Aahsome Magazine — Freedom Issue

Aahsome Theme FREEDOM ISSUE #1 Cover art by Sveta Kuznetsova

2 www.aahsome.com intro K.A.Anand is the founder of Aahsome magazine.
He is a User Experience Designer by profession and blogs about design and everything else here: http://rega.in The main reason this magazine was started was twofold, to give readers a chance to explore outside their usual boundaries. And to give artists, writers and people with opinions, 10 minutes in front of a larger audience. The site for Aahsome was started on 15th August, and that would be the primary reason for choosing Freedom as the theme for the first issue. By freedom we meant not just freedom from a foreign power, but freedom in all meanings of the word. Freedom always brings thoughts of Gandhiji or our colonial past, since not being free as a country for so long has brought that aspect of freedom to the foremost. What we don’t realize is that being free doesn’t necessarily mean free from outside power. In fact we knowingly give away our freedom each day of our life. We loose our freedom to not buy, by watching advertisements and getting emotionally affected into taking our wallets out. We loose our freedom to think for ourselves when we start believing in generally accepted notions of truth, without examining the logic ourselves. We loose our freedom to act by choosing not to act. Most of these losses are not because somebody came and took it by force, but we chose to let our freedom go to rot. The notion of freedom is much more inside each of us, and acts against freedom are much more rampant inside us, than the ones that are shown in the daily news. Freedom to me is best summarized by what Morpheus says to Neo, in the movie Matrix, “I’m trying to free your mind, Neo. But I can only show you the door. You’re the one that has to walk through it.” The final step towards freedom has to be our own. — K.A. Anand

3 www.aahsome.com feature A humble idea that started out with
a few enthusiastic people, is growing to be a bigger, better project. The wall project started with a blank white compound wall, with an intense burning feeling of “something has to be done to it”. Set in an old East Indian village in Bandra, colourful with people of many talents, all hid- den in their tiny abodes. It was an initiative to add visual elements of colour, form and texture to a space, to make the area more alive and generate a feeling among people who pass by it daily. Inviting more people, not just artists to come paint, and to hunt for interesting locations to paint. We hope the pictures in the following pages would inspire you! D for

www.aahsome.com 4 feature

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www.aahsome.com 6 There are more such events planned in other
cities. Connect with The Wall Project on Facebook to stay in the loop. Photos: The Wall Project and http://www.flickr.com/ photos/magiceye feature

7 www.aahsome.com sarcasm To the Honourable Members of the Chamber
of Deputies A PETITION from the manufacturers of candles, tapers, lanterns, sticks, street lamps, snuffers, and extinguishers, and from producers of tallow, oil, resin, alcohol, and generally of everything connected with lighting. Gentlemen, you are on the right track. You reject abstract theories and little regard for abundance and low prices. You concern yourselves mainly with the fate of the producer. You wish to free him from foreign competition, that is, to reserve the domestic market for domestic industry. We come to offer you a wonderful opportunity for your — what shall we call it? Your theory? No, nothing is more deceptive than theory. Your doctrine? Your system? Your principle? But you dislike doctrines, you have a horror of systems, as for principles, you deny that there are any in political economy; therefore we shall call it your practice — your practice without theory and without principle. We are suffering from the ruinous competition of a rival who apparently works under conditions so far superior to our own for the production of light that he is flooding the domestic market with it at an incredibly low price; for the moment he appears, our sales cease, all the consumers turn to him, and a branch of French industry whose ramifications are innumerable is all at once reduced to complete stagnation. This rival, which is none other than the sun, is waging war on us so mercilessly we suspect he is being stirred up against us by perfidious Albion (excellent diplomacy nowadays!), particularly because he has for that haughty island a respect that he does not show for us. We ask you to be so good as to pass a law requiring the closing of all windows, dormers, skylights, inside and outside shutters, curtains, casements, bull’s-eyes, deadlights, and blinds — in short, all openings, holes, chinks, and fissures through which the light of the sun is wont to enter houses, to the detriment of the fair industries with which, we are proud to say,

8 www.aahsome.com sarcasm we have endowed the country, a country
that cannot, without betraying ingratitude, abandon us today to so unequal a combat. Be good enough, honourable deputies, to take our request seriously, and do not reject it without at least hearing the reasons that we have to advance in its support. First, if you shut off as much as possible all ac- cess to natural light, and thereby create a need for artificial light, what industry in France will not ultimately be encouraged? If France consumes more tallow, there will have to be more cattle and sheep, and, conse- quently, we shall see an increase in cleared fields, meat, wool, leather, and especially manure, the basis of all agricultural wealth. If France consumes more oil, we shall see an expansion in the cultivation of the poppy, the olive, and rapeseed. These rich yet soil- exhausting plants will come at just the right time to enable us to put to profitable use the increased fertility that the breeding of cattle will impart to the land. Our moors will be covered with resinous trees. Numerous swarms of bees will gather from our mountains the perfumed treasures that today waste their fragrance, like the flowers from which they emanate. Thus, there is not one branch of agriculture that would not undergo a great expansion. The same holds true of shipping. Thousands of vessels will engage in whaling, and in a short time we shall have a fleet capable of upholding the honour of France and of gratifying the patri- otic aspirations of the undersigned petitioners, chandlers, etc. But what shall we say of the specialities of Parisian manufacture? Henceforth you will behold gilding, bronze, and crystal in candlesticks, in lamps, in chandeliers, in candelabra sparkling in spacious emporia compared with which those of today are but stalls. There is no needy resin- collector on the heights of his sand dunes, no poor miner in the depths of his black pit, who will not receive higher wages and enjoy increased prosperity. It needs but a little reflection, gentlemen, to be convinced that there is perhaps not one Frenchman, from the wealthy stockholder of the Anzin Company to the humblest vendor of matches, whose condition would not be im- proved by the success of our petition. Claude Frédéric Bastiat (30 June 1801 – 24 December 1850) was a French classical liberal theorist, political economist, and member of the French assembly. Bastiat was the author of many works on economics and political economy, generally characterized by their clear organization, forceful argumentation and acerbic wit. Among his better known works is Economic Sophisms, which contains many strongly-worded attacks on statist policies. Bastiat wrote it while living in England to advise the shapers of the French Republic on pitfalls to avoid. Bastiat’s argument cleverly highlights basic flaws in protectionism by demonstrating its absurdity through logical extremes.

9 www.aahsome.com We anticipate your objections, gentlemen, but there is
not a single one of them that you have not picked up from the musty old books of the advocates of free trade. We defy you to utter a word against us that will not instantly rebound against yourselves and the principle behind all your policy. Will you tell us that, though we may gain by this protection, France will not gain at all, because the consumer will bear the expense? We have our answer ready: you no longer have the right to invoke the interests of the consumer. You have sacrificed him whenever you have found his interests opposed to those of the producer. You have done so in order to encour- age industry and to increase employment. For the same reason you ought to do so this time too. Indeed, you yourselves have anticipated this objection. When told that the consumer has a stake in the free entry of iron, coal, sesame, wheat, and textiles, “Yes,” you reply, “but the producer has a stake in their exclusion.” Very well, surely if consumers have a stake in the ad- mission of natural light, producers have a stake in its interdiction. “But, you may still say, the producer and the consumer are one and the same person. If the manufacturer profits by protection, he will make the farmer prosperous. Contrariwise, if agriculture is prosperous, it will open markets for man- ufactured goods.’’ Very well, If you grant us a monopoly over the production of lighting during the day, first of all we shall buy large amounts of tallow, charcoal, oil, resin, wax, alcohol, silver, iron, bronze, and crystal, to supply our industry and, moreover, we and our numerous suppliers, having become rich, will consume a great deal and spread prosperity into all areas of domestic industry. Will you say that the light of the sun is a gratuitous gift of Nature, and that to reject such gifts would be to reject wealth itself under the pretext of encouraging the means of acquiring it? But if you take this position, you strike a mortal blow at your own policy; remember that up to now you have always excluded foreign goods because and in proportion as they approximate gratuitous gifts. You have only half as good a reason for complying with the demands of other monopolists as you have for granting our petition, which is in complete accord with your established policy; and to reject our demands precisely because they are better founded than anyone else’s would be tantamount to accepting the equation: + × + = - In other words, it would be to heap absurdity upon absurdity. Labour and Nature collaborate in varying proportions, depending upon the country and the climate, in the production of a commodity. The part that Nature contributes is always free of charge; it is the part contributed sarcasm

10 www.aahsome.com sarcasm by human labour that constitutes value and
is paid for. If an orange from Lisbon sells for half the price of an orange from Paris, it is because the natural heat of the sun, which is, of course, free of charge, does for the former what the latter owes to artificial heating, which necessarily has to be paid for in the market. Thus, when an orange reaches us from Portugal, one can say that it is given to us half free of charge, or, in other words, at half price as compared with those from Paris. Now, it is precisely on the basis of its being semigratuitous (pardon the word) that you maintain it should be barred. You ask: “How can French labour withstand the competition of foreign labour when the former has to do all the work, whereas the latter has to do only half, the sun taking care of the rest?” But if the fact that a product is half free of charge leads you to exclude it from competition, how can its being totally free of charge induce you to admit it into competition? Either you are not consistent, or you should, after excluding what is half free of charge as harmful to our domestic industry, exclude what is totally gratuitous with all the more reason and with twice the zeal. To take another example: When a product, coal, iron, wheat, or textiles comes to us from abroad, and when we can acquire it for less labour than if we produced it ourselves, the difference is a gratuitous gift that is conferred up on us. The size of this gift is proportionate to the extent of this difference. It is a quarter, a half, or three-quarters of the value of the product if the foreigner asks of us only three-quarters, one-half, or one-quarter as high a price. It is as complete as it can be when the donor, like the sun in providing us with light, asks nothing from us. The question, and we pose it formally, is whether what you desire for France is the benefit of consumption free of charge or the alleged advantages of onerous production. Make your choice, but be logical; for as long as you ban, as you do, foreign coal, iron, wheat, and textiles, in proportion as their price approaches zero, how inconsistent it would be to admit the light of the sun, whose price is zero all day long! •

11 www.aahsome.com ART “dillitown” 2008-09 From the series “Word.” Giclee
on archival paper Limited edition Meera Sethi

12 www.aahsome.com Meera Sethi ART “Heaven on Earth” 2008-09 From
the series “Word.” Giclee on archival paper Limited edition

13 www.aahsome.com Meera Sethi ART “Sadho, sabd sadhana kijai” 2008-09
From the series “Word.” Giclee on archival paper Limited edition

14 www.aahsome.com Meera Sethi ART “Lahori” 2008-09 From the series
“Word.” Giclee on archival paper Limited edition

15 www.aahsome.com Meera Sethi ART “pindi” 2008-09 From the series
“Word.” Giclee on archival paper Limited edition

16 www.aahsome.com Meera Sethi “Tat Tvam Asi” 2008-09 From the
series “Word.” Giclee on archival paper Limited edition ART

17 www.aahsome.com ART Meera Sethi is a visual artist working
in the mediums of painting, drawing, graphic design, and photography. Her artwork addresses the joys and challenges of living in a third space where two distinct cultures collide creating ruptures, fissures and hybrid ways of being and doing. This experience finds expression in the references to Indian and North American popular culture, textiles and patterns, contemporary fashion, clothing and religious and cultural identities found in her work. Meera’s aesthetic is full of minute detail, lush colour, geometric abstractions and minimalist clarity. View some of Meera’s work at www.meerasethi.com.

18 www.aahsome.com story She picked up the photo frame of
her niece from the desk and looked at it for a moment. It was the first to go into the brown cardboard box that the office had provided. Next, she picked out the blue fiber tip pens from the pen holder along with just one pink high- lighter. The much-used Thesaurus was wrapped with newspaper and tucked in a corner of the box. It had been her travelling companion as she’d navigated her way up the corporate ladder. She sighed when she pulled out the magazines that she’d been saving to read some day. Some of them were two years old. Without another thought, she tossed them in the bin. She noticed a colleague looking at her from the corner of his eye. He quickly averted his gaze and started clicking his mouse furiously as though a deadline loomed over his shoulder. She also heard a few whispers behind her but didn’t bother to turn. She guessed they would be talk- ing about her. The office boy came straight to her table with her favourite frothy cup of coffee and placed it carefully amid the growing debris on her desk. He muttered something under his breath which she didn’t catch, and he walked away, shaking his head. As she sipped the hot liquid, she felt the lump in her throat slowly melt, and she stole a The Last Day by Leela Alvares

19 www.aahsome.com look at the half folded letter on the
desk. The words ‘economic downturn’ and ‘regrettably’ came in sharp focus, followed by ‘terminate’. A short laugh almost escaped her lips, which she converted into a cough. There was hysterical laughter bubbling under the surface, she knew, and the last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself. No, it wouldn’t do at all. She arranged her features into an emotionless mask and continued filling the box. A hand pressed gently on her shoulder, and she stiffened. It was her closest friend at work, and she prayed that he wouldn’t say a word. She could feel the waves of sympathy and pity, even though no one would meet her eye. And the tightly reined emotions were sure to give way. So she didn’t acknowledge the hand on the shoulder and merely gestured to the papers that lay on the desk. He understood and started gathering them for her. When her desk had been stripped of all signs of her, she stepped back and took a deep breath. This was easier than expected, she thought suddenly. There was a strange feeling growing amid the maelstrom of emotions within, and she wasn’t sure if she could trust it yet. “This is it… guys,” she said aloud, her voice unnaturally calm. She lifted her chin and looked around, her eyes radiating a confidence she didn’t completely feel yet. “It’s been a pleasure…” she continued, “well, most of the time, at least.” Her colleagues chuckled and came forward to shake her hand and wish her luck, but without looking her in the eye for long. Was it guilt, she wondered? Guilt for the relief they felt that it was her and not them. She turned around and found her friend had already picked up her box. She smiled at him and walked ahead, lifting her head high. It finally came to her, the feeling that she’d been trying to give a name to. The feeling amid the shock of being terminated and the fear of being without a job, even if it was a job she’d outgrown long ago. It was relief, she realized. Relief at no longer having to let a part of her die every day she came to her mundane job. Relief at being finally able to free the muzzled voice which sought expression in writing, in poetry, in song and art. Relief at being finally able to see the sun and feel its warmth on her face, rather than the dull glow of a computer monitor. Thank you, she whispered, tears flowing freely now. Thank you, she said. • Leela Alvares is a copywriter from Bombay, now in Dubai. When she’s not extolling the virtues of brands, she writes articles, stories and bad poetry. If you’re patient, you’ll find her suddenly and magically on her blog absoluteleela.blogspot.com. story

www.aahsome.com 20 Comics

www.aahsome.com 26 Comics Contributed by Nitin Vetukar of lafcomics.wordpress.com.

27 www.aahsome.com fiction It was not just another winter morning
in Tariq’s life. Several people including him had waited for this day to come — his father, friends and his old time sweetheart — Neena. While his car sped on the ring road, he could see the horizons of Delhi, spires partially bathed in orange sun and partially shining with shades of morning blue. When the car would leave the highway and merge with the service road, as every day, they were to get trapped in the traffic; meaning it was still an hour from his office. He started imagining the outside scenery smelling of the Berry Patch aroma that emerged from his car freshener and pretended as if it was New York City, the city of his dreams! He had been to the US several times before; on short term news reporting assignments. Six times to New York City, once in a diplomatic dele- gation with the Commerce minister of India. In fact, his first trip abroad was to New York too. The Ferry to Staten Island, Bright LED Digital Signage at Times Square and the Malaysian restaurants in China Town… every bit of the city enam- ored him. “The city has a sex appeal”, he would tell Neena over phone, “and I will marry it before I marry you”. Neena would smile and curiously start asking about the Path ride between Jersey City and Manhattan. The news house that Tariq had been working with for years had a nominal by Prashant Kumar Das The Dream

28 www.aahsome.com representative office in New York City, handled by
one Ramesh Patel, an NRI who actually worked as an independent columnist for Wall Street Journal. Tariq’s writing style, a mixture of news analysis blended with a common man’s romanticism and down-to- earth perspectives, had always appealed to the masses. His weekly column of the newspaper was gaining unprecedented popularity with every passing year. That was why in spite of several multinational news agencies venturing into India, Tariq remained with the same employer. Not that he never thought for a change; but every time he did, the Editor-in-Chief would come up with a tempting salary hike. “Buddy, would you like to fly to New York? We again need to cover the Indian Entrepreneur summit there”, he would say; and escort him to an instantly- planned five-star dinner. And yes, it was a trip to the same city when he lost his mother. The reporting assignment was too important to miss. Her sudden death was a shock to him; but he could not have flown back even if he could know about her heart-attack three days before she died. The only son in the family, Tariq could not even come for the funeral ceremony. Two years ago when Neena fractured her leg in a traffic accident, Tariq was flying to Seattle the same day for a reporting assignment. When he learnt about the accident, Neena was in the hospital and he on his way to the airport. “Sweetheart, I am postponing my flight- ticket; and coming straight to your hospital”, he called up from his car. “No, please fly; else you will miss this event the day after…lets meet three weeks later when you are back… I shall be OK”, Neena had said. Realizing the importance of his assignment, Tariq was helpless not to press much. Things were a bit different last Friday when he arrived at his office. Everyone started clapping when he passed the lobby and his cabin’s glass door was covered with a huge “Congratulations” card. Before he would open the door of his cabin, his assis- tant reporter stuffed his mouth with a pas- try. “You did it Tariq”, she said. Anxious, he hurled towards the greeting card. It read- ‘Congratulations sir, on your promotion as the Chief of brand new New York Bureau’. Mr. Sengupta, the chief managing editor rushed towards him, shook hands and said “So, the board decided Tariq, who else than you could be the right person to start our news-reporting operations in New York; that city is all yours now”, he continued, “…and that comes with another great news: the In- stitute of International Humane Journalism (IIHJ) has decided to award you with their annual title this year. We thought of club- bing the awarding ceremony with our formal public announcement of our New York Op- erations”. Tariq felt elated. In fact, Mr. Sengupta was one of the con- tenders for the New York position. Tariq’s extensive reporting experience in New York City and his public appeal forced him to take fiction

29 www.aahsome.com up the second option: Europe. Mr. Sengupta did
not resist for two reasons: first, Europe was a larger portfolio to handle; and second- ly, he knew that New York project had been Tariq’s dream. The venue for the felicitation ceremony was close to Tariq’s office. His publication house had spent heavily on publicizing the New York operations. IIHJ office was located close-by too. They were a group of senior journalists from the National Capital Area who had been nationally acclaimed some time. “Locally spread, internationally inte- grated” was how their tagline read below the logo. IIHJ came up with strategic level openings several times. Tariq wanted to work with them. He had been a big fan of the fa- mous columnist- Mr. Sahani who was the president of IIHJ. Joining the Institute would have given him the opportunity to work so closely with Mr. Sahani. But his intent to join IIHJ was always contested by his friends: “Will you really leave your big company to join this non-profit??? They do not have any foreign trips to offer; not even a proper HR system in place. Are you nuts, Tariq?...” Definitely, his present job was too good to give up. Tariq decided that he would passively work with IIHJ whenever he is relieved a bit from his role at work. That never happened. His office room was artistic. Beautiful brass artifacts, glass furniture and an impressionistic oil-painting of a Manhattan street covered with thick copper border. The border had real patina on it that resembled the real color of Statue of Liberty. The brass miniature sculptures reminded him of his childhood days that he spent in a tiny shack in Moradabad that pretended to be a house. His father worked in an exporter’s factory, chiseling brass sculptures. Tariq would often come with him to the factory on Sundays and do his homework in the factory’s resting area. His father worked overtime to feed his family of three; and also save for Tariq’s education. The shop-owner traveled the world to sell his products, many a times to New York. That is, perhaps, how Tariq’s passion for the city had developed. Tariq’s father, an avid sculptor had started creating miniature statues of liberty with molded copper. Impressed by what his father did, Tariq often came up with this idea expressed vehemently, “Abbu, I want to be a sculptor like you”. His father would reply “No, you little rascal! You should probably do the business of sculptures rather than being a sculptor…”, he continued “you see, son, ap- preciating the art is one thing; and becom- ing an artist another… earning your liveli- hood in spite of being a great artist is not that easy. I think you should study, and be a business man. Your school master told me about emm-bee-aye thing; and you must get that degree”. And he would invariably add “…but stay back in your country, stay close to the soil… we are born here; and must die here…” Perhaps he was completely disillu- sioned by his own employer’s frequent busi- fiction

30 www.aahsome.com ness trips abroad. How these trips ruined his
family life and how materialistic he had become were some things that Abbu was never tired of describing. When Tariq grew older, he chose a journalism school instead of business. Several of his near and dear ones thought it was a wastage of his father’s hard-earned savings until he got hired by this company with a handsome salary package; directly from the college. Within two years, his Abbu stopped working in the factory; and set up his own with the money Tariq sent to him. ]In fact, frequent foreign trips also helped Tariq find the international markets for his father’s art work. That business flourished to an extent that his father had to employ a Manager for the factory and another for the outlet. When they needed loan to buy automatic molding equipments from Germa- ny; Tariq guaranteed it; and the bank readily agreed to release the amount, partly because they were impressed by Tariq’s job and partly because they were awed by the powers of a newspaper. On weekends, Tariq would typically drive down to his father’s place in Moradabad and spent most of his time in the factory. Especially after his mother died, his father preferred to spend his weekends in the factory too. They had a small “art room” in the factory. Its setup resembled their old house. No elaborate furniture; but a clean, bamboo mat and a large ply-wood board lying in the center of the room. That was his father’s canvas to draw newer designs for the sculptures. Tariq enjoyed watching his father designing. By the by, over the cups of tea they also discussed their perspectives on the world. Abbu was not educated; but his insights about life were impeccable. Tariq drew most of the basic ideas for his upcoming stories from Abbu’s talks. In short, his Abbu’s factory was the place where creativity spawned in varying manifestations. With time, visits to Moradabad had become a pattern for Tariq’s creative process. One fine weekend afternoon, when it started raining in Moradabad, Tariq and his dad sat in the balcony chatting over the sips of hot cardamom latte tea. Enjoying the faint splashes of the drizzles, Abbu asked him “Tariq, is the snow fall in New York as beautiful as these rains in our neighborhood?” Tariq looked around from the balcony. All he could see was houses and their terraces with patches of trees wherever an open piece of land was left available. Across the street downstairs was the cart of the tea vendor which could barely balance itself on the four spoke-wheels surrounded by thick mud. The neighbor’s rooftop was flooded with a black fluid caused effortlessly by the old tire bleed- ing due to water flowing through it. Not too far from the site was Yadav’s dairy with a semi-open yard for cows and buffaloes. The cowdung leaked through the weeping walls and the smell could sporadically be felt from fiction

31 www.aahsome.com Tariq’s factory. In all, there was little that
could be cited as a “pleasant site” if one was to compare it to the view of Ellis Island from a Manhattan hotel, especially when it was snowing. Tariq did not know how to answer this question. He took a deep breath and the smell of soil and exposed bricks absorb- ing the rains passed through his nostrils. He found himself lost in trance; and it suddenly felt like days of childhood to him…how he and his band of friends ran in the rain in spite of mothers shouting at them; and how the catch-me game would soon turn into a pleasant mud-race… “No Abbu, these rains are the most beautiful things on earth” he said. His father gazed at him with amazement. “Do you want me to park the car at our office first; or should drive directly to the IIHJ auditorium, sahib?” This was Tariq’s driv- er. They were close to the office now. “IIHJ, please”, was Tariq’s short answer to him. He wanted to steal a few moments more and remain in the memories of his past. Thanks to Tariq’s collection, many of his childhood pals had seen the photos of New York City- the lady with a torch, tall sky-scrappers that touched the sky, the KingKong at a building’s spire. “Tariq, you must go to this city when you grow up. You are meant for it”, his best friend Raju would say. Raju was almost an or- phan adopted by a distant uncle who made him work hard in his grocery shop. Tariq’s clout in the band, which was due to his aca- demic standing at school, motivated Raju to finish his college. After that, he joined an adult-literacy NGO of Moradabad as a local fund-raising officer. Later, Raju was able to convince his organization to start a subsid- iary in their neighborhood to help orphaned kids. Raju became the head of that wing. They ran playschools for orphaned children and collected public and private money to ensure a minimum of high-school education for the children they pledged for each year. This particular initiative was recognized by the federal government as an ideal model; and the scheme was awarded annual government funds. Statutorily, they needed a Board of Directors to prepare annual strategies for the NGO. Tariq was the first person Raju re- quested for the Directorship. “We shall pay you honorarium for your work, please join us, friend”, Raju had written to Tariq. Tariq’s reply was obvious-“Raju, my friend, who else than I would be more interested in this job? As it will be part time and in-absentia, I can easily manage. I come to Moradabad every week, anyway; l and we could schedule the Board’s meeting every weekend. I cannot tell you how much passionate I am to be a part of this. Maybe, soon, I can work full time with the NGO. I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow as a formality, and let you know…” When he did discuss the matter with his employers; and his boss’s reply was simple-“Tariq, you are a man of very high potentials. Leave such jobs to people who aspire far less than what you deserve. Moreover, our organization’s policy will not let you work simultaneously fiction

32 www.aahsome.com for two employers”. Raju kept modifying and re-modifying
the proposed assignment of directorship to suit Tariq’s employer policies, everytime to be rejected. Later, Raju had to hire a professor from Delhi University for this job. Yesterday, when Raju learnt about Tariq’s New York assignment, he immediate- ly called him up and said, “Tariq, now that you have achieved a bigger thing in life, you can easily forget the smaller ones you lost in past…congratulations”. Happiness evinced in each word he said. As the car moved towards the IIHJ auditorium, which was visible now, right on the middle of the terminating straight road in the front, Tariq’s feeling that his dream was realizing was growing stronger. Neena was driving down to the venue directly from Mo- radabad. In her last phone call she told that she was bringing a surprise gift for him. Tariq bought her a present almost every time they met. This time was no exception. By the time they arrived the parking lot, the function had started inside. Tariq got out of his car and stared around looking for Nina. She has just arrived the venue too. They hugged, and hurriedly exchanged gifts. Tariq ran towards the dais and lost vision of Neena who had found herself a seat among the audience. It was a huge auditorium, almost full. The first row had colleagues, journalists and some white-clad leaders. People clapped when Tariq climbed the steps and was escorted by a host to his designated chair. A large ban- ner on the backstage said: “the Annual IIHJ award ceremony”. Tariq’s press was named as the lead sponsor. Neena could not wait any further to see her surprise gift. She unwrapped the packet; it was an envelope tied with a ribbon around it. Beneath it was a greeting card with these lines handwritten: “I decided to not take up the New York assignment. I am resigning from my job to join Raju’s NGO. I have also decided to work on Abbu’s sculpture business. Attached is an envelope with air tickets to New York; for you and me. New York is a beautiful tourist spot; and that is what it shall remain to be for us!” By then, Tariq had spotted Neena in the crowd. He had un-wrapped his gift-packet too. The gift for him was an aerial photo- graph of the Statue of Liberty. “Freedom”, he murmured and looked at Neena with a smile. She shook her head, as if none of the two was surprised. • Prashant Kumar Das is the Editor of India China America Institute Newsletter and is pursuing Doctoral Fellowship in Business from Georgia State University. He acquired a bachelor’s degree in architecture from IIT Roorkee and has worked with several multinationals and non-profits thereafter. He is fond of sketching, short-stories, ghazals, “South Park” animated sitcom, computer AI games and cooking among several other things. He lives with his wife Minu in Atlanta. More about him at www.prashant-das.com. fiction

www.aahsome.com 33 art Svetlana Kuznetsova

www.aahsome.com 34 art Svetlana Kuznetsova

www.aahsome.com 35 Svetlana Kuznetsova art

www.aahsome.com 36 art Svetlana Kuznetsova is an Illustrator based in
St. Petersburg, while she is not travelling. She is an indophile who was in India for 9 months and had to leave when her visa expired. She posts her art work on flickr: http://flickr.com/photos/totokumi

37 www.aahsome.com poetry a person wishes few things affection, love
and freedom fame, money and happiness with affection and love relationships evolve relationships evoke bonding and in all this bonding freedom is lost money begets fame fame begets pride money begets greed for more money and in all this greed and pride happiness is lost and then the person longs for, freedom and happiness manukh chahunda hai chand cheezan apnatt, piaar te aazadi shohrat, paisa te khushi apnatt te piaar ton bande ne rishte rishtiaan ton bande ne bandhan te bandhanan vich guach jaandi hai aazadi paise ton mildee hai shohrat te shohrat ton aonda hai ahinkaar paise ton aundi hai , hor paise dee laalsa ahinkaar te laalsaanva vich guaach jandi hai khushi te pher manukh hamesha labhda rehnda hai khushi te aazadi Manukh, khushi te azadi transliteration in Roman characters Jasdeep Singh works as a Web Developer in New Delhi. He runs a Pubjabi poetry blog parchanve.wordpress.com. He scribbles at times too. Human happiness and freedom loose translation in English ਮਨ ੁ ੱਖ ਚਾਹ ੁ ੰਦਾ ਹ ੈ ਚੰਦ ਚੀਜ ਼ਾਂ ਅਪਣੱਤ, ਪਿਆਰ ਤੇ ਆਜ ਼ਾਦੀ ਸ ਼ ੋਹਰਤ, ਪ ੈਸਾ ਤੇ ਖ ੁ ਸ ਼ੀ ਅਪਣੱਤ ਤੇ ਪਿਆਰ ਤੋਂ ਬਣਦੇ ਨੇ ਰਿਸ਼ਤੇ ਰਿਸ਼ਤਿਆਂ ਤੋਂ ਬਣਦੇ ਨੇ ਬੰਧਨ ਤੇ ਬੰਧਨਾਂ ਵਿਚ ਗ ੁ ਆਚ ਜਾਂਦੀ ਹ ੈ ਆਜ ਼ਾਦੀ ਪ ੈਸੇ ਤੋਂ ਮਿਲਦੀ ਹ ੈ ਸ ਼ ੋਹਰਤ ਤੇ ਸ ਼ ੋਹਰਤ ਤੋਂ ਆਓਂਦਾ ਹ ੈ ਅਹਿ ੰਕਾਰ ਪ ੈਸੇ ਤੋਂ ਆਓਂਦੀ ਹ ੈ , ਹੋਰ ਪ ੈਸੇ ਦੀ ਲਾਲਸਾ ਅਹਿ ੰਕਾਰ ਤੇ ਲਾਲਸਾਂਵਾ ਵਿਚ ਗ ੁ ਆਚ ਜਾਂਦੀ ਹ ੈ ਖ ੁ ਸ ਼ੀ ਤੇ ਫੇਰ ਮਨ ੁ ੱਖ ਹਮੇਸ ਼ਾ ਲੱਭਦਾ ਰਹਿ ੰਦਾ ਹ ੈ ਖ ੁ ਸ ਼ੀ ਤੇ ਆਜ ਼ਾਦੀ ਮਨ ੁ ੱਖ,ਖ ੁ ਸ ਼ੀ ਤੇ ਆਜ ਼ਾਦੀ

38 www.aahsome.com quote It took me a long time and
most of the world to learn what I know about love and fate and the choices we make, but the heart of it came to me in an instant, while I was chained to a wall and being tortured. I realised, somehow, through the screaming of my mind, that even in that shackled, bloody helplessness, I was still free: free to hate the men who were torturing me, or to forgive them. It doesn’t sound like much, I know. But in the flinch and bite of the chain, when it’s all you’ve got, that freedom is an universe of possibility. And the choice you make between hating and forgiving, can become the story of our life.” — Shantaram “ Quote suggested by Anjana. Messy photo collage by Arun. Photo credits: http://www.flickr.com/photos/duncan/835323 http://www.flickr.com/photos/assbach/430685233 http://www.flickr. com/photos/adriana-lukas/2562762750 and http://www.flickr.com/photos/jose_zaragoza/1174993785

39 It’s freedom that drives the life inside a shell
to hatch and move out of it. Its freedom that then leads the little bird to start walking and then desire to fly, to be on its own. The little bird craves to experience the outward movement of wings and take off into the open infinite sky. The want to move where it’s heart leads. The excitement of not being bound, the enthusiasm to move without a path, the will to be surprised and enjoy all the different situations and environments it encounters. To experience all the colors and fragrances and move through all of them with ease and decide the one which makes it feel the fulfillment life has to offer. It’s this freedom that we all long for. The feeling of being able to leave all our inhibitions and fears behind, to move into the open sky and discover different environments and realize what comes closest to our dreams, what fills the space we all carry. Freedom Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/tochis/3987677829/ Aditi Agarwal is a student who likes writing poetry occasionally and also keeps a journal.

www.aahsome.com 40 Last word “I heard Al-Qaeda is hiring, they
offer good salary packages for dhadi walas”, said my friend Gopi, trying to be funny while commenting on a Facebook picture. “You look like you’re on drugs man”, said JK. Pat came the reply, “You’re just jealous of my beard man”. Alok had to take a jab, “Dude put this pic on your website next to the link to free weed”. “Dude the shit ain’t free and no, I’m not selling it.” A few others said “Cool look bro!”. The silly shit that one has to deal with while growing a beard can get insane. Some folks even try to look for reasons why you’re sporting a beard. Reasons. I put the question back to them. Why should a man not embrace his beard? It is a defining male characteristic, just as breasts are to women. Society has its set of mighty stupid ‘rules’ that most people take for granted, unquestioned (you’ll find the most stupidest of all in big company policy books). We are so used to accepting and believing this that we don’t take a moment to question it. Advertisements, political systems, school systems, organized religions, corporate policies are all really good at one thing — pounding bull shit into peoples’ heads with skillful suaveness. Actors, business men, politicians and the like represent this with clean shaven faces, demonstrating standards that the typical middle class society expects us to maintain. These people sow seeds that grow to make a man shun his own masculinity, adopting a persona that isn’t true to his inner self. Beards were a sign of masculinity and virility. They still are in many societies. But yet we are moving towards androgyny and giving up the simplest freedom to sport a beard. We give in to society’s ‘rules’ that alienate us from our own facial hair. I chose to keep my beard, I chose freedom. George Carlin loved his beard. Beards are aahsome! J. Arun is the co-founder of Aahsome and a designer of sorts at SlideShare by profession. He loves sipping Nilgiris tea, mountain biking in foggy weather while listening to Aerosmith and Bon Jovi. You’ll find him dabbling in art, sketching and typography. He’s on Twitter at twitter.com/SimplyArun

www.aahsome.com Contribute to the next issue of Aahsome! Theme: Beauty
Interpret beauty any way you like, if you find your pet pig beautiful, feel welcome to write an ode to it or snap a picture. Seriously amaze us with what you think is beautiful. You do not necessarily have to create something specific for this magazine. Even if you have something which you feel is appropriate but is already published, say in a blog, do send in. Submissions could be traditional art, digital art, poetry, short-stories, opinions or photographs. Submitting is simple! Just email your entries to [email protected] Tell us what you think! Have questions, feedback or just saying hello? [email protected] Enjoyed this issue of Aahsome? Pass it on! Email it to your friends. Tweet about it Post to Facebook Connect with Aahsome aahsome_mag Facebook group group

www.aahsome.com 42 This PDF magazine is licenced under a Creative
Commons Attribution 3.0 License. All copyrights of content in the magazine belong to their original creators unless otherwise stated. All opinions expressed here are those of the individual authors. When in doubt, just ask us: [email protected]

Aahsome Magazine — Freedom Issue

Aahsome Magazine — Freedom Issue

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