Train Rage - 2

In my talk at the Blog Camp at the Mood Indigo at IIT, Powai, I said bloggers should be given accreditation similar to the one given to journalists. After all, journalism is literature in a hurry and blogging is journalism in a hurry. Doubts? Ask Julian Assange.

Jokes aside.

So why not an association, an authority, a department, a directorate (as the government is fond of calling its emasculated enforcement agencies) for accrediting bloggers. Or, better still, why can't the Press Information Bureau (the authority that accredits journalists) accredit bloggers also. I once applied to this hallowed body and was told that the journalist has to work in a fortnightly and since I was working for a monthly my application was rejected. Hm. I am good at being rejected and taking it in my strides. Ask my childhood friends, or, sweethearts.

Here's a picture of me waiting for a train in the wee hours of the morning at Belapur station. Inside, it's warm because of the pack of flesh grating against each other. Inside the train there was a fight brewing, too close to comfort. I hoped they would say something nice to each other and end their animosity, on a cold morning when the chill fills one with dread. It's like the standoff between Saddam and Bush. But they didn't. Following is the malfeasant conversation that took place:

- When you can't stand properly why do you enter the compartment?

- Why did you enter the compartment then?

- What did you say?

- What did you say first?

He replies with an insult to the other's close relative, a female one.

We shush both of them and separate them. C'on guys, its a cold morning and you need to warm up to each other. Spread some warmth and cheer, fellow commuters. Show some compassion. That brings me to the misplaced realisation: are we compassionate at all?