Something About Everything

There is a story to be told!

Birthdays…

Well right now, I probably should be trying to figure out how to apply graph coloring to system registers. Or reviewing the 8th of 8 dreary cloud computing papers. Ah but chuck it. Life is not about what you ‘ought’ to be doing is it ?

Birthdays. Not your own. But of people who are special to you. They are weird days you know. Weird, because they make you sad and happy at the same time. I have never been able to place my finger on why they give out mixed feelings. I guess they make you sad if you can’t be a part of the celebration. After all birthdays are about sharing right? Like, you won’t really sit in a room all by yourself and sing “happy birthday to you” thingy. And then birthdays are also about anticipation. Anticipation, of whether the person whose birthday it is, will like your gift or not. And then if they don’t, or worst, if you don’t give a gift at all, you feel all rotten. I have been at both ends of the stick- I don’t seem the type, but I had thrown a tantrum once because I didn’t like a gift I got (or didn’t).

My dad. Doesn’t read my blog. He doesn’t know it exists, for that matter. It is his birthday, a week from now. I wrote him a birthday card today. I hope the card reaches him on time (which as an after thought might be a small miracle, across the globe). But I really can’t describe the feeling I had while writing the card. I have never given a gift to my dad on his birthday. Does that sound very aweful? I guess it is. But it is only after getting my bum here that I have realized. Time you have with people you love is short. No, it really is. Who knows- it might not be the same always. What an ominous thing to say while talking about birthdays.

But it is true.

The two sides of the coin

Hello people :)

Sorry, I haven’t posted for some time. When I got here, I had like 10 days before I got started with classes, and could have easily posted, but I was just trying to soak up the new experience. Not to forget get done with basic stuff like getting the phone, the laptop, the internet, opening the bank account etc. etc.
And then since classes have started, I have had hardly any time to look up from assignments. Last week was crazy and nearly ran me down, so I decided to take some time off and just relax a bit today.

So, USA…
Its a nice country. You don’t really feel anything different from India- maybe because Raleigh is like that. Most of the time. But the moment you start getting too comfortable about it, you somehow get reminded that you are in a foreign land. Lets start off from the beginning.

While leaving from home, I wasn’t really scared, excited, nervous. I had even chosen to fly all alone. No friends with me this time.
It was very gradual you know- Like a small kid who sits in the giant wheel at the fair, and slowly the wheel takes him up and away from the ground, where his people are, looking back up at him.

I got on the plane, flew directly from Mumbai- Newark, NJ. Hah, that’s when all the fun began. I got off the plane to find myself at a huge-ass airport that didn’t have all the helpful signs to show where to go next. Plus I had a 33kg bag, a 23kg bag, an 18kg bag and a small back-pack (don’t ask me what I was carrying in all that). And I was lugging it around in the wrong direction. They got multiple levels at the airport there, and everyone was crisscrossing, and somehow question I was asking officials weren’t being answered properly. Finally after about half an hour of lugging that stuff around, I got into the right queue. And then bless you Continental Airlines. You know what these people do? For security, which is a valid enough reason, they make you take off your shoes, belts, wallets AND all electronic items from your bag- that’s all fine and dandy, but right at that moment, I had already flown 18 hours, and I wasn’t really game for all that (having done it already at the Mumbai airport). Anyway, I just wanted to be done. Finally I got through all that, breathed a sigh of relief. Found the nearest information desk, figured out which gate my flight to Raleigh was leaving from (they don’t have that printed on your ticket if you are in transit).

I sat down somewhere, took out my cell phone- Cingular had taken over from my Indian Idea connection- put through two messages- reached Newark, waiting for the next flight. Somehow, Newark airport was weird. I didn’t like it at all. Finally I got talking to one Israeli guy, who happened to be a student at NC State too. Sometime later I got on my WWII Bombardier aircraft :P. I really really liked that ride. Flying just above the clouds, with a roaring sound of the engines. Occasionally just dipping down enough to catch a glimpse of the green countryside and the lakes.

Raleigh- the city of oaks. I’ve been here for some time now, and its a nice city. There are huge houses, loads of trees, nice broad roads. But there are no people. Or very few people. There are like 5 skyscrapers, even downtown. And it is the capital of North Carolina. There’s so much horizontal space, that they don’t make them vertical here. There are lots of squirrels (which are pretty big, but don’t have stripes like ones in India do), but few birds. How can there be lots of trees and few birds? I really don’t understand. But its a nice place. People are nice and polite ( I guess that’s the case everywhere in USA). Well most of the times. Got sworn at by a crazy eyed woman in a bus once, but it is okay. You brush such things aside. Everything here is far off from each other. You either take the bus, or take a long walk. The university? Well, its awesome. I’ve never seen anything like this before- all the super high tech stuff and super posh buildings, its all all right here. Its a nearly two months here now and I am used to the Walmarts, the Foodlions, and ordering stuff online. You order everything online here. It ships to your home, and they give refunds if you don’t want it – I’ve tried it. I am also used to getting hungry at 3 pm, realizing there is no lunch cooked- then realizing the utensils are unwashed- doing all that and then having lunch at 430. Well, one thing worth mentioning is- I LOVE COOKING. I really really enjoy it. I nearly look forward to it most of the days.

Fortunately, I have good roomies. That’s a really important thing you know- you don’t want to get back home after a long day to have a trip-wire atmosphere at home. So far, so good. The assignments are really kicking some butt right now, and they just keep them coming. At anytime, I’m always sitting on two deadlines at the minimum. Anyway, that’s part of grad life.

I am not home sick as such, and I am happy most of the time, but sometimes I really feel the distance, and don’t like it at all. One thing is for certain, I will put up with it, and bear it for as long as I need to, but I will never get used to it. No, I will never get used to staying away from people I love. What they say is wrong, you don’t get used to such things. “Savay hoil thodya divsanni?”  “Sorry, nahi honar.” But it is okay for the time being.

Leaving you with some pics, will try to write more regularly :). Adios !

The Memorial Bell Tower

A random building in North Campus

Trailwood Drive, just across my house

Mee Puneri

Pune. My home for 22 years.
Being a cousin of a city as overwhelming as Mumbai, it would have been easy to fall into the role of a poor relative. Any other city would have easily succumbed, but not Pune. Not my Pune.

Pune is careful to ensure that Mumbainess does not rub onto her carefully cultivated veneer. Pune was a seat of power and culture- the center of the Maratha kingdom under the Peshwas, when Mumbai was only a group of backward islands. Every Punekar is keenly aware of this. Not just aware, but will make it a point to remind others of its superiority at every single opportunity. We know our Shaniwarwadas, Lal Mahals and Vishrambaug Wadas. Our Parvatis and Manache Ganpatis.  We know, and we gloat.

Pune is young and vibrant. So young, that there are more two-wheelers than cars. So vibrant, that there are restaurants every 50 meters. Pune is supercilious, and haughty. Fortunately though, this supercilious attitude translates into action. Punekars think. They talk. Then unlike most, they act. Vinita Kamte, the wife of DCP Ashok Kamte who killed in the 26/11 attack embodies the spirit of Pune. One callous comment about her husband’s bravery provoked her to take on the powerful establishment. But once she got her message across, she retreated into the quiet of her city, to live undisturbed.

In other places, people form queues because that’s the fastest way to get things done. In Pune, they do it because that’s what a disciplined city should do. Discipline though, is only to be shown when on foot. When on wheels, Punekars make their own rules. They decide when they have waited long enough for a traffic light to turn green, and then make a decision themselves. It is a phenomenon worth watching. Ten vehicles jumping a signal together.

Punekars love their Chitale baker-wadis and amrakhanda’s. They also love their Vaishali.  But they embrace Hard Rock Cafe with equal enthusiasm. And education is the city’s pride. Yes, you have degree spewing colleges. But you also have NDA, BJ Medical, Ferguson. The list goes on. Pune is growing. IT hubs on the fringes bring in a new influx of people from all over the country. New folks and varied mindsets. They remain separate from the core of Pune though, like oil floating on water. Pune takes its time assimilating people. No, it doesn’t reject them outright. But you’ve got to stay in the city for atleast a generation before you can be called a Punekar (you might become a Puneite much sooner).

This is my last post from Pune. It might be quite some time, before I sit in the comfort of my home in Pune and write a post. My last 48 hours, for a long time.

But I am a Punekar. And once you are that, you will return to your city by choice.
When your job is done.
Return, to live and die here.

The love that made a router

It was 1979. Sandra Learner, a young Computational Mathematics graduate from Stanford met Leonard Bosack, in the Stanford computer lab. In a place where nerd culture was in its extreme, Leonard seemed quite different. His clothes were clean, he bathed, and used silverware, she thought. Another girl would have had higher expectations, but that was Stanford, and it was enough for Sandra. She was enchanted.

It was budding love, and something that needed nurturing, and time being spent together. However, Leonard, who managed the computer science department’s computers, and Sandra, who managed the computer system for the Graduate School of Business, worked at opposite ends of Stanford University campus. A campus that was 8000 acres big. They could send e-mails back and forth using the campus Local Area Network (LAN), but their two computers, which ran on different operating systems, could not communicate directly. Using an updated version of an IMP (Interface Message Processor), Leonard, Sandra, and two Stanford staff members ran network cables between the buildings and connected them. They improved the connectivity of the original device so that it worked better with unrelated networks, computer systems, and protocols. Pretty soon, word got out, and other universities began asking for these new, improved devices, which were called Multiprotocol Routers.

The couple realized the commercial potential of the new development and approached Stanford with a proposal to sell the routers commercially. Because Stanford is a nonprofit organization, it could not enter into a commercial venture, and therefore it declined and forbade the group from selling the technology. However, the couple decided to go ahead with the commercialization. Meanwhile the love culminated into the couple marrying in 1980.

A tight budget is always good training ground for an entrepreneur, and the husband-and-wife team put that training to good use when they decided to quit their jobs at the university and commercialize their computer networking invention under the name -

in 1984, a name inspired from the city of San Francisco. Their logo, was based on the Golden Gate Bridge of the city.

They financed their venture by mortgaging their house and persuading friends and relatives to work for deferred pay and sold their first router in 1986.

At first they sold mostly to fellow engineers via Arpanet, an electronic grapevine used by many universities. But they soon realized that not just universities wanted their routers. Even the Proctor & Gamble in San Francisco wanted to talk with the Proctor & Gamble in Des Moines. Within the first year, the company was in danger of going broke. In addition, they had to beat back a demand from Stanford University for $11 million in “license” fees for the right to sell an invention Bosack developed while still on the
Stanford payroll. Stanford eventually settled for about $150,000 plus free routers and support service.

With heavy hearts, the couple approached Donald Valentine, the venture capitalist who funded Apple Computers, for help. They had to surrender the controlling stock in the new-born company. With this, a lot of things changed. Cisco’s initial managers had been a collection of Sandra’s and Leonard’s friends-a 70-year-old retired physicist, for instance, was a plant manager. The new chief executive, John Morgridge replaced them with more experienced hands. Morgridge also built up a direct sales force to woo the corporate accounts. Within a few years, till 1990, the sales had jumped to $300 million. However, Sandra did not get along with Morgridge, and he fired her in 1990, at which point, Leonard, also quit. The two immediately sold their founder shares in Cisco for an estimated $170 million. Like a lot of start-ups, Cisco had its share of growing pains. However, unlike many of them, it was built on an idea strong enough to survive the early turmoil.

P.S.: This story, is a Silicon Valley legend. It is of course based on facts, but the development of any device is not just one person’s handy work. Different parts of the system were built and contributed by different people. This version is highly opposed by Stanford, who alleged that Bosnack copied their design. There is however no indication regarding why they dropped their charges and agreed for a settlement instead. Meanwhile, the legend lives on in the corridors of Cisco and Silicon Valley. Unfortunaley, Leonard and Sandra are now separated.

Fear

When I was small, I would wail my lungs out when mom and dad used to go to work everyday. I would drag my babysitter along as far as I could, trying to hold back mom from going to work. I was never a weepy kid, I never cried in nursery school or anything. It was just when I used to be at home, and mom used to be the one who was going out, that I used to cry. I don’t know, it was very basic, raw fear. Fear, of…

As I got older, I got over the crying bit. Folks at home would go to work as usual, and I actually would be glad to have the freedom to do whatever I liked. My parents being in the profession they are in, they often had to work late nights. Come nightfall, and I would start feeling the fear again. I would go up on the terrace at night and wait for mom and dad to come. Then as soon as I used to hear the car turning at the corner, I would rush downstairs, turn off all lights and jump in the bed. Those were the days of 10 o’ clock curfew, you know. Content, that whatever was in my small world then, was safe, I used to nod off to sleep within seconds.

Well times have changed, and I am a young adult. Obviously, one would think that I have gotten over the fear I used to have as a kid- of someone I loved not returning.

Not ‘not returning’, in a virtual, or emotional way- I’m talking about actual, physical not returning. But no. Each time someone close goes out of town, I have this stupid irrational fear that that person is not coming back. I know, sounds silly. Supremely silly. And I’m not one of those ‘dooms- day’ believers. Nor am I a sissy. Still, the fear is absolutely real. Like if feelings could be touched, this would be rock hard. By fear, I don’t mean that I start sweating. But yeah, I get that lump in the pit of my stomach. And of course, I don’t say anything to anybody. Not even to the one who is going out of town. Then I calm myself with a deep breath, and get busy with something else.

But when I don’t hear from the one who is out there after some expected time, it is back. The fear I have had since childhood.

Deep breath…

Four Years…

..and 39 subjects later, I am a
\m/ ENGINEER \m/

Finger Finger Heal Heal

Oh man !!

I wasn’t even going to write about this on the blog. Yeah, I had my Visa interview at the US consulate yesterday, and I wasn’t going to write about it. Because then I start advising people- do this, do that ; like for the GRE post. And well, who the hell AM I to advise people. Nobody ! :P

So well, I went to Mumbai the previous day of the interview. I stayed at an acquaintance’s place in South Mumbai, just in front of the consulate. The interview was at 9.00 am.

Time: 5.45 am, day of the interview.
I’m quite alert, lying in the bed and running the interview questions through my head. I don’t usually do this, but whenever I do, I feel supremely confident. So too that morning- I was brimming with confidence. I had tea and some biscuits, and around 7 went to have my bath. Now the American consulate has a particular procedure where they take the fingerprints of all your 10 fingers before issuing the visa. The fingerprinting machine is completely electronic, so if you have any sort of cuts on your fingers, the prints don’t register and you are sent back. Two weeks before the interview, my mom starts being after me, telling me to take care of my fingers, and thinking of a hundred ways in which they might get cut. While cutting lemons, shaving etc etc. My mom can be like the Final Destination movies sometimes. LOL.

Anyway, I’m just done with my bath, and I pull the flush. You know, before exiting the bathroom. And there’s this small crack in that water container that the flushing mechanism has, and I brush my finger against that crack by mistake, and next second- there’s a nasty cut on my middle finger’s (yeah right) tip. And hell- it starts bleeding like a knife wound. I though- God!! Of all times, NOW?? I quietly sneaked out, got my handkerchief from the suitcase and came back into the bathroom, trying to stem the bleeding. But it won’t just stop. Finally I conclude that dude- you got no option but to tell dad about this. I just went out and just showed him my finger. My dad went white in the face. “Rohan !! What have you done !!” He got some ice cubes, wrapped them in a handkerchief and told me to hold it against the wound. Then he went out to get some band-aids. And all this while, he was quite dazed and shocked. And I’m like shit shit shit ! And that finger was bleeding like hell.

Now there’s this age old grandmother’s recipe sort of a thing that’s been passed  down my family.  If you apply ash to a bleeding wound, it stops bleeding immediately. First, ash is sterile, because its burnt, and there’s no chance of any germs being in it. As soon as dad goes out, I start thinking- I gotta get hold of some ash from somewhere. Then I remember this sacred ‘udi’ or ash that I’ve got in a plastic sachet in my bag. I eat a bit of  it everyday when I pray after my bath. I rush to my bag, find the sachet, and just dip my finger in the ash. The bleeding stops pronto.  Till then dad comes back with band- aids, and he’s all nervous. I somehow calm my self. Nerves of steel baby- AGAIN. Nerves of steel. I tell dad- don’t worry. I’m getting this visa (although I don’t quite believe it myself).

Well, we reach Visa Facilitation Center, and we are told there that the schedule is running 45 mins late, and the 9.00 am batch won’t be called in till 9.45 at least. I’m like, OK, good for the finger, more time to heal. I get myself a place to sit down calmly, and keep chanting to my finger ‘heal, heal; please’ :P. And all this while my dad is passing sideways glances at it and mentally imagining my Visa flying out of the window. Finally, they call out for the 9.00 am batch at the VFS. I tell my dad- don’t worry, I’ll do it.

We are taken to the consulate in a bus, and then after a strip security check, are taken to the main hall.
Counter number 1: Everyone’s standing in a queue for fingerprinting. Two ladies are taking the fingerprints. When everything is ok, the machine gives out a beep. A young mom is standing with a bawling kid behind me. She’s telling him- keep quiet, otherwise the bhaiya (ME) will take you home. I’m like yeah- I’ll probably be going home in 2 mins anyway. Its my turn now at the fingerprints machine. I think- GOD, please, do this for me. Not so far for nothing. PLEASE! I put my left hand on the machine first. It beeps. OK. Now my right hand. I lift my hurt finger slightly, so that the cut at the tip doesn’t register. No beep. “Sir, you are not doing it properly”. The lady presses my hurt finger against the machine. I hold my breath.
BEEP.
I’m clear !! No problemo !!
ELATED, I get myself a place to sit down. My confidence jumps to the roof again.

The rest is history.
45 mins later, I am told by a plump, cute, woman-
Sir, welcome to USA. Have a nice stay.

Wait

Guys,
Been some time since my last post. Last week was a blur. Had my submissions, and it got pretty hectic, because of my habit of keeping things incomplete till the last moment. My LAST submission. And- my last week of undergrad college. The weird part is, it went off just like that. Uncelebrated. Argh…

Lots of things happened though. Sunday evening was spent in front of the TV, watching Mumbai v/s Chennai. Cheering for Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. Hell yeah, I was even wearing the MI jersey, though I was watching all by myself. But things were not to be. In crunch situations, there is no scope for human error. Ah, but human error is random, so nothing can be done or said about that.

Meanwhile, two birdies tweeted and tweeted, till our ears got sore, and then finally someone whacked them off- you must have heard the story- Tales of Lalit Tharoor and Shashi Modi. Morale of the story- look what happens when you bang on the keyboard without thinking. Precisely why I dislike twitter.

And well- the real news is, I’m done with the admissions season. Finally.
10 Universities- 6 Admits, 3 Rejects and last one is inconsequential.

Everyone hates the waiting game. And the wait was long, stretching over past 6 months. Full of anticipation, then the frustration- that comes from checking the application statuses too often, happiness and thankfully, not much disappointment. The great part is, the friends got into places they always wanted to be in. Me too – in that huge university in not-so-huge Raleigh, NC. :)

The Wolfline

Well, in general, as far as I am concerned, the results were much better than I expected. I’d applied to pretty competitive programs, and getting in was a great thing. The University of Pune isn’t like the most sought after universities in the world, despite what they claim. Well, that’s what I think anyway.

But some of my friends/ my brother etc. are of the opinion that I under-applied/ did not apply to the top 10 universities in US or whatever. For me though, the choice of places was quite simple- cost, coursework, location and lastly, reputation. In that order.
I had no economic issues, but just because I have the entire savings of my parent’s lifetime at my disposal, doesn’t mean I would want to spend all of that money. And then have the pressure of staying on- earning the treasure back etc. etc. Master’s applicants are supposed to be mature people who apply their heads, and I think I did just that. Still, maybe my opinion will change few years down the line- if it does, I’ll definitely point to this post.

These days, apart from studying for the upcoming exams, I am moderating a couple of forums. You know, every new thing that you take up, makes you discover new sides of yourself. I’ve realized that I’ve got a low tolerance to people asking the same questions again and again. My natural instincts make me want to jump at them and tick them off, but thankfully, sensibility has prevailed and my tendency has been curtailed to being slightly caustic and mostly polite…till now anyway! :D

Right to Education- a different perspective

Every once in a while, the Indian government comes out with a gem of a law. Last time, it was the Right to Information (RTI) which finally enabled the man on the street to figure out what exactly goes behind those closed bureaucratic doors.

Yesterday, i.e. 1st April 2010, another landmark bill was passed in the Indian parliament- the Right to Education Act.

For those of you who aren’t clear about what exactly the act entails, let me explain- amongst other things, it makes 25% reservation for the underprivileged compulsory in all schools- including private schools, whether aided/ non-aided. Excellent idea that, on first thought. Of course, the fees will be waved off/nominal for these kids. And already, the private-schools bodies have started protesting against the bill, approaching the Supreme Court to get it revoked. The bill ensures that these private schools cannot find loop holes to get around it. They can’t segregate the poor kids from the rich kids. No discrimination, no separate morning school for the rich kid, and afternoon one for the poor kid or anything.

As I said, great initiative.
Only, I had a strange thought as I was having dinner in front of the TV yesterday. You remember the time when you were in school, and your friend got a nice shiny new toy?? Or a fancy compass-box ? These days however, with the ‘upgradation’ of kids in schools, the ‘compass boxes’ are replaced by ipods and other expensive stuff. You know, in my school, I think they allow 5th grade kids to have cell phones. Getting back to the point- so you remember going back home and telling your mom that you want a similar shiny toy too? And then throwing a tantrum/ sulking  when folks at home refused to entertain you?

So what happens, when the poor kids start going to ordinarily-rich-kids-schools? Will they always have a complex of being poorer, and not having all that stuff that 75% of their classmates have? Imagine- my mom washes dishes and sweeps the floor at your mom’s place. I’ll feel very nice about it, will I? Will the poor kid’s parents even want their kids to attend school at such places? The more I think about this, and the more I find a recipe for disaster cooking up in my head.

I’ve been working with an NGO (Akanksha) for the past few months, and have interacted with some slum kids closely. As my friend had pointed out once, the underprivileged kids are exposed to some pretty nasty things at an early age- things, that well-to-do people don’t expose their children to. So you have here a confluence of two different kinds of little minds- one, which has had real world bad experience, and other, which has had the internet world super-exposure. And grade one, these kids are not going to have the maturity to learn from each other/ celebrate the differences sort of thing. Its going to be a stark contrast. Fullstop.

What are your views on this? Drop in a comment.

Khakhi’s Plight

Place: Kalina, Mumbai
Time: 08.00 hrs
Occasion: Job Placement
Jobs Available: 3,250
People Applying: 30,300

Many of the prospective employees standing in the line are graduates- LLB’s, BSC’s. Some even postgraduates. “What job are they applying for?” you might ask.

Its a job that starts at 5-6 a.m. Then it continues for 12 hours. Sometimes 14. There is officially no lunch break. No tea break. After 25+ years of service, you get payed Rs. 14,000/month. Rs. 10 are cut from your salary, each month for your children’s education. If you are not seen at the job-site for even 20 mins, the supervisor, who makes random checks marks you absent. There’s a way out of that though. You can pay him Rs. 100 and get him to mark you present. You are given Rs. 99 only as allowance for stitching the company’s trousers . Pants, which cost Rs. 350.

Wondering what sort of a job that is, are you?

Company: Indian Police Force
Job openings: Constable

On 8th March, at the above venue, a stampede took place when the gates were opened, and the job applicants jumped over the barricades and the gates. 1 dead, 11 injured. Normal story, huh? Why are these people so eager to get the job? A job that guarantees nearly zero job satisfaction? Is it because of the respect they get from people? Is it because they want to serve their country? Or is it because of the bribes they can collect?

A plumb posting in the police force cost anything like 1 lakh for the constabulary to 10 lakhs for inspectors and sub-inspectors. Plumb, meaning a posting where you can collect maximum bribes. Like an area with lots of illegal establishments (dance bars, liquor dens, ‘massage’ parlors) or a traffic cop posting at a busy chowk. Think khaki. Think corrupt policemen.

But the point is, can we really blame the ‘mama’ on the road for collecting bribes? Can you realistically expect a guy, with Rs. 14000 as his salary, to support a wife and 2-3 kids? Can he even afford a house? Frankly speaking, I think he has every right to collect bribes. Did you know, that the policemen aren’t even provided bullet-proof vests free of cost? They have to buy vests costing anything like Rs 50,000 on their own. Mostly on the streets and always surrounded by vehicles, traffic policemen are exposed to smoke, dust, noise, making them top candidates for pollution-related ailments. The Indian Bureau of Police Research and Development (BPR&D) has recommended 800 policemen for 10,000 people. The actual figure is 125 cops for 1,00,000 citizens. Cops are often accused of being ruthless and rude. You must’ve seen the video clippings of police brutality on the news channels. Even though they need to be trained in behavioral skills, their attitude stems from the stress they encounter.

Police reform has only seen knee jerk reactions, mostly crisis related. Think 26/11 and the mad scamper by the government to equip cops in Mumbai with better weapons. With a overall lack of will to overhaul the system from the political, bureaucratic and legal fraternity, the day when India will have copybook cops wont come anywhere in the near future.

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