Srini Chandrasekharan

Category: Open Letters

  • God denies answering prayers

    Yesterday, What Ho! received this letter from God which I feel obliged to share.

    Dear Dr. What Ho!,

    It has come to my attention that there is a falsehood circulating and an impression being created that I have been answering human prayers. I’d be grateful if you could publicize this letter far and wide as I’m anxious to dispel such a patent lie.

    First, let me start by explaining how [what you call] the ‘system’ works. There are many systems. They are filled with things I had not even fathomed when I embarked on this journey. Speaking about this system of yours, there are black holes, galaxies, stars, planets and moons to name a few. And then there is the Earth. Based on what I am hearing from you guys, your system is 13.8 billion years old and you’ve been around for the last few million, give or take. There have been other things which have been around long before you came along. Like volcanos, mountains, oceans, fishes, dinosaurs and birds, to name a few. I find it intriguing that none of them prayed. Indeed, the volume of pleas from Earth has spiked from near zero to a ginormous number only after you guys showed up.

    BeFunky_prayers.png

    I like to think of your system as having an amorphous and invisible ‘central brain’ which regulates itself and constantly attempts to re-establish equilibrium within itself and with other systems. What is fascinating to me is that you guys appear to have developed some sort of a sixth sense as you call it. A “local human brain” if you will, which is incessantly attempting to disrupt the global equilibrium with its self-centered attempts to establish local equilibrium. In other words, your pleas, while they are an area of curious interest for me, are unlikely to be met with either prompt or favorable responses. I’m disappointed that you would even think of me, a Supreme Being, as a puppet to be wielded by your strings of prayers.

    Second, I feel that I must explain my job responsibilities. My job title, which I’m convinced has to be made more self-explanatory, is God. It is weird to be called something which means nothing to anyone but you humans. My surveys have established that quarks, leptons, gluons and the Higgs Boson have not heard of or ‘experienced’ God before. I suspect that’s true for galaxies, stars and planets and everything else but you. And I haven’t even broached this with all those multiverses out there. I suggest we you look into an alternative nomenclature for my job title. Possibilities are “A Higher Order,” “The Observer” or “The Spirit.” The last is a nod to the Indians from both the eastern and western hemispheres of Earth. I like it the best.

    As for my job responsibilities, I have none. I understand that you regard me as the Original Cause. But that does not automatically impose any moral or other responsibilities on me. I bear no obligation to anything that has arisen and will arise as the arrow of Time speeds forward. I owe you nothing. In fact, no one owes anyone anything. Such is the nature of things.

    This leads me to the question of ‘What the heck do I do every day?’

    I spend my time observing things. It’s like watching television. You may have your opinions on what goes on out there. You get the sinking feeling that you may have contributed to the problem. Every so often, you feel the urge to tweet about it. And on occasion, you want to wreck the TV screen with a baseball bat. I resist the temptation to do any of the above.

    A lot of things fascinate me. They are usually at levels which are a couple of notches and degrees higher and separated from where you are. For example, the question, ‘why are you guys even there in the first place?’ fascinates me. Why is anything there at all? Why am I not alone here by myself? Have you ever seen a massive star collapse into a giant black hole? That never gets old. I could go on. I hope that you understand that your lives are not in an immediate zone of my consideration. I don’t concern myself with earthquakes in Haiti. I don’t pay attention to Kim Kardashian’s wardrobe or lack of it. I wouldn’t know what to do if two futbol fans, one Brazilian and another German, prayed and asked for their teams to win. I haven’t read the Pope’s tweets yet. I smile when Stephen Hawking denies my existence. I could go on.

    There is a massive misunderstanding that surrounds my existence and responsibilities. You guys have made a rather fantastic assumption that I have to prove my existence in order to exist. There was a government in India which existed for ten years and did absolutely nothing. And yet no one disputed its existence. Think of me the same way. Think of me as an impassioned observer, curious but unwilling to play a role in your unimaginative and dreary lives as your universe marches to its yet unfulfilled destiny. Would you gaze upon a new born child with an agenda? No. You simply see the beauty in her, marvel at her existence and accept that she will grow up to be whoever she wants to be. Such is the nature of things.

    There are those who believe that I don’t exist because they don’t have a role for me. There are those who believe in me so they can create a role for me. Why are we always trying to change others to be more like ourselves? Why can’t we all just get along? I’m here. I speak nothing. I do nothing. Hey, that’s me. If someone has a problem with this, I suggest they have a short chat with Dr. Manmohan Singh. He knows what I’m talking about.

    Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to be negative. If praying provides solace, I don’t see the harm in it. There are no false beliefs. There are only beliefs which have advantages and beliefs which are costly. I’d rather have you pick your own poison. I’d rather have you simply try to connect with me without an agenda. I’d rather have you meet me as an equal, as a fellow traveler who’s willing to share his beer with me as we marvel at the vistas together.

    I am sorry. I know that you need to see me as the ultimate go-to guy in a world filled with pain, injustice, violence and disappointment. The easiest life is one of deluded ignorance. But it is one which alternates between intoxicating pleasure and incomprehensible pain. So, the curious and the disillusioned among you go in search of the truth. I’ve been gazing on universes for a long time. All I’ve learnt so far is that the only truth is that there are no eternal truths which hold across space, distance and time.  So I suggest a little circumspection and a lot of preparation when you go in search because truth is the last thing you will want to encounter if you have not prepared yourself for it.

    I am sorry. I know that someday you will die. And that, deep within you lurks a fear of death and oblivion. Of being nothing and irrelevant. There is nothing I can do about it. That is the beauty of this design; that things go on. Beauty lies in a cycle of creation and destruction of things and not in this in-between state called living, which you must look upon merely as an opportunity to behold this beauty. Life is no more and no less than a set of experiences. The larger this set is, the easier it becomes to understand this description of life. Everything moves on. I wish I could tell you that you’re special. The thing is you’re just a tiny lump of carbon, hydrogen and oxygen on an obscure planet in a limitless set of universes. When you die, everyone and everything else will move on. So, clearly this is not about you. This is not even about the things which are dearest to you like your family and friends and objects of desire. I once saw a man who had devoted his whole life to making himself a better person. What a waste of a life it is when it’s all about yourself. There is something much larger at play. Respect it and we’ll all be fine, I assure you. Don’t be depressed. When you get depressed, do what I do. Gaze at the stars. They have borne mute witness to the best and the worst of all things.

    I know that this will leave you feeling lonely. I’ve traveled the lonely road for eons. I’m afraid so must you. There is really no other way. But I do wish upon you my kind of bliss. The one you can find in solitude. Go forth and do what you must do. Just in case you’re interested in joining me, I have a seat right next to me with your name on it, which has the best view in town.

    The Spirit.

  • An aam aadmi’s letter

    To whomsoever it may concern.

    They call me aam admi. For you babalog, that translates to “ordinary man.” Presumably women are included in there as well. That’s what they call me. I don’t know the first thing about supply side economics. I’ve never listened to Beethoven. I couldn’t tell an IIT from an ITI. There are many things I don’t know. But, I have a God given ability to detect bull shit. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get a few things off my chest.

    When we got our independence, I was ecstatic. I was one of the millions who lined up whenever the Mahatma gave us the word. Then, I heard that Pandit-ji had his reservations about me. He wasn’t sure if I would exercise the right to vote responsibly. Well, here’s the thing. Neither did I. Who knows what’s best for the country? Who do we trust? Pandit-ji and his friends came highly recommended by the Mahatma. They had studied at firangi universities, spoke English and rubbed shoulders with world leaders. Once again, I fell in line when the Mahatma asked me to support his protege. I had a job to find, a family to take care of and mouths to feed. I didn’t have time to think it through. So, without protest, I voted for Nehru, in the hope that he was our Messiah and that he would part the Red Sea and lead us to the Promised Land.

    I shed tears when Chacha died. He was our Messiah. We hadn’t yet made it across the Red Sea. In fact, there was no sea. I found myself marooned on a desert with no friendly faces. Pandit-ji, in spite of his firangi degrees and polished accent, had blown it. The lone face that I recognized of Lal Bahadur was but a brief mirage. And that’s when the nightmares started.

    They say that the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree. If that’s the case, I must fault Jawaharlal, the tree and not the fruit, Indira. But my gut tells me that that Jawaharlal was not the tree. He was just the guy who watered a tree called the Indian National Congress. This tree did not produce fruits. Rather, it sucked the life out of the ground it grew on, and gave shelter to reptiles and insects and rodents, which in turn preyed on me.

    I wish I could write away the twenty years between 1970 and 1990 as a bad dream. Even now, I wake up in the middle of the night, sweating and anxious that the past may return to revive its hold on me. But trust me when I say that I have a short memory and am trying my best to move on.

    The damage that Indira wrought was not to my stomach. It was to my psyche. She said, “Garibi Hatao.” I enthusiastically cheered, more in hope and despair simultaneously and not out of belief. As I said, my instincts told me that these were reptiles, rodents and insects. Hope turned to anger and slowly resignation. And then despair, when one of my own turned his back on us and assassinated our Prime Minister. I lost one more familiar face and that hurt me even though I didn’t trust Indira entirely. Her son was another fleeting mirage. I’m told that he did some good for the country, but am not entirely sure what he did for me.

    They tell me that we were in a lot of trouble in 1991. And this man named Narasimha Rao bailed us out of this trouble. I didn’t know he was capable of this feat. I voted for him because he was part of this tree that I told you about. Turns out that he wasn’t entirely a reptile. Another fleeting vision as far as I’m concerned.

    Things have been getting better in the last twenty years, I’ll happily admit. I’ve got a cell phone. I can see roads being laid. A lot of my friends have left for cities. I see shiny buildings when I visit them. But twenty years is a long time to wait when you have too little to show for it. There was a time I had resigned myself to my fate. Now, I am not being allowed to even do that. I’ve seen things that I now can’t put out of my mind. My aspirations are spinning out of control. My country has changed a lot. And it doesn’t stand by itself any more. The destinies of all countries are now inter linked, they say. I wouldn’t know too much about that. I have no idea what current account deficit means, and why we need foreign investment so we can have supermarkets and megastores. All I know is that there still aren’t enough jobs for my people and things need to get a lot better before we can afford to fritter time on ideological and political debates. I’ve been waiting for a long while. I wish these fellows would get on with the program so my children can have a better future.

    What galls me is that, not only are they frittering away precious time but they are using that time to loot my house. There are thieves inside my house, emptying it as I speak and there are folks outside my house yelling “thief.” It’s like I’ve become invisible to both of them. Neither is helping me.

    Anna Hazare, God bless him, says he wants to help me. But, I don’t have the time to make it to Jantar Mantar each time he asks. With due respect, he’s not the Mahatma. Those were different days. And they were different men back then. I trust Anna-ji. But he also wants to tie me to a tree and whip me if I try to drown my sorrows in cheap liquor. So I wonder if I should trust a guy who wants to whip me. Like I said, no one helps me anymore.

    This chap, Kejriwal, seems to have his heart in the right place. But I don’t believe I’ve ever met him. I guess it’s hard to meet up when one of you feels the need to be in a city and on TV all the time. To Kejriwal, I tell you this. It’s not enough to start an Aam Aadmi party. It’s not even enough to be an Aam Aadmi yourself. You need to come out here and meet me. Don’t tell me about those reptiles. I know about them already. I’ve seen more than fifty years of reptiles. Help me. We’ve been waiting for a Messiah. We’re so jaded that we’ll give you too a chance. And we fear that you too will blow it.

    You know what I don’t need? I don’t need sermonizing and moralizing. Don’t tell me things I know. Don’t tell me that I’m illiterate. I know that already. Don’t tell me that I suck because I vote for my religion and caste. I have good reasons for doing so. If anything, my religion and caste guys are the ones who’ve shown up in times of my need over thousands of years. I can’t abandon such instincts easily. Don’t tell me that we need a dictatorship because only dictators can control fools like me. I’m not the fool that I’m made out to be. In fact, quite the contrary. I’m the product of evolutionary intelligence that’s been gathering steam over millions of years. If I’ve come this far in the evolutionary game, I’m pretty sure that I can handle a few reptiles. So don’t tell me anything.  Just step aside and allow me to be. And help, if you can.

    I’ve always dreamed of this Messiah in shining armor, who’ll swoop down from the skies and carry us all away into this land where there is freedom and dignity in life. And you know what? I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. I’ve come around to believing that I, and only I, have my fate in my hands. For that, I need to be responsible. I need to change my habits. And I need to stop making excuses and think things through. I know all of this. But it’s going to be a while before I get there. I wonder if we have the time for me to get there. I don’t think there’s another choice. Let’s see how this one plays out.

    Until then, although you may call me an Aam Aadmi, keep in mind that I’m anything but ordinary.

    Best regards.

    Mango (wo)man.

  • The Supreme One slashes the budget for Heaven

    Dear People in Heaven and Hell,

    As you’re well aware, eternity lasts a very long time. And, you are equally well aware that death is inevitable. These two facts have combined to place tremendous strain on my resources, which I once wrongly perceived as infinite. Keeping the murderers among you immersed in fire forever, for example, takes an enormous expenditure of energy, as you can imagine. Not even I, the Supreme One, can circumvent or overrule the laws of thermodynamics. A rapidly rising population in the after-life, coupled with a precipitous increase in energy and operating costs are now threatening to derail my core project, which is to keep the universe running.

    According to research I had commissioned McKinsey & Co. to do, even those who’ve made it to Heaven are dissatisfied, in spite of extraordinary investments we’ve made in heavenly amenities. I’m especially pained to note that customer satisfaction surveys of the denizens of Paradise repeatedly show only one response when asked about perception of Heaven: “Not what I was expecting.” It appears that modern humans clearly seem to have less regard for Heaven, when compared to Dante.

    Long story short, I don’t have resources to keep things going at this rate, and need to make changes urgently. So, here are the measures that will come into effect immediately.

    All amenities now offered in Heaven will be ended, and replaced with just one benefit – free cable TV subscription in all rooms. If our studies are right, I expect that this measure alone will cause our satisfaction ratings to rocket immediately, and our costs to drop dramatically. I also expect this measure to eliminate another common complaint in Heaven, “All my friends are in the other place.”

    That will not be all. The problem of eternal liability continues to exist. According to research, the promise of just a year or two in heaven is adequate to generate ninety five percent of the desired “good” behavior in mortals. In fact, the promise of “eternal bliss” is viewed with suspicion and disfavor among adults who have completed college education. This suggests that cutting back on the eternal salvation promise will not lead to significant drops in faith, obedience and repentance levels. Focus group studies indicate a similar pattern on the deterrence side of the equation. Eternal damnation will be replaced with a limited term penalty of (say) three years of rolling a massive rock up the hill, while being tormented by demons and other such punishments not involving burning of fossil fuels.

    Although it’s with great reluctance that I consented to modifying the original covenant between Me and you, I’ve learnt that consumers such as yourselves are quite open to modifying the same. I’m not surprised that the damned are happy to take any reduction in their terms. I’m surprised to know that the blessed too are ready to renegotiate eternal bliss, and are willing to be “bought out” of their existing contracts, if offered an attractive package such as, say, being reborn and leading a full life with an unlimited talk time and data plan.

    Rest assured that we’ve consulted our legal team extensively on these modifications to the original terms and conditions of mortal life. It’s my belief that this will not require any changes to documentation on life, which in any case was left intentionally vague, and which not many of you seem to have bothered to read in the first place.

    Peace and regards.

    The Supreme One.

  • I’m sorry, but..

    I’m sorry, but..

    The other day, I was offered an apology. It wasn’t a bad one. But, I wasn’t ready to settle yet. Somehow, the apology didn’t quite, at any point during its course, exceed the threshold of my expectation. And regretfully, I had to turn it down. I have my principles. And they don’t include accepting an apology that is rendered in haste. Haste is a trait I view with suspicion. The apology that rolls off the tongue easily does not satisfy. It reflects evasiveness and flippancy, not remorse. What does it say about me when I accept apologies rather easily? I would rather not stoop and sink to the level of those who promiscuously accept the easy apologies. Once you sink down to that level, it’s just a hop, skip and jump away from the dangers of forgiveness.

    A day later, the apology was re-submitted. This time, in a noticeably lengthier form. Yet, it did not satisfy. So, I held my silence. But, I felt an escalating pressure to accept it and, to use a rather crude phrase, “put the matter behind us.” Upon examination of the apology, I was satisfied this time to note that it was complete and not half-baked. It contained a high level of repeated assurance that it was meant sincerely and “in good faith.” Many of the apologist’s friends called in to confirm true regret on his part. There was language in his words that suggested that he (the apologist) had reflected on his act, and that it (his act) reflected “insensitivity” and that he was “distressed” by the “whole thing.” It was an excellent attempt. Yet, it did not rise to the level needed to overwhelm and wash away memories of original cruelty and inflicted pain. I lingered. I wondered what it would mean to accept the apology. Would it mean that I had somehow ratified his callous behavior? Would it mean that I accepted him back? No. I was not ready for that, not yet anyway. And so, I turned it down.

    Disappointed, I turned instead to the comfort of musing on the nature of apology itself. Does the simple apology merit existence? Is “sorry” worth the trouble of expression? I pondered on the hurts, pains, aches, anger, disappointment and disillusionment we cause each other. When considered against the backdrop of our monumental blunders, our abject apologies seemed inadequate. So, I wondered. This reverie was interrupted by a third apology. This time, it was in the form of a note, accompanied by a fine bottle of French wine, a box of Swiss chocolates and tickets to an IPL game. Nice try, I thought. But, wait. We were not done yet. There was the note.

    The note said, “I hope that you will find a way to accept this apology, which I solemnly affirm that I’m making with full possession of my mind and faculties and without reservations or conditions, and move on.” I read the note. And, I read it again. As I read it again and again, I sensed fury possessing me at what I believed was the cavalier use of the phrase “move on.” Was I being equated with a guest lingering at an overcrowded buffet table? I sensed impatience on part of the apologist to somehow evict me from this moral high ground that I had rightfully occupied after his transgression. Anger enveloped me at his audacity. And, I blacked out thereafter.

    After I had recovered sufficiently, I did what I felt was best under the circumstances. I wrote back to the offender. “I’m sorry. But, I cannot accept your apology.”

  • Too Big To Fail

    In 2008, we saw collapse of financial institutions, led by US banks, unprecedented for its severity. Now, history appears to be about to repeat itself in Europe. Since we seem to be headed into the open season for bailouts, I decided to send in my bailout application right away to beat the rush and get ahead in line.

    Dear Reserve Bank Governor,

    I’m in a bit of a pickle, and need five crore rupees urgently. Before you consign this letter to the rubbish bin, I suggest that you ponder the consequences of it surfacing in wikileaks files.

    I know what you must be thinking. Who is this guy and why does he deserve the ten crore rupees that he’s asking?  (As I write, the rupee is rapidly declining against the dollar forcing me to ask for more). First, you have understand that I am TOO BIG TO FAIL. If I were to be allowed to collapse, the economy as we know it would cease to exist and pandemonium and mayhem will ensue. Nothing short of global calamity awaits if that mind boggling scenario were to fruition as a consequence of your not sending me a check for twenty crores. If I were to fail, who would then pay salaries to my driver or dole out generous tips to taxi and auto drivers? If they don’t get paid, they will not have money to spend at liquor stores, which means liquor store barons will not have money to bribe MLAs. Starved of cash, MLAs will become susceptible to buyout offers from opposition parties and this would lead to fall of governments all around the country. Next thing you know, the Chief Election Commissioner is asking for a budget of ten thousand crores to conduct fresh elections, and the Central Government is forced to raise the prices of petrol and LPG to cover the shortfall in funds. This will lead to all kinds of nasty consequences like fallout between once-loyal alliance partners, cabinet ministers and chief ministerial offspring being sent to Tihar jail, disgruntlement with the Prime Minister and rise of civil societies demanding Jan Lokpal. Who knows, this might trigger the fall of the central government as a consequence of fratricidal wars between Home and Finance ministries, each trying to orchestrate the other’s downfall. All because you didn’t expeditiously release a check for a measly fifty crores.

    You might wonder how I ended up in this hole. I made the mistake of watching every reality show there is on TV and sending in hundreds of SMSes daily to vote on random inconsequential matters. These things cost a fortune. Not to mention the fact that there’s been someone calling me practically every three minutes offering me a platinum credit card. I got them all and maxed out on Salman Khan movies, Farmville gifts and Samsung cellphones. Funnily, there seems to be a new festival every month, accompanied by mouth watering discounts on white goods – and I’m afraid that these temptations have proved hard to resist.

    You must be convinced by now, I hope. If not, it is fair to warn that you leave me with no choice but to join a political party, become a Cabinet minister, manipulate tenders and reap ill-gotten gains. Come on, what do you say? What’s a hundred crores between friends?

    Yours sincerely.

    TBTF

    * Inspired by a ‘shouts and murmurs‘ column in the New Yorker