Jim Morrison has verifiably established himself as a legend. Not by effort but by inspirational rambling. Before he bade farewell to claim his muddy abode six feet under, he made sure that a million followers were muttering Indian Indian, why did you die?

Again, not by effort but by ideology and keen knifing. Much as though I d like to be an philosophical leader like he was, I cannot.
Mr.

Mojo Risin thought for himself. He views were expressed as solely his. Very specific in context and background, he left it to our relative position and judgment to decide the validity or applicability of his views.

Why would an old, starving man in Bangladesh with his ribs extending beyond his skin bother about bleeding American Indians in Arizona? But Jim doesn t care. That s what he saw and that s what he wrote about.

This is where I fail. I write about stuff that I have heard about. An only child to two doctors, my life has always been very protected.

So I hear about Kashmir, I hear about orphans, I hear about genocide, but I ve never been there. My inspiration is limited to secondary, descriptive information. The air is thin.

The smell is local.
I write with generality. My writings are more of didactic pontification.

My writings are to purge humanity. And that s why I fail to be Jim Morrison.
Well, quite a self-explanatory title there.

And if he happens to read this blog, let Ranly assume that I am talking about somebody else. Well, quite an implicit statement that, dispelling all doubt that I absolutely detest that guy.
Ok so Ranly is a Catholic professor who is not biased and has an open mind to all religions and cultures.

One crappy morning he walked into the class sipping his Catholic and pure coffee, sat down his books on the table and himself proceeded to take the throne at the head of the conference table. Then he ranted about the Iraqis for half an hour, boring us all no end. Now, going late to class can be good or bad depending on the professor.

Going to class itself can be better or worse, once again depending on the professor. Anyway, the messy brown guy that I am, I walked into class a little later than my clean Catholic classmates and my diligent Asian non-American colleagues. So I was subjected to the pleasure of sitting diametrically opposite this psychological bully.

And also the torment of trying to keep your eyes open while your soul gently snoozes (has to be experienced to empathize).
That day Ranly taught us about the abuse of the word is . He says that is is a very powerful word and that it should not be used recklessly.

For instance, one should not say He is an Indian or He is a journalist . Because when you say that someone is an Indian, you are taking away several other of his characteristics. He may be Indian, but he might also be an astronaut, a philanthropist or anything else.

By making a terminal statement such as He is an Indian you are taking so much of him away from him. I was much impressed by this observation and worshipped his lecture till this evening when I realized he is a hypocrite of the premier order.
Mr.

Unbiased Ranly visibly hated Muslims. He sincerely detested African Americans. He condemned Communists.

And abhorred Protestants. And why? Coz Muslims are obsessed with their religion enough to wipe out the rest of the world.

Coz African Americans are uncouth. Coz Communists do not believe in freedom. My imbecile self realized, only too late to sneer at him looking him in his face, that Ranly is being a hypocrite.

When Ranly makes statements such as African Americans are uncouth, he is obviously implying that all African Americans are uncouth. So when he looks at a black person, he probably goes: Oh there IS an African American. Has to be uncouth.

Please note the use of the word is . Mr. Ranly automatically takes away from that person the choice s/he might have made to be a clean person, to be tolerant of all religions.

He does not give people who are not of his affiliation the deserved opportunity of being somebody different from their regular stereotype. Prof. Donald Ranly, a professor of philosophy, sucks.

Oh, and btw, I coined a new word. Busy-beetch . Think about it.

This afternoon was quite a dafternoon. I was so careless and stupid, I think it s New Jersey. And that s when I struck gold!

I have an idea that cannot fail - a magazine for babies. Mind you, this mag is not about parenting advice. It s a magazine with colorful, large pictures.

The trick is to target kids who are so small that they cannot even flip pages themselves. Envision a situation where a little kid is lying on his posterior crying his..

umm, since it s crying let s say her.. guts out.

Mommy brings out this magazine, sits next to him, shows him the pictures, flipping one page at a time (slowly) and smiles as the baby stops crying, his eyes open in wide-eyed curiosity. THIS, my dear friends, is a market that has NOT been targeted before. This is a magazine with NO competition and a HUGE market (let s not forget how many babies are born everyday in India or in conservative, Catholic USA).

This is a magazine that can promise advertisers that readers will not just flip pages but will give their ad enough attention (unlike in dull parenting advice magazines), unless of course, their ad illustrates hideous, evil Stephen King characters that will make babies cry. Baby soap, baby food, toys, baby clothes, huggies, health tip websites. Yes!

This does it for a lifetime. I can come up with more ideas in my next life.
BTW, if you want to check out some really cool ads, visit
Cobra Beer was started in the UK because this guy realized that there was no beer to complement spicy Indian food.

Its USP is that it is gasless. Take a look and I promise, you ll be whirred.
Whew!

Finally a graduate. Or wait. Let me rephrase that.

Yay! I m a graduate. Roll down the checklist.

Project. Done. Defense.

Done. Paperwork. Done.

Kissing Columbia goodbye. Done. In more ways than one.

So I am all set to take on the world. Tweak the future if not tamper it. Lead a revolution.

Change lives for the better. Make some room for myself. Grab my 15 minutes.

I think Einstein is great. So is The Mahatma. Followed by Lance Armstrong and Alfred Hitchcock.

And hundreds of others. But none of them is the greatest. I want to be the greatest.

Not someone who is regarded while alive, worshipped when dead and forgotten when decayed. Someone who will change things so drastically that his name will be etched in the history of not just our world but our universe. And beyond.

Not just our time but for eternity.
And how do I do this? No idea.

Well, ok, as expected. So what s the plan.
My mission in life.

. is to provide Equality by Birth to humanity. A baby born in Australia should not be more privileged than a baby born in Afghanistan.

I do believe in karma, but I also do believe that humans should be given a shot at redemption. Or making the best of their lives.
I guess I have bitched about this several million times to people of all colors (Caucasians please note that white is ALSO a color) but here I go again.

Last year I was traveling in Brazil and happened upon several groups of people who, incidentally, were all from Commonwealth Nations. We sat around, drank a lot, bitched about Britain to our heart s content and reveled in our brotherhood. Next morning, we wake up, hurtle to the Argentinian border and lo and behold.

Everybody gets to cross over except this brown man from an AIDS-ridden country that holds close proximity to a terrorist nation and unfortunately does not have a system setup for visa-less travel. I bade farewell to all my friends on the other side of the border, trying to make a happy face when my heart was bleeding in disheartened sorrow. I saw them fade away into the mist of the world s most spectacular falls before I turned around and made my way to the bus stop.

Drat! This compelled me to take up this issue. Or a broader one.

Of providing equality by birth. People ought to have the freedom to choose. I am too tense right now to make any more sense so I shall quit.

Tchau!