A Hitchhiker's Guide to his Galaxy.

I normally don't let random people on my bike, solely because the media has made such cataclysmic impacts on my paranoia and led me to believe that every hitchhiker is either after my blood or my wallet, predominantly the former as a threat for the latter. Yet, there was this shabby young urchin on the road, with his tiny little thumb jutting out as he longingly scanned the roads for a hitch. I never quite would understand why I stopped to pick him, but I'm glad I did, or I would have missed one of the most transcendental experiences of my life.

The boy saw my bike slow down and his face lit up like a torch, and he hopped on with glee. By the time he had thanked me for what I should approximate as the eighth time, I realized that his naked feet wouldn't even reach my footrest. Intolerably conversant that I am, I struck a conversation. The boy said his name was Satish. He was fifteen he said, but looking at his height, I'd swear that three feet four inches tops. He said 'I Should have been in ninth standard anna.' And when he said 'should', unless my rear-view mirror was deceiving me, I bet I saw his face shrink to the size of a hazelnut. He had hands that were unusually dark and bare with clear signs of cuts and burns. I asked him where he worked. He said he worked at a welding shop, eight hours a day at forty rupees a shift.

He beamed with pride and said that his brother was in the eleventh standard in a local corporation school and that he had chosen to work so that atleast his elder brother could go to school. 'I will also get back to education soon anna' he said, but my eyes were already moist. His mom was sick and couldn't work and his dad refuses to work, only taking rare shifts for a penny or two. He travels all the way from the middle of the ECR to R.A. Puram everyday so he could earn his forty bucks. He said he spared ten rupees a day for his bus and saved the rest for home. Unfortunately for him, his master had injured himself that day while welding and had called in sick. This little chap had worked alone all day, but had earned only four rupees. The closest stop from where he could get a four rupee ticket to his house was Adyar Depot, which is why he was frantically trying to hitch a ride, he said.

His day had been bad, and he had to forego his daily routine of tea and biscuits at Ravi Anna's stall for lack of funds. He said everything with the same stony face, with not a hint of pain or anguish while relating his agonizing tale. But my face was compromising generously for that absence. Life had come hit me full in the face and I was reeling in shock, trying to brace myself from the impact. I dropped him off at Adyar Depot and stuffed a twenty rupee note between his hands. I think he wanted to say a thanks but he couldn't. He mustered half a smile and it quickly faded.But I understood. And I smiled.

Superpig!

Homer Simpson was close. Spiderpig was a revelation. Superpig is a pandemic. The flying swine is taking its toll and the nation's going berserk. Yet, on hindsight, what did swine flu actually do? Well, then there was boot-cut denims. Later came low-raise pants and slogan T-shirts. Now it's swine flu masks. It's the new fashion statement out there and it's catching up on people regardless of age.

Trust me, the aristocrat who sported a mask at noon and scorned at every coughing bystander at his workplace, shoves the mask on his convertible's dashboard and guffaws over the waitresses' lame humor as his scotch gathers dust. So, swine flu is cordoned off in fancy hotels is it? Swine flu isn't unemployment or poverty to shy away from the wealthy masses and the money-minting messiahs. This is a pandemic for Christ's sake and the kind of approach our nation is providing, only breathes new life in the hearts of stand-up comedians.

The media gives Swine Flu so much coverage that if God forbid, suddenly our country's premier passes away, we'd be informed a week after. Humans are paranoid and Indians are embodiments of the phenomenon. All that was required for them to knock the panic button was a scare. Boy, didn't the media give 'em one! Swine flu is just normal flu. Fine, pig flu. The symptoms are a little severe, but the deaths on average are one per a hundred thousand. The frequency of people dying out of road accidents is a fifteen percent larger amount. So will the entire nation begin to walk? Frankly, it would be a boon to obesity.

Swine flu should be handled delicately. People should be educated about its cause and effects. The swine flu masks should be worn with a motive, and definitely not because the girl next door smiles at you. She might be frowning under her mask for all you know. Administration of Tamiflu should be monitored. The nation needs a check, both financial and moral versions of it. Maybe if we did handle it that way, we might survive. God save me. For as long as there's something called Karma and someone called Murphy, it might always come right around to hit me and I should go hunt for my mask. Sigh.

The Education Proclamation

Know not what education encases indeed,

A student in captivity, a quest to be freed;

A monotonous life, these jocks they lead,

Intellect a mockery, memory thy need.

A distorted concept, a theory begun,

by a man whose qualifications were financially won.

A professor by name, a teacher though none,

rambles incorrigibly about his plump toddler son.

Hours of agony, a timetable to fill,

Vodafone for company, yet classes to kill;

A mack truck amok, a rare ailment, we pray

hit our beloved professors, so make good our day.

Education, well fed should tingle one's brains,

though dismal if be, yields but no gains.

Children at heart, we students are same,

institutional education is homicide we proclaim.