Urban Poor

Gayatri Jayaraman, a Buzzfeed contributor wrote an article  which went viral. This is my take on the same.

“Poor can fake it. Rich can cheat. Middle class is the ultimate casualty”.

PS : The pic is just meant as a pun on the concept.

Few Puns :

I am so Urban Poor that I can't afford an Ant Repellent so I killed all ants with an Iphone 6s.

Torrents is the urban poor man's Netflix

The millennial stays back in office to use free WiFi to watch GOT.

These are the urban poor. A vast majority of young gen metro dwelling Indians. We skip dinner and put those extra hours at work so as to have a gym membership. Constantly checking into famous outlets, bars, sporting events. Trying to create an interesting life on the social media. With savings hardly going up with increasing salaries. This has given rise to many a funny accounts such as Pakalu Papito.

Torn between two worlds, it feels is like a hinge on the world that open to two contrasting worlds. We are held back by our past, but pushed ahead by the aspirations of the future or the fear of lack of one.

Torn btw desire to travel around different cities and live a highly liberal, independent life with no strings attached’ relationship vs desire to stay in a small quiet town with small pleasures of life surrounded by caring yet sometimes nagging people. The former is about getting to know stories of different people, the later is about being part of different stories of the same people. The former is about being sauve and detached from customs and bondage; living in the moment with nothing to hold on for. The later is about holding onto the present with the linkages to the past trying to balance the ship of your life to the future.

The urban poor looks up to the urban rich - one who has inhetrited well being. Tries to catch up by working harder and making quite a few compromises. Urban elite kids as young as 14 have girlfriends, hang out, party. The difference is that we can only play catch up, being there only for those few moments. We the urban poor constantly keep tabs of our expenditure, but do not fret or think over much to spend bombshell on a mundane movie. We need to plan in advance for spending something for ourselves, but instantly shell cash to catch up with friends. If the old society had distinctions based on caste, religion; the new is based on consumption patterns, accumulation of cultural capital, the imagined communities we develop. The type of things we spend, the amount we spend, whom we spend on. We are constantly judged on what we wear, what we eat, what we watch, whom we do it with.

Actually, these are what we call first world problems in a third world country. The power of choice is what separates them from the poor. But the choice is a fallacy created by the consumerism society to justify the extravagant lifestyle. The urban poor is devoid of choice to live a life of his/her terms. Else, she would be seen as an outcast. Worse, she might have an existential crisis and lose the burning desire to work harder for that extra toppings worth 50rs, the upgradation to a better bike, or even maybe just to go out and spend lavishly for that “special night out”. No wonder people plaster their walls (real as well as social, although both seem to be converging) with quotes such as “work hard, party harder”. Sometimes hope is all we have. Keeps us going; Makes us sad, tired. But often that is what makes us feel alive. All it takes is for the wind to change its direction a little and cries become whispers.

Coming from a middle class, small town place, you can never really connect much with your past after making it into a cushion job at the metros. My family wasn't interested in lucid, meaningful movies and, and I wasn't in their daily dose of TV sops and mindless chatters. My discourse about global current affairs often were more receptive to the walls than to its owners. I never once felt completely at home among the naive and anti-intellectual crowd of my neighborhood in deepest hinterlands. It was only after a lot of time that I was able to completely fit among the urbanities of a metropolitan, having spent my childhood and college days in a "virtual city" sort of place far away from the screeching noises of cities - Boarding Schools. But even then, due to obvious reasons, I was always drawn towards the cosmopolitan life, right from my tender age.

Social class is very much prevalent in the urban life, even though nobody likes to admit it. From an early age, middle-class people learn to get along, using diplomacy, nuance, and politics to grab the upper echelons of the corporate ladder. The well-off have inherited capital – cultural, social, monetary; while we struggle to accumulate all three. Such early exposure and direct access to culture in the house in more organic means of appropriating gives them a head start. We try to fit in, but never truely become part of it for a long time.

I think a class called urban poor exists. But she could have come up with a better name for it. She received a lot of flak for it and she has even accepted few criticism. But, if you ask me, she has opened up our eyes (and to advertisers who were oblivious to this, though most already knew about this) to such a phenomenon and a subject of debate. Her central idea in the article seems relevant.

Musings about love

Why do we love a community

Is it irrational a belief that you owe allegiance to a piece of dirt just coz you were born into it? Loyalty to a family since we were born into it. Strong ties to sport teams, college
Humans crave to be part of community (Well most of us). It satisfies the security part of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. It also gives a sense of purpose. This was best illustrated by Benedict Anderson when he coined the concept ‘Imagined Communities’. We like certain things and equivocally voice for them as we feel part of the larger community which does the same things although we haven’t met them. We like Game of Thrones not because we like it to the core of our heart but we don’t want to be left out from office water cooler talks. We like Pink Floyd, Murukami, Nolan since we want to be part a community and we owe it to the art to be defended. We meet some one of similar interest and we are attracted to them. We collective defend the same online along with fellow comrades.
The community may vary depending on individual preference. It can be niche, elite or a mass one. It can be intellectual yet purposely mundane such as philosophy, art. Or it could be fun and open for all such as mind boggingly dumb Bollywood movies.
But family, country isn’t exactly an imagined community. We are born into it, moulded by it. Tied together by blood, traditions and conservative morals. Quite a few manage to break out of this and adhere to the philosophy that we are in the most basic form advanced cells and that we alone are responsible for ourselves and that reproduction is a process of nature and we are just a part of it and we never chose to be tied down to invisible forces. There are various terms for such people. Previously they were called sanyasis, Attaining Nirvanha, Moksha. The modern society has come up with free spirited, Nilhists etc..
But don’t these bonds that we develop that come to our rescue. These relationships that we forge. After all what is life but the stories that we create and read. Imagine stuck in a hostile coup in a foreign country. Whom do you expect to come to your rescue if you do not identify to a particular nation. It is hard to live alone, especially in the modern age. We are social animals. A long forgotten friend and many a times even a stranger come our rescue in times of distress in strange lands and times.

Short Stories

“The sea is filled with fishes. What difference are you making” , my friend retorted, clearly unhappy with my decision to release the fishes. Calmly I released the last one, gazed onto  the sky across the stretched horizon and said “Made a difference to that one” .

Note: The conversation below are primarily quotes from the book/movie – The fault in our stars.
Boy: My thoughts about you are stars I cannot fathom into constellations. I wish I could express it.
Girl: The world is not a wish-granting factory. Be prepared to be heart-broken.
Boy: It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you. Every heart beat without you, is a pain.
Girl: The painful marks humans leave are too often scars.
Boy: You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope you make up yours.
Girl: I'm a grenade and at some point I'm going to blow up and I would like to minimize the casualties, okay.
Boy: Maybe 'okay' will be our 'always. Pain demands to be felt
Girl: I shall inflict infinite pain on you.
Boy: You shall also bring infinite joy in me .Some infinities are bigger than other.
Girl : Ohh Bhaiya, Why don’t you take your time out from your obsession with John Green and try reading cardinality by Greg Cantor instead.
*Bro-Zobned*

They would eventually catch me, oh and the horrors and suffering that shall befall on me. I could’nt give up. Not when I was so close. I had to think. Wit was my only savior.The car behind sped up. It suddenly hit me. An Idea. Atlast, I was saved. I always could rely on my inginiuty. As I neared the junction, I gave indicator indicator to the left, while I zoomed to the right.
I was ecstatic. Finally, life had come into full circle. Alexander was out of the equation . I snarled thinking, “Indeed, Karma is a bitch”. With shivering hands, I called the woman of my dreams. I could’nt wait to take out the blood-stained gloves. Just a few moments ago, someone’s life was at stake and the very same hand had been steady. It seemed like my heart beats had stopped, all I could hear was the dialer tone – The Rains of Castemere.
The eloquent song was cut intermittently, by a much beautiful voice. “Hello”. I seemed to have lost all my senses. After what seemed like ages, I mustered courage. “Hello! Donna, This is me, Brutus. I heared, I called, I…
“Et tu , Brute? Wrong number” said a familiar voice.

Once upon a time, a princess met a prince in a white shinning armour, who came riding a white knight. They eloped and lived happily ever after. This now children is an example of a paradox, a misnomer. Could anyone give me another example.
Gundu from the last bench slyly puts up his hand in the air. Maaaam. Grandfather paradox. Also Bootstrap paradox. (All hail Nolan :p)

What is the meaning of life?, What is my purpose?, Why am I here?, What am I made of? Is there an higher authority? Why do I need to form a stable molecule? The electron wondered, passing out an offer by one of its kind to form a covalent bond . And then Angels and Demons happened.

Clashing armies, mythical creatures, treachery, exotic land and finally…dragons. I had neared the end of the season marathon of game of thrones. Just as I was pondering over the important concepts that might be asked in tomorrow’s test, roomie returns from library and asks “ Who are these children of men and what is this Essos” ? Pointer games – Who escapes these real games.

Why do people do drugs, I wondered scournfully as I read about rising addiction level among teenagers, on my brand new phone - sixth one within two years. Just then , I heared the familiar notification tone. My thenar eminence flinched, teeth cleanched, Increased perspiration, heart beat, euphoria led to hyperthermia. Finally, I was being noticed.
Baby, Im not on drugs, Im just in love. the husband told beamingly. But were they mutually exclusive. Does he mean love is a drug or is he in love with drugs , the wife wondered

Life had come to a standstill. There was a crisis. His father decided to act and pushed him onto the road, blazing with horns and screeching tires. Vehicles zoomed by.Was it the end. He clenched his hand, praying all the while. Just then, the bike sprung to life. “Jalde karo, exam miss hoga”

The bullet left his gun, and three of them died simultaneously.

His grandfather never lived to produce his dad.
#GrandfatherParadox
The husband caressed his wife as she slept motionless, staring at the tattoo on his wrist. ‘Till death do us apart’ it said. “Im sorry this was the only way” he said to his wife, who lay in a pool of blood. And then he cut his wrist.

I need 2 stay high, 2 keep u off my mind, but u were my drug. He missed his wife. But all he could do was sip alcohol from the bottle he had smacked her to death, trying to forget her . Why do people do drugs, I wondered scournfully as I read about rising addiction level among teenagers, on my brand new phone - sixth one within two years. Just then , I heard the familiar notification tone. My thenar eminence flinched, teeth clenched, Increased perspiration, heart beat, euphoria led to hyperthermia. Finally, I was being noticed.

The incidents seemed hazy. Not because I could forget it, but my condition at the moment. A son caressed his mom as she slept motionless, staring at the tattoo on her wrist. ‘Till death do us apart’ it said. “Im sorry this was the only way” he said to his mom, who lay in a pool of blood due to a cut wrist.

She had let him inside her, it was mixed feelings at first-pain and ecstacy. She wanted him to push harder, make it large and bring out the best out of him. And then, it happened. Loud cry while staring at the admission letter to Joka. Madness is a lot like gravity, all it takes is a little push.

A flash startled me in the wee dark hours at the cemetery. To my relief, a life emerged from the shadows. I looked at the muddy shoes. But there seemed to be no footprints. . “You forgot my epitah" the lifeless figure exclaimed."I forgive you like always. Come son" said the tatooed hand. I looked at my hand. The flash was due to my cufflinks. they were red. My brain had always been your favourite toy the killer told the victim.

The theory behind Mad Max Fury

Mad Max fury is basically about an absolutist state set in a post apocalyptic world where everyone is made to believe in a false narrative that the supreme ruler can’t be killed and that he is their savior from the dangers outside their society. No one dares venture out beyond their civilization. Everyone is made to believe that each has a role to play in the society for the overall well being and injustice is just part of larger design. So much so that people with strong blood are identified and used as blood banks. Oil is the most prized possession. Yet it is wasted on most miniscule of irrational pursuit. Warriors serve the leader with full devotion ready to dispense their life without any reasoning for whatsoever reason. Believing that doing so shall let them live their after-life in a paradise called Vallala. They even spray their lips white and shout Vallala before sacrificing themselves. With no advanced scientific technology left, weapons are made with insignificant items. But the creativity in it is stupendous which leads to creation of powerful weapons. Yet, the basic scarce necessity’s water distribution is pathetic. Water is just released and people fight to get hold of it. Much is wasted.
The conflict points to fact that in some way everyone is a commodity. The same is the case with post modern consumerism society, where everyone’s skills and time are tied to monetary values.
Milk mothers, slave boys, mad guitarist
Immortal Joe is a war hero who has survived a downhill war. His cult reaches out far to The Wretched who - being at the bottom of the hierarchy - flee to The Citadel to be offered water and a way into The Citadel itself if they are chosen by Immortn. Joe covers himself from head to toe in white powder to ease his pain, giving him a ghostly pallor which is mimicked by War Boys. He wears bulletproof Plexiglas armor, which is adorned with several service medals and molded to give him a muscular appearance. His elaborate costume is designed to both aid his failing body and hide it from the prying eyes of The Wretched and War Boys. It's also used as means of intimidation.
Joe displays many traits typical of cult leaders and dictators. He is a tremendous public speaker, delivering lofty speeches to elicit fealty from his subjects. He regularly demonstrates his control over The Citadel's resources, constantly reaffirming his dominion over the population.
Despite his totalitarian nature, Joe does seem to have altruistic side. He sincerely believes that he is doing right by society within The Citadel: by rationing the water, growing and distributing crops, capturing "blood bags" (enslaved individuals used as blood donors) for medical use, and by implementing a "breeding program". He has a great affection for his wives but treats them as objects rather than people, referring to them as his "treasures". In the Mad Max: Fury Road comic he considers the wives ungrateful for what he apparently sincerely considers to be generosity. He seems to think his keeping the wives prisoner as sex slaves is truly what's best for them and thinks of them as spoiled when they verbally rebel.
The Green Place was once inhabited by the ‘Many Mothers’. It was capable of growing crops and maintaining a population of settlers. However, at some point the soil became contaminated. Vegetation stopped growing and the Green Place was plagued with crows. The Vuvalini moved on once they knew the area was incapable of supporting a harvest.
Contrary to the philosophy of the war bys, The Buzzards do not seek to salvage and re-use found materials. They do not care for the rebirth of society. The Buzzards simply consume the remains of the old world, they are scrap merchants. They see steel instead of a potential sedan, they see meat instead of a human being
The Bullet Farmer is obsessed with firearms and feels naked without a gun. He has had some of his teeth replaced with bullets and wears clothes largely consisting of ammunition (bandolier) pouches. He drives a vehicle called The Peacemaker.
His surname, Kalashnikov, is the official name of the famous assault rifle known as the AK-47.

"Survival is key", explained Miller. "I think it's a reason why the American Western was such a staple for the better part of a century in American cinema. They were allegorical tales with figures in the landscape working these things out"
But after close observation it appears that there is not a single power house as is depicted, but three – Immortal joe, The bullet farmer and people eater. They are hands in gloves and trade essential items with each other, essentially ensuring class interest.
Concept of individual liberties being sacrificed for organization gains. Individual ethos, values and beliefs are overlooked so as to assimilate in the corporate world.
Systems and organisational structure are justified for the overall good of company. Effective checks and balances are missing for rapid economic growth as can be seen in the 2008 crisis, Indian NPA issue.
In times of crisis, radical measures undertaken headed by few powerful individuals. In times of war, industrial goods given more importance over consumer goods manufacturing.