Being the Horse's ass...

The U.S. standard railroad gauge (distance between the rails) is 4 feet, 8.5 inches. That's an exceedingly odd number. Why was that gauge used? Because that's the way they built them in England, and English expatriates built the U.S. railroads.

Why did the English build them like that? Because the first rail lines were built by the same people who built the pre-railroad tramways, and that's the gauge they used. Why did "they" use that gauge then? Because the people who built the tramways used the same jigs and tools that they used for building wagons, which used that wheel spacing.

Why did the wagons have that particular odd wheel spacing? Well, if they tried to use any other spacing, the wagon wheels would break on some of the old, long distance roads in England, because that's the spacing of the wheel ruts.

So who built those old rutted roads? Imperial Rome built the first long distance roads in Europe (and England ) for their legions. The roads have been used ever since. And the ruts in the roads? Roman war chariots formed the initial ruts, which everyone else had to match for fear of destroying their wagon wheels. Since the chariots were made for Imperial Rome, they were all alike in the matter of wheel spacing. Therefore the United States standard railroad gauge of 4 feet, 8.5 inches is derived from the original specifications for an Imperial Roman war chariot.

Bureaucracies live forever. So the next time you are handed a Specification/ Procedure/ Process and wonder "What horse's ass came up with it?" you may be exactly right. Imperial Roman army chariots were made just wide enough to accommodate the rear ends of two war
horses. (Two horses' asses.)

Here's the twist. When you see a Space Shuttle sitting on its launch pad, there are two big booster rockets attached to the sides of the main fuel tank. These are solid rocket boosters, or SRB's. The SRB's are made by Thiokol at their factory in Utah. The engineers who designed the SRB's would have preferred to make them a bit fatter, but the SRB's had to be shipped by train from the factory to the launch site.

The railroad line from the factory happens to run through a tunnel in the mountains, and the SRB's had to fit through that tunnel. The tunnel is slightly wider than the railroad track, and the railroad track, as you now know, is about as wide as two horses' behinds. So, a major Space Shuttle design feature of what is arguably the world's most advanced transportation system was determined over 2,000 years ago by the width of a horse's ass. And you thought being
a horse's ass wasn't important?

A Birthday Hope

Yesterday my dad called me to ask what time i get up in the morning. I asked back, why? He said he wanted to wish me 'happy birthday'. I told him that i'd forgotten all about 16th, but yea, i wake up by 8.30am. My inability to remember a day or wake up on time, he didnt mind any - he hung up.
At 11.50 pm, just about the time i was settling down to watch ManU take on Porto, i recieve a text from Arpita, wishing me many happy returns of 16th april. Before the players started kicking the ball, i kicked myself once for forgetting my birthday again. I mean i could forget it during the day, but 11.50 pm was like ten minutes to the day! I still forgot.
Its getting unbearably hot nowadays. So we had switched on our a/c for the first time this year yesterday. As i put my phone aside n settled for the match again - Raz walked out of the bedroom. I thought she had lost it completely, and finally lived upto her alias 'khepi'. To get out of a nice cool a/c bedroom into the sultry Calcutta weather (and she cant differentiate football from chinese checkers), where i was settled for the next 90 minutes - called either for emergency or lack of reasoning. She walked over, leaned to hug me, planted a kiss n wished me happy birthday. Shit...! I thought again.
And then Rumpa, my sis-in-law called up. For a fraction of a second i thought is it some emergency? Then reason prevailed, the battle was won, n i remembered that it was past midnight, thus technically my date of birth.
It is 16th morning today. Sms and phone calls flowing in since i switched my phone has drilled home the fact that its my birthday. I now remember it quite ok. But whats happening by the way? Alzheimer? So early?? Or is it THAT late actually? Or have the diesases nowadays started walking up to meet us halfway with extended hand? Part of their customer delight campaign...
If it is so, i thank my stars for the friends that i have. Who take time to fight my alzheimer for me. This, even though i dont remember most of their special dates. Many thanks guys; thanks for the effort. Really appreciate it. With you guys around, one would never need a walking stick :-)

Hindu Dilemma

So Nandita Das makes a film called Firaaq. The critics argue that it is not a depiction of atrocities committed against Indian Muslims – it is rather about atrocities committed against humanity. As I read Nikhat Kazmi in Times of India and the terse commentary of the film that narrates how the Muslims might have fared through after Gujarat riots, I cant help wondering how might the Hindus have felt mentally, when an entire bogie was burnt down? I mean that was the start of the issue, right? What higher reason of societal reconciliation might have prompted it? Why doesn’t anyone make a film on that? There is always a cause to an effect. Normally that is what thinkers all over the world ponder on. But no sir, not in India. We are different.

We are always on a year long trip to pacify the so-called minority sentiment. For a change of taste, we might want to think about how might the Hindus have felt when they were slaughtered in thousands across Kashmir valley? When they were forced to flee their land that was inherently theirs to begin with, even before the 5th to 7th century conversions started? Any takers for a small film on the same? Sadly, none.

Hey, I am not a BJP fan by the way. In fact I am nobody’s fan. I have seen the bitterest of political rivals share the same drink in posh Banquets, evening after evening. So this is not some BJP propaganda before the impending elections. This is a simple Indian question. Why are Hindus demonized always? By anyone, from a street-peddler to an intellectual. And all of them get away. Because Hindus don’t strike back? They don’t take out Fatwas, or demand the head of the offender? Nice fun eh? If they do, they will be branded as a terrorist community. If they don’t, sudden-intellectuals like Ms. Das would keep popping up from nowhere and take pride in narrating half cooked and partially blind views.

Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

Changing Language

The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are this year's winners. Read them carefully. Each is an artificial word with only one letter altered from a real word. Some are terrifically innovative:
1. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until yourealize it was your money to start with.
2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
3. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people, that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The Bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
4. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.
5. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
6. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
7. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
8. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.
9. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease (This one got extra credit)
10. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
11. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
12. Glibido: All talk and no action.
13. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
14. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
15. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
16. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.
17. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

Its Holi…!

We were on a trip to Delhi from Dubai during Holi last year. Loved the way the residents of Nil Block, Malviya Nagar celebrated it. In hindsight, this was one of those rare few things that I liked about Delhi. For starters, they played with dry colors. ‘Played’ would indeed be underplaying words – they literally powdered the whole block with Gulal. That included the occupants, even the toddlers. And before the child’s right activists here, holler, let me add that the kids enjoyed the whole affair. The Block Park teemed with the residents – they even managed to pull my wife, who is none-too-sporty about Holi colors, out. The color rampage went on for hours, and I apprehensive to begin with, enjoyed the day thoroughly after about 15 years – since the time I left my hometown. It was a landmark – my Holi intolerant wife got pepped up enough to promise to celebrate 2009 Holi the same style in our Cal housing.

And she pulled it off! Though South Delhi got scaled down easily by 75% in South Calcutta, considering her year-old fervor, it was a blockbuster. The celebrations finally concluded at 12 midnight, inclusive with the usual rounds of drinks that Holi is incomplete without.

Here’s hoping that you all enjoyed the day as much as we did.

THE RECESSION STORY – as told by Subhamoy, Unilever

This Story is about a man who once upon a time was selling Hotdogs by the roadside. He was illiterate, so he never read newspapers. He was hard of hearing, so he never listened to the radio. His eyes were weak, so he never watched television. But enthusiastically, he sold lots of hotdogs. He was smart enough to offer some attractive schemes to increase his sales. His sales and profit went up.He ordered more a more raw material and buns and use to sale more. He recruited few more supporting staff to serve more customers. He started offering home deliveries. Eventually he got himself a bigger and better stove. As his business was growing, the son, who had recently graduated from College, joined his father. Then something strange happened.
The son asked, "Dad, aren't you aware of the great recession that is coming our way?"The father replied, "No, but tell me about it." The son said, "The international situation is terrible. The domestic situation is even worse. We should be prepared for the coming bad times."The man thought that since his son had been to college, read the papers, listened to the radio and watched TV, he ought to know and his advice should not be taken lightly.So the next day onwards, the father cut down the his raw material order and buns, took down the colorful signboard, removed all the special schemes he was offering to the customers and was no longer as enthusiastic. He reduced his staff strength by giving layoffs. Very soon, fewer and fewer people bothered to stop at his hotdog stand. And his sales started coming down rapidly, same is the profit.The father said to his son, "Son, you were right: We are in the middle of a recession and crisis. I am glad you warned me ahead of time."

Moral of the Story: It's all in your MIND! Don’t confuse intelligence with good judgment. There are many walking encyclopedias that are living failures.

Slumdog

Watched Slumdog M a few days after it was released. Characteristically and predictably, did not like it. But kept my mouth shut because of the fear of getting drowned amidst the gung ho attitude of Indians in general. Anil Kapoor doing bhangra at every possible public appearance – for a fifteen minutes role (give or take five minutes); Rediff News announcing Frieda Pinto as the next sex symbol (wonder where Bips/Kat/Ash/Priyanka have gone); every possible soul shouting Jai Ho, for every possible reason – dare I opened my cynic trap! The only solace about this spot is freedom of expression; it is not a popularity contest – so finally thought about scribbling a few lines.

First, comparison. For eight Oscars, the movie doesn’t come close to Ben Hur, Godfather, Schindler’s List, Titanic or Lord of the Rings. Pardon my ignorance, but these are the only few movies that I know of, that created little whirlwinds at the Academies. Even today, when they play, SM wouldn’t deserve a reserve berth seat. For an Indian movie (which it is not), Lagaan or Rang De Basanti, mildly put, are way superior. And if Lagaan is about Brit bashing, which the Jury might not have approved of, Rang De Basanti is a near epic about our internal conflict – where is an Oscar?

The storyline is about rags to riches, with a moral that anything is possible (esp winning millions), if one is street smart. If I discount the twenty million rupees that the host was so reluctant to handover, Taare Zameen Par talks about the same, across an asthetic plane of course – about self actualization, about rising up to a life-time challenge and about the triumph of achievement; about all those things that Danny Boyle could never portray. Gentlemen, where are the Oscars?

We love to say that SM is an Indian Film. Well, the director disagrees to it, as of yesterday’s Times of India. And where does that leave us? Anil Kapoor’s fifteen minutes claim to fame and an obligatory eye-sore of a bhangra, or poker-faced Dev Patel who might have done a better job sitting in front of Daniel Craig in Casino Royale, or the slums of Dharavi where (we are told through the movie that) enthusiastic kids jump into garbage for a celebrity autograph,? Like the last answer of Jamal, I'd say option D. We are riding high for the fact that like Gandhi, this is finally another movie that got recognized by the sanctified Academy – an acknowledgement of the existence of India.

The only good news is Rahman and Pookutty – and I thank the Lord for the fact that they are Indians. Even a cynic like me needs to feel good sometime.

Follow thy Leader

A group of scientists embarked on an experiment of sorts. They got a big cage constructed. It was about the size of a normal living room. In it they put a dozen monkeys. They placed a table on the center of the cage. And on the center of the table, in a bowl, they put a perfectly alluring bunch of the nicest bananas they could get from the market. With monkeys around, the bananas wouldn’t normally last for a minute – but…

Whenever any monkey made a dash for the bowl, these geniuses outside would spray full jet of cold water with fat hose pipes on the entire lot of the poor creatures. Did I tell you, it was winter, the water force was painful, and monkeys didn’t like getting wet for no reasons? Well, that’s how it was. Soon, the miserable creatures settled down wherever they could. The only luxury that they were allowed was a desperate look at the bowl on the table, from time to time.

The scientist then made a switch. They took one of the monkeys out, and put a new one in his place. The new kid, high in energy and zero in experience sprinted for the bowl the moment he got in. The rest of the gang joined hands (and legs), and beat him up. It was winter, the jet was cold and strong, and they still did not like getting wet – especially when there was no incentive involved. The new entrant settled down soon, after one more trial and a resultant session of manhandling from his brotherhood. This act repeated several times, each time there was a monkey-out-monkey-in situation. Each new monkey jumped towards the table, got beaten up by his seniors, would be left confused – and would finally resign after a few trials.

Gradually, all the first batch monkeys got replaced. The entire cage was filled with a new dozen. During the course of monkey swap, the ragging act of the existing seniors assumed ritualistic proportions. The bowl still remained and so remained the bananas - no one dared to touch it. Crucially, none of the new dozen knew about the water pipes, because the scientists had them removed immediately after the first newcomer got ragged. The whiz-kids outside took a lunch break and came back after an hour – the picture was still the same.

At the final phase, the second dozen got replaced one by one by a third dozen of apes. Notably, this time there was no fighting – even once. A new comer would come in, look at the bananas, the apprehension on everyone’s face, and being a social animal, it would flow with the crowd and find itself a place to rest. The scientists happily concluded the experiment, scribbling away on their notepads and laptops and thumping each other’s back.

Moral? It is perfectly possible for a group of animals to indulge in mindless acts – they don’t need a reason. None of the last dozen of monkeys knew why the bananas were not to be attacked. Or eaten. But they followed the tradition set by their seniors, without questioning. The first dozen were sprayed with cold water, the second dozen were mauled. But the third batch had no such adverse exposures. And yet they chose whatever they chose. J Remind you of the extremists don’t they? Don’t ask questions – obey whatever. The Talibans and the HuJI’s? Our very own Ram Sainiks? The religious fundamentalists, the cultural and moral brigades?

You bet…!

What an Idea Sir Ji…!!!

There is a TV advertisement that interests me. A hapless politician (who looks more like a lost housewife) is sitting in front of a group of crass and rustic heavyweight, probably kingmakers. She is mentally debating whether she should give in to their pressure of building a SEZ, somewhere in the rural belt. In comes her executive assistant, complete with stubble, safari suit and a pair of glasses, and suggests messaging the junta for opinion. The SMS flows; the junta opines “NO” and the happily-ever-after jingle says “This is what you call Democracy! What an Idea Sir Ji…!”

Just think how many of us would breathe in harmony, if this were to happen for real. Isn’t it like Archimedes’s “Eureka”? A simple solution to the complex framework called Liberty and Democracy; a brilliant way out of the critical issue called voter psyche. Imagine the millions of rupees that can be saved. All the Neta ji needs is to do is to procure a database (he/she can buy it from the credit card selling call-centers) of mobile numbers, bounce every decision off his/her constituency, and all of us can live in a signature John Lennon world – “Imagine all the people, living life in peace…” The first time I saw this ad, I was tempted to ask myself ‘why didn’t anyone think of this before?’

I know it is an alluring idea. But before we run to the record book to etch “an advertisement that changed Indian Democracy, forever”, let us hold on for ten minutes and think - has no one actually tried this idea before (with or without a mobile phone)? The answer might dim our zeal.

In the last quarter of century the USA has added $5 trillion to its gross domestic products, and yet every survey and measure suggests that Americans are no happier than they were, some twenty five years ago. Not only the country is richer, but it is in better shape (that was before the 08 meltdown), in every way. Most Americans barely remember how tattered their economy was, during the early 1970s, due to Vietnam insult, stagflation, oil crises, racial riots and crime. But over the next 20 years, their per capita rose by 50%, crime declined, relations improved and every component of the misery index dropped. Then again, Cold War was won, Communism was destroyed, socialism discredited, and America towered above all. Except that the Americans don’t see it that way.

Simply put, Americans have lost faith in their democracy. Founded as a republic that believed in a balance between the will of the majority and the rights of the minority, America is increasingly embracing the simple minded populism that values popularity and openness as the key index of legitimacy. This ideology has necessitated the destruction of old institutions, the undermining of traditional authority and the triumph of organized interest group, all in the name of “the people”. And the result is a deep imbalance in the system – more democracy, but less liberty. The results shows. Trust factor in government in Washington has come down from 70% in 1960s to 30% in 2000. Voting levels have dropped. Disenchantment with the government is puzzling and points out that something is seriously wrong with their democracy.

So what has made the system decline? Why has public attitude turned around during the middle of 60s and has kept sinking ever since? It is because one big change began during that time, and has continued unchecked – the democratization of politics. Since the 60s most levels of American politics – parties, legislatures, agencies, and courts – have opened themselves to greater public contact, scrutiny and influence, in an effort to become more democratic in spirit. The story there is that the politicians there hardly do anything else but listen to the people.

Washington today is organized around the pursuit of public opinion and sentiments. It employs hordes of people to continually check the pulse of the people in every imaginable manner. It hires others to determine the feelings’ intensity, still others to guess what people might think tomorrow – and all along everyone keeps praising the all-round greatness and wisdom of American people. The problem is, as the pandering has gone up, public opinion towards leadership has gone down. During WWII, Winston Churchill was advised by a colleague in the Parliament to “keep his ear to the ground”. The great man responded by pointing out that “the British nation will find it very hard to look up to leaders who are detected in this position.” Perhaps the American sense that. That is what reflects in common American’s way of voting, response to opinion polls, letters to editors, TV interviews… across all possible channels.

There are thousands of voices on the fact that the quality of political leadership has gone down since the good old days, and that occupies a powerful place in public imagination. Imagine the historic figures like Lincoln, Roosevelt, Truman and Eisenhower. Then think of George W Bush, Dick Cheney and Madeline Albright. Gives you an idea right? John Kennedy published a book Profiles in Courage in 1956, in which he praised American spokesmen for their principled embrace of unpopular positions:

“(Such) a view assumes that the people of Massachusetts sent me to Washington to serve merely as a seismograph to record shifts in public opinion… The voters selected us because they had confidence in our judgment and our ability to exercise judgment from a position where we could determine what were their own best interests, as a part of the nation’s interest. This may mean that we must on occasion lead, inform, correct, and sometimes even ignore public opinion for which we were elected.”

Back home, and at 2009, whether Kennedy practiced what he preached is not important. Whether our leaders have that amount of political maturity or integrity is. As of today they do not have. So the idea emanating from the cell phone ad might seem appealing. But times are changing. With the likes of Milind Deora or Omar Abdullah emerging in the mainframe, we have plenty to look forward to. Interfacing with public to appear more democratic is tempting, but it can wait for a while. Looking at USA, this kind of an endeavor can prove to be a deceptive made-easy tool.

So? “What an Idea Sir ji”? To my mind, not quite.

Shalom Israel!...

Mr Indrajit Hazra’s article about Israel and Palestine touched a note across lot of places. I wrote a mail to the HT and him, among others. So did many others I am sure, a few of which found a place the on the edit page of HT, the next Sunday. One mail, by a Mr. Obaid Nasir was particularly emotional. It went on to the extent of linking Islam terrorism to the creation of Israel. While it doest need rocket science to understand that the majority of the followers of a JuD or HUJI or all other Pakistani outfits probably can not point out Israel-Palestine on a world map, it needs some element of understanding about Israel. There is a fat book called “O Jerusalem” that might enlighten those who are really keen to comment on this particular crisis. But for the rest of us all, who do not have the time or the resources to read a real fat book, here is a carry forward, a sort of a counter argument to Mr. Hazra’s column. (And a personal tribute to Indrajit Hazra - for being one of my most favorite observers of modern times)

So? Israel has been trying to raze Gaza to ground since a few weeks now, and this massive onslaught has been nearly unstoppable. Even UN intervention doesn’t seem to have managed to melt the ice. In hindsight, this seems like Israel’s distance-learning program-offer to India on how to handle terrorism.

I am not for once, saying that whatever is happening is right. As Mr Hazra says, Israel and Palestine are so deep rooted an affair, and endless intertwining of cause and effect, of history and religion, of so high quality international muck, that they have little or no parallel across the whole world; and at 2009, we are far removed from the rights and the wrongs. I agree to that. Even Kashmir doesn’t have depths that run back to thousands of years till the birth of Christ. Then what new am I trying to say?

I am amazed – that’s what.

For those who are not good with Middle East geography, please visualize that you live in a country that is probably the size of West Bengal (or a bit bigger). Down southwest you have Egypt, ruled by the descendants of a religion that uprooted the Copts (or the off springs of the famous Egyptian Civilization) many hundreds of years ago. Egypt is arguably the strongest Islamic nation, complete with rock-solid governance and (probable) nuclear power. On the other side you have Jordan. When this strip of a nation of yours came to existence in 1948, Jordan was ruled by one of the descendants of Prophet Muhammad’s family. You have Lebanon on your north that celebrates weekly holidays by shooting rockets on your borders – thus inflicting civilian casualties and economic damages. And you have Syria – and all these nations have one thing in common: they don’t like you one bit, because you have a different religion and you have settled in a piece of land that was theirs for hundreds of years. Oh yes, you face Islamic terrorist outfits like Hezbollah, that have been near-legitimized across your neighborhood nations – you wake up with them every morning in fact. Finally, across the open border on one side you have Mediterranean Sea, beyond which lies Europe, your thousand years old torture chamber cum burial ground. Hope you get the drift now. There is no place to hide.

Internally your land is not half as productive as the fertile Ganges plain of West Bengal. It is a mix of wasteland, desert, rocky patches, and extreme temperatures – in short, copybook wilderness. But you have settled there as a part of your destiny, because your religious forefathers called it The Promised Land, and you have worked relentlessly to make it as productive as possible. To add to your emotions there is a spot on your map called Jerusalem - your holiest city, which incidentally is also deemed to be the holiest of shrines by both Muslims and Christians. They share it with you, and you don’t see eye to eye with them on anything at all. So when you were forced to leave Europe or Middle East or wherever you were being persecuted for centuries, and landed up on this patch of wilderness, you faced bloody opposition. You probably wouldn’t have faced such stiff an opposition, because Jews and Muslims peacefully co-existed in Palestine for centuries, but for the old British outlook of ‘divide and rule’. The Anglo Imperialist poured an incredible amount of venom in the minds of the local Arabs – belonging to both Islam and Christian sect. So, you had to fight even before your inception. You fought with literally no hardware because no government in the world supported your birth. You had high and mighty opponents – the outgoing British Kingdom politics, the combined wrath of seven or eight Islamic nations, the Arab-German coalition, and Bedouin mercenaries. The moment the British mandate on Palestine expired, all of them collapsed on you, from all possible sides. It’s a miracle that you survived! You lost your near and dear ones, maybe a wife or sons or daughters, but you emerged victorious - Time after time after time! You needed a place in this world you could call your own, the least of your birthright, as you have known from your Holy Book. And you had to wrestle it because other religions from your lineage did not want to give you even that bit – though they own more than three quarters of this wide world in terms of real estate. And your fight for survival is not over yet – you still fight, not in the metaphoric sense, but you fight with guns and tanks. To defend your territory. And that is what amazes my Indian mind.

Theoretically speaking, if it were so, could we have survived the Israel way till today? Three generations of guts, where every civilian is combat trained. A narrow strip of wasteland that has built one of the highest rated Army, Intelligence and Defense Hardware in modern world, in a little over sixty years. A contemporary nation, that rose from being fatal cocktail of Nazi concentration camp survivors, nomads and perfectly ignorant orthodox local Jews – to the defiant state that it is today. Surrounded by enemy states several times larger than itself across all sides but calling shots the way it wants. Mind boggling for starters isn’t it? Back home, think of Kargil, of Parliament attack, of Flight 814 hi-jack, of cross border infiltration in Kashmir and West Bengal, of Bombay attacks, of the blast affected cities… think of the unguarded coastline, of sleepy intelligence, of Mayawati and Amar Singh. Even we are of the same age as Israel.
Even theoretically, I wonder if we could survive.

All in the Name

Here is an attempt to alert people to a great injustice that is being perpetrated upon the sons of Bengal. So you thought they were wimpy to begin with. Far from it, my friend. Their current state is a result of years of conditioning by the oppressors - namely the women. By using a variety of psychological weapons, they have reduced these fine men to what you mostly see today. Today we focus on the first weapon in their hands - the nickname.

When a son is born into a Bengali household, he is gifted with a resonant, sonorous name. Bengali names are wonderful things. They convey majesty and power. A man with a name like Samrat, Samudro, Rudroprokash, Indrajeet, Surojeet, Prasenjeet, Bishwadeep,etc. is a man who will walk with his head held high, knowing that the world expects great deeds from him, which was why they bestowed the title, that is his name, upon him.

But it simply will not do for these men to get ahead of themselves. Their swelling confidence needs to be shattered. How can one go about it? This task is left to the mothers of these lads and is accomplished by the simple act of referring to the boy, not by his rather-great-sounding real name, but by a nickname which even Shakti Kapoor would feel ashamed to answer to. Here are some rules for creating nicknames, which need to be followed. They are:

1) Nicknames must have no connection to the real name. Arunabha cannot be called Arun. No, for that would be logical and such things are anathemas in the world of women. Instead he shall be called BHOMBOL. If possible, the nickname and real name must have no letters in common, but an ancient alphabet proves to be the constraining factor there.
2) Nicknames must be humiliating to the power infinity. If you are a tall rapping boy, with a flair for soccer, an easy charm and an endearing personality, then you shall be nicknamed - KHOKA. And every time, you have set your sights on a girl, and are on the verge of having the aforementioned lass eat out of your hand - your mother will arrive and pronounce loudly - "KHOKON, chalo". The ensuing sea of giggles will drown out whatever confidence you had earned from that last winning free-kick.
3) A nickname must refer in some way to a suitably embarrassing incident in your childhood that you would give your arm and leg to forget. If it took you a little too long to shed your baby fat, then years of gymming will not rid you of the nomenclature - MOTA. If your face turned crimson when you cried as a toddler, you will be called LALU. When you turn 40, your friends' children will call you LALU kaku. Even age will not earn you the right to be taken seriously thereafter.
4) Different members of the family will make up different nicknames each more embarrassing than the preceding one. If one member of the family calls you GHNOTON, then another will call you POCHA, and another will call you GHNOCHA. The humiliation multiplies.
5) You will always be introduced by your nickname until people forget you had a real name. Ranajoy might have taken on a gang of armed men single-handedly, but HABLA really didn't have a chance. After a point, HABLA will completely take over the beaten body of Ranajoy, weighed down by the pressure of a thousand taunts.

This strategy is surprisingly effective. Ask yourself - would you take Professor POKON seriously? Or put much weight by the opinion of Dr. BHONTU? Or march into battle under the command of General TOPA?

The power of the nickname has scarred the psyche of Bengali men everywhere. It follows them like a monkey on their back. That too, a monkey with a flair for slapstick, that was gifted to them by their own mothers, aunts, grandmas.