Mumbai

I saw Mumbai meri jaan yesterday.
A much critically acclaimed film, catching the essence of Mumbai.
A story of many people:
A cop who cannot tolerate injustice, another who has adapted to the ‘accepted standards’,
A tv reporter who is famous for her prompt 'breaking news',
A company executive and his pregnant wife,
A computer salesman who thinks all Muslims are terrorists,
A coffee vendor from Chennai who wants to have a taste of the riches,
And, a series of train blasts, affecting their lives.
A story beautifully told, refrained from any bias from the directorial point of view, this movie captured my heart. We have amongst us, people who have lost much in the blast. Still, life goes on.
Often I wonder, when I hear things like ‘mumbai marathichyanchi!’ etc. Or the recent drive against the North Indians, or the compulsion for Marathi sign boards. I ask myself,” is this really necessary? With all the city’s resources used up in this, is anyone’s life improving?”
We conveniently shut our eyes to the injustice caused by such society hooligans. Just being Marathi does not give us the right to see justice being massacred like this. Somewhere, the city is suffering much from this.
There are many pressing issues in this country: floods, violence, generalized disorder. Do we really have to spend our resources on this? Why are only caste/language related sensitive issues taken up? Why is there abundant media coverage for all this vandalism? Why is such breach of law being tolerated by the Law makers?
I am a Mumbaikar. I was born and brought up here. Whatever I have, Mumbai offered me. Still I have a question:
Is it really necessary to state a claim on the city to reside here? Can a man not just stay here, not being frightened to display his identity and talk his own language? Is this not something against our fundamental rights?
Maybe someday, we will get the answers.

Fat Man's diary- Introduction

Hi there. If you come across this implies that I have either canvassed you to read this, or you suffer the same agony. Food, the most, (and probably the only edible) delicious thing in this world, comes with a price tag. No, I am not talking about the cost in monetary sense. I am talking about the most dreaded seven lettered word- ‘CALORIE’
But before you empathically listen to my woes, let me first introduce myself. I am Anay a 24 years old guy, who was blessed to be born in this country. I can write quite a bit about myself, but that would not serve the purpose. The fact is- I am fat. Now, grammatically there are a number of ways one can describe this condition. One can call me overweight, some other, obese. But I prefer to call myself plain simple ‘fat.’
There was a time when I was careless about what I ate. (those were the blissful days!) with a highly taste sensitive palate, and a creative mother, I had a fantastic time with my friends- the carbohydrates, the Fats. They were simple too then. They were not called ‘trans’ fats, or fruit carbs etc. we had some very interesting time together.
But then, all nice things should come to an end (somebody said this. What a pessimist!) I crossed well over ten kilograms over the normal weight for my height. At first, I consoled myself. I mean, there are some people are short for their age, I was just short for my weight! I could easily cover the extra fat by some baggy dressing. Soon enough I was declared as a Bad dresser. Now, that was an insult! It was always my secret dream to be a French man some day. But French do not dress in grabs. And I was not growing vertically any more. So I decided. I was with a bad company. All my nutrient friends had to go.
I bade a hungry good bye to all those wonderful things. Gone was cheese, gone was butter, gone were cakes and gone was sugar. It was a very bitter moment then (literally). I decided to join a gym. It gives a moral boost. When you spend money for something, you feel dedicated for that cause!