Fueling Thoughts

North East India has long been conflict-ridden. First came fights among tribes, then tribals versus non-tribals, then tribals and non-tribals against invaders, followed by cries for independence, protests against discrimination, and so on. It was this way before the British arrived, it remained so after they left, and it continued unchanged as part of India. The 70s and 80s saw mass insurgency, agitations, and political unrest. And yet, if there was one man who was the undisputed and omnipresent aspirational icon across the region, it was Bruce Lee.   My generation grew up under his stern, steely, daring, all-seeing eyes. He was everywhere, staring down from posters om the walls of friends’ bedrooms, roadside eateries, garages, and barbershops. Fights in ticket queues outside theatres screening his movies put those in the films to shame.   With much of the population having Mongoloid features, teenagers and young men imitated his look and strut, sporting the Lee-cut hairstyle ...

 Let’s face it, people may watch a random film without relating to anyone in it, but not TV serials. Hence, the ever-suffering strong woman with a heart of gold in soaps, tailor-made for a predominantly female audience. For me, since school, it was Mr. Spock. Tall, fit, logical, cool vampire ears, a deadly shoulder grab, and zero interest in women, basically everything I wasn’t, except the last part. Most girls around me seemed to think I was just as alien anyway. With "The Next Generation", Spock became Picard, still logical, aloof, single, but more human. His interest in women? Strictly intellectual equals. My loyalty shifted accordingly. Fast-forward a decade. I was at my parents’ place when an early morning call woke me. An acquaintance, an aspiring politician from a neighbouring state, with a request. Not the kind anyone wants to hear first thing in the morning, and one most would refuse right away. By then I had already hit rock bottom in Goa, the second or third time i...

Hardly a day goes by without a friend or well-wisher forwarding me some news item or a half-page government proclamation, notice or advertisement  about thousands of crores being spent on the development of inland water transport. Frankly, I am clueless about the correct term for these exorbitant taxpayer-funded ads, splashed across national and regional dailies with which the governments pat their own backs. Great. Except I fail to see how I am supposed to capitalise on any of this or climb onto this gravy train. My experience with “approaching the system” has been abysmal at best. I built four different boats at my own cost, based on discussions with senior officials in the Central Fisheries departments. None of them ever bothered to come down and see the boats. The state forest department initially showed some interest, but their wish list was always inversely proportional to their budget. One outgoing Secretary, a genuine well-wisher, warned me not to engage further, saying, “I...

  The voice on the phone delivered a phrase most men dread hearing from a woman, “Ravi, I have something important to tell you!”    In this case though, despite being completely smitten with her during that period and even entertaining the rose-tinted fantasy that she was the one who got away, I had nothing to worry about. My strict code of not getting involved with married women kept me safe.    I was, however, totally unprepared for what followed and even less how to visualise it.    “My third eye has opened,” she announced with absolute seriousness, then launched into a ramble about Shiva Lingams, visions, stream of consciousness and pre-Columbian Hinduism as evidenced by how a US state, made famous by fried chicken, was actually named after the Sanskrit word for thorns "Kanthaka". It is usually not very easy to unsettle or surprise me with things spiritual, bottled or otherwise, and her cosmic revelations too barely moved the needle. Well, except f...

  I first tasted deep shame in 10th standard, delivered personally by a girl’s mother, who kicked me out of their house like some neighbourhood pervert. The irony - I had never touched the girl. We were just friends. Soon afterwards, my friends in her school, some gleefully to cause hurt, others as a word of caution, filled my ears about she was caught with some boy in the school toilet. They faced disciplinary action.  While, I inherited the silent disgrace.   The second blow came when I confessed to a friend’s girlfriend, who thought I was a Casanova, that I never had a girlfriend, or touched a girl, and that I was completely inexperienced. In contrast, she had been sleeping with her coach since school, followed by a relay race of men, eventually devirginized my friend, then when he left for higher studies, helped his best friend become a man. A few more years and bodies later, she married a gold digger from the back end of nowhere - that's decades before Soci...

The only thing feminine in “luck” is its fickle nature. The down-on-his-luck (so he said) builder came to me through a mutual friend, clutching his tattered horoscope. My reputation as a seer was not built on the “says what you want to hear” charm of Asterix’s soothsayer, nor on the absurd serendipity of that old Persian tale where everything a false prophet uttered came true, a story recycled across countless Asian folklore. It exists only because of yarns spread by people like the friend who brought him, who once laughed that the builder had already consulted 5,000+ astrologers and tantrics. “What’s your bloody problem?” I growled, looking at his smudged, dog-eared, cello-tape-stitched astro roadmap. “You have more than enough money, your family is healthy, your children are doing fine, and the only one straying is you.” I knew him from college. Back then, he was the least likely man to end up driving a three-pointed-star car. Just a tall, fair chap who loved gossip...

I almost stepped on a rake again the other day, driven by the urge to jump into a field that is, in theory, indispensable, yet in practice sits squarely in the paradox of "high need with zero demand". The subject: Low-energy water pumping. I have spent years obsessing over designs that use a river’s kinetic energy to pump water into fields - pontoon-mounted Darrieus or Gorlov turbines driving pumps, to more esoteric ideas like the Hydrautomat water staircase. The wake-up jolt came when my own shadow asked : fine, you build a working prototype, then what? Who, exactly, will use it or buy it? A sobering question. Experience and data both show that most community-scale alternative energy or WASH projects collapse the moment they are no longer underwritten or subsidized by governments or NGOs. While riding through the upper reaches of Arunachal Pradesh, I was initially awed, and eventually irritated, by the number of water-driven prayer wheels lining the roadsides....