Skip to main content

Master of Backward Administration

Lets say hypothetically, you live on a illegal land mass without paying a single penny of tax to acquire it. Lets say hypothetically you use stolen electricity from the pillar to lighten up your house. Lets say you hog the water supply, pollute the atmosphere by going for toilets in the middle of the street without regard for the hygiene or society. Lets say you have no ambition, regards for the law and order of the city and then you hog the city footpaths for your business over which, obviously, you can't pay taxes or any money but will pay cops some money, in turn increasing corruption.

So lets say you do this all, in any civilization across the galaxy, hypothetically, what would you expect in return? In some cultures you would be, hypothetically, killed brutally.
Welcome to India, where doing any or all of the above gets you a 1 BHK flat, reservation in education system and also a good job assurance.

Its not that bad if you look at it. I mean, most of these people do need better education facilities and resources to survive. But the ground reality is that, the people who actually need these facilities, do not know how to avail these facilities or use them. Instead the people who use these facilities are someone totally different that the one for whom they were made in the first place.

If the government of India has its way, caste would be considered for promotion too. A few days ago by friend was a bit depressed after completing MBA he was complaining there were no jobs out there for him.

To go into a bit of background, he had completed his high school in science and then done higher studies in chemistry. By the time he had finished his studies, he realized that there were absolutely no jobs out there for anyone who is a normal science graduate. There were jobs obviously, anyone who finds there are no jobs can hop on to a BPO or a call center, work late night and sleep whole day.

He, being a science graduate was not willing to accept this fate. Finally, he moved on to the idea of MBA, the one thing he could get a sure shot job. To his disappointment, he could not get a seat in better college (despite having a decent/desirable score in Entrance test) because all seats where already taken by people with less score than him but having reservations for the seat.

So disheartened he had to take admissions is lesser known MBA colleges. He promised self that he would get good score into MBA and get a better job. Yes, he did get a job after his MBA but since his college wasn't reputed, he got a job with minimum pay (minimum pay for an MBA, otherwise decent) and had to travel to a lesser known village and handle the insurance and loan department for a private finance firm.

He had the grades, the scores and the ability to succeed but he didn't posses the one degree that can get him to any place in this forsaken country. He does not posses the letters of a backward caste. He will survive, mind you, being brought up in a middle class Indian family, he will survive. He will survive until one day he gets a H1 Visa and fly off to some distant country and never return. All this because, some million years ago in some vague and confusing fake history lesson some of his ancestors allegedly bullied some people in some distant past.

There will be intense debate on why there is brain drain in the country over which millions will be spend. But then who knows one of these days someone with a pony tail will start a college to grant the degrees of backward classes that can be used to accept jobs offers or maybe one of these days there will be millions spend on making a television commeriamentry (commercial documentary) that will make people go 'oooh aaah' on social networks, maybe one of these days there will be a big startling agitation that will occupy reservations seats across the country.

You never know in one of these days what may happen, because even as the times are depressing, this is kalyug, anything and everything is possible.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Short Story: Parting ways

Funny thing, I just realized I never wrote a funny short story, which was quite surprising as Story is what I like writing and humor is what I do best (atleast I think so), but for some reason I do not write a short story with a fun thing and I wanted to know why, I realized writing humorous stories is a challenge that even I cannot take. Well, below is not some of my best work, I tried to stay focused but apparently couldn’t. No characters in this story are real, any resemblances to real characters is coincidental, I just put some Blogger friends names so I might get inspired but well… you tell me how it is. Sreya was driving all the way to her friends house. As always Shruti was in trouble. ‘He has left again, Sreya,’ said Shruti between sob, ‘it was so obvious since beginning, he as just messing around. Its over girl, its over. I have nothing else to do now.’

[Short Story] The Last Breath On Earth

A bug is a computer anomaly that is generated usually because of developer’s ignorance or environmental factors. The former is more prominent in computer programs. The term debugging means to find the cause for the bug and fixing it. The term debugging has a humorous origin. In 1947, Grace Murray Hopper was working on the Harvard University Mark II Aiken Relay Calculator. On the 9th of September, 1947, when the machine was experiencing problems, an investigation showed that there was a moth trapped between the points of Relay #70, in Panel F. The operators removed the moth and affixed it to the log. The word went out that they had "debugged" the machine and the term "debugging a computer program" was born. As the technology progresses it advances towards perfection and minimizes its flaws, unfortunately, this was not true for computers. The bugs and errors increased exponentially with the advancement of computers. What earlier was a mere moth trapped i...

Hidden

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 11 ; the eleventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton . He stood there on the grave of his best friend, holding a piece of paper in his hands. The piece was paper was the echo of his friend last words on earth. A single tear rolled on his chin and went for a free fall onto the mud with a splash. Eighteen years ago, location: A walking path in an unknown forest They were teens, 18-19 year old and wore pure white robes and were arguing furiously.   'You know it,' the 18 year old, Dhuri was talking.   'I do not,' his friend, Aju said.   'You do...,' Dhuri said, 'I know guruji took you aside and taught you the way.'   Aju kept mum, the fact that Dhuri knew about his secret scared him. Guruji had warned him of the threats. ‘We are best friends Aju, tell me,'...