So, the budget is due on 1st February. Every Tom, Dick and Harry is busy making a list of things that they would like to see included in it. I watch this circus every year. Lately, I have stopped reading about these lists. What matters is what is finally included in the Budget.....not what isn't, right?

That said, I would really like to see the tax rates lowered. And more exemption under section 80C. And more tax efficiency for NPS. What say you, Mr. Jaitley ;-)

I managed to watch the final two episodes of 'The Bible' - wincing, looking away at times, cursing the Roman soldiers. I knew the story till the Resurrection. So it was interesting to watch what happened after that.

But one thing kept nagging at me. Isn't it ironic that while Christ could find it in his heart to forgive even those who crucified him, some of his followers committed unspeakable atrocities trying to convert people to Christianity?

Going to any branch of any public sector bank should be hazarded only if one's life depends on it. Of course, in this case I was with someone who had some business to attend to there. So I occupied the only bench that seem to have been left as an afterthought in the tiny space close to the door. After a while a young man came and sat next to me. I prayed that it would be time for me to leave before a third person arrives to make the place too crowded for comfort.

While I was busy doing this a hassled-looking old woman emerged from the inside of the bank - holding a passbook in her hand. She proceeded as if to give it to me but at the last minute addressed the young guy sitting next to me asking him to check if it is updated. She also said, somewhat apologetically, that she is not educated so doesn't know how to read. I wanted to tell her not to hand over her passbook to a total stranger but held back. The guy flipped it to its very last page but couldn't figure out, obviously, if it has been updated or not. I mean if the last transaction had been done, say, 2 months back it is difficult to figure out if the passbook is updated or not unless you ask the person that it belongs to.

The young guy chose the easier way out and told her to insert it into the machine that reads the bar code on the passbooks and updates them. It was evident that the lady wasn't up to the task. I would have got up to help her but since there were many people at the machine I was sure someone would help her out - I didn't want to add to the crowd at the machines. She joined the queue. Just then a man, a bank employee from the looks of it, came out and went to the machine. He saw her there and told her that he has updated her passbook so she need not wait there. The flustered lady pointed to the young man sitting next to me and said that she had asked him. The bank guy, in a slightly raised voice, told her that transactions done today won't be reflected in the passbook today. So she asked him if she can come tomorrow. The guy, exasperated at this, asked her why she needs to update it on a daily basis. Then, he mellowed down a bit and speaking in a soft voice told her that these machines are always there so she can come any time till the branch closes in the evening and get her passbook updated. When she said she doesn't know how to do it he told her how to insert it in the machine.

The lady, on her way out, approached us again. This time she looked at me and the guy sitting next to me and said 'I am not educated so it is difficult to handle these things. Better to ask than be sorry, right?'. I nodded and smiled but realized 2 things.

One, we have a long way to go before financial inclusion becomes a reality. The banks and the government need to go out of their way to reach uneducated people. We also have to make sure that these things are taught in schools.

And two, those of us who received proper education, without having to do struggle or work hard for it, need to thank our lucky stars for that.

Sadly, it is still a privilege in this country.

A Feast of Vultures: The Hidden Business of Democracy in India - by Josy Joseph

Writing Without Bullshit: Boost Your Career by Saying What You Mean - by Joshua Bernoff

Though the Dalai Lama seems to have given this message for those dreading Mr. Trump's 4 years in the White House, it is equally applicable to those of us who have bigger things to worry about than the next US President. I especially liked the bit about self-compassion, which I practically seem to have none. Of course, I haven't minded it all these years because the line dividing self-compassion and self-pity is a thin one. But this article did force me to rethink. It also reminded me that a visit to Leh-Ladakh and Bhutan is long overdue. I must do it this year.

There's a funny thing about fragrances - there is no telling where they can transport you within the blink of an eye. I realized this once again during my weekend trip the exhibition at the reclamation. Mom and I were roaming about the aisles - eyes peeled for anything remotely interesting or novel when I suddenly started taking long deep breaths. At first mom didn't notice, then she looked at me quizzically as if I had gone berserk and decided to do my breathing exercises right in the middle of a crowded exhibition.

'Can you smell it?' I asked her, all the while inhaling deeply.
'No. What is it?' she asked, alarmed, fishing out her kerchief, all ready to cover her nose.
'Relax mom. It's not an odor. In fact it's a fragrance I remember from our vacations in Belgaum'.

Now she too took deep breaths. 'Oh yeah, I thought it felt familiar but couldn't quite place it. You are right.'

I was hardly paying her any attention - my mind filled with memories from my grandparents' home in the city of Belgaum in Karnataka. My brother, mom and I used to spend part of our summer holidays there. A thousand memories must have flashed through my mind during a span of, maybe, 5 minutes.

I looked around desperately - maybe someone was selling incense sticks. Maybe I can purchase them, light up one in the evening and pretend that I am back in the house in Belgaum. No such luck. At least that particular isle didn't have any stalls selling incense sticks.

Reluctantly, I moved on. On our way back, I lamented that I should have checked a few nearby isles and looked harder for those incense sticks. Mom smiled and remarked that it was funny how I always seem to miss that house and those days more than she ever did.

'That's because that was my childhood, mom. Not yours.' I smiled at her. And for once she agreed :-)

I am not sure I want to watch this weekend's episodes of 'The Bible' on History channel. I have always found myself wincing at the image of Christ, crucified with nails driven deep into His hands and legs, blood pouring forth through the wounds. I very much prefer the picture of baby Christ with His Mother or baby Christ sleeping happily in the barn with his parents around Him.

But I know I will watch the last 2 episodes because when I started watching this series, I had decided to watch it till the very bitter end.