Author: Sunbyanyname

I have done a long stint in the Indian Navy that lasted for nearly thirty seven years; I rose as far as my somewhat rebellious and irreverent nature allowed me to. On retirement, in Feb 2010, the first thing that occurred to me, and those around me, was that I Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (you will find an article with this title in this blog) and hadn't lost all my noodles and hence thought of a blog titled 'This 'n That'. I later realised that every third blog is called 'This 'n That' and changed the name to 'Sunbyanyname'. I detest treading the beaten track. This blog offers me to air 'another way' of looking at things. The idea is not just to entertain but also to bring about a change. Should you feel differently, you are free to leave your comments. You can leave comments even when you agree and want to share your own experience about the topic of the blog post. Impudent or otherwise, I have never been insousciant and I am always concerned about the betterment of community, nation and the world. I hope the visitors of this blog would be able to discern it.

OSAMA, OBAMA, O MAMA

They finally found him not in a cave in a mountain but in a huge mansion in Abbottabad, a few hundred metres away from Pak Military Academy. I was reminded of this scene in Mel Brooks’ Silent Movie in which they are looking for Burt Reynold’s house whilst standing in front of a huge mansion with a large sign atop the house with his name on it that even the blind would have had difficulty in missing. Obama wasted no time in taking credit for it. This was reminiscent of Al Qaeda, LeT, JeM and other terror organisations quick on the draw for taking credit for terror killings and explosions in a city square or temple.

The comparison doesn’t sound very right, is it? Well, the fact is that when Godse killed Mahatma Gandhi or James Earl Ray killed Martin Luther King or Oswald killed John F Kennedy, there was so much of contrast between the personae of the killer and the killed that the world was in total shock. A retaliatory killing of the killer was thus a non-event. He wasn’t a hero by any stretch of imagination. However, in the present case by defining the terrorist act of 9/11 as ‘War on America’ and later the retaliatory actions as (Global) War on Terror, both the players had become adversaries or contenders in War, bringing them, willy-nilly, on an equal plane, except perhaps for their methods. Even in this, if the methods of one adversary are totally above-board, in keeping with international norms and UN conventions, and with due regard to unnecessary killing of civilians and innocents; then only the adversary has moral ascendance over the other. Else, if both parties follow the good old English dictum ‘Everything is fair in Love and War’, then neither party has a right to moral ascendancy or ethical superiority or jus ad bellum (justification to engage in war) or pass judgement on someone’s jus in bello (whether war conducted justly).

Ankur Sood, in an article ‘Establishing A Philosophical Foundation for the Osama Movement’ (p 112, World Affairs, Spring 2007, Vol II, No. I) brings out that all major religions (including Buddhism) admit that violence in any form may be used to resist and defeat an oppressor. Based on this philosophy, it is not just Al-Qaeda and Iranian Revolutionary struggle that find justification in indulging in violence; but, come to think of it, the so-called civilized world too. Take for example, how the US has ascribed to itself ‘the right of self-defence’ by carrying our drone strikes in Waziristan or armed struggle (by proxy) in Libya. The intrinsic thing wrong in this kind of doctrine is that if others too follow this doctrine, it would be the case of ‘an eye for an eye’ making the whole world blind.

In Oct 2010, on the eve of Obama’s visit to India (a begging bowl visit?) I wrote an article ‘Is America Losing Legitimacy of Power?’ I had given a number of examples how US obduracy, double standards, and desire to protect ‘American strategic interests’ by all available means had begun the (moral) decline of this great power. Subsequent events proved me right.

Lets come to the third part of the title: O Mama, ie, what does it mean for us in India?

Ever since the Partition, Pakistan sought to internationalise the Kashmir issue. India wanted to sort it out by mutual dialogue. Pakistan was hell bent on mediation by its ally US. Having lost in all wars it fought with India, it tried out the terrorism tool (Death by a Thousand Cuts). It had witnessed the success of it by the Mujahedeen’s (sponsored by the US) victory against the Soviets in Afghanistan. Thus, post 1989, such terrorist attacks against India increasingly became routine. Pakistan’s importance to the US was dwindling post Soviet pullout from Afghanistan. But 9/11 came as a blessing in disguise for it. The ‘no-brainer’ given to Musharraf by Bush suddenly propelled Pakistan as a leading ally in the (Global) War on Terror. India kept insisting that Pakistan was the major Originator of Terror globally but US turned blind eye towards it to facilitate its operations in Afghanistan. US was also annoyed with India for having conducted nuclear explosions three years prior to that. Pakistan enjoyed siphoning off funds from the US as “compensation” for its contribution in GWOT.

What were the side-effects of this arrangement? Well, Pakistan lost its sovereignty in exchange for promise of security and money and importance. Even before the Operation Geronimo by the US SEALS, the US forces were, at will, using Pakistan territory for launching operations either within Pakistan or in Afghanistan. Skeletons that emerge from the Pak cupboard now reveal that Pak Army was not “surprised” by these but was party to it.

Pakistan sponsored 26/11 Mumbai Attacks made US sit back and take notice of the Pakistan’s tacit involvement in the terrorist attacks; more so since it came out that the terrorists specifically targeted American tourists. However, as the David Coleman Headley episode brought out, it is India that was ‘surprised’ and not the US. Soon, American operations in Swat and Waziristan became more important than the cross-border terrorism that Pakistan was subjecting us to. Indirectly, it provided India too with ‘security’ in that as long as US was involved in AfPak, it would not tolerate Pakistan re-starting any major mischief (the Kargil variety) in Kashmir; not because of Indian interests but because it would take the focus away from US AfPak operations.

Let’s now, for a moment, turn back to Osama and Obama. It is more than likely that OBL’s presence in Pakistan did not surprise the US (come to think of it, it hardly surprised Afghanistan and India). In that case, the timing of the US operations would suggest three things: one, to tick off success and provide it with reason to pull out of Afghanistan; two, US Presidential elections next year; and three, to finally acknowledge Pakistan’s role as a major sponsor of global terrorism.

The first and third have serious ramifications for us. After the indirect deterrence provided to us is compromised, what is to afford us deterrence against full scale terrorist attacks emanating from Pakistan with, as is always the case, tacit support from Pak Army, which is dying to take the focus away from its perceived failure to protect Pak sovereignty? Post 1998, Pakistan perfected what Uday Bhaskar termed as NWET (Nuclear Weapons Enabled Terrorism). In the face of it, India, very quickly lost the deterrence value of its own nuclear arsenal by NFU doctrine, ambiguous statements and capability to absorb nonsense emanating from across the border. Deterrence value of Pak nuclear weapons was, however, enhanced by its irrationality and proven irresponsibility.

So then what is the solution?

I think the first step is a realisation that US is neither a solution nor the enabler of one, despite the current change of heart in US media about India. The second more difficult step is to convince Pakistan of the same. It would appear shocking, at first glance, but, despite their failure, Pakistanis are our ilk. Perhaps if we were to make our democracies (of/by/for ‘common’ people) more representational and stronger we would be better off. As far as imperialism is concerned we should endeavour to convince Pakistan to keep these forces at bay by a) Realising that they are still following the ‘divide and rule’ and to sort out our differences by ourselves b) Economic development c) Making a dream of one Asia or at least one South Asia be realised and become as strong as, say, EU. For this, politicians and strategists in both the countries have to eschew suspicion and promote people to people contacts. Recent events have provided us with a unique opportunity to pursue these goals. If we fail, it is my guess, unless I am proved totally wrong, that after Pakistan breaks up (within a decade) such a realisation will in any case seep in despite the imperialists’ efforts to ensure it does not.

CORRUPTION KI BAAT MAT KARO BHAI

Corruption की बात मत करो भाई
मैं तो ठहरा सिर्फ तुम्हारा नाइ
आपके बाल काट के चला जायूँगा
और फिर अगले महीने ही आयूंगा
यह नेता पांच साल में एक बार आता है
आपकी जेब काट के चला जाता है
रिश्वत लेने के लिए नए तरीके सोचता है
अपने साथ साथ अपने वोट भी बेचता है
मैं तो उस्तरे से करता हूँ तुम्हारी shave
ये बगैर उस्तरे के बनता है तुम्हें slave
मैं आपके बड़े हुए नाखून हूँ काटता
ये आपकी रगों से खून है चाटता
मैं बाल काटने के बाद आइना हूँ तुम्हें दिखता
ये भरी रौशनी में तारे तुम्हें गिनाता
मैं तुमसे पैसे लेके तुम्हें हूँ कुर्सी पे बिठाता
ये तुम्हारे पैसे से खुद कुर्सी पे चढ़ जाता
आप कहते हो मेरी कैंची तेज़ चलती है
इतनी तो नहीं जितनी इसकी जुबां उलगती है
आलिशान बंगले में इसकी लम्बी कार है
और कहता है के , “जनता ही की सरकार  है”
मैं करता हूँ तेल लगा के तुम्हारी मालिश
ये करता है देश की दौलत को polish
मैं तुम्हारे सफ़ेद बाल करता हूँ काले
इसने करोरों रुपये swiss bank में लगा डाले
मेरे पास जो कुछ है मेरी अपनी कमाई है
इसने देश की दौलत अपने नाम करवाई है
सो मुझ से corruption की बात मत करो भाई
मैं तो ठहरा सिर्फ तुम्हारा नाइ
Corruption ki baat kyun karte ho bhai?
Main to thehra sirf tumhaara naai.
Aaapke baal kaat ke chala jayunga
Aur phir agle mahine hi aayunga.
Yeh neta paanch saal mein ek baar aata hai,
Aapki jeb kaat ke chala jaata hai.
Rishwat lene ke liye naye tarike sochta hai,
Apne saath saath apne vote bhi bechta hai.
Main to ustre se karta hun tumahari shave,
Yeh bagair ustre se banata hai tumhein slave.
Main aapke bade hue nakhoon hun kaat-ta,
Yeh aapki ragon se khoon hai chat-ta.
Main baal kaatne ke baad aaina hun tumhein dikhata,
Yehi bhari roshni mein taare tumhein ginaata,
Main tumse paise lekar tumhein hun kursi pe bithata,
Yeh tumhare paise se khud kursi pe chad jaata.
Aap kehte ho meri kainchi tez chalti hai,
Itni to nahin jitni isski zubaan ugalti hai.
Aalishaan bangle mein isski lambi car hai,
Aur kehta yeh hai ke “janta ki hi sarkar hai”.
Main karta hun tel lagake tumhari maalish,
Yeh karta hai desh ki daulat ko polish;
Main tumhaare safed baal karta hun kaale;
Issne croron rupaye swiss bank mein laga daale.
Mere paas jo kuchh hai, meri apni kamaai hai,
Issne desh ki daulat apne naam karwaai hai.
So, mujhse corruption ki baat mat karo bhai,
Main to thehra sirf tumhaara naai.

 

PUBLICLY PRIVATE

In our lives, both professional and private, the biggest change that I can think of is the present day constant invasion of our private lives as compared to when I was small. Indeed, there is no private life. We have to somehow conform to the public and the common. Ayn Rand would be turning in her grave.‘Curiosity kills the cat’ has always been true. Remember the olden day joke about the boss who told his secretary, “Mark this memo ‘SECRET’. I want all in the office to read it”? Lovers of yore, for example, wrote volumes about and lamented how the whole world knew about their ‘secret’ love. The more you tried to keep ‘duniya’ or ‘zamana’ (world) out of your affairs, the more they intruded. Historically, varied ways were found to keep the unauthorized out from entering your domain, for example, fences and walls, passwords, torn currency notes, identity cards and even chastity belts. At times these succeeded whilst at others you just had to live with the unwanted intrusions.

During the WW II, a German spy had to detrain at a little known English village whereat he was to contact a counterspy. He knew the password or phrase and its reply and also the name of the person he had to contact. On alighting at the station, he approached a porter and enquired about this person, “I have to meet a Mr. Smith. Would you know anything about him?” At this the porter replied, “Here, Smith is a very common surname; the Station Master is Smith, the Ticket Collector is Smith; the Bookshop vendor is Smith and, even I am Smith”. “Oh, you are Smith?” asked the German spy hopefully and straightway tried the secret phrase, “Well, ‘I have a corn on my left toe’ ”. At this the porter replied, “So, it is Smith the Spy that you desire. Why did you not tell me before?”

You may also recall the good old joke about a Russian calling President Brezhnev a fool; he was tried on two serious charges: one, for showing disrespect to the highest authority, and two, for revealing a state secret.

In the Navy, my erstwhile employer, we took secrets and classified information and books rather seriously. Photographs and Photostats were a big no no. I remember the time when the first of the Photostat machines came to the Navy; well, one had to make an application in sextuplicate to ask for a page to be xeroxed. Many a times, what was already in Jane’s or newspapers was marked SECRET. I remember a fascinating middle in a newspaper penned by Jesse Kochar about the most reliable sources for naval wives about ships’ sailings: the newspaper vendor and the LIC agent.

However, nowadays there are prying eyes everywhere and protecting privacy has become a full time job. As soon as one goes on to the Internet, one is naked to the whole world. The other day I wanted to learn about something that I never had, that is, ‘a flat stomach’. I checked a few articles on the Google. One year later, irrespective of the nature of my Google research, say, Iranian Elections’ or ‘UAVs’, the ads on the sidelines have curiously been about ‘flat stomach’ and these still pop out most innocuously. For example, “Want a flat stomach? Annie tells you how. Cheapest rates in the world”; and all I wanted to find out was whether a certain Poonam Pandey had kept her promise or not.

These days what is available on facebook and Twitter debates and hence known to millions of viewers would have put a person in trouble if he/she had disclosed to a few friends.

It used to be a serious offence to even try to learn about military locations. Nowadays, one can download everything from Google Earth or other equally revealing sites. Many a times, senior officers are answering questions on the television about matters which they had thought even their own personnel did not know about; though, it is a fact that the media mixes facts and fiction into an ever changing concoction; so much so that one is never sure where fiction ends and reality begins or vice-versa. ‘Let it all hang out’ is the catchphrase of the media whereas the armed forces, bureaucracy and government offices would like to have a fig-leaf of secrecy about varied matters. Fig leaf? It reminds me of the time when a group of old ladies went on a botanical tour and came across this tree the kind of which they had not seen earlier. When told that it was a fig tree, one of them could not help remarking in a shocked voice, “My, my; I’d always imagined the leaves to be bigger.”

There is, thus, these days, nowhere to hide. Ratan Tata, for example, moved a petition in the Supreme Court that he had a right to his privacy; and how was it that his Personal & Confidential mail to Karunanidhi was available everywhere? Nira Radia and others who interacted with her; and a certain B Dutt realised that there is nothing like having private conversations and that one has to be guarded all the time. Someone, somewhere is always snooping. Everything is public, everything is common knowledge.

Passwords? Well, words fail me to describe how these have taken over our lives. Remember the good old: “Halt, who goes there” and the reply, “Friend with a bottle”, and the final security clearance – “Pass friend. Halt bottle”? Nowadays, for everything there are hurdles of Login IDs and Passwords; be it bank accounts, emails, secured nets, forums and groups. Many of these are to be changed periodically and mandatorily. Hence, to keep track of your current IDs and Passwords is as difficult as to name the current boyfriends of some of our popular actresses. If you try the wrong combination a number of times, your account gets locked, in the manner of the Chastity belt I told you about, or the draw bridge over the moat, denying you further access.

In all this, what are the chances of unintentionally matching Passwords? Here is a scenario:

One day, at the border with our ‘Friendly Neighbour on Western Side’ (By the way, this is how this country is described in exercises in the armed forces for, hold your breath, reasons of security), the security question and reply for the border sentries matched. A soldier on sentry duty on FNWS met his counterpart on Indian side, without realizing the sides were opposite and boomed, “Kali chhatri” (Black umbrella). On receiving the response, “Neela aasmaan” (Blue sky), both relaxed and started chatting. They described how their officers were b_ _ _ _ _ _ s of very high order, which too matched totally and added to the developing bonhomie between them. Every now and then they exchanged ‘Kali Chhatri” and “Neela Aasmaan” and felt reassured that they were on the same side, until, they came to specifics. And then…despite cries of KC and NA, they were at each other’s throats.

Far fetched? You won’t be too sure if you stop to think that Faridkote is a town each on either side of our border with FNWS.

Shahid Afridi recently aired some private views publicly, which warmed the cockels of Indians’ hearts. No sooner had he finished doing it when he was privately taken to task for being anti-national and anti-Pakistan. He was reminded that the raison d’etre of Pakistan was relentless hatred towards its Unfriendly Neighbour on the Eastern Side (UNES). He then publicly retraced his steps and spat out venom.

The other day, many of my Passwords for various sites turned out to be Fail-words. I tried again and again and was totally frustrated when the account was locked. Exasperated, I turned to God and prayed, “God, I am your humble servant. Keep me from the false security and frustration caused by Passwords.” To my bewilderment, there was lightning and thunder and then I heard God tell me, “Please try again to register prayer; your name and password don’t match.”

Last year when I left the Navy after thirty seven years, I left with a nightmarish thought that if I were ever to be taken a POW by the agents of the FNWS and I had to reveal a secret to save my life, I won’t really know of any.
Are there no secrets anymore? Is there no private life? How much do we want the society and the world to be regulated? Let alone spoken and written words, the other day I read an article that there is research going on to get into the minds of the people so that even before they take a decision their ideas should be known.

God, how is it that when we want to be heard no one hears us? But, when we want to keep something personal or private they don’t let us?

I am reminded of the time when a government official was trying to sell a radio set to a farmer in far corner of USSR. The farmer was not impressed. So the official told him, “Look at it this way. With this you can be in any part of USSR and still hear Moscow.”

The farmer had only one request, “Nah; but, do you have anything by which Moscow can hear us?”

All those who regularly snoop on other people’s conversations, affairs and bank accounts; all those who snooped on Radia and her friends with such dexterity, do you have anything by which you can overhear millions of our countrymen dying of hunger and crying in pain? Do you have anything to make their private misery public?

CRICKET HAMARI SHAAN HAI

Cricket hamara mazhab hai,
Cricket hamari jaan hai:
Aur khelon mein hum hon na awwal,
Per Cricket hamari shaan hai.

PM bhi match dekhne aate hein,
Kiyunki woh bhi to insaan hai.
Wah, Pratibha ji bhi aa pahunchi,
Unki kya aan baan hai.

Hamare mulk mein koi hi aisa hoga,
Jo Cricket se anjaan hai.
Bahuton ke liye to dekha jaaye,
Cricket hi saara jahaan hai.

Ek taraf to Sachin God hain,
Doosri ore Zaheer Khan hai;
Pinch hitting mein apne pas,
Koi aur nahin, Yousuf Pathan hai.

Jo kuchh desh mein, wohi Cricket team mein,
Hindu, Sikh aur musalmaan hai;
Sabse labon pe ek hi naara hai,
Saare jahan se achha Hindostan hai.

Kissi se poochho aap itne khush kyun ho,
Jawab: “Wankhede ke saamne meri dukaan hai”
Aamir Khan se poochho yahan kaise aaye?
Kaha: “Meri hi picture ka naam Lagaan hai”.

Woh dekho ik amriki bhi aaya match dekhne,
Itna shor sun ke woh kaafi hairaan hai.
Sirf Raja kahin nazar nahin aata,
2G ke scam mein woh behadd preshaan hai.

Final ke liye sab tayyari kar lo doston,
Thodi der mein aane wala ik toofan hai;
Kabhi bhoolna nahin khelte ya dekhte,
Sab deshon se ‘Hamara Bharat mahaan hai.

Kyunke, Cricket hamari shaan hai,
Cricket hamari pehchaan hai.
P.S. Winning the ODI World Cup is going to sort out all our problems of Poverty, Corruption, Cross-border Terrorism; poor Public Health, Education, Roads, Railways, other Infrastructure.

INDIANS LOVE TO HONK – DON’T THEY?

Indians are a horny lot; we just love to honk. It is not uncommon to see a car moving on a deserted road with nary a man or animal or any other moving object in sight; and the driver of the vehicle pressing the horn every now and then. Why? Several reasons are given in this article; but, the main one is that the sound of our own horn restores our confidence in our driving ability. Those who witnessed the last FIFA World Cup were amused to see the South Africans pull out a long instrument with weird sound called the Vuvuzela with which they greeted anything of interest on the field. Well, it is the same with the Indian use of the horn on the road. Honking is a celebration of our freedom.

The number one use of the horn is the proclamation of the desire to move faster. We are convinced that accelerator and horn are to be pressed together. Accelerator makes us go faster without any assistance from others; but, the horn declares to all and sundry that we are in a hurry. So, then, why don’t they hear us and give us way? Simple, because they too are in a hurry and pressing the horn equally blithely. We may be in the midst of a huge traffic jam (caused more often than not because of our curious driving skills); but, we are convinced that somehow the incessant honking would brighten up things.

The second use is to tell all the people around that we can see things more clearly than them. For example, ours may be the farthest vehicle from the traffic lights; but, the nincompoops ahead of us need to know that we saw the lights turning green before them. Similarly, if we see an opening in the slow moving traffic (which is always the case) we must indicate to the ignoramuses that a detour to the pavement would make them and consecquently us reach ahead of the slow-moving lane.

Then there is the frequent honking to drive some sense in the driver whom we suspect is intending to take advantage of us; eg, by slowly edging towards our lane which he perceives is moving faster than his lane. Also, if he too is eyeing a spot in the traffic that gives the person some advantage (maybe a few feet) vis-a-vis others around, we must bring home the misconception to him. Finally, if he is heading towards the only parking place that we had viewed much before him, shouldn’t we claim the spot like the Arizona gold-hunters? It is just a natural instinct – no big deal.

The above are types of specific honking with specific aims, however unattainable these might be. However, there is one general honking, very regular, loud and may sound irritating. It is to tell people around us how important we are and how unworthy they all are. During the days of the rajahs, when the rajahs used to move on elephants, they used to have footmen walking in front blowing conches and horns to signify the king’s arrival. Because of austerity measures and also because of the speed of vehicles, it is not possible to have footmen walking in front of their vehicles announcing their arrival nowadays. Hence, these modern day monarchs have to rely on vehicle horns. What is wrong with that?

Honking is also used to bring home others’ mistakes. For example if the vehicle ahead of us is stopping to let pedestrians cross, we have a choice either to overtake him and wade through the unruly lot; or we can honk and let the vehicle ahead realise the wrong he is about to commit. What is wrong with that? It is just a natural instinct. Also, when our lights are turning red and the across lights are turning green, shouldn’t we honk to indicate to the uncouth lot that we are allowed to cross until a few seconds after the lights have turned red, following the trail of those who are crossing in green lights? Shouldn’t they wait?

Some honking is just to break the monotony of the journey. Have you ever thought of how boring a drive is without honking; everybody minding their business, everybody giving way to everyone, everyone keeping to their lane etc? It would make people go to sleep and make them less alert. Such societies with such niceties are doomed to dullness. Indians are the only brainy people who have realised that some entertainment, fun, challenges, surprises are really required whilst driving to keep you awake. The expression, “There is never a dull moment” was born as soon as they introduced driving in India and a great part of it is to do with the horn.

Lastly, what do you do with things that you have paid good money to buy? If you have bought a TV set, would it serve anyone’s purpose if no one plays it? Similarly, if there is a horn in the vehicle, isn’t it wasteful expenditure not to use it? Can a poor country like India afford such wasteful expenditure?

Please note I have not even recorded such legitimate honking as after winning a match or during processions; or to express joy at finding no cop; or a lorry, bus or cab driver sighting his gaanv wala (country-cousin); or to regain a spot that you previously held in a lane when you moved to the other lane erroneously thinking traffic was moving faster there.

So, next time when you tend to get amused or irritated by Indians compulsively honking, think of all the purposes it is serving, including national interest. Don’t just be judgmental because you don’t know the aims of this glorious obsession we have with the horns. We could be wearing them, you know.

THE GREAT ESCAPE

There was a knock; at first it was faint, barely distinguishable but later it grew louder and more authoritative. He ignored it, not because he was too tired or too sleepy to get up and confront the person knocking with all its might. He knew the person; he liked her and everything about her. But, he was very skeptical about allowing her in. Last time he had allowed a similar one in and there was hell to pay. His house was in disarray for considerable time after she had left. He knew that more than her, he had only himself to blame for having opened the door. As long as he was inside he had relative comfort, relative security, and exclusivity. The moment he opened the door, she would slowly conquer his space. He had no fear of his loneliness. He was quite comfortable with himself; he had never hated the person he saw in the mirror everyday. She knew she had a great chance of succeeding if she’d keep knocking. If at all life had taught her anything, it was the realisation that knocking always helps. She had, hence, emerged a great knocker. Her favourite quote was, “If God closes a door, he opens a window“. She had the force of great conviction behind her. She had simply walked in many an open window. God, she maintained, had been kind to her.

He knew she could not walk through his windows; he was on a higher floor, and he never opened the windows.

The incessant tapping at the door became too loud to be ignored. He knew that his heart beat had already started responding to it; hence, for every thuck thuck, there was an equivalent dhak dhak. Finally, he realised that it was futile to keep pretending she could not enter. She was already there.

Initially, there was no problem about the closeness of the space. This was the exploration phase. Indeed, even though he had a two room flat, she was quite content in being with him in a single room. It was rather cosy and there was no question of either of them feeling claustrophobic. When she sang, it echoed from all the walls and he soared; no one had ever sung exclusively for him. He was convinced she had the most beautiful eyes in the world. Hence, whenever he wanted to fly, he only had to look into the ocean of those deep eyes.

However, after she came in, the world – their world – changed. Initially, both were content about living with each other in the present, enjoying each other’s company and everything connected with each other. Of course they had squabbles but these could at worst be called mere tiffs. But gradually, she started living more in future. Therefore, a time came when both of them were geographically in the same location but were in different times.

It was a constant tussel between them. She wanted the future – her future – to be discussed, to be secure. He wanted to love, to be loved, to cherish the present. She went along with him at times and more often than not enjoyed what the present held for her: he had an innate wit that she liked, compassion, and other finer feelings and a strange appeal. But no sooner that she’d finish enjoying the present she’d go back to the future.

He never wanted Love to be conditional. If he had known that she had other plans he wouldn’t have ever opened the door…or the windows.

Initially, she tried to go out of their space only mentally…not really on a fantasy ride but on an escape to the world that she craved. She debated with herself that an Indian woman, in a male dominated society, does have to worry about her future.

Later, she actually started going out….

She was attractive and there were any number of men who were fascinated by her charm. She reasoned that if it was all about living in the present with no commitment, then present certainly can be made more colourful, more acceptable, more exciting. Indeed, she often confronted him with, “If you have ideas, I have ideas of my own.”

This ruffled him badly. Who said anything about commitment? Love is a supremely selfish feeling, he argued. One cannot be loving everyone. One has to love one…and hence, there is commitment.

Later, when she used to return to the room – their world – in the night, he could sense her deception. She continued to make light of it and often said that because of him she couldn’t be expected to cut ties with everyone. She asserted her independence. Why is it, she demanded, that in Indian society, men could do anything but women were to toe a rigid line? Why is it that in a male-dominated Indian society women are to be castigated for even talking to men?

He kept quiet. He knew the truth.

He reckoned that when she had invaded his privacy by knocking at his door he had welcomed it so that they could make a world of their own. But, now, there was hardly any space or even time for themselves. For all practical purposes they lived in different worlds.

One day, she woke up as usual and turned towards his side of the bed. She used to love getting up just a few moments before him and look at his handsome face when he was totally defenceless. She couldn’t find him in the bed. Perhaps he had gone to the toilet, she thought. But minutes later she didn’t hear the familiar sound of the flush or the door. She got up and checked; he wasn’t there. She went to the other room and he wasn’t there too…or in the kitchen.

The door was still bolted from inside. This meant he was there in the house somewhere. She searched and searched but couldn’t find him.

She called out his name frantically. There was no response.

She threw open the window and looked out. No, he couldn’t have. It was too high to jump and there was nowhere to hide…anywhere.

And yet…he was gone…just at the time when she felt she had him; when she felt he’d never leave.

INDIA PAK ODI PREVIEW – JUST A MATCH?

The atmosphere is electric. Work in both the countries has come to a stand-still. You can distinguish ordinary people from those in powerful positions (or so they think) by the latter barely hiding their excitement by saying, “Come on; it is only a game“.Mohali stadium is more full than the last Himachal Roadways bus from Chandigarh to Shimla. The noise levels have defined newer standards in cacophony. People in both countries are glued to the television as if it is their last chance ever to watch a match.

There are still ten minutes for the game to start. In the VVIP stand Pakistan PM Yousuf Raza Gilani, on his cellphone, is urgently discussing something with President Obama. He is whispering so low that no one can hear him. Manmohan Singh is not even making an attempt to overhear because, on his phone, the RAW is providing live text of the conversation.

Gilani: President Sir; forget about any other financial aid to compensate us for our sterling and sacrificing role in your Global War on Terror (Aside, that too is picked by RAW: Global and War are yours and your allies but Terror is totally ours). We want your help in winning this match.

Obama: But why is winning so important to you?

Gilani: Several reasons. The most important is that from the earlier aid you gave us for floods etc, my cabinet colleagues and I have bet nearly a thousand crore on Pakistan winning. Two, the team and us want to go back alive after the match, and…

Obama: Okay, I get the idea. But what can we do?

Gilani: What can you do? How are you asking, what can you do? We have seen for ourselves what you can do, Sir. Davis, an ordinary US embassy technical and administrative staff showed us what you can do. Your display of humanitarian assistance to Libyans has hinted to us what you can do. Sir, we know there is nothing that US cannot do.

Obama: Let me see; should we send some one in disguise to the Indian dressing room?

Gilani: Aha…now you are talking. I leave the method to you, Sir. But please hurry, President Saheb, the match is about to start.

The din is excessive; which is only appropriate for two countries in the world that make maximum noise between themselves. Indeed, when they refuse to make noise (in some circles this noise is called ‘talks‘), others have to intervene to ask them to re-start making noise…..and gas.

Umpires Simon Taufel of Australia and Ian Gould of England walk up to the middle. Both the Captains join them. The cheering has broken the sound-barrier.

At the toss, Afridi has asked for ‘Heads’. He knows there is something typically Pakistani about asking for heads; their history from ancient times is replete with instances when they have demanded heads. Dhoni, like what Indians are always used to, gets the ‘Tails’. The coin is tossed.

Gilani pulls out his cellphone (ever since 26/11, men in authority in Pakistan know the importance of cellphone): President Sir, let me see proof of your being with us. Make us win the toss.

Pakistan wins the toss and elects to bat.

Manmohan to Gilani (as always in the appeasing tone so that they would listen to reason): Great, you have won the toss. Congratulations…

Gilani ignores it as Pakistan does with every attempt to placate them.

Indian team takes up positions. Mohammad Hafeez and Kamran Akmal walk to the crease. There is pin-drop silence even on the TV except for one B Dutt who has perfected the art of saying the obvious: “The match is about to begin. History is about to be written….may Pakis….I mean, the best team win”.

Her comments go totally unnoticed as people have learnt long ago not to pay her attention.

Zaheer Khan goes on top of his run – up. Prayers take on renewed vigour. Every ball counts. He bowls and it is hit for a four. There is uproar from the Pakistani fans. Gilani is on his feet.

The going is good with both the openers fluently hitting the bowlers all over the field. So happy is the going that Gilani has no need to make any calls.

Bhajji is brought in early and he too is hammered all over the place.

An aide reports to Chidambaram that some Pakistani fans quietly left the field and are headed towards Srinagar. Chidambaram asks the Security to keep a watch on them. Army Chief calls to say there is large scale infilteration from across the border. Manmohan tells him to keep a watch on the situation since there is an important World Cup match in progress.

“But, Sir”, persists the Army Chief, “It is just a match whereas the situation here is turning grave”.

PM, “I know it is just a match; but, we have to give the impression everything is normal. The whole world is watching us. Ring me up after four-five hours”.

Meanwhile there has been a change of bowling. And Yuvraj, as expected, has struck. Gilani is about to reach for the cellphone but Younis puts the train back on track.

Later, the wickets keep falling at regular intervals but the batsmen in an act of supreme defiance – the one that they ususally assume when playing against India – take the score to 267 in 50 overs, ably helped by a swashbuckling innings of 52 runs by Shahid Afridi.

It is not a very big score but under the conditions everyone agrees that it is a fighting score.
B Dutt also agrees.

After the break, Sehwag and Sachin take the field. Akmal before taking up his position behind the wickets says something to Sehwag. Most of it is inaudible but Sehwag hears the word “ma” clearly. This inspires Sehwag to send the first two deliveries of Shoaib Akhtar to the boundary. Shoaib goes across and tells Akmal to refrain from the “ma” word and….. switch to other relatives.

Sachin goes early on a no ball by Umar Gul. All Indians are crestfallen.
Air Force Chief rings up the PM, “Sir I have bad news.”
PM: “I know…Sachin just got out…”
Air Force Chief, “Sir, actually one of our planes on routine mission was hit by a missile from across the border…..”
PM: “You manage the situation. What are you Air Force Chief for? Here there is do or die”
Air Force Chief: “Sir, it is just a match..”
PM: “Don’t I know it? Now let me concentrate please…”

Despite all the tamasha, the match goes on. Fortunes swing, sometimes this side, sometimes that side.

And then….

It is the last over. India requires 5 to win…

Tension is everywhere. “Why does an India – Pakistan match resemble a cliff-hanger?”, everyone asks. Everyone knows the answer. Bookies laugh all the way to the …..well, not the bank since they can never put these kind of winnings in a bank….maybe, laugh all the way to…well, you know the answer; why do you require me to tell it?

The first ball of Abdul Razzaq, takes the wicket of Yousuf Pathan who had made a quick 43 in 27 balls.
There is hushed silence.
Will India lose again?

In various parts of India, B Dutt reports, as many as 6 people have died of heart-attack.

It is just a game….they had said.

Bhajji is the next batsman in. Akmal tells him, “Teri ma…” etc.
Bhajji is quite used to it and just before Razzak bowls his next delivery, he tells Akmal a ripe one.
Akmal misses to catch the snick by Bhajji in the confusion and Bhajji and Ashwin take two runs.

Four balls to go and three to be scored.

Camera shows a girl in the stand closing her eyes and praying to Allah to make India win.

Gilani does the same but asks for Pakistan to win. Allah too is confused. He tells his assistant, “You had told me it is just a match“.

Can they do it? Or won’t they?

Bhajji takes one run on the next ball against all odds and now the match is nearly in India’s favour with three balls to go.

Gilani reaches for the phone: “President Sir; the Indians are about to cross the threshold”.

Obama assumes he is talking about nuclear threshold. His worst fears are coming true.

There is an urgent call to Manmohan even as Razzak is walking up to the top of his bowling run-up: “Listen Singh; call off the ruddy match. We don’t want mayhem on our hands”.

Manmohan: “But, Mr President, it is just a match…..”

BHAG BHUAJI IS NO MORE – AN ERA ENDS

Bhag Bhuaji Left Sitting with her entire family

My Bhag (short for Bhagwant Kaur) bhuaji (in Punjabi we pronounce it thus rather than the Hindi ‘buaji’; father’s sister, in Hindi) died at about 10 pm on 30 Jan 11. With that an era has come to a close. She was the youngest of my father’s three sisters; the elder one, Jaswant bhuaji, was the eldest in the family of five brothers and three sisters (all dead now except Meji chachaji, the youngest of the siblings). Then there was Ratno bhuaji, younger to Jaswant bhuaji. She died a few years back; at a relatively younger age.

My bhuajis were the reincarnation of love and kindness. My grandfather’s family had strong charactered men; each one a perfectionist in his own way. The men, including my father, were extremely ambitious and hence given to anger and frustration. It was thus left to my bhuajis to bring some semblance of compassion and calm in the family. They had these in abundance. It was natural for them to think of others without asking for anything in return. I cannot remember a time when I saw them without a radiant smile on their faces and the desire to make the best of any situation.

Bhag bhuaji (L) and my mom (R)

Bhag bhuaji, just like her two sisters, was very beautiful indeed, both from within and outwardly. When she smiled, which she did all the time, her nose stud would shine and make her look even more radiant. She was in awe of my father; what with his always being in a hurry (he died young; he won’t have wanted to keep God waiting). But, she loved him unconditionally, as she did the rest of the family.

Bhag bhuaji loved family gatherings

Hospitality came naturally to her. Bhuaji and my uncle lived in Chandigarh. There were no occasions when we passed through Chandigarh on the way to Himachal (where my dad served) without looking them up. As we would enter the house, without ever seen by us or seemingly ordered by her, one of the kids would run up to the sweet shop to fetch fresh ghulab jamuns, jalebis, and samosas for us. These would be in addition to the goodies at home such as gajrella (sweet carrot dish), pinnis (round sweets like laddus made with wheat and dry fruits) and kheer (sweet made with rice and milk and dry fruits). Irrespective of the number of people for whom bhuaji would have to suddenly make meals, bhuaji would do so smilingly, and indeed whilst cracking jokes. Her youngest son Monty’s wife Manjit has inherited these virtues. Last time when I visited Bhag bhuaji, as if she knew it was going to be the last time, she had invited all the near and dear ones for lunch with me. Manjit cooked delicious food for everyone; there were nearly three dozens of us.

She was fond of Rana, Ratno bhuaji’s son

Bhag bhuaji, mummy, and sisters would be at their best during weddings. They would enjoy dancing and bolis and tappes (folk singing with a view to invite rejoinders) and indeed encourage others to do so. One of them would play the dholaki (traditional Punjabi drum) and the other would rythemically beat it with the back of a spoon. And this with all the work at home.

On one of the occasions when I visited her, she made me climb up the loft to fetch a carton of beer with just two bottles

Bhag bhuaji and my mom at Rana’s party

in it. She explained, “Munde khunde beer pee rahe si; main ohna nu keha Ravi layi do botlan rakh layo” (The boys were having beer one day and I told them to keep two bottles for Ravi). I was touched. Generally, bhuaji looked down on anyone drinking. But, since it was offered to her jawaai (son-in-law), her quick reaction was that me being a fauji (armed forces man) would probably relish it. There was nothing strange about her keeping beer for me; she did it for everything that would make others happy. For example, if anyone would appreciate the taste of her saag (spinach), kheer or anything, she would freeze it and keep for me.

Our last picture together

In our recent life, after my father died, Bhag bhuaji visited us in the hills only once since she was very scared of driving in the hills. She enjoyed the scenery, the freshness of air, trees and flowers. Encouraged I thought of taking her and others for a picnic to the forest around Chail. We made a small fire for heating up the goodies that we had carried for lunch. Suddenly, Bhag bhuaji looked around and remarked about the remoteness of the place and the likelihood of a sher (lion) jumping on us. I thought she might be joking but the more she talked about it the more she convinced herself that there was ample likelihood of sher surprising us (even though there were none in that forest). Finally, we quickly packed up our stuff, not because of being surprised by sher but by rain. After the rain stopped I took her to the Chail cricket ground atop a hill (reputed to be the highest cricket field in the world during the days of the rajas). As she climbed the last of the steps to the cricket field, she came up with her characteristic remark, “Aithe cricket kidan khed de honge; aithe tanh uppar chad de hi saah chad jaand hai?” (How would anyone have played cricket here; one is breathless just by climbing up here).

Bhag bhuaji in America, just prior to 9/11

Truly, in her observations, fears and anxieties she would become a small girl. She would be a small girl in the family gatherings too. A few years back my youngest uncle Meji in America invited the surviving siblings, that is, Pitamber Uncle, Dilgir Uncle, Bhag bhuaji and my mom (representing my dad who died in 1984 of an accident) to spend time with him there. Their visit coincided with 9/11. Bhag bhuaji was very excited telling all of us about the US and its quality of life; but, she also added, “Main nahin uthe wapis jaana. Asin uthe gaye tanh ohna ne saare paase bomb sutne shuru kar ditte.” (I am not going back there; they started chucking bombs all over when we were there). Indeed, Bhag bhuaji, her three brothers and my mom were there in Washington when the attack on Pentagon took place. Some of her fears were not so girlish afterall.

Bhag bhuaji and me

For the last two years or so Bhag bhuaji had lost a few teeth. She had a renal problem and had to go for dialysis twice in a week. One would think that with her age and this problem she would have complained or forgotten to crack jokes. No; when she laughed through her missing front teeth, it made her look even more cute. There was never any problem that would make her complain or forget to enjoy life and company of those around her.

For me, just like my dad, I never missed out on visiting her even if it were for a few minutes. She would often tell everyone, “Ravi nahin maiton milne bgair jaa sakda.” (Ravi would never cross this place without seeing me).
So tell me bhuaji, when I visit Chandigarh next, where should I come to see you? You always thought of everything; did you think about this too?

IF DAD AND MOM HAD TO CELEBRATE VALENTINE’S DAY

We don’t have to go as far back as my grandparents times; if Valentine Day had to become popular during my dad’s times, how would it have been? My dad died of an accident when he was just 56, one year younger than I am now. During his days, except for in movies, couples never publicly expressed love for each other. It would be indirectly hinted rather than ‘in-your-face’ proclamation. There were no Valentine Day cards or other accessories.

Now lets suppose it was to be imposed on my parents, how would they have reacted? The entire conversation would have been in Punjabi but I think we would understand it better if I translate this imagined conversation:

Dad: In the office there is lots of talk these days about Valentine Day. I wonder what it is?
Mom: How should I know? I have tough time remembering all the other days: Republic Day, Independence Day, your birthday, our Anniversary Day, Holi Day, Baisakhi Day, Diwali Day, Christmas Day…
Dad: But, Ladi, there are all thinking of partying and singing love songs and saying I love you.
Mom: Chhi, chhi. What kind of zamaana (world) we are coming to?
Dad: They are also thinking of buying gifts, and…
Mom (cutting him short): That’s a wonderful idea ji. We should get new shoes for Ravi, another frock for Mona and…
Dad: No, Ladi, the gifts are for us, that is each other.
Mom (seriously and smelling him): Did you have a drink in office?
Dad: No, I am serious, we should get something for each other.
Mom: Who told you that?
Dad: I believe this Valentine was a saint and he told that.
Mom: He actually told to waste money on unnecessary gifts? He couldn’t have been a saint. These western saints will next tell you to forget all decencies of life, will you do that?
Dad: But, Ladi…
Mom: Suno ji; you should forget about this Valentine thing at the earliest. We are happy without him and his crazy ideas. Our children are growing up now; don’t forget that. Mona has already started wasting a lot of time in front of the mirror and Ravi has started growing feathers. What if they come to know their parents are getting influenced by some foreign sadhu? We would have cut our noses in public.
Dad: I think you are right. I got carried away.
Mom: (not giving up too soon): What else were they saying?
Dad: They were talking about appreciating one’s partner?
Mom: (wistfully) This you will never be able to do. For the last twenty years I have been cooking for you; you have never told me it was good what you ate.
Dad: (shocked at this ‘unfair‘ inference) But, I ate everything without complaining, didn’t I? What more do you want?

Mom before going to sleep, totally satisfied with the argument, would have known that words/cards/songs/memorabilia were never necessary to convey deep emotions.

Even to this day she tells us, “Your dad would never eat out anywhere without me. And when we went out for parties, he would always return home complaining. So, in comparison, I knew that he liked my cooking.”

Mom: (Later at night, holding my dad with all her strength) You don’t require lessons in love from some phoren saint. You would have taught him a thing or two.
Dad: (half asleep) Main tanh makhaul kar rahiya si (I was only saying in jest).

I know why no outwardly gifts, V-Day cards etc were considered necessary during pre-Valentine days. The reason is that they gave each other something that modern couples can’t give, that is, time. They did not require a day to compensate each other for all the lost moments of togetherness….of love.

Happy Valentine’s Day. Perhaps, we should love all the year through like my dad and mom did. And yours too.

TRAVEL LIGHT IF YOU MUST

The man waited at the platform
With a suitcase full of ideas
And a small bag for the journey
Waiting for the train of humanity to arrive.
In the night before, he was barely able to close
The suitcase, so full was it
He had to squeeze and force down
And even sit over it to close
There were simply too many things
For a small sized suitcase.
He had planted himself
Where he thought the ‘General’
Compartment would arrive.
But there were simply too many people
There generally are in ‘unreserved’ compartments.
He had to jostle his way through
Pushing, fretting, fuming
Finding room for himself
And for his suitcase full of ideas;
It was almost a losing battle.
He would have given up
But the dynamics of ‘General’ compartments
Are well suited for going with the flow
As anyone would know
Who’s been in Mumbai ‘locals’.
So eventually he found room for himself
And a little overhead space for his suitcase
But he just couldn’t open it
There was simply not enough space
The train started; the journey began.
It gathered speed
The suitcase, not on firm footing
Fell, but the man scarcely missed it
He was busy sharing goodies from his bag
That he carried for the journey
Others shared too and he found
It wasn’t a bad journey after all.
At the destination, he got down with his bag
That was all that belonged to him
That was all that was needed for the journey.

HOW PROUD SHOULD WE BE OF INDIAN REPUBLIC AT 62?

What exactly does the republic day signify? It is the day when the Indian constitution came into effect on 26 Jan 1950. The opinion expressed by an American Constitutional authority, Granville Austin, was significant. He said that the Indian constitution was “perhaps the greatest political venture since that originated in Philadelphia in 1787.” He described it as a “social document”. We should never forget that the Constitution, as envisaged by a committee under Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar, was to foster a social revolution.

A few years after the declaration of the Indian republic, Sir Anthony Eden, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom said, ‘Of all the experiments in government, which have been attempted since the beginning of time, I believe that the Indian venture into parliamentary government is the most exciting. A vast subcontinent is attempting to apply to its tens and thousands of millions a system of free democracy. It is a brave thing to try to do so. The Indian venture is not a pale imitation of our practice at home, but a magnified and multiplied reproduction on a scale we have never dreamt of. If it succeeds, its influence on Asia is incalculable for good. Whatever the outcome we must honour those who attempt it”.

Republic Day is, thus, an affirmation of common aspirations, hopes, strengths, responsibilities, and will of our people. Therefore, one cannot and should not celebrate R-Day unless one pauses to take stock of how far we have come with the vision of the forefathers of the Indian constitution. Let us, therefore, not look at the Constitution of India as a holy cow but pause and critically assess the social revolution that the constitution was meant to bring about. Where are we at the end of 61 years of this social revolution? Here are the facts:

Eighty percent of the Indian population lives on less than two dollars a day. We have nearly 500 million people who live Below the Poverty Line (BPL, a term used to describe those who have less than the UN stipulated $1.25 a day), which constitutes nearly 45 percent of our population. This amounts to one-third of the world’s poor. We have more poor in just eight states of India than in all the African countries together.

Why does it not compare well with our “spectacular” GDP growth? It is because, as brought out by Mani Shanker Aiyer (the then  Minister for Panchayat Raj), about four years back, our so called 9% GDP growth had not made dent in the lives of more than 0.9% people. MSA was of course made a pariah in his party for this and other statements. I tried doing a check on the veracity of the statement and found startling facts: One, about 10% of the GDP is because of the richest 10 Indians; and two, the richest 50 Indians control as much as 30 percent of the country’s GDP. As a contrast, on the day Madam Pratibha Patil became the President of India (and hence owner of this social revolution called the Constitution) two farmers in her home place committed suicide, unable to pay the loans they had taken to raise their crops.

At the time we declared ourselves a republic, we coined a term called ‘Public Servant’. Broadly, the definition describes a person who holds a government position either by election or by appointment. Sixty-one years after the constitution came into effect, have we cared to think, to how many of our political leaders, bureaucrats, doctors, engineers, technocrats etc can this moniker be applied. For instance, can we call a certain A Raja, the former Telecom Minister, as a “servant of the people”? Did he cause the loss of `1.76 Lakh Crore in issuing licences for 2G spectrum in the interest of the Indian public? Did Suresh Kalmadi make crores of rupees in preparation for the commonwealth games (CWG) in New Delhi last year so as to distribute these amongst the poor? Now that the Finance Minister Mr Pranab Mukherjee has taken cognisance of the public concern in bringing back black money stashed away in Swiss banks, do you think that this money has been stashed away by ‘Public Servants’ or by those we elect to rule over us?

What exactly went wrong with the best of the intentions of the makers or drafters of the constitution? I think the origin of the problem lies with the way we have implemented democracy, the sacred cow of our Constitution. We are very fond of saying that India is a shining example of democracy, a lotus flower of democracy in a pond of autocracies around us.

I am not going to give my perceptions but some facts and figures that would make us all sit up and take notice. The only perception that I want to give is that democracy or rule of the people is conveniently used by our leaders to escape the clutches of the law. Initially, when a minister is accused of a scam, his response is a very noble, “Let the law take its own course” (smug in the knowledge that if law is an ass, Indian law is the biggest snail in the world; very few get justice during their life-times). As soon as this minister is convicted, he displays his total contempt for the law by declaring, “This is a political vendetta; is ka faisla to ab janata ki adalat hi karegi” (I shall go to the people’s court for justice). He succeeds there because of the shortcomings of our democracy. He succeeds because the collective memory of our people is short. Elections these days are an exercise in deciding – what we feel as – the least evil.

So here are the promised figures. In our esteemed democracy, on the average, about 50 to 60 percent of the electorate votes. What is an electorate? Since it comprises the registered eligible voters, it would be naïve to assume that 100% of the eligible voters are registered. The correct figures are close to only about 80%. So when 60% (the higher average) of the electorate votes, it means only 48% of the eligible voters do so.

With multiplicity of candidates, a candidate is declared a winner if he/she gets between 13 to 25% of the votes cast.  This would make him represent between 7 to 12% of our electorate. This means that about 90% of voters have not voted for him/her. And yet, when he becomes a minister, as A Raja did, he does not feel any need to consult the other parties, let alone common people, about a subject that is going to affect their lives in a big way. What kind of democracy is it? Why are we so proud of it? How can we forget that due to this, we rank 119 in Human Growth Index out 169 countries in the United Nations Human Development Report released on 4th Nov 10, just eighty three days before the celebration of our 62nd Republic Day. How can we forget that we rank not just below China but also below Sri Lanka, Namibia and Nicaragua?

Now let’s look at the issues with which this winning candidate (who secures, on the average, backing of maximum 12% of our eligible-to-vote people) fights his election. Do you think that he/she takes to people pragmatic solutions to their poverty and lets them decide whether he/she should be elected on the basis of these plans and programmes? No, on the other hand, the primary issues on which he fights elections are the denigration (verging on mud-slinging) of the other parties.

I am not going to bring out other issues about secularism, respect for all castes and creeds, and other fundamental rights. All I am saying is, without giving vent to perceptions and biases, that the lot of the Indian common man, after 61 years of our social revolution, sought to be fostered by our constitution, brought into effect on 26 Jan 1950, has not improved. There is no remedy in sight because he/she does not exercise a choice.

On the 62nd Republic Day, let’s all put our heads together and think how can we empower our people. All facts and figures prove that so far we have scarcely empowered them.

Here are some of the arguments used to bolster our feel-good factor: “these days even the road-side cobbler has mobile phone”, “even those in slums in Mumbai watch colour television”, “Slumdog Millionaire won many Oscars”, “our fashion industry is growing at a stupendous rate” etc. These are arguments given by the political class and the elite to make us forget the failures of Indian democracy.

“Hum honge kamyaab” (We shall succeed). Sure, pal, first let’s decide on what we want to succeed at. I am sorry but on the 62nd Republic Day, we still have only a vague idea, let alone a firm plan.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

There is absolutely nothing to suggest that God had intended any particular day or event to be more important or significant than the others. It appears that in God’s scheme of things every month, hour, minute and second is an old one dying and a new one being born.

And yet…

And yet we have special days: our birthdays and those of people close to us, our anniversary, graduation day and days of festivities.

New Year is really different. It appears that if we didn’t have something to peg our lives to there won’t be any beginning or end to anything.

HNY1

The Guru Granth Sahib talks about God being there before the Universe and that He would be there after the Universe. In the Bhagwat Gita there is a description of God saying that He is the Beginning and the End. Therefore, in order to avoid ourselves into falling into the illusion (actually reality!) of a Universe without Time, we have ourselves devised the Calendar year.

The other day I shared a discussion in latest issue of the Time magazine that until the sixteenth century there was no particular date to celebrate the Birth of Christ. According to the Bible He was born sometime in Spring. It was only then that the Pope decreed that it should be universally accepted as twenty-fifth of December. Nowadays, we have become so sacrosanct about this date that at the stroke of midnight on twenty fifth December we burst into sudden rejoicing for Christ having been born.

India too got its freedom from the British at the stroke of midnight, universally accepted as the beginning of a day.

It is really very convenient for us. Timelessness, as God had intended, would have killed us; we won’t have known what to do with it. In the olden days, we measured time by the Sun and the Moon or the changing seasons. Indeed, there are many Hindi songs about measuring time likewise; eg, “Chaand phir nikla, magar tum na aaye.” (Moon is out again, but my Love has still not returned); or “Tere bin saawan kaise beeta” (Love, do you have any idea of how I the monsoons weighed on me without you).

HNY2

There is an article in my blog titled ‘The Virtual World‘ on this issue. It may just be worth reading it to remember that the concept of Time that we have devised, just like any other virtue, makes all of us to live in a Virtual World. And yet, when a lover gets affected by Time playing tricks on him awaiting his love, we tease him for living in a world of his own.

So, there is as much New about the New Year as is about every moment.

HNY3

However, having said that, lets realise that Time is amongst the best known discoveries or inventions of Man. If it hadn’t been for it, Life would go on without any newness! Everyone would use relativity of time (which it is) than absolute terms to describe events, eg, Boss to Employee, “You are later than Sunita in coming to office but, you are earlier than Rakesh. Next time, be earlier than the most”.

Or, the train is late today but is earlier than it was last summer.

Or, Happy New Year to those in India now. In Europe, wait for another few hours.

Since all this is, in any case, an illusion (maya), there is one thing that depicts it really well; it is the New Year Resolution. Since, we set the meter to beginning or start again, we are filled with great resolve to reset our Life starting….well, you guessed it…the stroke of midnight. Some of the popular resolutions are:

HNY4

  • I shall lose weight.
  • I shall give up smoking/drinking.
  • I shall stop worrying.
  • I shall be kinder to my parents.
  • I shall become leaner and fitter.
  • I shall stop lying about small things.
  • I shall become more punctual.

The illusion of these resolutions lasts for a few days and then we realise that the year has become as old as everything on earth must and we don’t have to treat it with renewed resolve. We slip back into timelessness!

So, friends, Happy New Year 2011

HNY5

I resolve that in 2011 I shall write at least fifty percent articles about things that at least fifty percent of the people around me can understand if they find time to read them. For the others who actually rejoice in ‘Ignorance is Bliss’ (which is exactly how God intended it to be):

“Aage bhi jaane na tu,
Peechhe bhi jaane na tu;
Jo bhi hai, bas yehi ik pal hai”
(Future is unknown to you,
Past is not known,
What IS, is only this moment)

Rejoice!

LIVING WITH DIGNITY IN INDIA

Living with dignity anywhere depends upon how much freedom we get to do the things that we want to do as long as the doing of them is not illegal. One doesn’t exercise a choice in being born in a country; if at all, sometimes the parents may exercise such a choice. So, if you grow up in the country of your birth, wherein you did not exercise a choice to be born, you expect to live, above all, with dignity. This is despite your not being in majority; by your religion, caste, creed and vocation. I know that James Michener had commented, “If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people, you might better stay home.” However, JM’s comment is suited for those who exercise a choice. What if home is country or state of your birth? Where do you go if you reject the ways of your people? Worse, where do you go if people reject your ways? I am not talking about seditious ways chosen by some, eg, Arundhati Roy or Geelani.

I shall give you a few examples of how your dignity (not ego) gets adversely affected simply by living in India.

There are extreme examples of carrying night-soil that was banned only recently in India. Or there was this tradition of Sati – the self (sometimes provoked) immolation of a widow after her husband’s death. Dowry, poverty, being born a girl, having to face injustice or to be wrongly accused, would be some other such extreme examples. This article is not about these. This article is about the dignity of ordinary middle class people living ordinary lives.

My examples starts with my home (whatever that means) state Himachal. The other day a friend from Himachal asked me how is it that we settled in Himachal when we are Sikhs and Punjabi speaking. When I showed surprise he asked me a more direct question, “When did you migrate from Punjab into Himachal?” I told him that I was born and brought up in Himachal and that each one of the Indian states are supposed to be multi-lingual and multi-religious and that an Indian has got a right to settle down anywhere in India. I told him that there is a recent Supreme Court ruling on it. Now, it was his turn to show surprise. Even though well educated, he had never dwelled on this point and had taken it for granted that whilst Hindi speaking people can hope to live with dignity anywhere in the Hindi belt, others necessarily belong to where they are in majority, ie, Punjabis in Punjab, Bengalis in Bengal and so on.

I had read about the travails of a Muslim trying to buy a house in a predominantly Hindu locality in Pune. It was in the papers last year.

I tweeted and wrote a lot about the Navratri  festivities in our part of the city. The cacophonic noise of filmy songs had nothing to do with any religious sentiments. At thirty past midnight, one night, I phoned the local police station to complain that with the excessive noise we couldn’t sleep. The constable on duty told me, “Nahin, Navratri mein nahin sone ka.” (No, Navratri is not meant for sleeping). Even though he did not say it, since the majority of people was involved, it was taken for granted that everybody must share the sheer joy of those festivities, even though outside legal limits. However, in the same breath an indoor ‘midnight mass‘ on Christmas eve had to finish by 2215 hours to keep us free from “excessive noise” caused by ‘Silent night, holy night’.

A time has come in India when one has to be apologetic about belonging to any community, caste, creed, and culture other than the majority’s. At many places it can be dangerous too. The Wikileaks revelation about Rahul Gandhi telling the US Ambassador to India, Timothy Roemer, that Hindu radicalism is a greater threat to India than Muslim fundamentalism was certainly well off the mark, at the verge of being anti-national (considering the damage to Indian societal fabric being done by such organisations as LeT and SIMI), and in poor taste. But, we must take notice of the fact that a potential PM candidate thought of voicing it. Do we still maintain that we give equal opportunity to other communities, castes, creeds, cultures in ordinary things that they can do? When I voiced it on Twitter the argument given was that we had a Muslim President, services Chief, Sikh PM and so on. I maintain, as I did above that this article is about the dignity of ordinary middle class people to live ordinary lives. I am not talking about extreme and isolated examples.

Here is another example. Poor driving habits kill more people in India in a year than in all the wars India fought with its neighbours. However, when the majority believes in jumping lanes, red lights, drives on the wrong side of a road with median, edges you out of the lane, honks relentlessly in case you have stopped to let a woman or old man to cross; try doing the right thing, see where it lands you? You will be a like a foreigner in your own place. Talking about foreigner, you can see Indians driving abroad; but, have you ever seen a foreigner in India driving in, say, Mumbai?

In case by lack of road signs or wrong road signs (they are aplenty) or because you are edged out by a lorry and you land up in the wrong, you have to face the traffic cop whose only assistance to you is to make you rid of some of your money. Indian police makes you feel like criminals even if you have stopped to ask for directions or gone to the Police Station to lodge a complaint. Try to do any of these things with dignity. Indeed, all so called public servants in India make you feel as undignified as possible for your error of judgment in having approached them for any help.

Now, if you belong to a niche group like Indian Armed Forces, who are largely disciplined, secular and upright; all attempts would be made to bring you down to the level of the majority for any small or big aberration or perceived aberration. At a bus stop in my native place I gently told a man, who spat out paan, that he could have done it in a trash can. He gave me a thorough once over and the conversation with him went like this:

He: Aap afsar ho? (Are you an officer?)
I replied in the affirmative.
He: Afsar ho to kuchh bhi kar sakte ho? (because of being officer can you do anything?)
I did not like the sudden unexpected turn he gave to the subject. However, he proceeded without paying heed to any interrupttion from me.
He: Afsar ho to hamare ghar aa ke hamari bahu betiyon ko bhi kuchh bhi kar sakte ho? (By being an officer can you force yourself into my home and do things to our women at home)
I tried to protest at the unfairness of it. But, by that time a sizeable crowd had formed and they asked him what had happened.
He: Pata nahin ji kya zamana aa gaya hai? Mujhe keh raha hai ke main afsar hun aur kuchh bhi kar sakta hun. (I don’t know what world we have landed in? He is telling me that he is an officer and can do anything)
At this another equally wise person remarked: Pehle Angrez afsar the, ab yeh aa gaye hain. (At one time we were under the British officers; and now we have these).
At this the wisest in the crowd remarked disdainfully, “Chhodo ji, mujhe to fauji lagta hai. Bechare ko civil tareekon ka pata nahin hai”. (Let it be. He appears to be a military man. Poor man doesn’t know the ways of the civilians)
Having said that, they “forgave me” for my effrontery in asking a man not to spit out paan in public. Phew.

In case this incident has to take place now, post Adarsh housing scam involving some senior officers from the armed forces amongst bureacrats and politicians, I can foresee the ultimate jeering, “Jao jao, jyaada adarsh mat bano“. (Go, don’t try to become adarsh (ideal in literal meaning but actually with an eye on the Adarsh scam)

Try to, with dignity, become adarsh when you board a bus, or train. You will be left at the station long after the bus or train has departed.

I am reminded of this scene from a Shyam Benegal movie in which a village teacher has his wife abducted and raped by the village goondas. He goes from one government office to the other asking for justice. Finally, he realises, with frustration, that the process of asking for his and his wife’s dignity to be restored is even more undignified.

If you are an Indian, you are used to such indignities as can rape your feelings and emotions, liberties and honour on an everyday basis. From the indignity of a woman being molested in public to your driving a car through extreme pot holes, filth, chaos, indiscipline, you are always under stress; more so, if you are law abiding citizen. Try standing overnight in a queue to obtain train reservation and face the indignity of knowing that your neighbour has managed better seats than you by paying underhand and getting the tickets delivered to him at home.

Adarsh, my foot. Indian society is as far from being adarsh as can be.

Have you ever been to an Indian court? I have been several times for a case involving our neighbours who have encroached upon my mother’s land. Eventually, you may win the case after decades. But, you have to decide whether you can go through the extreme indignity of dealing with lawyers, police, court clerks, officials, judges etc. Your only fault is that someone encroached on your land and now you are an equal contender in the case as the other party! A similar experience awaits you in case you are walking on an exclusive pedestrian foot-path and a vehicle knocks you off and you approach police or the courts for justice.

Here is what Rabinder Nath Tagore wrote in 1910:

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Let us pause and reflect on how far we in India have come from these ideals.

AMARANTH

Like a gentle rain
On a placid pond in wilderness
The memory of our tryst forms
Never dying ripples
Each one capturing
Those brief moments of togetherness.

Did you at that time know
That the twinkle in your eyes
The softness of your lips
Your looks, your scent, your laughter
Would remain with me forever?

Indelible…unfading.

And I would search for these
In the pearl drops on lotus leaves,
In yellow flowers of joy
By the gurgling brooks;
In the haunting song of cuckoo
Pervading the silent secrets of woods.

Did you know that I would
Eternalize each whisper,
Each colour, each touch, each look
Each song, and each ditty
And treasure them
As a Life Time’s Achievement Award
For my undying love for you?

ANYTHING FOR ME?

          The Missile Boats, of the type that took part in our daring attack on Karachi in 1971, had a deadly punch of missiles. However, due to their low height of eye, they were many times poor in inter-ship communications, especially in comparison to larger Fleet ships. This often produced frustrating results. One of these is described here.

          For CinC’s farewell at sea, the Fleet Commander had got the combined strength of the Fleet and Flotilla (to which smaller boats like Missile Boats and Durgs belonged) with him. Whilst the Fleet ships had to do the traditional steam-past the mighty Vikrant with CinC embarked, the Flotilla ships were to approach Vikrant from ahead and fan out abreast of Vikrant in pairs on obtaining the crucial signal.

          This complex manoeuvre required coordination of extremely high order. To ensure proper command and control, the Fleet Communication Officer had tried to get all ships, big or small, on a common communication circuit. At this stage, a small Missile Boat (Let us call it MB One) was trying to establish communication with the Fleet Commander (Let us call it Flag), for example:

          “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me, over”
          And again: “Flag, this is MB One, Radio Check, over” with increasing urgency since the serial was about to start.

I was on a newly commissioned Fleet ship and we could hear the repeated wails of MB One. Even though Flag had many times acknowledged the calls of MB One, the latter could not hear it. In the meantime the grand manoeuvre commenced and the communication operator on MB One must have been panicky that he had not established two-way communications.

Before the Fleet ships’ planned steam-past, came the first of the Flotilla ships, the Durgs who were to fan out abreast of Vikrant, their ship’s companies calling out ‘Teen Jais’ to the CinC. One of the Durgs (Let us call it Durg Two) fanned out earlier than called for and that part of the grand manoeuvre looked shabby. The Fleet Commander could have waited to return to harbour to convey his displeasure; but, there is nothing like on-the-spot-dressing-down. So a signal was made on the common net, “Durg Two this is Flag, your stupidity has spoiled the whole show, over”.

          Meanwhile MB One was still trying, in vain, to net in, “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me? Over”.

          The ‘stupidity’ signal, not being in the proper signalese, completely flummoxed the operator on Durg Two, who asked for a repetition by the most commonly used words on the circuit during those days, “Flag, this is Durg Two, say again your last, over”.

          I am sure, Commanding Officer of Durg Two, if he had heard this on the speaker on his ship, as the rest of the Fleet did, would never have wanted such a signal to be repeated. But, now, the Flag operator had no choice. Hence, he tried again, “Durg Two, this is Flag, your STOO PEE DITTY has spoiled the whole show, over”.

          Meanwhile, MB One, getting a lot of crackling sound on the headset must have been in total panic, more so as his turn to perform similar manoeuvre was fast approaching. Hence, his “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me, over” had become agonisingly more desperate. At this stage, Durg One, to our amused horror, requested Flag to spell word after ‘your’.

          After this, the entire sequence, heard on my ship was:
          “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me, over”
          “Flag, this is Durg Two, say again all after ‘your’ and spell word after ‘your’”.
          “Flag, this is MB One, anything for me, over”
          “Durg Two, this is Flag, I say again my last: your STOO PEE DITTY, I spell, Sierra Tango Uniform Papa India Tango Yankee, STOO PEE DITTY, has spoiled the whole show, over”
          “Flag this is MB One” with alarm now since a long message had been made and he had missed it totally, “Anything for ME over”!

They also serve who only stand and wait!

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