kavan limbasiya

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@theliverdoc Pseudoscience is a public issue. Fighting pseudoscience by crippling essential medical services, is like fighting draught by wasting water.

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@RanaAyyub Context: both the countries u referred are islamic monarchies. Unlikely candidates for taking moral high ground.

[AlphaTaxman @AlphaTaxman]

Income Tax Search team explained.

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@Akshat_World lower crime jurisdictions have no death penalty. a typical criminal is not a rational person doing cost benefit analysis before committing a crime

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@dmuthuk Many of the social welfare schemes of tamil nadu were adopted by central.

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@ajeetbharti pehle hindu muslim karo. dalit ki bat aye to bramhin dalit karo. apko hindu muslim nahi karna he. apko hindu ka nam pe jativad karna he. kyunki wahi ho ap andar se. hindu dikhava he.

[AlphaTaxman @AlphaTaxman]

Kripya Yaha Gyaan Na Baatein Yahan Pe Sabhi Gyaani Hain

In the esteemed labyrinth of the Income Tax office, where the scent of files, seized materials from previous search actions, and the submissions of the assessee mingled with the occasional whiff of desperation, I hold a respectable mid-level IRS officer position. My days were a whirlwind of going through balance sheets, bank account analyses, credit-debits, and the occasional bout of self-importance. One such bout led to an incident.

It all started with a cup of tea. Or rather, a series of consistently disappointing cups of tea. Manoj, our hapless canteen guy, was the unfortunate soul responsible for these abominations. One dreary afternoon, unable to bear another lackluster sip, I summoned him to my office.

"Manoj, tea banana aata hai?" I asked, staring him down with the authority of a man who thought he was the Gordon Ramsay of chai.

Manoj, caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place, nodded timidly. His eyes darted around the room, landing everywhere but on me. Clearly, the prospect of hearing a rant from me loomed large in his mind.
Blissfully oblivious to his plight, I launched into a masterclass on chai making. "You see, during my training days in Guwahati, I had the opportunity to visit a tea garden. The garden manager there, a veritable sage of tea, taught me the sacred art of chai making.
“Chai banaana bhi ek kala hai ” I proclaimed.

I waxed lyrical about the quality of tea leaves, the perfect brewing time, the ideal milk-to-tea ratio. I even threw in some historical titbits about how the British made chai and the importance of properly skimming the malai. I explained the nuances of temperature, boiling time, and their effects on the chai. Manoj’s expression was a study in confusion, but I, in my delusion, mistook it for awe.

"Aaj se tum isi tarah chai banaoge," I ordered. I discharged him, certain that I had just revolutionized the chai in the canteen for ages to come. Manoj nodded once more, mumbling something about understanding before shuffling out.

The days that followed were proof that my chai lesson had turned Manoj into the Pablo Picasso of terrible tea. His chai, previously mediocre, took a nosedive into the realm of the truly awful. The tea was either so strong it could dissolve spoons or so weak it could pass for cloudy water. The milk was scalded, and there were mysterious flecks floating in every cup. Senior officers, those paragons of patience, began to grumble, their complaints forming a symphony of dissatisfaction.

Meanwhile, in my bubble of self-importance, I discovered the health benefits of green tea. Weight loss, detoxification, and—most importantly—a convenient escape from Manoj’s disastrous brews. I silently switched to my own green tea routine—just hot water and a dip of the tea bag—and forgot about Manoj altogether.

Weeks passed in a haze of green tea and bureaucratic bliss. Until one day, feeling a wave of nostalgia for the good old chai, I summoned my MTS Amit and requested a proper chai. Despite the scorching 45-degree summer heat outside, a cool 20-degree breeze blew over my table, thanks to the blasting AC. “Ruko, ek samosa with green chutney bhi bol dena chai ke saath,” I said while he was at the door.

Leaning back in my chair, which was, of course, covered with the traditional white towel—an unmistakable hallmark of bureaucratic seating—I stretched, waiting for the samosa to momentarily transport me to gastronomic bliss. I had a sense of anticipation too, hoping that my earlier tea gyan had transformed Manoj into a chai master.

The chai-samosa arrived, but to my surprise, it was not delivered by Manoj. Instead, a new face stood before me. My desk, usually a mountain of files, was quickly cleared by my MTS Amit to make space for the samosa plate.
"Sar, hum Santhosh," he introduced himself, placing the tea on my desk and then left.
I dipped the samosa into the chutney and took a bite. Meh! The samosa was mediocre at best, leaving me disappointed. I felt an overwhelming urge to launch into a lecture on how to make the perfect samosa. With my mouth full of samosa, I asked my MTS Amit, "Manoj kahaan hai?"
"Sar, usse kainteen se nikaal diya gaya," came the reply.
"Kyun?" I pressed.
Amit shrugged, "Pata nahin sar”
and after a pause he said, “Vaise bhi uski chai achhi nahin thi."
A sense of unease creeping in, I asked, “Uski chai ki vajah se usko nikaal diya kya?"
Amit said, “Pata nahin, Sir."

Munching Santhosh’s “okay-ish” samosa and sipping the mediocre tea, I felt a pang of guilt. Was he removed because his chai was bad? Had my well-intentioned but misguided advice cost Manoj his livelihood? Had my lecture on the perfect chai, delivered with the arrogance of power, been the catalyst for his downfall?

As I sat there, the bitterness of the tea mingling with the bitterness of regret, I pondered the true impact of my actions. In that moment of guilt, I swallowed my urge to give Santhosh a lecture on samosa making.

We bureaucrats often feel we know it all, becoming self-proclaimed experts on everything and anything- ‘Gyaani’. In our privileged positions, we never think of the consequences of our ‘Gyaan’ has for those around us.

(PS: I have used Chat- GPT for grammar correction and sentence formation)

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@mrsinha They value a cow...sorry a book over human life. thank god we indians are not like that.

[AlphaTaxman @AlphaTaxman]

The Bus Battle of Push-Back Seats
As I settled into my plush seat aboard the Volvo luxury bus, little did I know that I was about to witness the clash of the titans, or rather, the clash of the push back seats. It all started innocently enough – two couples, one behind the other, enjoying the comfort of their push-back seats, their reclining thrones. But as fate would have it, a simple disagreement about the angle of recline would soon escalate into a battle of epic proportions.

The scene was set: the bus conductor patiently awaited the final tardy passenger, cool air blowing from the AC vent. On one side, we had the valiant couple 1, and on the other, the formidable couple 2.

The atmosphere crackled with tension as accusations flew and tempers flared. I reached for my pack of Chilli Chatka Kurkure, preparing for the drama to unfold and popped open a can of Thumps-up with a satisfying hiss. Words like "asshole" and "fuck off" echoed through the bus, accompanied by gasps from the increasingly captivated audience – yours truly included. The language of choice for this heated debate? English, naturally. And boy, was it so ineffective. The argument was going absolutely nowhere. I couldn't help but yearn for the fiery passion of Hindi exchanges, you know, the kind where familial relations are promptly invoked. I craved the full-fledged action filled experience, complete with slaps, hair-pulling and perhaps a bit of punching and collar holding. Because, you see, I am but a humble chaos enthusiast and a devoted follower of entropy.

But just as tensions reached a boiling point, the situation took an unexpected turn. The female half of couple 2, seizing the opportunity to gain the upper hand, unleashed the dreaded "Aabla Naari" card, accusing her opponent guy of harassing a woman. With the feminist victim card in play the tension in the air was palpable. The bystanders, rather ‘bysitters’ nervously chewed their nails. But then, in a plot twist worthy of a bollywood blockbuster, the tables were turned once again.

With a swift and unexpected maneuver, the male counterpart of couple 1 cried foul, accusing his adversary of religious discrimination for insulting his hijab-clad partner. Suddenly, the battlefield shifted with the “Minority Victim” card played. The audience held its breath, unsure of what would happen next.

Just when it seemed like all hell will breakdown, I decided to step in and played my trump card. Sipping the last of my Thumps-up with a loud slurp, with a dramatic flourish, I proclaimed, "Siachen mein hamare Jawan mar rahe hai" – a phrase guaranteed to silence even the most fervent combatants. And just like that, peace was restored, and the bus erupted into applause.

Just as everyone agreed in unison that Siachen mein hamare jawan mar rahe hai, the tardy passenger for whom the bus had been waiting finally arrived, and the engine roared to life as the bus started moving in peace.

As I sat back and reflected on the chaos that had just unfolded, I couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of it all. In Manipur, women are paraded naked and molested, Kashmiri Pandits are forced into being refugee in their own land, Muslims face the threat of lynching in some corners, and our soldiers bravely sacrifice their lives at the border. Yet here we, the privileged, find ourselves playing every conceivable victim card over the silliest of matters. Sad but true.

(PS: I have used Chat- GPT for grammar correction and sentence formation)

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@chrisboettcher9 Ok. Now i will take my meds prescription from my gym trainer. He can do a lot more than 20 push ups.

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@jaygoswami coz they wanted power like any other kings. little did they know how their actions will be reinterpreted thousand year later. monasteries were also destroyed by bramhanical rulers. but doesnt fit the narrative today. so conviniently forgotten.

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@jaygoswami and before that vaishnavits prosecuted shaivites, branhins to buddhists and vice versa, upper castes to lower castes.. players changed game was the same.

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@ARanganathan72 Should we immitate intolerance or tolerance?

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@ShefVaidya @Swiggy @SwiggyCares bcoz the person was hungry

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@UnSubtleDesi roti kapda makan

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@dhirajnambiar @paraschopra you can have insulin spike without having sugar spike. such as protein gives insulin spike although not as much. the point being sugar apike alone isnt a reliable measure of insulin response

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@jaygoswami @Javedakhtarjadu @Ashwar_Sanjay ras ki fuhaar missing

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@gansbags @ViditaVaidya electric current flow direction from positive to negative

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@UnSubtleDesi please...no horse riding aryans are known to have danced in the train.

[kavan limbasiya @kavanlimbasiya]

@jaygoswami didnt peace talk reach highest level just before he was removed?