IS THERE REASON TO CELEBRATE WOMEN’S DAY IN INDIA?

Today, we are again excited with the idea of celebrating International Women’s Day. We are good at celebrating days; we celebrate Republic Day and watch and applaud soldiers, sailors and airmen smartly march by and then forget about them for the rest of the year. We organize talks, fashion-shows, sing-song sessions, and car rallies to mark the IWD and then clap our hands and get it over with. The fact is that our apathy towards women is as enduring as our display of faith in thousands of gods and goddesses.

About a decade back I was browsing an issue of the Time magazine. There was a nine-page article about Risk or Extreme Sports in the United States. It fascinated me to read that an increasing number of Americans were turning to BASE (an acronym for Building, Antenna, Span (meaning bridge) and Earth (meaning cliff) jumping and such other sports wherein the chances of death or grievous injury are nearly as high as standing close to targets in a firing range. “The US”, the article read, “has embarked on a national orgy of thrill seeking and risk taking. The rise of extreme sports like BASE jumping, snowboarding, ice climbing, skateboarding and paragliding is merely the most vivid manifestation of this new national behavior.”
 
It got me thinking. The USA is a country wherein human life has become so secure and convenient that its citizens have to think of ways and means to get out of the dullness of being the best in the world. But what about poor countries like India? Despite our much touted spectacular GDP growth we have more poor people than anywhere in the world. We tend to forget this fact when we celebrate important days – Republic Day, Independence Day, Holi, Diwali, Children’s Day and Women’s Day. In India, one does not have to indulge in any extreme sports to get the thrill of brushing against sure death in routine daily activities. Travelling in the suburban trains of the most cosmopolitan city in India would bring one as close to the Maker as, say, a roof top bus ride in the hilly roads of Himachal. That one is alive at the end of the journey is as much a miracle as the discovery of gods’ statues drinking milk! Travelling on the foot-boards with the body balanced precariously, crossing highways and railway tracks, crossing raging streams without as much as a life jacket and working in mines and factories without a semblance of safety equipment are some other extreme sports Indians indulge in everyday.
 
You can die in India by visiting a holy shrine since a stampede can be caused anytime. You can die by drinking liquor and even taking medicines since you can never be sure whether these are spurious or not.
 
So when wealthy newspapers and publications celebrate womanhood by organizing fashion shows and car rallies nothing can be more disgusting. Women of substance? These must be the miniscule percentage of Indian women. Here are some of the risk sports Indian women indulge in and let’s not even pretend that we shall have these sorted out the moment we give thirty-three percent representation to women in our Parliament. These would if we can be naïve enough to believe that since, all these years, men were represented in parliament it has solved the problems of the common man and made his lot better.
 
Training for adventure sports in India starts at a very early age. The newspaper of three days back, 4th Feb 10 that is, brought out the rape of a three-year old. And that’s a case that has come out in the media. What about thousands of girls who are victims of child-abuse every day? The statistics are that the incidence of this extreme sport is forty-nine percent in our country.
 
In the past, the most popular risk sports for women had been a game called Sati. Both young and old could take part in it (like it says in Indian matrimonials: ‘age no bar’). The only qualification was that their husbands should have left them for heavenly abode. Hardly anyone came out alive, but still it was more popular than bungee jumping and had greater social acceptance. Even after 63 years of independence many women still are forced to participate.
 
There is an equally adventurous sport called Dowry. Indian women qualify for it as soon as they get engaged. The risk in this game is even greater than Sati. In this, a woman and her parents, or in-laws and relatives deliberately put her in a situation wherein she would constantly get the thrill of being beaten, immolated or hacked to death. We have laws against domestic violence but these have made women as secure as, say, laws against dowry.
We can argue that both Sati and Dowry may not be as popular sports for women as in yesteryears, but we have to admit that in our great country (Mera Bharat Mahan) stripping women naked in public (or otherwise show them their place) has continued with the sane vigour since Mahabharat days. Indeed, a few interesting variations have been added over years such as making them drink urine, throw acid on or smear their faces or letting their families, especially young kids, watch the spectacle. This sport has been taken up by even so-called forward – looking organizations trying to protect the Indian women against the ills of western civilization.
 
At one extreme, in India, we have a Rakhi Sawant or even Vijayraje Scindia being in the news for sharing a kiss in public (the Indian media just loves this kind of news); at the other end we have the vast majority of them being oppressed on an everyday basis and still not making news. It is because that it ceased to be news long time back.
 
In India, one really enduring adventure sport can be called ‘Just Being a Woman’. After my father died in a jeep accident, my mother stays by herself in a village called Kandaghat in the most progressive state in our country called Himachal. What did the neighbours do to lessen her sorrow? Well, they encroached on her land and generally made her unwelcome in her own place! My repeatedly approaching the authorities over years had no effect until I painted the scenario of similar things happening to their own mothers! I am now assured by all concerned by a phrase that is used everywhere in India: “the law would take its own course.”
 
The state of my birth, Punjab, is no better. In Punjab (which I always thought was an intellectually advanced state), a few years back when they found female foetuses having been discarded in a well, they publicly acknowledged how Punjabis hated the girl-child. In Rajasthan they still kill female infants and a few years back in Bihar a father sacrificed both his daughters to bring good luck.
 
To end the list of adventure sports in our country, let’s examine the most popular for the lone girl. It is called Rape. It is as savage and brings as much pleasure to Indian men as the Afghan sport ‘Buz Kashi’. The woman gets the choices of keeping mum, going to courts and being derided, face ostracism for having incited the man (more often, men) (we had an elected representative of people in Goa who said that recently) to indulge in it, and lastly ending her life.
 
So are the authorities or elected representatives or media the only ones to blame? As Indians, a few years back, in the most cosmopolitan city in the country called Mumbai, we watched the rape of a woman in a railway compartment and did nothing about it.
 
So, how do we celebrate the International Women’s Day? I think the first thing is to acknowledge that gimmicks like reservation for women in parliament, talk shows, car rallies, fashion shows and the like are NOT going to make a BIG difference. I was privileged to hear Dr Abdul Kalam on a similar issue. His solution was to strengthen the family system, the bedrock of our society. All agencies, the government, the media, the judiciary must support this and do not let it become a minority group. How can we love Bharat Mata if we do not respect our or someone else’s mata?

LOOSE EMOTIONS

This is a repeat of an article I wrote in 2007. Read on:

None of us want to get an attack of Loose Emotions. We are very careful about everything we intake and digest. Indeed, we hope and pray that not only us but no one close to us would have to deal with Loose Emotions. However, every now and then Loose Emotions afflict us and leave us drained out. These can range from something as harmless as our partner’s emotional outburst to a soldier in the border areas going on a shooting spree before putting a bullet in his own head – the very hotbed of loose emotions. Even though, like AIDS and Cancer, Loose Emotions can be fatal, not enough research has been done on it, particularly in the armed forces. Hence, there is an urgent need to look into history, types, causes, symptoms and possible remedies for loose emotions.

Historically, Loose Emotions is world’s oldest known ailment as also the most widespread. It started with Adam and Eve having been shunted out of the Garden of Eden. Presumably in the G of E gods and goddesses coexisted without having to confront Loose Emotions. But as soon as A and E were dropped on earth, they left behind a trail of emotions and we are still finding it difficult to live with them; or, for that matter, without them. The Urdu poets of yore made good name for themselves and a fast buck (no, not really fast buck because most of them like Zafar died penniless) writing about this great dilemma after being afflicted by it: ”Jeena bhi mushkil, marna bhi na aasaan”.

Our greatest epic Mahabharata tells us about the consequences of having suppressed Loose Emotions. Poor Pandavas – one’s heart goes out to them – had to deal with acute sense of injustice and deprivation, chicanery and guile. They knew it was building up but then, as it is now, there was no sure cure for LEs. And one bad day, they had to face the ignominy of having Draupadi being disrobed in front of their eyes. “Enough is enough”, said Y to A, and A to B and so on until even N and S, at their relatively younger age, were overwhelmed by Loose Emotions. The rest is history, and as you know, the only known cure for Loose Emotions, at that time, followed. Loose bodies and blood lay mangled on the battlefield; those who died were rid of it, but, at an exorbitant cost; those who survived were never the same again.

Let’s have a look at the types of Loose Emotions. Like Vitamins, Loose Emotions also have various types. The total types cannot be described in a small article like this. However, let me tell you about some of the prominent ones. The most prominent, without doubt, is an LE called ‘Love’; a four letter word. This is by far the strongest and most harmful virus of LE known to man. Indeed, virtually all other LEs have their origin in this Gangotri (river-head) of all emotions. Many a time, one is blissfully unaware that the virus has penetrated one’s defences until it starts spreading its tentacles within and without. Initially, the victim’s pulse beat quickens, and blood pressure rises. Soon, one’s eyesight gets affected. Many see stars and become stony eyed but those afflicted badly complain that they cannot see anything except the objects of their love. This stage is known as ‘blind in love’. The victim has only a few more days to live but, under the influence of Love, his other senses also get blinded and he starts thinking that he and his beloved can live by themselves and forever. The really bad cases of this LE ultimately chuck themselves in front of approaching trains or from a cliff or hang from ropes until they are rid of it and of course, of precious life, which is another four letter word.

Slightly less potent but even more dangerous is an LE called ‘Hate’. Many of its symptoms are similar to ‘Love’; for example, rush of blood, loss of vision and so on. But, in this case, the victim wants to do things to others rather than to himself. Hence, throwing in front of approaching train or off from a cliff is not for the one afflicted by it but for the object of hate. Historically, on top of the list was a character called General Dyer. He was afflicted by it so badly that his barrage of Hate felled all those who had gathered for a peaceful gathering at Jalianwala Bagh. (One would think baghs, that is gardens, are ideally suited for (e)motions of a different kind – behind the trees, that is, but GD proved everyone wrong). Currently, after competition in the form of Saddam Hussein has been eliminated by the reverse of Indian Rope Trick, a man called Osama Bin Laden and another called Bush are the world’s leading victims of this LE. By and large, the whole world has divided itself into two camps: those who pray for OBL and those who follow in the footsteps of GB. Amongst the followers of GB, in a ‘sanatorium’ called Abu Gharaib, a female patient called Lyndie was so consumed by this type of LE that when pictures of her having Loose Emotions were released in the media, many others had loose emotions just watching her perform another version of rope trick.

The leading Loose Emotion in the women’s world is one called ‘Jealousy’ or ‘Envy’. A television company called Onida, knowing that ‘television’ is to the woman, in the same manner as ‘golf’ is to the man, advertised its product primarily for the females by cashing on this LE called ‘Envy’. Many a man was duped into buying the telly for his wife lest she should go and chuck stones at the neighbour’s, thereby making him (the man and not the neighbour) pay for not one but two of them.

Yet another type of LE is ‘Anger’ or ‘Rage’. Fortunately, it is easily controlled both by self-help and by help from others. A man, for example, sent a telegram home that he was returning home on coming Monday. When he arrived he found his wife in bed with another man. Naturally, the emotion called ‘Anger’ was let loose until the mother-in-law investigated and triumphantly came up with the plausible reason for her daughter’s conduct, “John, she didn’t get the telegram”. Needless to say ‘Anger’ subsided.

By far, the most amusing (and consuming) LE is one called ‘Pity’ or more specifically ‘Self Pity’. This virus is instantly released when we perceive that someone has got the better of us. Outwardly, there are no signs that a person has been afflicted by it except that the person becomes quieter than ever before. The virus lies buried within the victim until released with the help of alcohol at the Club or the Mess or at an unsuspecting friend’s place. Amongst all the words that are released, two words ‘If Only’ are uttered over and over again. For example, “If only I had sucked up like A, B or C does, I would have been an Admiral by now. If only.” Ladies react totally differently to men when afflicted by it. Their eyes release a substance called ‘Tears’, which they have in large quantities. Whereas men afflicted by it may or may not be heard, women shedding tears in self-pity have to be heard.

Lastly, let’s have a look at the possible remedies. Lest this article should become very long, let’s come straight to the armed forces. For quite some time, the only way in which people in the armed forces dealt with Loose Emotions was to deny their existence. Let’s say A had a bout of depression and he approached B, his superior, to ask for counsel. B would immediately call a specialist in the cure of LEs called Master Chief GI and ask that A should be helped to get rid of this feeling of depression by going around the parade ground five times, preferably with rifle held up high. For good effect B would add, “And Master Chief Sahib, if the feeling still persists with A, please bring him to me.”

But things are a changing. These days it is not rare to find superior officers and sailors take into account the emotional setup of their juniors and encourage them to release emotions every once in a while. Of course many a times the disease is passed from the junior to the superior.

Meditation is a fairly effective method of getting rid of Loose Emotions and if Swami Ramdev is to be believed the only sure cure. My own personal remedy is to think of how adversely life would be affected if I persist with LEs. For example, I keep reminding myself that there is no situation so bad in which you can’t lose your temper and make it worse.

In the end, if you ever get attacked by Loose Emotions, tell a friend about it. It helps. And, if someone close to you is bitten by the bug, be a friend.

I FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST – DID I?

It was nearly thirty-seven years back that I headed towards the Naval Academy at Cochin to join the Navy as an officer in the Executive Branch. I was to be part of the Eighth Integrated Course, equivalent of the Forty-sixth Course at NDA. Two years before that, I could have joined the Forty-second Course at NDA but even though I was in the merit list, my father did not permit me. He was of the rigid view that military was only for the brainless and the loony. His view, though coarse, found an echo in the writings of eminent authors of that era. I was fond of reading many of these since I was really fascinated by the navy. Taste this:

“The navy is for the mad. The mad and the loony. If you are not mad and find yourself in the Navy, you can only do well by pretending to be one.”

One reason that I could join when I did was that in addition to becoming a little more independent (a totally misleading word as compared to today’s scenario with children; independent then meant that you could float in a degree of false freedom until your parents would pull the plug), I was First in the Merit in the Indian Navy Entrance Exam.

I was awarded the Silver Medal for Academic Excellence when I passed out of the Naval Academy. Many years later I found the medal hidden away in my dad’s things. When I questioned him he said something about the misplaced pride that I could get by displaying it when I was merely “andhon mein kana raja” (a one-eyed king in the land of the blind). JP my younger brother did my father proud by becoming an academician (he is now an Associate Professor at the Georgetown University). Many years later I graduated from the Staff College with the Lentaigne; but, I am sure my father would have held that too with equal disdain.

The navy had a quaint way of looking at things and had equally esoteric language. “Aye aye, Sir”, “One to six heave”, cabins, bunks, starboard, coxswain, “very good” “avast lowering”, and “marry the falls” sounded strange then. To this list sailors had added their own, eg, “Contact designated as Reno Alpha”, “go by walk” and “Dinning Room”. Some are strange even today, eg, “Officers’ Married Accommodation” gives the impression of inanimate buildings having tied the knot.

The navy, I discovered, abhorred long words and expressions as these were considered totally unnecessary. During our parade training, the Chief GI Harbhajan Singh had only to bellow, through clenched teeth, the order “Peeeeeeeee” and we soon understood that he wanted us to “press your heels”. Senior Cadet A Mehrotra could spend an entire afternoon ragging me by using just one mono-syllabic word “so?”. Opening dialogues of an entire afternoon’s conversation in his cabin, whereat I performed such physical feats as “front-rolls” and “on your haunches”, went like this:

A: Cadet Ravi, I asked you to report to me at 1400 hrs. Now it is ten seconds past 1400 hrs. What do you have to say? (He was visibly exhausted by using these long sentences but these were the last ones he used that afternoon).

Me: Sir, I was going after lunch to my roo..er..cabin, and I slipped.

A: So?

Me: I broke my leg, Sir.

A: So?

Me: I was rushed to the hospital, Sir.

A: So?

Me: They took an X-Ray, Sir, and my leg has been put in a restraining bandage for a week.

A: So?

He indicated to me with his hand the now familiar sign for front-roll and I pointed at the leg-in-bandage. He was enraged beyond words and his lips were rounded to utter again the familiar mono-syllable. I had no choice and wincing in pain I started doing the front-roll. As I did the first one his expression changed from interrogative to joyous exclamation…”So!” I also discovered that afternoon that Sr Cadet A M also knew more about the self healing qualities of my leg than the doctors at INHS Sanjivini. As I emerged from his cabin two hours and many acrobatics later it surprised me to know that the ruddy leg pained the least in comparison to many other parts of my body.

That afternoon I silently conjured in my mind a quick and sure cure for a bad headache: ‘Hit yourself on the foot with a hammer’. Even for complex afflictions such as depression and bulimia the Navy has excellent cures.

A few years after I joined I saw a very powerful movie called ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’. Thirty-seven years after joining the loony bunch as I woke up this morning, the morning of my first day as a retired officer I asked myself if I had actually flown over the Cuckoo’s Nest or lost my beans or marbles forever. It felt like a badly aching tooth having been finally pulled out; you not only miss the tooth but also the slow ache it used to cause. For many days after it is pulled out the tongue keeps going back to the place where it used to be and rekindle the pain.

Oh, how we used to do the countdown, as we stood on the Cadet Training Ship Delhi with a six-inch shell each on either shoulder. It was called the DLTGH – Days Left to Go Home. On my farewell, thirty-four years later, when the question of going home arose I had to acknowledge that the navy was the home and somewhere during my time in the navy DLTGH ceased to have its earlier meaning.

It is then that I started asking myself if I really belonged or belong. Subbu told me in the boat from Karanja after my farewell party that as compared to the Army we did not really have a sense of belonging. But that’s always been the lure of the seas. Remember Robert Browning’s Cristina?

“… That the Sea feels” –no “strange yearning
That such souls have, most to lavish
Where there’s chance of least returning”.

The Navy is also probably closer to Life. This kind of detachment is manifested in the words of the old Hindi song:

“Khatam huye din us dali per jis per tera basera tha,
Aaj yahan aur kal ho wahan yeh jogi wala phera tha,
Yeh teri jaagir nahin thi, chaar ghadi ka dera tha.
Kisko pata ab is nagri mein kab ho tera aana..
Chal udhja re panchhi ke ab yeh des hua begana.”

I was to become a Communicator – a kind of independent choice given to me by my Captain on Himgiri as my father was used to giving me. I understood the importance of my job through the ditty of the Railway Signaler:

It is not my job to run the train,
The whistle I cannot blow,
It is not my place to say how far,
The train’s allowed to go.
It is not my job to shoot off steam,
Not even to clang the bell,
But let the damn thing jump the track
And see who catches hell!

I came across many an ASW or Gunnery or ND officer who could have done wonders in their tasks if only the signal had reached them in time! I do not want to sound parochial but I have a feeling that your very character changes depending upon which branch you join! As a Communicator you learn to take all things in your stride because the buck stops at you; you have no one else to blame. For example, when I handed over the P&C File to Subbu I realized that as compared to my predecessors I had made nil letters to higher authorities on issues concerning officers and sailors.

Somewhere along, I cannot place when, the Navy claimed me totally. It did not matter who thought what of me; I became consumed by the naval ethos. I thoroughly enjoyed working for the Navy. A senior officer exhorted me at this stage to “let my hair down and relax”. I was reminded of following passage from ‘Lust For Life’, the biographical novel of Vincent Van Gogh:

“He had an excellent ability to paint. He’d get tired, he’d paint some more; he’d get fatigued he’d paint some more; he’d get exhausted he’d paint some more. After that he would be relaxed and could go back to his painting.”

A person was climbing a hill with a guide. Half way through he was in a thick forest with thorny bushes and sharp rocks. The going was tough. Exasperated he turned to the guide and said, “Where is that wonderful scenery that you were talking about?” And the guide said, “You are standing in it now, which you will see when you reach the top.”

Today, when I have detached myself from the thick jungles of day-to-day goings on in the navy I look back and really marvel at the scenery. I have no desire to fly over the cuckoo’s nest. The loony bunch is family, for heaven’s sake.

“I have come home, dad. I belong to the navy simply because I cannot belong anywhere else. Not now, after seven and thirty years. And dad many of them know words other than mono-syllables. Indeed, yesterday at the end of my farewell Billoo used more words for me than I would have used for myself.”

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