We should be ashamed. The "GAP story" isn't the first time the horrific reality has come to light and wouldn't be the last. During the FIFA World Cup, several stories about how children were making footballs in a small village in Uttar Pradesh, just two hours away from Delhi, got their one-and-a-half minute of airtime. Nothing was done. Every time a battered and bruised child maid manages to escape from the clutches of her "employer" or tormentor, angry debates ensue for a day or two and then it's wiped out, both, from the media and public memory. For the former, the memory is revived the next time a similar case happens. Background cases help you see. But, then that's it. Our children are just not newsworthy enough. Well, yes, they get their airtime every time an NGO manages to get the cops to raid a factory or sweatshop. Especially if more than a few dozen children are rescued and the authorities find it difficult even...

"Do girls in India wear jeans? Or is it just cause you are now in UK?" On the bus from Glasgow to St Andrews, this is first question I was asked by a 50 plus woman when I told her I was Indian. Well, and the questions didn't end there. But, the parting remark... "you speak surprisigly good English for an Indain." And this is what I have been hearing several times everyday since I got to this small Scottish town by the North Sea. The next most frequesntly asked question being "Do girls in India really work for news channels?" It's not just the British or the Scotts or the Americans who say this. Count in the Chinese, Dutch, Japanese, French, Germans etc etc etc. Despite the large number of Indians almost in every part of the world, I must admit I find such questions strange. Apparently, India stil invokes stereotypical images in people's minds. I am more than a little glad though that...

The mind is scattered all over and the face says "ho-hum." No! I am not bored. Neither am I suffering from a lack of inspiration. I am a classic example of a bundle of nerves mixed with a general feeling of rootlessness. I have finally reached the stage where disengage I cut the cords, not under duress and with full knowledge of my actions, that bind me to the grey world of the job I love. A job that was a dream. A dream that is a reality. But, another dream beckons. I hold the summons in my hands. It's time to say farewell. But, not the end of my random rants. The journey has just begun. Cheers ...

The mind is scattered all over and the face says "ho-hum." No! I am not bored. Neither am I suffering from a lack of inspiration. I am a classic example of a bundle of nerves mixed with a general feeling of rootlessness. I have finally reached the stage where disengage I cut the cords, not under duress and with full knowledge of my actions, that bind me to the grey world of the job I love. A job that was a dream. A dream that is a reality. But, another dream beckons. I hold the summons in my hands. It's time to say farewell. But, not the end of my random rants. The journey has just begun. Cheers ...