Avik's Story

(dailymail.co.uk) Unlike the Bond girls, Bond has become quite ritualistically bored with time. With every new instalment, James Bond gets suave cars, sexy girls, futuristic gadgets and acrimonious villains, threatening to destroy the American version of peace of world, but in the process he loses his primary self of being a spy. In Spectre too, among eye-popping special effects and gasping action sequences, nowhere came a sequence, where James Bond used his analytical mind or aptitude even for a second. On the contrary, he looked dumb and sad, who was on verge of retirement. Bored, James Bored. (youtube) The opening sequence of Spectre was grand, probably best among Bond movies. The collapsing of building and the perilous flying of helicopter over the crowd in the Day of Dead in Mexico was a splendid beginning, which soon fell into abyss of unreasonableness and untidy plot. At one point of time, Bond entered a meeting of Spectre, an organisation of unimaginable power, as i

Once I remember asking credulously to one my soft-spoken colleague cum good friend, why Muslim women wore burqa, especially in circumstances like in plural India! My friend, who practiced Islam religion, but not alike hardliners or radicals, paused a little and started to reason. We were seated on a cheap cot in a hot humid afternoon of Tamil Nadu. Life outside was dull and alien, and we ventured into the forbidden topic on naive impulse, and immediately thereafter I regretted. The rock solid erroneous interpretation of 1400 years old scared scriptures has twisted his reasoning so much so that he compared women as succulent fruits, which should be hidden from wicked birds. He propagated this custom of wearing burqa as an effective measure to reduce the rate of rape in India, as the luscious juicy fruits would be hidden behind blackness, away from prying eyes of rapists. I understood that his conviction was obviously based on wide acceptance of the custom of wearing burqa by Muslim wo

The moment I noticed him properly I regretted my decision and nodded my head in exasperation. I wished I could undo it. Yesterday evening I had to go to Dwarka Sector 6 market and upon reaching at Dwarka Sector 11 metro station I took a rickshaw to reach the market sooner. There was a long line of rickshaw pullers and I went for the first one. The guy was in his thirties, had an uncut beard and looked in shape. We agreed on twenty rupees and I boarded his rickshaw. But the moment he started paddling, I was shocked and looked in startled eyes to an unnerving scene. The young puller was polio affected and he was using his right hand only to handle the rickshaw. He was pushing his legs vigorously by his left hand with each paddling, visibly painstaking. He had to literally bend over his handle to force down his crippled legs one by one by his left hand and riding back I felt tremendous guilt. I reprimanded myself and wished I could undo my decision. But the time was gone.