Why should I feel bad? After all what is the point in trying to harp on something that happened ages ago, 15 years to the day, to a family I never knew existed. Nobody molested my sister, nobody molested my daughter. My brother was not booked for crimes he never committed. My parents never had to live with the memory of a daughter who drank poison for there was no justice for her. So why should I feel bad?
Yet, I am feeling bad. I am feeling guilty. I am feeling ashamed of myself. And I am angry too. I am angry at the judicial system, I am angry at the law of the land which could snuff out a young life like this. And I am angry at myself for feeling so helpless.
19 years ago, Ruchika Girhotra, at the tender age of 14 decided to raise her voice against the then IG of Haryana Police SPS Rathore. When she did that was she aware of what she was getting into, that too in a state that even in the modern 21st century boasts of such grand activities as female infanticide, honor killing and dowry deaths with such alarming regularity? Or maybe she was foolish enough to trust the judiciary and all the judicial machineries. After all fourteen is the age of naivety when we believe democracy has the cure for everything and nobody is above the law.
What can a minion like her or her family do when they are pitted against the wholesome insolent might of the state machinery intoxicated with power. After all don’t men in power regularly do these things? Ruchika was neither an adult nor was she raped. So why so much brouhaha. These things are best kept under the carpet. But no, this girl had to prove a point. She was a fool and she was shown her proper place.
Actually there was an overkill. Every single government machinery worked in tandem with an alarming synchronization not generally associated with my country. The police, the doctors, the judiciary, the political class and finally the cog in the grand wheel of democracy- the masses. Everyone made sure that Ruchika paid the price for raising her voice. Her brother was implicated with false cases and severely beaten. Her father was transferred. She was harassed, thrown out of school, thrown out of he tennis coaching where Rathore was the president. Not only was a 14 year old teenager molested and forced to end her life, the whole family was molested mentally and socially. And it culminated when on 28th December, 1993 Ruchika finally decided to end her life.
Justice was done, may be bit too late and may be bit too little. After 19 long years SPS Rathore is convicted with 6 months of jail and fine amount which would out to shame even the word tokenism. Did someone say travesty of Justice. Is that all it takes to drive a girl to suicide. Is that all it takes to kill a family? That’s all it takes. And that’s how it works.
The judicial system has failed. We have failed. We have had one too many of Ruchikas, Jessicas and Priyadarshinis. But not any more. As a new year dawns upon us it’s time for an awakening, a new beginning for our democracy, for our judicial system and for us. Yesterday it was Ruchika, tomorrow it can be be me.
As I sign-off I can not refrain from quoting John Donne.
“Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.”
Posted in Uncategorized.
Tagged with Abuse, Haryana, Jessica, Molest, Molestation, Priyadarshini, Rathore, Ruchika, Teenage.
By Anjan Santra
– December 27, 2009
1. How chomp can be screwed up
########################
#! /usr/bin/perl -w
$/=”something”;
chomp ($name = );
print “$name”;
########################
Now what happens is chomp won”t remove the newline. It will remove
“something”!!! This is because $/ by default is set to “
” and we have set it to
“something”.
Good thing to remember.
2. Something about Lists
########################
#! /usr/bin/perl -w
@abc= (”a”,”b”,”c”,”d”);
print @abc,”";
print “@abc”;
########################
OUTPUT
abcd
a b c d
3. Printing arrays in so many ways (Look at ***5***)
#######################
#! /usr/bin/perl -w
@abc= (”a”,”b”,”c”,”d”);
print “***1***”;
for ($x=0;$x<=$#abc;$x++) {
print “$abc[$x]“;
}
print “***2***”;
for $x (0..$#abc){
print “$abc[$x]“;
}
print “***3***”;
foreach $alphabet (@abc){
print “$alphabet”;
}
print “***4***”;
foreach (@abc){
print “$_”;
}
print “***5***”;
foreach (@abc){
print ;
}
print “***6***”;
print @abc[0..$#abc],”";
#######################
4. Using “Last”
#######################
#! /usr/bin/perl -w
@alphabets = (”a”,”b”,”c”,”d”,”e”,”f”,”g”,”h”,”i”);
foreach $letter (@alphabets) {
print “$letter”;
last if $letter=~/e/;
}
#######################
5. Splice
#######################
#! /usr/bin/perl
@vowels = (”a”,”e”,”i”,”o”);
@alphabets = (”a”,”b”,”c”,”d”);
&display;
splice (@vowels,0,0, @alphabets);
&display;
sub display{
print “Vowels: @vowels”;
print “Alphabets: @alphabets”;
}
#######################
Posted in Software.
By Anjan Santra
– November 5, 2009
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream–and not make dreams your master,
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!
–Rudyard Kipling
Posted in Philosophy.
By Anjan Santra
– April 20, 2009
So many things happening around me. We have covered 1/4th of the year and I have made so many tours around the country… from the Arabian Sea to the great Himalayas. That’s been so invigorating. In addition, apart from these trips I have grown as a human being too. Almost every week I have seen the world through new eyes and new senses.
In Goa we met Savio, an self made entrepreneur. The degree of self belief and confidence he had was worth appreciating. The trip was good for mind, great for heart and mind boggling for the eyes 
. It seemed the whole of Jannat has come down on the golden beaches of Goa.
In Manali we stayed at a lovely cottage, a dream like gate-away. The trip was exhilarating and awesome. Being a peak off-season the place was so wonderfully peaceful, away from the daily humdrums and cacophony of the daily city life. An ideal place to get a grip on ones senses.
Of course Delhi was part of the Manali package, and I went there after a loooong gap of almost 1 and half years. So many things changed and so many have not.
In Hyderabad, well the city of Nawabs was awesome for the Biryani. Though the Paradise is no more the same paradise of a decade ago… paradise not yet lost, but not far either…the management needs to get out of the money making mindset ASAP to regain paradise.
But locally also in Bangalore the days are panning out in so diverse ways, every day a different stroke, a different hue. Ups and downs, self-doubts, internal conflicts and then a sense of bliss. Even the pains, the feelings which have been so mind numbing; in the end they bring that sense of high.
Cocaine for the mind…maybe …
Posted in Travel.
By Anjan Santra
– April 6, 2009
To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive.
-R.L. Stevenson
So aptly said but not so widely appreciated. A new year has dawned upon us. Old and new calenders have changed places. Till yesterday what decked our desks has now been relegated to the bin. Give the new a chance is what seems to be the mantra. These were the thoughts when I woke up in the morning. I immediately left my bed and went to the living room. Subhro was already up and he was already looking at the new calender. In many things our frequencies match.
Turn turn sift sift…yes here is the holidays list. “Wow, so many 4 day weeks this year”. I said, “look 26th Jan is a Monday”. “Why not plan something?”“Plan what”, came the instant retort from Subhro.“Plan anything you fool.”“So be it if you insist. Let’s wake up early”, quipped Subhro in all seriousness, “and catch the live telecast from Rajpath from the very beginning. I never seen it from the beginning. Ages ago when I was 5-6 my mom once pulled me out of the bed early; I was all groggy and very annoyed and…”“Ah cut the crap. Someone please do something with this fellow. Well what can I say, other than curse my luck to be talking to you”.“What do you mean? You yourself asked me to plan something and I did. God! if I do I am damned, if I do not then also I am damned” said Subhro in a mocking anger. He knows very well how to annoy me.“It was not your fault, planning, thinking, contemplating, I should not associate these words with you”.This is our general lingo. Nobody takes offense. But the other person always waits for the chance to give back in the same coin as soon as possible.“I was thinking of a trip.” I said.
“Great. As a matter of fact I was also thinking about it. I have shortlisted on either Goa or Pondicherry”. “Both places are very similar yet very distinct too”.
That’s the fun part with Subhro my room mate and in many ways my alter-ego. We can think alike.
“Exactly my thought”. I have already thought of these two places with a bit of a tilt towards Pondicherry. I told this to Subhro and it seemed he also agreed to it.
I am not the bag packer type tourist who just has to pick the sack and start the journey. I love to plan and plan hard. More than the tour it’s the planning which fills me with joy and excitement. Many don’t agree though.
“So how are we going”. “Car or bus or train may be. If we are going to Goa then car is not a very good option. so we need to fix on the place”.
“The weekend is Friday 23rd, Sat 24th, Sun 25th and finally 26th Monday. Pondi takes 8hrs, we start earliest morning at around 4:00. We can take Bangalore-Krishnagiri-Chennai-Pondicherry route or the Chennai route but that will add some extra Kms. I heard that Chennai route is good so many people take it. We need to find someone who has been there rcently”. Subhro continued, “10hrs is my estimate. So ideally we should be there by 2:00pm unless we plan to stop at Gingee Fort. So anyway we can be there by 6pm”. “We can make a booking in the Aurobindo Ashram”
“We can not take accomodation in the Ashram, remember. No late nights no Khamba“.
Suddenly Subhro jumped off the chair. It’s already 8 and today is not a holiday.
“Do some more reserach. We have to chalk out the trip ASAP. Oh yeah today you have your client call so don’t be late on first day…” and saying this Subhro marched into the bathroom.
He had his revenge.
Posted in Travel.
By Anjan Santra
– January 2, 2009
After so long a pleasant Saturday evening all to myself, but I want to share it with you.
The raindrops, the tinkling of your bangles, the smile, a golden streak of sun ray peeking from behind the clouds. Has anyone seen the color of longing? I think I have, the crimson color of pain mixed with the blue color of excitement. Add to it some silver and golden hues of the overcast sky, it had rained the whole day. I wish you were here. I know it will be too much to ask for, I know you don’t care. But still deep inside an ache, a pain…the pain of longing or of yearning.
The window still is shut tight, but the heart…a fool looks back again and again and again some more… if only once by mistake it opens and the breeze carries the wisp of your scent….
Yes I am mad, but for you.
Posted in Love.
By Anjan Santra
– January 2, 2009
Many
years ago somewhere in the southern tip of India there lived a hunter.
He hunted wild animals or birds for their flesh and skin and would sell
them to the village market. At times if he had luck he would find
fruits, berries or even honey.
One morning the hunter started from home early. He was accompanied by bhola his dog, a dagger he always kept with himself, his bow and arrows and a bhinstee.
He had to start early to get a good catch. But the whole day he scanned
through the whole forest without any luck. He was so desperate, it did
not occur to him that it was getting dark. Black clouds were enveloping
the sky and in no time it started pouring.
The hunter, seeing no other alternaive, ran towards a den and somehow
managed to save himself from the rain. Hunger and fatigue had the
better of him and he fell asleep. The next morning he woke up and tried
to scan the den. A buzzing sound drew his attention and he looked up at
a distance to see a bee hive, its bosom swelled with the treasure it
hid inside.
The hunter immediately drew his dagger and with the expertise of a
seasoned honey gatherer cut the hive and gathered almost all the honey
into his leather pouch, the bhinstee. He did not take all of it. He had the kind heart and an intelligent mind to leave some honey for its rightful owners the bees.
It was going to a good day for him, some money to splurge and some handia to have at night. Some meat for bhola too. He quickly packed his dagger, picked his belongings, shoulderd the bhinstee and started towards the village market. He had to reach the village grocery store-keeper before the honey fermented.
At the shop the shopkeeper meticulously transferred the honey from the bhinstee
into a jar, but somehow a drop spilled into the floor. Few ants were
immediately drawn towards it. A bird was watching the whole proceeding
from a tree top. It swooped to feast on those hapless ants. The
shopkeeper had a pet cat which immediately pounced on the bird. Seeing
its eternal enemy, bhola
the dog pounced on the cat. Seeing such a brutal end to his cat the
shopkeeper, all in rage took out a stick and craked the poor dog’s
skull into two. The hunter immediately got up, pulled out his dagger
and ripped apart the shopkeepers heart. Then it dawned upon him the
brutality of his act. So he ran away.
But being from neighbouring villages the news spread like wild fire.
The villagers clashed with each other and led to a lot of bloodbath.
All this for a drop of honey.
PS: Nobody knows what happened to the honey. But surely, it was not meant for either the hunter or the shopkeeper.
Posted in Philosophy.
By Anjan Santra
– June 26, 2008
I believe everyone in their lifetime comes across a bit of magic that reminds them of the importance of the word 'give'.
The incident, which reminded me of the well known saying "it’s more
blessed to give than to receive" happened a few weeks before my
sister’s wedding. With a heavy heart, I left the wedding cheer at home
for another town to attend some important lectures. My parents had the
room ready and waiting for me and as I entered, I walked into what
seemed like a Christmas floral shop. Red poinsettias and other bouquets
crowded the windowsill, along with a stack of cards that waited to be
opened. I felt overwhelmed by the love and attention.
Just then, a voice broke into my reverie. "Hey, I’ll be sharing the
room with you," said the 20-something girl who had stepped into the
room. She had short, curly grey hair and brown eyes. She stared at the
flowers with child-like wonder. She introduced herself as Dollie and we
chatted on till it was time for dinner. Not once did she mention her
family and neither did I ask. Being in her company, life suddenly
seemed easier and she also continued to exclaim excitedly at the cards
and flowers I continued to receive.
On our last evening together, Dollie decided to visit the market. As I
walked through the room alone, I noticed for the first time the stark
contrast between our sides of the room. There was Dollie’s bed that
stood neat and sparse except for a red candlebra with holy sprigs,
which she had brought along. In fact, I realised I had never seen her
getting any calls either during her stay. In contrast, my bed was
filled with gifts and I was flooded with calls from friends and family.
I decided to give her something of mine as a parting gift. I looked
around at the things I had and wondered if I could part with any of it.
Of course, I couldn’t give mom and dad’s Yule log with candles, I
thought.
What about the new jacket? But, then, my sister badly wanted me to wear
it when I reached home. The justifications kept coming even as I
climbed onto my bed, placating my guilt by promising myself to call the
nearby gift shop to order some flowers for Dollie the next day.
I
awoke the next morning with thoughts of returning home, with some of
the guilt resurfacing as I remembered that the gift shop wouldn’t open
for another two days. Moreover, Dollie’s train was scheduled before
mine.
"I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, Dollie," I finally told her.
My words were sincere but I felt guilty for not having followed up on
my intentions.
To my surprise, she picked up her only possession, the red candled
centre-piece, and gently laid it in my hands. "I’ll miss you," she
said, giving me a big hug. "Thank you," is all I could manage to
whisper. As she left I dropped my moist eyes to the small memento in my
hand…"Dollie’s only gift", I thought, "and she gave it to me."
As I heard the doors closing behind Dollie, I knew in my heart that she possessed much more than I did.
Courtesy: Times of India, 16 Jun 2008, 0024 hrs IST, TNN
To read the original visit …
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Lifestyle/Spirituality/Soul_curry_The_magic_of_giving/artic
Posted in Philosophy.
By Anjan Santra
– June 16, 2008
“Whoever is happy will make others happy too. He who has courage and faith will
never perish in misery!”
“I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are still truly good
at heart”
(excerpts from The Diary of a Young Girl)
Today is Anne Frank”s birthday ( Jun 12, 1929). Some of you may be wondering who she is.
Apart from everything said about her by others and by her too, she represents the power of a liberated mind, a sacred thought and the ultimate perseverance of human heart on the face of mortal danger.
The two most defining personalities of the WW-II were in absolute contrast toeach other. At the one end was Anne a common yet so uncommon teenager and at the other end was Hitler. Both penned autobiographical memoirs. Both of them talked about their lives and beliefs. But unexpectedly it was Anne”s that prevailed. With a diary written while hidden in a secret attic with her family, she braved the Nazis and lent a voice to the fight for human dignity.
This historical document holds such immense value in today”s world that any doubt cast upon the authenticity of these memoirs are considered nothing less than profanity by many. As Roger Rosenblatt, noted journalist says, “there are some stories the world so needs to believe that it would be profane to impair their influence".
It”s really a wonder how a book, basically a diary, written by a person between the age of thirteen to fifteen evokes so much interest that it remains no longer a mere book. Anne through the pages of her diary has transcended all barriers of cast, creed, race or religion. She is no
longer a mere Jew or a victim of holocaust, she is much more than that, an eternal sense of perseverance, and eternal hope on the face of abject despondence. Every word of hers is full of hope and a jest for life. One year before her death from typhus in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp at the mere age of sixteen (actually less than sixteen), she wrote, “I want to be useful or give pleasure to people around me who yet don’t really know me. I want to go on living even after my death!”. Useful she did become, and immortal too through the pages of her diary.
If you have ever been a teenager (which you have surely been), then you will certainly be able to connect to all the trepidations and self-doubts that you see in the pages of this epic. And do not forget all these under the constant fear of being found out by the Nazis. As someone correctly said this book is one of the most conclusive and moving evidence of the shocking pogrom perpetrated on any race in the name of creating a superior race.
On August 4, 1944, the Gestapo discovered the hiding place of the Frank family after being tipped off by an anonymous Dutch caller. The Gestapo found them hidden behind a door protected by a book case. They arrested Anne the human being. But they could never fathom that Anne had already escaped through her diary.
Posted in Philosophy.
By Anjan Santra
– June 12, 2008
The flip side of IT-boom in Bangalore
1. Roads inundated with chartered vehicles or the so called office cabs.
Always in a hurry for no apparent reasons, with absolutely no road
sense, these cabs are a BIG headache for fellow road users.
- Recruitment procedure should be very strict.
- Deterrents for errant drivers in the form of temporary or permanent cancellation of license.
- Deterrents for the agencies providing the cabs in the form of black listing.
- Well maintained vehicles.
2. Untamed exuberance of youth. When software engineers (like us) are out
of colleges and away from the eyes of parents, with load of money; bike
becomes the ultimate symbol of virility. And faster the better.
- Steep fines. When salary is Rs. 50,000 per month, a fine of Rs. 100 sounds ridiculous.
- Even a fine of Rs. 100 is not imposed if the rider agrees to give Rs. 20 or 50.
- Strong enforcement of road laws.
3. Roadway buses. They stop anywhere and everywhere.
- Drivers to be fined if bus is stopped at non designated stops.
- Let the bus driver concentrate on driving. Multitasking like vending
tickets, keeping track of coins, along with an eye on the road is an
explosive combination.
4. Jay walkers who think a highway is just an extension of the home corridor.
- Dissemination of information. Pedestrians should be made aware of the hazards of jay walking.
- If caught let them attend a one hour coaching. For nonvolunteers this can be a real headache.
But last and certainly the least too (in big font size 
)… who cares
Posted in Philosophy.
By Anjan Santra
– October 11, 2007
