Creamy layer or Sour Cream?

Yet another controversy over reservation for the "backward classes".

Though the verdict by the five judge Constitution bench headed by Chief Justice Balakrishnan is astounding in itself because of it's fairness,(anyway, I think it is a criminal offence in my country to criticize the decision of the courts, but that, I assure you, has nothing to do with my reaction), it is the implementation of the whole thing that brings on the jeepers creepers.

The judgement withheld the 93rd Amendment to the Constitution providing a reservation of 27% for the socially and educationally backward classes or the so called OBCs in all centrally funded educational institutions, taking the percentage of reserved seats to a whopping 49.5%! But the proverbial icing comes in the form of the caveat which fundamentally excludes those who have already managed to climb out of the OBC category and remain so only on papers.

Thought the courts have laid down clear rules as to who can claim the reservation and who cannot, in a country of more than a billion people and over half of them hungry for everything, getting on top by trampling on everybody below is not exactly a difficult task.

Even worse, try explaining it to the occasional survey that decides to include the IIMs and the IITs in it's global rankings. Who would, in his right mind, like to believe that an institution where about a half of the students are there because of reservation and not merit, can have the balls enough to hold it's head high and say "I can be the best"?

Though the reservation system might be required according to the greater good for the greater numbers, it would have been wiser if the whole thing was chalked out more thoughtfully by either incorporating an exit time line or by first revamping the infra available and then getting hunky dory about the increase in intakes which are inevitable to calm down everybody

Though in a country of a pantheon of 13 million Gods, it might be best,as they say,to "Swalpa Adjust Maadi" and get along with it.

Dungbeetle looks at the IMF and says H(i)mfffffffffff

The IMF is a loser thing and that is that.

Dorky, The Deadbeat Dungbeetle (BTW, spell check suggests Tinkerbell. Duh!) was sauntering along the chic DC addresses and came across the concrete cube and was surprised to find itself going round and round in water. After suitable cusses thrown randomly around like cheap Chinese Goods (as it had lost the rubbish collected ecstatically just a little while ago. You just would not believe the shit that can be found THERE!), it decided that all that liquid could not be piss from all those scared pin striped Wall Street junkies and decided to investigate thoroughly.

Turns out, the little people inside the cube were weeping just looking at the amount of money flowing away. One moment they were pretty pretty happy rubbing their hands in glee at all that future cash flows from all that interest from all those driveling nations and next, they were on their asses looking at nothing.

So now they are busy sniveling and planning to sell their carefully hoarded gold to tide through.

Good too as finally somebody recognizes a rainy day when they see one (the little people, not Dorky, though he too was prepared and has started rolling off more than he can roll). There is always the Big Ass (big brother=big ass naturally and so am concentrating on the most visible aspects here)who can veto any move to give the pants to somebody else to wear and so the poor little people are finding themselves increasingly pant less too (now, do you see all that ass?)

Dorky did what he is best at doing - blew a raspberry and went about collecting all that shit.

Inane conversations of a Deadbeat Dungbeetle

Lazy Saturday morning intutions lead to long drawn conversations (mostly with myself but the is hardly the point here.)

Crazyness starts like a cold bubbling soda poured down your shorts and creeps up into your head where it makes itself comfortable after going round and round like a cat patting it's bed before sleep which reminds me, last night I saw a dog go about tugging clothes of clotheslines and shredding them up efficiently down a row of houses. Wish I had stayed long enough to watch the reaction (of the people, not the dog)in the morning and the pleased grin on the face (of the dog, not the people) at a good day's (night's in this case) work. At least it doesn't have to long for company.

Maybe, I was deprived as a child of playthings called people. Maybe, that explains why I am like a puppy starved for love. The pupplebubble needs to be invented.

It keeps a person in this bubble with an Internet connection and a laptop with people all around outside the bubble. It also helps you blend into the background so that you are alone but not lonely.

And nights need to be banished along with the terrors it brings

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

It has been riled for it's traffic and scorned for it's auto drivers.

The traffic and the auto drivers are the only two things I love about it.

Traffic jams are my recourse to staring at closed office doors. I instead have a merry time yapping on the phone during those wonderful things. The auto drivers too have made a not so bad impression on me. Though they can be construed to be rude sometimes, I am yet to come across one that horribly rude.

Seems like the rude minority give the nice majority a bad exterior.

Should it not be in the interest of the greater gains for all the auto drivers to be nice?Though it might be nice and profitable in the long run, I guess they just live for the moment and thus the bad behaviour by the rude minority.

Call me an eternal optimist.

Dream Principles of a Plastic Clutcher

1.Always dream in plastic

Celluloid dreams are so bygone

2.Never eat vegan

They are people too. You can skewer them instead

3.Black is not a color

It is a colour

4.Plastic sheep do not exist

They are created by foaming accountants for the purpose of increasing inventory levels

5.Monopoly is a game

Monogamy is not

6.Stiffen eyelashes

Black for once, is beautiful

7.Spear the Agassi

The tribe might be different though

8.Galloping Horses?

Walloping gorse's

Why eight of them? What did you expect from a plastic clutcher?