Aahsome

ISSUE #1 Theme FREEDOM

Cover art by
Sveta Kuznetsova
intro

T
he main reason this magazine was started was twofold, to give each of us, and acts against freedom are much more rampant inside us,
readers a chance to explore outside their usual boundaries. And than the ones that are shown in the daily news.
to give artists, writers and people with opinions, 10 minutes in
Freedom to me is best summarized by what Morpheus says to Neo, in
front of a larger audience.
the movie Matrix, “I’m trying to free your mind, Neo. But I can only show
The site for Aahsome was started on 15th August, and that would be you the door. You’re the one that has to walk through it.” The final step
the primary reason for choosing Freedom as the theme for the first issue. towards freedom has to be our own.
By freedom we meant not just freedom from a foreign power, but free-
— K.A. Anand
dom in all meanings of the word.

Freedom always brings thoughts of Gandhiji or our colonial past, since

not being free as a country for so long has brought that aspect of freedom
to the foremost. What we don’t realize is that being free doesn’t necessar-
ily mean free from outside power. In fact we knowingly give away our free-
dom each day of our life. We loose our freedom to not buy, by watching K.A.Anand is the founder of Aahsome magazine. He
advertisements and getting emotionally affected into taking our wallets is a User Experience Designer by profession and blogs
out. We loose our freedom to think for ourselves when we start believing
about design and everything else here: http://rega.in

in generally accepted notions of truth, without examining the logic our-

selves. We loose our freedom to act by choosing not to act. Most of these
losses are not because somebody came and took it by force, but we chose
to let our freedom go to rot. The notion of freedom is much more inside

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feature

D for
A humble idea that started out with a few enthusiastic people, is growing
to be a bigger, better project.

The wall project started with a blank white compound wall, with an
intense burning feeling of “something has to be done to it”. Set in an old
East Indian village in Bandra, colourful with people of many talents, all hid-
den in their tiny abodes.

It was an initiative to add visual elements of colour, form and texture to

a space, to make the area more alive and generate a feeling among people
who pass by it daily. Inviting more people, not just artists to come paint,
and to hunt for interesting locations to paint.

We hope the pictures in the following pages would inspire you!

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feature

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feature

Photos:
The Wall Project and
ht tp://www.flickr.com/
photos/magiceye

There are more such events planned in other cities.

Connect with The Wall Project on Facebook to stay in the loop.

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sarcasm

A PETITION from the manufacturers of candles, tapers, lanterns, sticks, street

lamps, snuffers, and extinguishers, and from producers of tallow, oil, resin, alcohol,
and generally of everything connected with lighting.

To the Honourable Members of the Chamber of Deputies

G
entlemen, you are on the right track.
You reject abstract theories and little
regard for abundance and low prices.
You concern yourselves mainly with the fate of
the producer. You wish to free him from foreign
competition, that is, to reserve the domestic
market for domestic industry.
We come to offer you a wonderful opportunity
for your — what shall we call it? Your theory?
No, nothing is more deceptive than theory. Your
doctrine? Your system? Your principle? But you
dislike doctrines, you have a horror of systems,
as for principles, you deny that there are any in
political economy; therefore we shall call it your
practice — your practice without theory and
without principle.
We are suffering from the ruinous competition
of a rival who apparently works under conditions
so far superior to our own for the production of
light that he is flooding the domestic market
with it at an incredibly low price; for the moment
he appears, our sales cease, all the consumers
turn to him, and a branch of French industry
whose ramifications are innumerable is all at
once reduced to complete stagnation. This rival,
which is none other than the sun, is waging war
on us so mercilessly we suspect he is being stirred
up against us by perfidious Albion (excellent
diplomacy nowadays!), particularly because he
has for that haughty island a respect that he
does not show for us.
We ask you to be so good as to pass a law
requiring the closing of all windows, dormers,
skylights, inside and outside shutters, curtains,
casements, bull’s-eyes, deadlights, and blinds
— in short, all openings, holes, chinks, and
fissures through which the light of the sun is
wont to enter houses, to the detriment of the
fair industries with which, we are proud to say,

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sarcasm

Claude Frédéric Bastiat (30 June 1801 – 24 December 1850) was a French
classical liberal theorist, political economist, and member of the French
assembly.
Bastiat was the author of many works on economics and political economy,
generally characterized by their clear organization, forceful argumentation
and acerbic wit. Among his better known works is Economic Sophisms,
which contains many strongly-worded attacks on statist policies. Bastiat
wrote it while living in England to advise the shapers of the French
we have endowed the country, a country that
Republic on pitfalls to avoid.
cannot, without betraying ingratitude, abandon Bastiat’s argument cleverly highlights basic flaws in protectionism by
demonstrating its absurdity through logical extremes.
us today to so unequal a combat.

Be good enough, honourable deputies, to

take our request seriously, and do not reject it
without at least hearing the reasons that we
have to advance in its support.
First, if you shut off as much as possible all ac-
cess to natural light, and thereby create a need
for artificial light, what industry in France will
not ultimately be encouraged?
If France consumes more tallow, there will
have to be more cattle and sheep, and, conse-
quently, we shall see an increase in cleared fields,
meat, wool, leather, and especially manure, the
basis of all agricultural wealth.
If France consumes more oil, we shall see
an expansion in the cultivation of the poppy,
the olive, and rapeseed. These rich yet soil-
exhausting plants will come at just the right
time to enable us to put to profitable use the
increased fertility that the breeding of cattle will
impart to the land. Our moors will be covered
with resinous trees. Numerous swarms of bees
will gather from our mountains the perfumed
treasures that today waste their fragrance, like
the flowers from which they emanate. Thus,
there is not one branch of agriculture that would
not undergo a great expansion.
The same holds true of shipping. Thousands
of vessels will engage in whaling, and in a short
time we shall have a fleet capable of upholding
the honour of France and of gratifying the patri-
otic aspirations of the undersigned petitioners,
chandlers, etc.
But what shall we say of the specialities of
Parisian manufacture? Henceforth you will behold
gilding, bronze, and crystal in candlesticks, in
lamps, in chandeliers, in candelabra sparkling in
spacious emporia compared with which those
of today are but stalls. There is no needy resin-
collector on the heights of his sand dunes, no
poor miner in the depths of his black pit, who
will not receive higher wages and enjoy increased
prosperity.
It needs but a little reflection, gentlemen,
to be convinced that there is perhaps not one
Frenchman, from the wealthy stockholder of
the Anzin Company to the humblest vendor
of matches, whose condition would not be im-
proved by the success of our petition.

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sarcasm
We anticipate your objections, gentlemen,
but there is not a single one of them that you
have not picked up from the musty old books of
the advocates of free trade. We defy you to utter
a word against us that will not instantly rebound
against yourselves and the principle behind all
your policy.
Will you tell us that, though we may gain by
this protection, France will not gain at all, be-
cause the consumer will bear the expense?
We have our answer ready: you no longer
have the right to invoke the interests of the con-
sumer. You have sacrificed him whenever you
have found his interests opposed to those of the
producer. You have done so in order to encour-
age industry and to increase employment. For
the same reason you ought to do so this time too.
Indeed, you yourselves have anticipated this
objection. When told that the consumer has
a stake in the free entry of iron, coal, sesame,
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wheat, and textiles, “Yes,” you reply, “but the
producer has a stake in their exclusion.” Very
well, surely if consumers have a stake in the ad-
mission of natural light, producers have a stake
in its interdiction.
“But, you may still say, the producer and the
consumer are one and the same person. If the
manufacturer profits by protection, he will make
the farmer prosperous. Contrariwise, if agricul-
ture is prosperous, it will open markets for man-
ufactured goods.’’ Very well, If you grant us a
monopoly over the production of lighting during
the day, first of all we shall buy large amounts
of tallow, charcoal, oil, resin, wax, alcohol, silver,
iron, bronze, and crystal, to supply our industry
and, moreover, we and our numerous suppliers,
having become rich, will consume a great deal
and spread prosperity into all areas of domestic
industry.
Will you say that the light of the sun is a
gratuitous gift of Nature, and that to reject such
gifts would be to reject wealth itself under the
pretext of encouraging the means of acquiring
it? But if you take this position, you strike a
mortal blow at your own policy; remember
that up to now you have always excluded
foreign goods because and in proportion as
they approximate gratuitous gifts. You have
only half as good a reason for complying with
the demands of other monopolists as you have
for granting our petition, which is in complete
accord with your established policy; and to
reject our demands precisely because they
are better founded than anyone else’s would
be tantamount to accepting the equation:
+×+=-
In other words, it would be to heap absurdity
upon absurdity. Labour and Nature collaborate
in varying proportions, depending upon the
country and the climate, in the production of a
commodity. The part that Nature contributes is
always free of charge; it is the part contributed
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sarcasm
by human labour that constitutes value and is
paid for.
If an orange from Lisbon sells for half the
price of an orange from Paris, it is because the
natural heat of the sun, which is, of course, free
of charge, does for the former what the latter
owes to artificial heating, which necessarily has
to be paid for in the market.
Thus, when an orange reaches us from
Portugal, one can say that it is given to us half
free of charge, or, in other words, at half price as
compared with those from Paris.
Now, it is precisely on the basis of its being
semigratuitous (pardon the word) that you
maintain it should be barred. You ask: “How
can French labour withstand the competition
of foreign labour when the former has to do all
the work, whereas the latter has to do only half,
the sun taking care of the rest?” But if the fact
that a product is half free of charge leads you to
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exclude it from competition, how can its being of consumption free of charge or the alleged
totally free of charge induce you to admit it advantages of onerous production. Make your
into competition? Either you are not consistent, choice, but be logical; for as long as you ban, as
or you should, after excluding what is half free you do, foreign coal, iron, wheat, and textiles, in
of charge as harmful to our domestic industry, proportion as their price approaches zero, how
exclude what is totally gratuitous with all the inconsistent it would be to admit the light of the
more reason and with twice the zeal. sun, whose price is zero all day long! •
To take another example: When a product,
coal, iron, wheat, or textiles comes to us from
abroad, and when we can acquire it for less
labour than if we produced it ourselves, the
difference is a gratuitous gift that is conferred
up on us. The size of this gift is proportionate to
the extent of this difference. It is a quarter, a half,
or three-quarters of the value of the product
if the foreigner asks of us only three-quarters,
one-half, or one-quarter as high a price. It is as
complete as it can be when the donor, like the
sun in providing us with light, asks nothing from
us. The question, and we pose it formally, is
whether what you desire for France is the benefit
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ART

“dillitown” 2008-09 Meera Sethi

From the series “Word.”
Giclee on archival paper
Limited edition

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ART

“Heaven on Earth” 2008-09 Meera Sethi

From the series “Word.”
Giclee on archival paper
Limited edition

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ART

“Sadho, sabd sadhana kijai” 2008-09 Meera Sethi

From the series “Word.”
Giclee on archival paper
Limited edition

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ART

“Lahori” 2008-09 Meera Sethi

From the series “Word.”
Giclee on archival paper
Limited edition

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ART

“pindi” 2008-09 Meera Sethi

From the series “Word.”
Giclee on archival paper
Limited edition

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ART

“Tat Tvam Asi” 2008-09 Meera Sethi

From the series “Word.”
Giclee on archival paper
Limited edition

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ART

Meera Sethi is a visual artist working in the mediums of painting, drawing,

graphic design, and photography.

Her artwork addresses the joys and challenges of living in a third space where
two distinct cultures collide creating ruptures, fissures and hybrid ways of
being and doing. This experience finds expression in the references to Indian
and North American popular culture, textiles and patterns, contemporary
fashion, clothing and religious and cultural identities found in her work.
Meera’s aesthetic is full of minute detail, lush colour, geometric abstractions
and minimalist clarity.

View some of Meera’s work at www.meerasethi.com.

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story
The Last Day
S
he picked up the photo frame of her niece
from the desk and looked at it for a mo-
ment. It was the first to go into the brown
cardboard box that the office had provided.
Next, she picked out the blue fiber tip pens from
the pen holder along with just one pink high-
lighter. The much-used Thesaurus was wrapped
with newspaper and tucked in a corner of the
box. It had been her travelling companion as
she’d navigated her way up the corporate ladder.
www.aahsome.com
by Leela Alvares
She sighed when she pulled out the magazines
that she’d been saving to read some day. Some
of them were two years old. Without another
thought, she tossed them in the bin.
She noticed a colleague looking at her from
the corner of his eye. He quickly averted his
gaze and started clicking his mouse furiously as
though a deadline loomed over his shoulder. She
also heard a few whispers behind her but didn’t
bother to turn. She guessed they would be talk-
ing about her. The office boy came straight to
her table with her favourite frothy cup of coffee
and placed it carefully amid the growing debris
on her desk. He muttered something under his
breath which she didn’t catch, and he walked
away, shaking his head.
As she sipped the hot liquid, she felt the
lump in her throat slowly melt, and she stole a
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story
look at the half folded letter on the desk. The
words ‘economic downturn’ and ‘regrettably’
came in sharp focus, followed by ‘terminate’. A
short laugh almost escaped her lips, which she
converted into a cough. There was hysterical
laughter bubbling under the surface, she knew,
and the last thing she wanted was to make
a fool of herself. No, it wouldn’t do at all. She
arranged her features into an emotionless mask
and continued filling the box.
A hand pressed gently on her shoulder, and
she stiffened. It was her closest friend at work,
and she prayed that he wouldn’t say a word.
She could feel the waves of sympathy and pity,
even though no one would meet her eye. And
the tightly reined emotions were sure to give
way. So she didn’t acknowledge the hand on
the shoulder and merely gestured to the papers
that lay on the desk. He understood and started
gathering them for her.
When her desk had been stripped of all signs
of her, she stepped back and took a deep breath.
This was easier than expected, she thought sud-
denly. There was a strange feeling growing amid
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the maelstrom of emotions within, and she to her mundane job. Relief at being finally able
wasn’t sure if she could trust it yet. to free the muzzled voice which sought expres-
sion in writing, in poetry, in song and art. Relief
“This is it… guys,” she said aloud, her voice
at being finally able to see the sun and feel its
unnaturally calm. She lifted her chin and looked
warmth on her face, rather than the dull glow of
around, her eyes radiating a confidence she
a computer monitor.
didn’t completely feel yet.
Thank you, she whispered, tears flowing
“It’s been a pleasure…” she continued, “well,
most of the time, at least.”
freely now. Thank you, she said. •
Her colleagues chuckled and came forward to
shake her hand and wish her luck, but without
looking her in the eye for long. Was it guilt, she
wondered? Guilt for the relief they felt that it
was her and not them.
She turned around and found her friend had
already picked up her box. She smiled at him and
walked ahead, lifting her head high. It finally
came to her, the feeling that she’d been trying to Leela Alvares is a copywriter from
give a name to. The feeling amid the shock of be- Bombay, now in Dubai. When she’s not
extolling the virtues of brands, she writes
ing terminated and the fear of being without a
articles, stories and bad poetry. If you’re
job, even if it was a job she’d outgrown long ago.
patient, you’ll find her suddenly and
magically on her blog
It was relief, she realized. Relief at no longer
absoluteleela.blogspot.com.
having to let a part of her die every day she came
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Comics

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Comics

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Comics

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Comics

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Comics

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Comics

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Comics

Contributed by Nitin Vetukar of

lafcomics.wordpress.com.

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fiction

The Dream
by Prashant Kumar Das

I
t was not just another winter morning in Tariq’s to New York City, once in a diplomatic dele-
life. Several people including him had waited for gation with the Commerce minister of
this day to come — his father, friends and his India. In fact, his first trip abroad
old time sweetheart — Neena. While his car sped was to New York too. The Ferry
on the ring road, he could see the horizons of to Staten Island, Bright LED
Delhi, spires partially bathed in orange sun Digital Signage at Times
and partially shining with shades of morn- Square and the Malaysian
ing blue. When the car would leave the restaurants in China Town…
highway and merge with the service road, every bit of the city enam-
as every day, they were to get trapped in ored him. “The city has a sex
the traffic; meaning it was still an hour appeal”, he would tell Neena
from his office. He started imagining the over phone, “and I will marry
outside scenery smelling of the Berry Patch it before I marry you”. Neena
aroma that emerged from his car freshener would smile and curiously start
and pretended as if it was New York City, asking about the Path ride be-
the city of his dreams! tween Jersey City and Manhattan.

He had been to the US several times The news house that Tariq had been
before; on short term news reporting assignments. Six times working with for years had a nominal

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fiction
representative office in New York City,
handled by one Ramesh Patel, an NRI who
actually worked as an independent columnist
for Wall Street Journal. Tariq’s writing style,
a mixture of news analysis blended with a
common man’s romanticism and down-to-
earth perspectives, had always appealed
to the masses. His weekly column of the
newspaper was gaining unprecedented
popularity with every passing year. That was
why in spite of several multinational news
agencies venturing into India, Tariq remained
with the same employer. Not that he never
thought for a change; but every time he did,
the Editor-in-Chief would come up with a
tempting salary hike. “Buddy, would you like
to fly to New York? We again need to cover
the Indian Entrepreneur summit there”, he
would say; and escort him to an instantly-
planned five-star dinner.
And yes, it was a trip to the same city when
he lost his mother. The reporting assignment
was too important to miss. Her sudden death
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was a shock to him; but he could not have
flown back even if he could know about her
heart-attack three days before she died. The
only son in the family, Tariq could not even
come for the funeral ceremony. Two years
ago when Neena fractured her leg in a traffic
accident, Tariq was flying to Seattle the same
day for a reporting assignment. When he
learnt about the accident, Neena was in the
hospital and he on his way to the airport.
“Sweetheart, I am postponing my flight-
ticket; and coming straight to your hospital”,
he called up from his car. “No, please fly; else
you will miss this event the day after…lets
meet three weeks later when you are back…
I shall be OK”, Neena had said. Realizing
the importance of his assignment, Tariq was
helpless not to press much.
Things were a bit different last Friday
when he arrived at his office. Everyone
started clapping when he passed the lobby
and his cabin’s glass door was covered with
a huge “Congratulations” card. Before he
would open the door of his cabin, his assis-
tant reporter stuffed his mouth with a pas-
try. “You did it Tariq”, she said. Anxious, he
hurled towards the greeting card. It read-
‘Congratulations sir, on your promotion as
the Chief of brand new New York Bureau’.
Mr. Sengupta, the chief managing editor
rushed towards him, shook hands and said
“So, the board decided Tariq, who else than
you could be the right person to start our
news-reporting operations in New York; that
city is all yours now”, he continued, “…and
that comes with another great news: the In-
stitute of International Humane Journalism
(IIHJ) has decided to award you with their
annual title this year. We thought of club-
bing the awarding ceremony with our formal
public announcement of our New York Op-
erations”. Tariq felt elated.
In fact, Mr. Sengupta was one of the con-
tenders for the New York position. Tariq’s
extensive reporting experience in New York
City and his public appeal forced him to take
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fiction
up the second option: Europe. Mr. Sengupta
did not resist for two reasons: first, Europe
was a larger portfolio to handle; and second-
ly, he knew that New York project had been
Tariq’s dream.
The venue for the felicitation ceremony
was close to Tariq’s office. His publication
house had spent heavily on publicizing the
New York operations. IIHJ office was located
close-by too. They were a group of senior
journalists from the National Capital Area
who had been nationally acclaimed some
time. “Locally spread, internationally inte-
grated” was how their tagline read below
the logo. IIHJ came up with strategic level
openings several times. Tariq wanted to work
with them. He had been a big fan of the fa-
mous columnist- Mr. Sahani who was the
president of IIHJ. Joining the Institute would
have given him the opportunity to work so
closely with Mr. Sahani. But his intent to join
IIHJ was always contested by his friends: “Will
you really leave your big company to join this
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non-profit??? They do not have any foreign
trips to offer; not even a proper HR system in
place. Are you nuts, Tariq?...” Definitely, his
present job was too good to give up. Tariq
decided that he would passively work with
IIHJ whenever he is relieved a bit from his
role at work. That never happened.
His office room was artistic. Beautiful
brass artifacts, glass furniture and an
impressionistic oil-painting of a Manhattan
street covered with thick copper border. The
border had real patina on it that resembled
the real color of Statue of Liberty. The brass
miniature sculptures reminded him of his
childhood days that he spent in a tiny shack
in Moradabad that pretended to be a house.
His father worked in an exporter’s factory,
chiseling brass sculptures. Tariq would often
come with him to the factory on Sundays and
do his homework in the factory’s resting area.
His father worked overtime to feed his family
of three; and also save for Tariq’s education.
The shop-owner traveled the world to sell his
products, many a times to New York. That is,
perhaps, how Tariq’s passion for the city had
developed.
Tariq’s father, an avid sculptor had start-
ed creating miniature statues of liberty with
molded copper. Impressed by what his fa-
ther did, Tariq often came up with this idea
expressed vehemently, “Abbu, I want to be
a sculptor like you”. His father would reply
“No, you little rascal! You should probably do
the business of sculptures rather than being
a sculptor…”, he continued “you see, son, ap-
preciating the art is one thing; and becom-
ing an artist another… earning your liveli-
hood in spite of being a great artist is not
that easy. I think you should study, and be
a business man. Your school master told me
about emm-bee-aye thing; and you must get
that degree”. And he would invariably add
“…but stay back in your country, stay close
to the soil… we are born here; and must die
here…” Perhaps he was completely disillu-
sioned by his own employer’s frequent busi-
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fiction
ness trips abroad. How these trips ruined his
family life and how materialistic he had be-
come were some things that Abbu was never
tired of describing.
When Tariq grew older, he chose a journal-
ism school instead of business. Several of his
near and dear ones thought it was a wastage
of his father’s hard-earned savings until he
got hired by this company with a handsome
salary package; directly from the college.
Within two years, his Abbu stopped working
in the factory; and set up his own with the
money Tariq sent to him.
]In fact, frequent foreign trips also helped
Tariq find the international markets for his
father’s art work. That business flourished
to an extent that his father had to employ
a Manager for the factory and another for
the outlet. When they needed loan to buy
automatic molding equipments from Germa-
ny; Tariq guaranteed it; and the bank readily
agreed to release the amount, partly because
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they were impressed by Tariq’s job and partly
because they were awed by the powers of a
newspaper.
On weekends, Tariq would typically drive
down to his father’s place in Moradabad
and spent most of his time in the factory.
Especially after his mother died, his father
preferred to spend his weekends in the
factory too. They had a small “art room”
in the factory. Its setup resembled their old
house. No elaborate furniture; but a clean,
bamboo mat and a large ply-wood board
lying in the center of the room. That was his
father’s canvas to draw newer designs for
the sculptures. Tariq enjoyed watching his
father designing. By the by, over the cups
of tea they also discussed their perspectives
on the world. Abbu was not educated; but
his insights about life were impeccable.
Tariq drew most of the basic ideas for his
upcoming stories from Abbu’s talks. In short,
his Abbu’s factory was the place where
creativity spawned in varying manifestations.
With time, visits to Moradabad had become
a pattern for Tariq’s creative process.
One fine weekend afternoon, when it
started raining in Moradabad, Tariq and
his dad sat in the balcony chatting over the
sips of hot cardamom latte tea. Enjoying the
faint splashes of the drizzles, Abbu asked him
“Tariq, is the snow fall in New York as beau-
tiful as these rains in our neighborhood?”
Tariq looked around from the balcony. All he
could see was houses and their terraces with
patches of trees wherever an open piece
of land was left available. Across the street
downstairs was the cart of the tea vendor
which could barely balance itself on the four
spoke-wheels surrounded by thick mud. The
neighbor’s rooftop was flooded with a black
fluid caused effortlessly by the old tire bleed-
ing due to water flowing through it. Not too
far from the site was Yadav’s dairy with a
semi-open yard for cows and buffaloes. The
cowdung leaked through the weeping walls
and the smell could sporadically be felt from
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Tariq’s factory. In all, there was little that
could be cited as a “pleasant site” if one was
to compare it to the view of Ellis Island from
a Manhattan hotel, especially when it was
snowing. Tariq did not know how to answer
this question. He took a deep breath and
the smell of soil and exposed bricks absorb-
ing the rains passed through his nostrils. He
found himself lost in trance; and it suddenly
felt like days of childhood to him…how he
and his band of friends ran in the rain in spite
of mothers shouting at them; and how the
catch-me game would soon turn into a pleas-
ant mud-race… “No Abbu, these rains are
the most beautiful things on earth” he said.
His father gazed at him with amazement.
“Do you want me to park the car at our
office first; or should drive directly to the
IIHJ auditorium, sahib?” This was Tariq’s driv-
er. They were close to the office now. “IIHJ,
please”, was Tariq’s short answer to him. He
wanted to steal a few moments more and
remain in the memories of his past. Thanks
www.aahsome.com
to Tariq’s collection, many of his childhood
pals had seen the photos of New York City-
the lady with a torch, tall sky-scrappers that
touched the sky, the KingKong at a building’s
spire. “Tariq, you must go to this city when
you grow up. You are meant for it”, his best
friend Raju would say. Raju was almost an or-
phan adopted by a distant uncle who made
him work hard in his grocery shop. Tariq’s
clout in the band, which was due to his aca-
demic standing at school, motivated Raju to
finish his college. After that, he joined an
adult-literacy NGO of Moradabad as a local
fund-raising officer. Later, Raju was able to
convince his organization to start a subsid-
iary in their neighborhood to help orphaned
kids. Raju became the head of that wing.
They ran playschools for orphaned children
and collected public and private money to
ensure a minimum of high-school education
for the children they pledged for each year.
This particular initiative was recognized by
the federal government as an ideal model;
and the scheme was awarded annual govern-
ment funds. Statutorily, they needed a Board
of Directors to prepare annual strategies for
the NGO. Tariq was the first person Raju re-
quested for the Directorship. “We shall pay
you honorarium for your work, please join
us, friend”, Raju had written to Tariq. Tariq’s
reply was obvious-“Raju, my friend, who else
than I would be more interested in this job?
As it will be part time and in-absentia, I can
easily manage. I come to Moradabad every
week, anyway; l and we could schedule the
Board’s meeting every weekend. I cannot
tell you how much passionate I am to be a
part of this. Maybe, soon, I can work full time
with the NGO. I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow
as a formality, and let you know…” When
he did discuss the matter with his employers;
and his boss’s reply was simple-“Tariq, you
are a man of very high potentials. Leave such
jobs to people who aspire far less than what
you deserve. Moreover, our organization’s
policy will not let you work simultaneously
31
fiction
for two employers”. Raju kept modifying
and re-modifying the proposed assignment
of directorship to suit Tariq’s employer poli-
cies, everytime to be rejected. Later, Raju had
to hire a professor from Delhi University for
this job. Yesterday, when Raju learnt about
Tariq’s New York assignment, he immediate-
ly called him up and said, “Tariq, now that
you have achieved a bigger thing in life, you
can easily forget the smaller ones you lost in
past…congratulations”. Happiness evinced in
each word he said.
As the car moved towards the IIHJ audi-
torium, which was visible now, right on the
middle of the terminating straight road in
the front, Tariq’s feeling that his dream was
realizing was growing stronger. Neena was
driving down to the venue directly from Mo-
radabad. In her last phone call she told that
she was bringing a surprise gift for him. Tariq
bought her a present almost every time they
met. This time was no exception. By the time
they arrived the parking lot, the function
www.aahsome.com
had started inside. Tariq got out of his car
and stared around looking for Nina. She has
just arrived the venue too. They hugged, and
hurriedly exchanged gifts. Tariq ran towards
the dais and lost vision of Neena who had
found herself a seat among the audience. It
was a huge auditorium, almost full. The first
row had colleagues, journalists and some
white-clad leaders. People clapped when
Tariq climbed the steps and was escorted by
a host to his designated chair. A large ban-
ner on the backstage said: “the Annual IIHJ
award ceremony”. Tariq’s press was named as
the lead sponsor.
Neena could not wait any further to see
her surprise gift. She unwrapped the packet;
it was an envelope tied with a ribbon around
it. Beneath it was a greeting card with these
lines handwritten: “I decided to not take up
the New York assignment. I am resigning
from my job to join Raju’s NGO. I have also
decided to work on Abbu’s sculpture busi-
ness. Attached is an envelope with air tickets
to New York; for you and me. New York is
a beautiful tourist spot; and that is what it
shall remain to be for us!”
By then, Tariq had spotted Neena in the
crowd. He had un-wrapped his gift-packet
too. The gift for him was an aerial photo-
graph of the Statue of Liberty. “Freedom”,
he murmured and looked at Neena with a
smile. She shook her head, as if none of the
two was surprised. •
Prashant Kumar Das is the
Editor of India China America
Institute Newsletter and is
pursuing Doctoral Fellowship
in Business from Georgia State
University. He acquired a
bachelor’s degree in architecture from IIT
Roorkee and has worked with several
multinationals and non-profits thereafter. He
is fond of sketching, short-stories, ghazals,
“South Park” animated sitcom, computer
AI games and cooking among several other
things. He lives with his wife Minu in Atlanta.
More about him at www.prashant-das.com.
32
art

Svetlana
Kuznetsova

www.aahsome.com 33
art

Svetlana
Kuznetsova
www.aahsome.com 34
art

Svetlana
Kuznetsova
www.aahsome.com 35
art

Svetlana Kuznetsova is an Illustrator

based in St. Petersburg, while she is
not travelling. She is an indophile who
was in India for 9 months and had to
leave when her visa expired.
She posts her art work on flickr:
http://flickr.com/photos/totokumi

www.aahsome.com 36
poetry

ਮਨ ੁ ੱਖ,ਖ ੁ ਸ ਼ ੀ ਤ ੇ ਆਜ ਼ ਾਦ ੀ Manukh, khushi te azadi Human happiness and freedom

transliteration in Roman characters loose translation in English
ਮਨ ੁ ੱਖ ਚਾਹ ੁ ੰ ਦਾ ਹ ੈ ਚੰ ਦ ਚ ੀਜ ਼ ਾ ਂ
manukh chahunda hai chand cheezan a person wishes few things
ਅਪਣੱਤ, ਪਿ ਆਰ ਤ ੇ ਆਜ ਼ ਾਦ ੀ
apnatt, piaar te aazadi affection, love and freedom
ਸ਼ ਹ
ੋ ਰਤ, ਪ ਸ
ੈ ਾ ਤੇ ਖ ੁ ਸ ਼ ੀ
shohrat, paisa te khushi fame, money and happiness

ਅਪਣੱਤ ਤ ੇ ਪਿ ਆਰ ਤ ੋ ਂ ਬਣਦ ੇ ਨ ੇ
ਰਿ ਸ਼ਤ ੇ
ਰਿ ਸ਼ਤਿ ਆਂ ਤ ੋ ਂ ਬਣਦ ੇ ਨ ੇ ਬੰ ਧਨ
ਤ ੇ ਬੰ ਧਨਾਂ ਵਿ ਚ ਗ ੁ ਆਚ ਜਾਂਦ ੀ ਹ ੈ
ਆਜ ਼ ਾਦ ੀ
apnatt te piaar ton bande ne
rishte
rishtiaan ton bande ne bandhan
te bandhanan vich guach jaandi hai
aazadi
with affection and love
relationships evolve
relationships evoke bonding
and in all this bonding
freedom is lost

ਪਸ
ੈ ੇ ਤ ੋ ਂ ਮਿ ਲਦ ੀ ਹ ੈ ਸ ਼ ਹ
ੋ ਰਤ paise ton mildee hai shohrat money begets fame
te shohrat ton aonda hai ahinkaar fame begets pride
ਤੇ ਸ ਼ ਹ
ੋ ਰਤ ਤ ੋ ਂ ਆਓਂਦਾ ਹ ੈ ਅਹਿ ੰ ਕ ਾਰ
paise ton aundi hai , hor paise dee laalsa money begets greed for more money
ਪਸ
ੈ ੇ ਤ ੋ ਂ ਆਓਂਦ ੀ ਹ ੈ , ਹ ਰ
ੋ ਪਸ
ੈ ੇ ਦ ੀ ਲਾਲਸਾ
ahinkaar te laalsaanva vich guaach jandi hai and in all this greed and pride
ਅਹਿ ੰ ਕ ਾਰ ਤ ੇ ਲਾਲਸਾਂਵ ਾ ਵਿ ਚ ਗ ੁ ਆਚ ਜਾਂਦ ੀ ਹ ੈ
khushi happiness is lost
ਖ ੁਸ਼ੀ

te pher manukh hamesha labhda rehnda hai and then the person longs for,
ਤ ੇ ਫ ੇਰ ਮਨ ੁ ੱਖ ਹਮ ੇਸ ਼ ਾ ਲੱਭਦਾ ਰਹਿ ੰ ਦਾ ਹ ੈ khushi te aazadi freedom and happiness
ਖ ੁ ਸ ਼ ੀ ਤ ੇ ਆਜ ਼ ਾਦ ੀ

Jasdeep Singh works as a

Web Developer in New Delhi.
He runs a Pubjabi poetry blog
parchanve.wordpress.com.
He scribbles at times too.

www.aahsome.com 37
quote

“ It took me a long time and most of the world to learn

what I know about love and fate and the choices we make,
but the heart of it came to me in an instant, while I was
chained to a wall and being tortured. I realised, somehow,
through the screaming of my mind, that even in that
shackled, bloody helplessness, I was still free: free to hate the
men who were torturing me, or to forgive them. It doesn’t
sound like much, I know. But in the flinch and bite of the
chain, when it’s all you’ve got, that freedom is an universe
of possibility. And the choice you make between hating and
forgiving, can become the story of our life.”
— Shantaram

Quote suggested by Anjana. Messy photo collage by Arun. Photo credits: http://www.flickr.com/photos/duncan/835323 http://www.flickr.com/photos/assbach/430685233 http://www.flickr.
com/photos/adriana-lukas/2562762750 and http://www.flickr.com/photos/jose_zaragoza/1174993785
www.aahsome.com 38
Freedom

It’s freedom that drives the life inside a shell to hatch and move out of it. Its freedom that then
leads the little bird to start walking and then desire to fly, to be on its own. The little bird craves
to experience the outward movement of wings and take off into the open infinite sky. The want
to move where it’s heart leads. The excitement of not being bound, the enthusiasm to move
without a path, the will to be surprised and enjoy all the different situations and environments it
encounters. To experience all the colors and fragrances and move through all of them with ease
and decide the one which makes it feel the fulfillment life has to offer. It’s this freedom that we
all long for. The feeling of being able to leave all our inhibitions and fears behind, to move into
the open sky and discover different environments and realize what comes closest to our dreams,
Aditi Agarwal is a student who likes writing
what fills the space we all carry. poetry occasionally and also keeps a journal.
Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/tochis/3987677829/

39
Last word

Beards are aahsome! “I heard Al-Qaeda is hiring, they offer good salary packages for dhadi walas”, said my friend
Gopi, trying to be funny while commenting on a Facebook picture.

“You look like you’re on drugs man”, said JK. Pat came the reply, “You’re just jealous of my beard man”.

Alok had to take a jab, “Dude put this pic on your website next to the link to free weed”. “Dude the shit
ain’t free and no, I’m not selling it.”

A few others said “Cool look bro!”. The silly shit that one has to deal with while growing a beard can get
insane. Some folks even try to look for reasons why you’re sporting a beard. Reasons. I put the question
back to them. Why should a man not embrace his beard? It is a defining male characteristic, just as
breasts are to women. Society has its set of mighty stupid ‘rules’ that most people take for granted,
unquestioned (you’ll find the most stupidest of all in big company policy books). We are so used to
accepting and believing this that we don’t take a moment to question it. Advertisements, political
systems, school systems, organized religions, corporate policies are all really good at one thing —
pounding bull shit into peoples’ heads with skillful suaveness. Actors, business men, politicians and the
like represent this with clean shaven faces, demonstrating standards that the typical middle class society
expects us to maintain. These people sow seeds that grow to make a man shun his own masculinity,
adopting a persona that isn’t true to his inner self.

Beards were a sign of masculinity and virility. They still are in many societies. But yet we are moving
towards androgyny and giving up the simplest freedom to sport a beard. We give in to society’s ‘rules’
that alienate us from our own facial hair.

I chose to keep my beard, I chose freedom.

George Carlin loved his beard.

J. Arun is the co-founder of Aahsome and a designer of sorts at SlideShare by profession. He loves sipping
Nilgiris tea, mountain biking in foggy weather while listening to Aerosmith and Bon Jovi. You’ll find him dabbling
in art, sketching and typography. He’s on Twitter at twitter.com/SimplyArun

www.aahsome.com 40
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