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This is going to be a long read. Enjoy it at leisure, do not miss out on the fun, and at the end, as you ponder “The Last Note”, you might find that you have, after all, learned something!To begin:India is extremely diverse in culture and selectively tolerant. Even among what seems to be, superficially, a homogenous culture such as at a club, an office or in a former Presidency Town, culture changes from community to community and neighbourhood to neighbourhood.The best approach is “Monkey see, monkey do”. So identify whoever appears to be the NON Alpha Male or NON Alpha Female in any particular group and follow the leader to avoid stepping on corns.You will not be alone. As you will discover, before you are through with this read, most Indians are strangers in India too!There is no such thing as an Indian Indian. There are many Indias. And most are not seen on the radar of Page 3, Parliament, the Bureaucrats, the Judiciary and other Kleptocrats, or fathomed by them, as they only see the alien ideologies, cults and Bollywood/TV/Page three allowed by “political correctness” for their resemblance to the “West” and the Middle East that are venerated by India’s tyrant successors to the Moslems and the British, from which they wish the world's view of India to emerge.There is, however, a dwindling Bharatha Varsha under siege and the Savarna Arya are bound by their residual understanding of Karma and Dharma, the temples, the legends, the festivals and the guidance of Brahmanas that have survived the constant harassment and persecution of the Indian State since the days of Moslem rulers, the British and their successors of the Indian Rapueblic.What is commonly misunderstood about Indian culture?Pretty much everything depending on which India you are looking at and from which Indian (or foreign) point of view.India is a kaleidoscope of religions, cultures, languages-dialects, foods and Nationalities wrought from a palimpsest of migrations into India that is more than 18,000 years old. The language (dialect), the food and the culture change every 60 to seventy kilometers and do so verniered by classes of natives. Almost every heritage temple in India represents a unique religion, culture and traditional History (Sthala Purana).The trick is to ignore the post 1947 synthetic aliens such as India’s Bureaucrats and Judiciary who seek desperately to impose a monotonous uniformity to prove the existence of “Hindoos” and “Indians” to justify and apply the British made Constitution and laws and the Politicians who are seeking to fish in waters troubled by the Social Engineering of past foreign rulers and the present dispensation in order to “divide to rule”.See each place and person for the first time. They have great stories to tell and are the true repositories of India’s History and Geography rather than the politically laundered tourist brochures and government approved propaganda which passes for text books and information pamphlets.But be aware that India is a very unsafe and lawless place where those holding Government positions are the most vicious criminals. Make sure that you have influential and physically capable guardian-escorts before you commence your journey. Check the stories with the local temple priests you find to distill the truths of the place.Is it rude to sit cross legged in front of elders and senior officers in India?In many circles it is considered disrespectful (not rude) to sit with one leg over the other in front of elders and seniors because it is regarded as being relaxed.In orthodox (rather than conservative) circles one is expected to be alert and attentive (at attention) all the time in front of elders and seniors even when “at ease” (!)India does not have a culture of “Peer-Bonding” with strangers as the dominating “Government” Culture is “Feudal-Colonial” with excessive, almost comical, flattery, appeasement and genuflection to those in power and complete disregard for those of “lower” standing in power, wealth or position. So all relationship behaviour is either “Boss” to “Slave” or vice versa. There is no culture of being able to “speak freely”. Anything you say or do may be taken down and held against you. Or, when you condescend, be exploited.There are many circles where the foregoing is NOT true. But do not be misled by a California educated Boss who turns up dressed like a Bermuda Beach Bum or a business partner or owner in a Pyjama Suit or Dhoti (which is as formal a costume as it gets for India’s ruling classes), for an executive meeting. He may be asserting his “Bossness” and may not look kindly on his subordinates being as lax! It is best to sense the mood in the room and follow the examples set by those who seem to fit well in the particular situation in matters of manners. However, there is a great deal of “tolerance” for outsiders, so you can get away with transgressions if you are a foreigner and do not push. A distinct advantage since ancient times.CAVEAT: One must be particularly careful if the room has seniors and superiors or politicians who have been elevated beyond their competence because their acute and realistic sense of personal inferiority makes them sensitive and vengeful, in the manner of a Nehru, Naiker or Ambedkar, to what they perceive as “disrespectful” as they have little more than form to fall back on. It is very common to see uncouth politicians and rich louts berate Air Hostesses for example, out of any proportion to any possible cause, just to overcome their own personal sense of inferiority in the presence of a more attractive and sophisticated but helpless and vulnerable being. This is a behaviour that finds expression even in the Indian Constitution and laws to hold better educated, behaved and cultivated communities as vassals of the majoritarian dregs.(Personally, I do not give a paisa for Political Etiquette and never have. But then, I have no desire to be accepted in a society I regard with contempt and from which I want nothing at all).Why and how did India become the land of diversity?India became a land of diversity because it is a residue of Bharatha Khanda (Bharatha’s part) of Arya Varsha ( the land of Arya Law).The education and law giving priesthood, the Shroutha Smartha Arya Brahmanas did NOT proselytize or indeed accept any converts to their (Brahmana) religion. Instead, they allowed all religions and cultures to flourish so long as they observed and obeyed secular Arya Law in the common space beyond their personal laws in the personal space.This continued for thousands of years and has survived the ugly imposition of Islamic law, British Law and the Laws and judicial tyranny of the Social Reengineering Indian Rapeublic. However, its days are numbered under the alien hegemony of Urdu (written in Devanagari and called Hindi), the British made legal fiction of a “religion” called "Hindooism", and the alien barbarians i.e. India’s convented, secular, judiciary, journalists, bureaucrats, police and politicians.In Indian culture, how are people who always frown perceived?Depends on the societal slice. For example, in Government service (which is a very major portion of the model setting middle class of India) and camp followers of Government, frowning is viewed as dignified, thoughtful, demanding and not to be trifled with.In my circles, they are known as “grumpies”, insecure “don’t mess with me” types, Neta-Babus (politicians/ bureaucrats/ judges / cops /officialese) completely out of depth, or chaps with eye sight, migraine or sinus afflictions. Or possibly, in need of correctional spectacles.Why do Hindu weddings happen during the day in South India?Since ancient times, as per the Arya Shastras (Vedic Customs if you will) Dharmic weddings have to be solemnized (with the seven steps and exchange of garlands) in day light with the Sun and Fire as witnesses. Thereafter, Dharmic weddings are consummated at night with the Moon as witness after gazing at the Star Arundhathi as an example of constancy and marital loyalty.This custom is followed not only in the South but among orthodox Arya Brahmana families in the North such as Kashmiris, Bengalis, Maharashtrians and Punjabis to my personal knowledge, having attended such weddings.There are two possible explanations that I have heard as to why marriages of many North Indian communities are performed at night:(1) During the evil days of Islamic depredations, marriage gatherings occurred at night to avoid visitations by Moslems looking to rape and loot. This is also reflected in Islamic customs such as veils and nose rings being adopted by native women as also defensive practices such as Thyauhar, Sati and forms of widow defacement..(2) The couple, once married, cannot wait patiently for nightfall to consummate the marriage and so, marriages are performed at night, a hop, step and jump away from the bridal chamber.Nota Bena: There is no such religion as “Hindoo” which is a legal fiction created by the British as a label of convenience for myriad indigenous religions, each with its own deity, mythology, method of worship and philosophy, many of whom were under Arya Brahmana guidance, law, culture and education, and many (the outsiders represented by Ambedkar at the Round Table and Simon Commission) are not. This has been thrust down our throat by India’s alien inspired, erudition, arithmetic, integrity and culture lacking politicians, judges, and journalists. Hindu is a defunct nationality of the Sindhu River Valley, so named by their co-coreligionists of Persia, long before the advent of Zoroaster. This nomenclature was adopted by the Islamic plunderers for all those who lived in the Indus Valley and beyond to the East. The British resurrected this as a legal fiction of a religion to their political convenience.What are the traditional costumes of India?I would like to answer this, but I do not have the time to do so.Here are a few sites for you:http://blog.wifd.in/costumes_of_different_states_in_indiaWhat Are Examples of Traditional Indian Clothing?Traditional Dressing Style In Different State of India - StyleaddaWomen's Traditional Dresses and Costumes of Indian StatesWhat was common in India twenty five years ago but has vanished today?Marbles, kites and tops in Schools. Moslem women without Burqas. Mosques without illegal amplifiers for howling at Non Moslems. “Melba” flavoured ice cream (one drop of vanilla to two drops of rose). Common fields and parks where children could play cricket, kabbadi, gilli-dandlu, lagori and khokho. In Bangalore, public Tennis Courts, and rowing facilities. (Public Golf courses vanished fifty years ago). Free gymnasiums in parks. Girls going house to house during Dussehra and Boys going house to house during Ganesha Chathurthi. Free Spiced Butter-Milk and Lemon-Ginger-Jaggery juice at every street corner during Rama Navami. Bonfires with chorus singing and dancing during the Full Moon at “Holi”. Turbans were still to be seen. (They began to vanish fifty years ago). Series of oil lamps on every house during Deepavalli and Karthika Deepa. Ornate designs with rice powder at the entrance to every house.I could go on. But this gives a flavour of the Indianization of India as traditions, culture and civilization are stripped away to make way for a Judicial Neta-Babu conception of what the Moslems and the British might have liked.Why is Lucknow famous for its Chikankari work and chicken?The Chikankari work is unique to Lucknow. It comprises of taking up stitches on very thin white or pastel coloured cloth such that the stitches form a dreamy silhouette. Somewhat redolent of lace. It is not, strictly speaking, embroidery or petite point. Unlike for example, the Kashmiri embroidery which is very thick and colourful, Chikan is always carried out with white thread and is very delicate. More like a suggestion rather than a statement. Altogether the effect is dreamy and the sarees, which are sought after, are very light and cool. I remember buying a few near the Bhool Bulayan in the 1970s for my mother and sister at Bangalore and a stock of them for gifting to girl friends along the way.I do not know about Chicken.I also have pleasant memories of the Pan Walla on Hazrath Ganj and “Mehboob ki Mehndi” at Chauraha. What I really enjoyed about Lucknow was the Botanical Gardens where I used to jog ever morning whenever I was in Lucknow, and could never convince the staff that, “The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep and promises to keep, before I sleep” was not written by Jawaharlal Nehru as the Board along the “Forest Section” indicated, but was written by Robert Frost. I made unsuccessful attempts to correct this Indian “Education” of theirs in their voluminous “Suggestion Book” in 1977, 1979, 1983 and again, during my last visit, in 1987.I loved the Botanical Gardens because it took me right back to Bangalore and civilization from what was, otherwise, a semi barbaric place. Hazrath Ganj too, in those far off days, reminded me a little bit of South Parade and Brigade Road in Bangalore. The Mohamed Bagh Club was interesting. It was more comparable to the Central Provinces Club at Nagpur, somewhat rustic and provincial with a rather slummish crowd compared to the Bangalore Clubs of those days. But Bangalore’s clubs of these days are more like the Dehath and Loutish clubs of the North like Delhi Gymkhana than the Bangalore of long ago.So, Lucknow, back in those days, was a pretty good place to be compared to Kota, Budhana, or Kanpur if not quite as good as Calcutta or Delhi.But to be fair, I would never have seen one of the most wonderful sights of my life if I had not contracted dysentery at Budhana. I was out there in the fields with a Lothi when I saw two big trees light up alternately with fire flies. It was a moonless night in an electricity free village, and the sight was amazing. I almost felt happy about the dysentery. The other bonus was that I would go out early morning on horse back every day for inspection. I borrowed the horse from a retired Rishaldar Major who tested me on all points before risking his horse to my care.Kota too did have a botanical garden opposite the only place where one could see English Movies. (ancient ones : Navrang Talkies) but only on Sunday Mornings. I went knocking on the District Magistrate’s door to get a letter from him authorizing me to visit the botanical garden and walk around. Which I then did early every morning. I would walk around the Kalyani (Man Made Lake) in the center of the City every evening. And sometimes, stroll through the bazaar and into the exquisite little temples, and all the way to the Old Fort where hundreds of peacocks danced when it rained. Otherwise, it was locked against all intruders. A foretaste of what the “For Government, By Government, To Government” Indian Rapeublic would do to Bangalore’s Parks that were made for the free enjoyment of the common citizens by the Maharajas, but now put behind walls and gates and encroached by Government and Courts! Simple to rigorous imprisonment of parks, commons, Kalyanis and public welfare for perpetuity! Oh what a fall was there my country men when you and I, and all of us fell into the maws of the Indian Rapeublic!The Babus of Calcutta are the finest of all: (Poojo 1977)I shall not attribute my enviable intellect to that singular icon that unites Bengal with Communism, "Illyich": despite the persuasive P. G. Wodehouse.Way back in 1977, when I had been banished to the Wild North to earn a living, the merciful and beneficent Indian Republic having deprived my family of our patrimony,I was a Management Trainee with Punjab National Bank. I was posted at New Market Branch, Calcutta as "Officer-in-Charge" Foreign Exchange and Credit as part of my on-the-job training. I used to walk there in the early morning from Ramakrishna Lunch Home on Hazra Road. I used to walk back, late in the evening, after running the gauntlet of Free School Street and regaining my breath over a Bloody Mary at Trincas. I chose Hazra Road over Komala Vilas as the Behari's Avenue seemed too rash, given the price. There was also this tree on the foot path that proclaimed it to be a "Private Place for Members Only" where elderly men in their not so spotless dhotis gathered of an evening to pass a beedee around. Simply too snobbish for the likes of me. There, at New Market Branch, betwixt puffs of Macro Polo's "Planter's Special" purchased from the tobacconist who lurked in the far corner of the not so new New Market, I did battle with sundry crass, scropt scriveners of stray pennies, one of whom was my Head Clerk, Mukhejee Da ("Mooku" to the cognoscenti).Mooku was not the Union Leader. That position of banditry was occupied by Munden Babu. He of the stentorian voice who bellowed unless mellowed by membership of the more gentle, musical notes of a mass dharna or gherao in a team effort. But Mooku was the kolchoral idol for he led the Poojo Pondal teams both at the office and at home. Mooku devoted five monthe every year to preparing for Poojo and five months every year recovering from Poojo. It was as if he was the entire Indian Army gearing up to march up and down Raisina Hill in late January to pay their respects to the scum of India and then retiring thereafter to lick their wounds after this ill fated encounter..Mooku professed an ignorance of English and all things non Bengali. He condescended to take notice of my plaintive wails in Urdu written in Devanagari once he discerned that I was no virtuoso and was speaking in the argot of a Hindi Hater. But, only in so far as our joint expeditions into the mysterious world of Bad Debts, International Chamber of Commerce brochure Number 290, the contradictions between RBI directives and the laws of the land, Nostro, Loro and Vostro demanded.Then came the day when Mooku stood exposed. Suddenly it was, as if, his starched and pressed dhothi had fallen away from his well fed limbs. Kolkotta, in those days, provided the perfect prototype that the rest of India came to imitate over time. Among the last to follow suit was Mysore for the Electricity generated by the vision, industriousness and integrity of His Highness, Krishna Raja Wodeyar and his Diwan, Sir M. Vishweshwaraya had not yet succumbed to the bad maintenance, corruption and indifference of the Indian Republic that had studiously refrained from adding any newer Temples of Modern India in a tryst that began India's never ending mid night. So we sweated, frequently, in the ill ventilated halls of the Punjab National Bank by candle light in a day light rendered narrow by the architectural difficulties presented by stringent economy set against the unavailability of Real Estate. But this time, the power had failed as Mooku was drawing up elaborate plans for the Pondal rather than merely scrivening whatever little he could not avoid owing to his membership of the pay roll,One moment Mooku was there, in his accustomed seat, scribbling on foolscap, and the next he was standing on the counter, declaiming "The light has gone out of my life" from Milton's "Paradise Lost". The mask was fallen. Mooku had lost his virginity. Humpty Dumpty had had his tryst with destiny and not all the Communist Union Clerks nor all the Khangress Union Clerks could put his patriotism together again. That would have to wait for the next Officer-in-Charge.Thus exposed, Mooku did the next best thing. He decided to make friends with me. It was not done lightly. It took a great deal of effort on his part for he had worked himself into his earlier role with all the enthusiasm of an Utpal Dutt. But the same enthusiasm and rigour that he brought to his roles, his poetry elocution, and his Pooja Pandals demonstrated the fundamental Brahmin character of the man. He went about making friends with the same attention to detail and commitment that he had brought to making enemies.He invited me home for Poojo. There, I, a Vegetarian South Indian Brahmin was presented with Poddo Hilsa (Illyich) cooked in Mustard Oil.. Having overheard so many discussions at the Bank, I knew that the Illyich that had fed on the detriment in the Poddo River was a highly priced delicacy, imported from Bangla Desh and had a stink and pungency about it that only Mustard Oil could enhance. But, I am a Brahmin. The very model of perfection that inspired the likes of Sir Phillip Sydney ("Thy need is greater than mine" as he handed over his water bottle to a wounded soldier while he lay dying) and King George (who gnawed the thick end of the asparagus at the banquet so as not to offend King Ammanullah of Afghanistan in March 1928).and so, without further ado, i set about the Illyich, so as not offend my host. I had never eaten fish before. I pretended that I was not doing so now. I tried to pretend that this was actually the corpse of a Jyothi Basu, or an Indira Gandhi or a Karunanidhi that I was now consuming. I managed to finish the Illyich with a good pretence of relish. I had been the Best Actor at Oasis 1975, (BITS PIlani) and that came to my aid.Then followed the Mishthan. One sweet after another with coloured embellishments to a basic milky white of the soft kind and without the white in the hard kind. ."Mishthan Khabo" Mooku would command. And, hypnotized, I would obey. I lost count of the Mishthan in the mists of the foregoing Illyich exercise. Finally, after I had "Mishthan Khabened" more than ever before in a life that had not lacked for youthful gluttony, I was allowed to take Mooku's leave. Thankfully, he was inundated with visitors who commiserated, non verbally and atavistically, with him for having to allow a barbarian from the South into his sacred demesne. So, I tottered forth unaccompanied. There was a convenient lamp post placed enroute to the tram stop by some Scotsman in the 1900s. It was more Doric than Athenian, though fluted, and covered by hundreds of coats of peeling paint. I clutched it as I regurgitated the contents of my stomach into the open gutter nearby. Passers by pretended that I did not exist. For this, I was infinitely grateful. Suddenly I felt a sense of kinship with the passersby. For they too were doing the George and Sydney thing that I had just done. Thus intoxicated, I mounted the tram as a properly initiated and honorary Bengali.The ladies of Calcutta:I used to dance with the Loretto House girls who I met at Trincas on Park Street quite often. They were pretty and cultured and understood that an invitation to dance was not a proposition for anything more. I remember them by name and faces quite well as this was a brief interlude in civilization pending my return to Bangalore. (But Bangalore, even the “elite” clubs are not that cultured anymore!) Usha Iyer used to sing there in those days. Wow!Just a few months later, I was sitting at the Belgaum Branch of the State Bank of India supervising the balancing of the Clean Cash Book (the Daily Balance Sheet) for the previous day. Along comes the Maratha Head Clerk Thigani (yes, Thigani was his name, and I kid thee not) holding a fat roll of the print out from the manual adding machine in one hand and a bundle of some 6,000 vouchers in his other hand, his dolorous countenance set off with a pair of liquid melting brown eyes that would have made a Labrador look like Clint Eastwood about to draw, and intoned to me in a hopeless voice, “Fuck the panas paisa”. I raised my eyebrows and grimaced with disapproval. Unfazed, he repeated, “Fuck the panas paisa” . It was only later I discovered that he was vouchsafing to me, the ominous news, “Only fifty paise” in chaste Marathi. And why was it ominous? Because it is the missing fifty paise or the one rupee which would take hours, perhaps days to find, and though it might be clerical error, could easily be a symptom of fraud, sabotage or a major hole in the books!Betwixt Calcutta and Belgaum, after a stint as an Instructor of other Management Trainees and Senior Officers of the Punjab National Bank at Kanpur Training Center, I was given a taste of Indian Governance. Travelling by Reserved First Class, the train halted enroute to pick up a passenger accompanied by a basket of chicken and goats, who, like Gandhi, smelt worse than their livestock. I asked the TTE to get rid of these ticketless passengers. He demurred by pretending to speak no other language but Hindi and the four two legged live stock present (which expression includes the representative on the spot of the President of India) grinned at me. I pulled the chain. The Guards threatened to arrest me and produce me before the Magistrate at Lucknow for not speaking in Hindi (It was Hindi Day and this was the greater crime than pulling the chain). I informed the Guard that English was very much the language in which his respected morons, Nehru and Ambedkar had passed the Constitution, and that Magistrate or no magistrate, I would keep pulling the chain until the ticketless passengers were evicted from my compartment. It took a lot of stubborn patience and time before, finally, the VIPs of Uttar Pradesh, both biped and quadruped together with the basket cases, were moved to another, more accommodating First Class compartment to wean me from my chain pulling propensity.“Abandon all hope of law, ye who enter India”Some twenty five years later, when I returned from several years of travail in the US, Kenya and Japan, the impact of Indian Governance was far more pervasively and viciously evident when I took up the matter of the Committee acting in suicidal violation of the rules of the Club at the Annual General Body of The Bangalore Club.The Committee, thereafter fabricated false evidence, and in violation of several other rules of the club, framed me and suspended me. They went on to post me as a “Vandal” in some Nine Notice Boards of the Club for six months!I filed a criminal case against the committee members, which, on the basis of evidence submitted by me, was Cognized by the Additional Principal Magistrate of Bangalore. Before the matter could come to trial, the Karrinayithikka High Court granted a “stay” on the proceedings in clear violation of the procedures laid down for the court and the directives of the Supreme Court that High Courts must not interfere in criminal proceedings in lower courts.After several years and several judges, one judge, even more unfit for jurisprudence than the rest, after informing my lawyer in open court, without any evidence to this effect, alleged that I was a drunkard, exhorted my lawyer to counsel me to stop at the second drink and went on to plead with my lawyer to withdraw the case. I was present. He also informed my lawyer that the Indian Penal Code was NOT applicable in India as this was not the US or UK. He looked into my lawyer’s unmoved face, and then asked whether he had ever set eyes on me (probably to dispel any lingering suspicion of prejudice). My Lawyer told him that I was present in Court. I rose. The Judge then took one look at me and told my advocate that this case would better proceed in his chambers and adjourned the case. Later, he dismissed my case without any consideration whatsoever for evidence, laws, procedure or facts. When I appealed to the Supreme Court, shelling out a massive sum for the privilege, those lordships declined to uphold the rule of law.I may add that eight Judges of the Karrinayithikka High Court were exposed having an orgy with school girls at Mysore by the Press. They got away completely free to continue imposing their personal brands of jurisprudence on the hapless citizens of India.What general notions do people have about the residents of each Indian state?“Not one of us”I revel in my own prejudices. Without any guilt. They are my defences built up for my own protection on the basis of hard core experiences since birth. I see no reason at all to apologize for them. I do, however, remain open to contrary experiences that may change my opinion. I could not learn otherwise. There is no such thing as a person without prejudices. There is a lot of semantics designed to disconcert the unsure by playing on their guilt, greed and fears.Feeling, awareness and expression must be congruent to articulate effectively. Most have been rendered incongruent by guilt, greed and fears known collectively and euphemistically as "political correctness).The Goops(Gelett Burgess)The meanest trick I ever knewWas one I know you never do.I saw a Goop once try to do it,And there was nothing funny to it.He pulled a chair from under meAs I was sitting down; but heWas sent to bed, and rightly, too.It was a horrid thing to do!Table MannersThe Goops they lick their fingers,And the Goops they lick their knives;They spill their broth on the tablecloth--Oh, they lead disgusting lives!The Goops they talk while eating,And loud and fast they chew;And that is why I'm glad that IAm not a Goop--are you?Xenophobia is a Universal animal condition that can be freely observed in the wild and to which human flesh is heir.It is rooted in the insecurity of the individual and families, and extends to socio metric groups such as social sets, political parties, clubs, secret societies, professional guilds (i.e. gyaties or jaties). adherents to ideologies (Communism? Dalitism? Dravidism?) competing business organizations, competing proselytizing religions, nations and their respective targets for hostile take overs.It is Vladimir Putin who recently observed that the more educated and well to do human beings are, the less xenophobic and more civilized they become. Unwittingly, he focused my attention on why Islam (Quran and Hadith) ensures that Moslems remain Barbarians in perpetuity, so that they may accomplish the goal of Islam and establish the Sharia on the rubble of all civilization. But, then, Soviet totalitarianism spawned an intense and wide spread awareness of the Behavioural Sciences but more so of the Skinnerian (Pavlovian? rather than the Rogerian) kind and social psychology.From the general to the particular. In India we do so because1. The British taught us to do so in order to “divide to rule” and made this the sub text of the Indian Constitution and laws through their dependent and indoctrinated stooges to whom they handed over their mantle of power and,2. India’s imbecile Judges, moron politicians, idiot bureaucrats, and cretin journalists are incapable of fathoming any other way to rule (i.e. loot) India than how they learned from the British and which is why the British eradicated the real freedom fighters and anointed these scoundrels to rule. India’s Kleptocrats (the ruling thugs) are like the clowns in the Circus who fall over every time they are hit with a slap stick by their fellows, and continue to do so even after the slap stick is removed. So are India’s serfs i.e. Non Governmental sub humans, the sticks, the stones, the worse than senseless things, bereft of the elitist intellectualism or Brahmanism, that India’s founding tyrants were careful to eradicate since inception.This is why “inequality under law”, “exceptions to the rule of law”, and “different laws for different folk”, is enshrined in India’s Constitution and Laws so that the State may steal from some for the benefit of others on the basis of caste tribe, religion, linguistics, race, ideology and proximity to power to keep India in a perpetual state of low intensity civil war (divided) and subservient to the corrupt, incompetent kleptocrats (who rule), importing goods and exporting wealth as behooves the subjugated colony of an alien power (and, post 1947, alien powers).Which Indian festival do you believe is worth celebrating and why?Every Native festival whether drawn from the Lunar (Aryan) Calendar or the Solar (Druhyu) Calendar or revolving around great legends or small local legends revolving around the religion and culture represented by individual temples MUST be celebrated. They represent the roots and heritage of communities from the tiniest village to the over arching indigenous tribes, peoples, religions and nations of India, and, together with their costumes, colours, songs, dramas, special food offerings, languages, worship and rituals, these represent an irreplaceable tapestry of CULTURE.Culture:At the Individual and Social level,Moderation in all things is the finest measure of culture. It comes neither fully formed nor still born, but grows with the application of discrimination to experience rather than the application of absolutes.At the level of a Nation or a People,Culture is the very raison de etre of a People or a Nation. It is the butter churned from the milk of human experience. It is the most precious possession of any Nation or People. When a people or a Nation abandon culture using the convenience of moderation or alien notions when defending against barbarism, they write their own death warrant.As has the Indian Constitution and primitive, barbaric Judiciary, just as the people of Western Europe are doing now.I have long held the view that India needs a draconian law to protect native culture, temples, and practices from enemies such as the Constitution, courts, laws, politicians, bureaucrats, police and members of the public imbued with alien ideologies insofar as these customs do not violate the Indian Penal Code as it obtained prior to 1921.I grew up, from sixty to forty years ago in a tiny island of the Vijayanagar Empire in Kalyanipuri (now insulted as Bengaluru) that had survived the cultural genocide carried out by the PANGOLIN* Republic of India. So, the cultural heritage of India is very well known to me as an exponent of Shroutha (Heard) Smartha (Remembered) Brahmin Ithihasa (History),Kalyanipuri is a pun. At once, like Shroedinger's cat, it is a reference to Kalyani (Draupadi) the presiding deity of Bangalore and for whom the annual "Karaga" is celebrated at the Yudhisthira Temple (Dharmarayana Gudi) and also a reference to to the hundreds of common wealth tanks that made Bangalore, which extended far beyond today's boundaries, such a fecund, green, flood immune and climatically wonderful place.The latter is extinct, the days of the former are numbered. As are, Bengaluru's that will realize Kempe Gowda's prediction and fall upon the swords of its backward rulers by having crossed its laid down limits.This is just one more fact that indicates that even more than the Moslems or the British, it is the Indian Rapeublic and its erudition, arithmetic, integrity, culture and hygiene challenged politicians, bureaucrats, judges, police, journalists and cronies, for the most part Constitutionally certified to be congenital cretins, who are the willful vandals of History, Truth, Culture, Humanity and the desire to excel.The so called "Patriots" whose statues are installed and names inscribed everywhere that a dog used to lift a leg in India are far worse than the Moslems because, while the Moslems are driven by a cult derived from war manuals of more than a thousand years ago and derive inspiration from locusts, termites and howling jackals, the Patriots lay claim to a higher value system on the basis of having been brain washed in Presidency, Columbia, Cambridge, Madras Christian, St Stephen's, Loyola and so on*Note: PANGOLIN: An enemy of India who believes in inequality under law, exceptions to the rule of law and persecution of some for the benefit of others. At present, the sole purpose of the Indian Republic, Constitutional or otherwise, is to pamper and provide for certain constitutionally preferred sections of society who the British found useful to hold and exploit India at the cost of those who the British hated and persecuted. The Pangolin is a creature that is unique to India and feeds on ants that are known in nature to be industrious and hard working if not quite as fruitful as bees who flee to better climes. (PANGOLIN is an acronym for the Periyar-Ambedkar-Nehru-Gandhi-Other (alien) Religions-Communist Consensus that usurped the British Mantle and has worn it with elan to loot, plunder, and rape India since 1921 and re write History and laws to their exclusive benefit since 1947)If all people are not equal, then why do we judge everyone all the time?It is the human sense of legitimate and genuine insecurity that leads all people, who are not naive, to judge others at all times.They do so to protect and preserve themselves from the acts of omission and commission of a friend, an enemy or those with power over them.In conclusion:The Last note:Long, long, ago in a locality just like ours, a violinist took A #.He had been thrown out of one locality after another until he arrived here.It did not take us long to find out why he had been thrown out from one place after another.But we were decent folk as we were strictly down market.So we got together and went and knocked on his door.We carried a stout rope with us. Just in case.We had raised a subscription for the rope,I had been a boy scout, so the knot was left to me.It was I who broke the silence.“Why”, I inquired, in as lofty and majestic a voice as I could muster,“Can’t you play your violin like everybody else”?The virtuoso preened and struck a profile for us.And then, with a look of infinite condescension and superiority,“They are all searching for the place”, Quoth he.“Eureka”.Epilogue: Heuristically speaking, I deny, for the record, that I am Rekha.And, yes. Rekha did do it.