them.
“Great. Business, life, home, everything is great,” he replies.
The wife beams.
The visiting lady looks at the man jealously.
Evil rays emerge from her eyes and head towards the man.
But just before they reach him, a mystical shield surrounds his head, deflecting the evil red rays.
We watched with bated breath.
Magic?
No.
It was the Nazar Suraksha Kawach.
The Evil Eye Bead that can protect one from evil looks.
Available for only Rs. 2375.
What a revelation. What a discovery.
This magical Nazar Suraksha Kawach, we were told, had saved many marriages from breaking and many businesses from collapsing.
Do you know how irritating it is to the nose when chachi burns all those red chillies every time she tries to save Bansi’s son from the evil eye?
Not anymore.
After all, your wonderful Evil Eye Bead is also smoke-free!
Brother, I am the converted preaching to you now.
You have opened our eyes.
Now we know why Jaggu (aka Jags) got polio when he was three.
Now we know why there was no rain last year.
Now we know why brother Shiny Ahuja was caught.
Now we know why uncle Bhushan can’t perform in spite of 4 marriages.
It was definitely because of an evil eye.
But thanks to you, nothing like that will ever happen again.
Brother, you know things no one else does.
You are a visionary, a saint, a prophet.
You possess exceptionally rare wisdom.
Do you know how we figured that out?
Well, we checked online.
Even the glorious wikipedia did not know about Nazar Surakhsha Kawach
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PS: Savitabai is ordering 20 pieces – one for each member of her village kotha. She says the evil eyes of the wives of her honorable customers are always threatening them.
Tags: A letter to Teleshopping Networks. From rural India.
Dear Brother Mayawati
Posted on | September 22, 2009 | Comments
(Important)
Dear Brother Mayawati,
Jai Ho.
You will note I have taken the liberty of addressing you as brother.
It is not without reason.
Neither is it without verification from wikipedia*.
So please do not be offended.
This once, I will not digress as I often do.
I will come to the point ASAP – (new word, again courtesy wikipedia* )
Well, a few days back, some brothers came and painted your face on the village school wall.
Talli, who was sprawled in the vicinity, was impressed with what he saw.
In fact it was Talli who insisted we look you up on wikipedia*.
Brother, let me tell you.
What we found is not merely impressive.
It is super.
Your achievements are far too many to be counted on my fingers.
But with your permission, I will, here, highlight Talli’s Top Three.
~~
1.
Dhaniya, the village bootlegger once told us it takes 10 lakh rupees minimum to get an inspector transferred from a thana.
But you?
You have been known to transfer hundreds of them without paying a single naya paisa!
It takes an awful lot of guts to beat the system like that.
Super.
2.
Respected Bapu endured decades of hardship, sacrifice, even celibacy in serving our great nation.
Only then were his statues put up in various places.
But you?
With far less effort, you have accomplished it in a matter of mere years!
It takes an awful lot of focus to achieve such monumental success.
Super.
3.
It took someone as fortunate as brother Ambani much inheritance, countless gas findings, mergers, family feuds and what not to reach where he is.
But you?
When it came to paying income tax, you, in spite of your humble origins, took just a few years to surpass even him!
It takes an awful lot of honestly to achieve such stature.
Super.
~~
We thought hard, brother.
We even asked headmasterji to think for us.
You see, Sarpanchji’s wife aside, we have always known this world to be dominated by men.
But we could not think of even one man as gutsy, focused and honest as you.
In fact they were not even half as manly as you have proven to be.
Now you see why I address you as I did?
Now you see why I insisted you take no offense?
BTW: I have also read that you dream of becoming the prime minister of our nation.
Talli says you underestimate yourself.
With your charisma and prowess, he sees you as the President of America very soon.
In fact, the last thing he said before passing out was this:
“Sushree? Rubbish. Supershree is more like it.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* wikipedia, brother, is a glorious online service we have discovered. We suspect it was founded by brother Jobs. We have asked him about it, but he is yet to confirm the same.
Dear Brother Jobs
Posted on | September 14, 2009 | Comments
(Confidential)
Dear brother Jobs,
I read you now have a new liver.
One million genuine good wishes from me and all in my village to you.
You will be pleased to know this:
About the time you got a new liver, our village got a new Macbook.
Actually, our village cybercafe owner Jaggu (aka Jags) bought one.
But since Jaggu, Talli and I are country liquor bar regulars, he lets me use his Macbook anytime I wish.
I salute you for the good work you have done.
No anti-virus required – wah!
Tell me brother, can’t you build a Mac Swine to counter our recent medical problems?
But let me come to the point.
This is a confidential letter.
So I write to you in strict confidence.
In our village there is a saying:
You may have the most milky cow in the village.
But if the milk does not reach the customer in the morning, what is the point?
Yes brother, someone must tell you what is happening with your new Snow Leopard software here in India.
It is today much like the Indian Bustard – hardly visible.
On 28th of August, Jaggu and I caught a bus to the city to buy the first copy of the Snow Leopard.
You see, in our village, first day-first show is a big thing.
And Jaggu and I are always first to hit the ticket counter.
Alas. We were told there was no news of your wondrous new software.
We spent 246 rupees on that trip, if you count the 4 cups of tea, samosas and the lunch we had mid-way.
On the 4th of September, we went again.
This time we were told the Snow Leopard should be in the shop in one week.
Brother, that cost us 246 rupees more, but I shall let that pass.
Today we did the smart thing.
We called the shop from our village PCO.
We were told the Snow Leopard should be available after 14 days.
But if we wanted, we could get a side-upgrade done for 3000 rupees only.
You are horrified, no?
We were too.
Yes we are from the village.
But why should we spend 3000 rupees to get something that you have promised us for 1800 rupees?
Do you know how much country liquor that kind of money can buy?
And do you know what all Jaggu gets at Savitabai’s kotha for all that cash?
No brother, I am not scolding you.
I know you have just got yourself a new liver.
But let me tell you.
You underestimate us as a market.
We may have one Macbook in our village.
But we have countless villages in India.
Understood, na?
I know.
I know it is not you brother – but what your people do reflects on you.
Remember, India is the land where you found your enlightenment.
How can you mistreat it like this?
(Yes, I read that too on wikipedia – what a glorious online service it is)
Today it takes only one day for Juggu’s cousin to send him money from America.
Then why should it take so long for a CD to reach our country?
Brother, I trust you will look into this murky matter.
You can email us, but mark it confidential.
Or better still, send us a Snow Leopard CD.
Sarpanchji sends you his blessings.
And his wife has promised to make besan ke laddoo for you the next time you come here in search for enlightenment.
OK brother, that will be all for now.
Juggu, Talli and I await the Snow Leopard.
Take good care of your business.
And look after your new liver too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PS: You may deduct 492 rupees (two trip travel cost) from the cost of the CD.
PPS: Did you create wikipedia too?
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