Disturbing devil

Mobile phones are incarnations of the devil. These small sleek devices can ruin your peace, your relationships and even your language. Regular use of these can even damage your health, your concentration and your memory . Look around you , especially when travelling by road and play this little game. Hold your breath till you can see someone who is talking on mobile …then exhale. Believe me you’ll not die . It is almost impossible to pass one full minute without sound of the devil- called ring tone. For someone who is married to a person who receives about 250 calls a day- I am rather mild with my criticism of these evil devices. Of course, these were not intended to be such a nuisance. They were meant to connect you with your world - 24X7 .or as an old mobile ad famously said ( to prove) “…फासलों का मतलब दूरियां नहीं होता “.

But the way this disease of talking incessantly on phones has spread, I wonder how many of us actually wish to be connected for anyone and everyone on a 24/7 basis? What do I mean? A celebrity once said that the additional available you make yourself; the more available everybody can expect you to be. Individuals can really be aggravated if you’re not instantly and constantly out there instead of being happy when you do call. Folks expecting you to be obtainable all the time could be annoying. Cellular phone calls follow you everywhere you’re including your bathroom. Even throughout nighttime when you want to rest, cell phones still ring and annoy you. If it’s vital, no downside however if it’s terribly menial, why you need to be bothered that late!!

Cell phone have become a necessity today, that is why most people use it and mobile phone makers have continuously develop totally different usage and functions for this terribly little gadget…With new and newer ideas (which can change our lives!) these tiny devils are bound to replace our wallet, our Laptop, our alarm clocks, our games and a lot other things. Now a days people do not use the memory given by nature but rely on reminders to remember birthdays and anniversaries.
I am fine with the use of cellphones- but it takes only two seconds to turn into abuse of it. On the excuse of a 24 X 7 organization, people from his office call my hubby in the wee hours of morning and late in the night for such trivial things that at times I wonder if they have any perspective of life at all.These days guests converse with him in between calls. I have forgotten when I had our uninterrupted dinner time conversation, our peaceful weekend TV matinee or even a unbroken eating out. I mean with every second sentence, he will have to halt his life to attend a call. I blame him for not shouting at people who disturb his sleep and mine for absolutely no reason. Mostly such callers call to get out of an assignment given to them. Had I been their boss, I would have given them such a piece of my mind that they would have regretted calling me to narrate their tale of woes. Well, he is too much of a gentleman to do that . So he'd listen politely...and they will call again and again .

Cellular phone etiquette is getting to be a forgotten concept. You may see individuals talking on the phone loudly ( and proudly) and disturbing people nearby in restaurants and offices. People no longer seek permission to take a call....no longer feel apolegetic to attend one during a function . Many people rather feel disappointed if they do not get a call for few minutes in continuity . Many times in a meeting you may notice that when a cell phone rings, nearly everybody around will immediately look for their cell phones. If you were the one talking, and then the person in front of you talks on his phone, how would you feel? I am certain you may feel belittled and ignored. I have faced it so many times that I am in the middle of serious discussion in a meeting/conference/class and suddenly a raunchy ring tone breaks the solemnity of the room and it just spoils the mood. Perhaps it can’t be helped . Like all things devilish, these cell phones make you addicted. You start thinking that you just can’t switch it off. Though we have very strict instructions against it in my office, not a single meeting goes without anyone violating the instructions. But why alone office, I find people disturbing co-passengers in trains by talking loudly on mobiles…..and if you notice, they usually talk very mundane, everyday issues. It’s not an important matter – but the habit forces them to use the phone all the same. Have you not seen people fiddling with their phones all the time…to set a new theme, to play a game , to listen to a new song, texting to friends or forwarding some SMS joke ….? How many of us fail to notice the lovely new flowers on the trees because our eyes are glued to the tiny screens of our phone.

Then there is a menace called SMS. The corruptor of our language skills , this freaking monster can come in the shape of a promotional message, a mechanical greeting or just about anything. Even after having a DND registry for calls- you just cannot ignore this SMS devil. It bothers me at most inappropriate times . These days banks, service providers and almost every other shops wants to update you about your service requests or about their new products via SMS. Even unknown telemarketeers call you all the time and usually whenever you are in boss's chamber or in a meeting - following Murphy's law someone will call to sell you an insurance, a credit card...even an apartment.

I learnt how this tiny device can ruin your holiday when on our last trip to Shimla, hubby was almost all the time on phones from his office . So much so that it was difficult for me to click his pictures without his phone. And he insists that this cannot be helped. To top it, the fancy mobile ads promise (read threaten) us that their network will follow us wherever we go. As a result we do not talk with people who are with us, we rather talk on phone – all the time, everywhere.

To add insult to injury, someone devised the thing called ring tones. No longer the boring “trin trin…”-- you can have almost anything else as you ring tone or caller tune. So while calling someone you can listen to Gurbani , quwallli, peppy songs from movies, ghazals , Beethoven’s compositions, cooing of their girlfriend and even gibberish spoken by their newborn. I wonder why people love to subject their callers with such forced sounds of music. Ring tones are no better – they can be funny, musical or may be even offensive. I still remember that in a very serious exit conference meeting with the top management of an organisation suddenly a chief engineer’s mobile rang with a very suggestive item number. Some smiled, others made faces and I just burst out in giggles. And now that we are in the age of life changing ideas about mobile phones – I just come up with an idea that my hubby’s ring tone should be language lessons for some foreign language. With such frequent revisions , I am very sure very soon I will be proficient in that language.

Balancing Doing and Being

(Confessions of a tired soul )

Today I sat still. I have lost count of how many weeks I have spent living from one day to another. I get up in the morning and before I realize anything, like a machine, I start running the race . Whatever I do, I am regulated by clock. I get up, get ready , work at office, get back, work at home, watch TV, make lists and go for sleep. I look around people of my age and find their lives are equally ‘busy’ . We have busy weekdays, busy weekends and even busy vacations . Why is it so? Is it because we try to pack too many things in the limited time available? Is it because we tend to be greedy in picking things we want- or that we are scared to unclutter our lives dreading we might miss something important ?OR may be it is just a curse of Generation Y ? We start the race of life just too early. We have rat races to win in schools, at work places, even as parents and friends! But I wonder how many of us are sensible enough to find whether this is what we want from life. I, for one, hate such an existence. I know if you go down to brass tacks, I do not care much for a big house, a swanky car or a designer handbag. For me life was always finding joy in small (rather insignificant) things . But still I too end up following the circle of routine- mindlessly. Underneath , there is a fear , of losing , of being insignificant ,of not doing well at work, as a spause /friend /daughter but God knows for what. I mean, with this speed, there is a good chance that I will end up spending prime of my life without living it at all. Even when I can afford to be free , I find occupation for my mind . I go out, sit in a park and I start making mental list of things to do . I succumb to this race of routine…I am not destined to win. None of us win this race anyways.

I enjoy doing ‘nothing’. As a poet famously said ‘ just stand and stare’. Believe me, it is a very calming state of life when you are not concerned about your office, your home or even about your world. The other day , a colleague gave me a lovely metaphor for this. In some context she mentioned that thoughts in our mind are like vehicles on a busy route . At times there is traffic jam, but if vehicles keep on moving…it sorts out eventually. She suggested that if you look at your thoughts as a traffic jam situation and get involved , it only leads to road rage . So, just be the spectator from the window who is looking down on a busy street. Traffic jam will take care of itself. I noticed that off late, I’m not very good at sitting still; even if I’m watching television I’m very busy watching television, or I’m reading or eating at the same time. I crave having nothing to do, but the problem is that there are always so many things that need doing that I rarely feel I can justify a prolonged period of inactivity. However much I love my inactivity- filled leisure, I end up spending most of my waking hours resigning to the demand s of routine. No time to stand and stare , No time to cry , No time to analyse where life s taking me , No time to stop and redo or remake , No time to make a new path , still treading the rough old path , still doing the tasks situations demand and priding myself at achieving the results of the preset tasks...Perhaps time is ripe for balancing doing with being!

Its strange how lives of young people follow a series of activities . Get a degree- get a job- get married- buy a house – produce a kid (or two) – start setting similar tasks for your kids . I look around I hardly find anyone who has successfully broken this trap of routine. Still worse, those who for some reason fail to get into the orbit of routine, feel miserable....incomplete and sulk. With half our mind always on the moving fingers of our watch, we hardly give our 100% to the work and we hardly ever do things we like. Most of us also develop such loathsome disinterest in all things that they almost sound mechanical in doing things they do. Even when we read good books or watch cinema, the dominant thought is to somehow squeeze this too in the day’s schedule, lest we miss it…rather than the simple joy of experiencing it. I noticed something the other day that almost everyone I knew was aware about a meaningless statement by a minister but no one noticed this really huge moon this weekend – which was in fact the brightest full moon on the year. So even in TV and newspapers we hunt for news which matter- in a very worldly sense of the term. I know colleagues who deliberately pick up hobbies which are ‘in’ these days . But who am I to judge others when it is now ages since I have done something, I feel strongly about. It so happened that I was reading a book on Mathematics and it occurred to me that all the great mathematicians, like great philosophers or great musicians had the luxury of time. Of concentrating things they were working on. They were not engaged in multitasking (with petty routine things) like me. They come up with such original ideas, such beautiful concepts and changed the course of world.

Today I sat still all by myself in a busy marketplace café for almost two hours . I watched people. I observed how people walk, how many young girls seemed to talk endlessly on their mobiles , the difference in movement and expression between people with a purpose and people killing time. I unnerved people out by making unsolicited eye contact and I quietly noted shop assistants going about their business unaware that they were being scrutinized didn’t buy a paper, read a book or pretend to do things with my mobile, I just looked out of the window. At first I felt faintly awkward, worrying that I might look like a Norma No-Mates, , but gradually I relaxed into it. After that it was me looking out to the world from a distance. The world carried on at its own spped and I, the observer just noticed its preserce. It was bliss. Very meaningful 'living' moments ...the taste of which lingered on for long. I strongly recommend this treatment to all other tired souls like mine. Just rebel against the routine. Believe me- all important, urgent and immediate things can wait .

Yes, WH Davies was right –“What is this life if, full of care,/We have no time to stand and stare./No time to see, in broad daylight,/Streams full of stars, like skies at night./No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,/And watch her feet, how they can dance./No time to wait till her mouth can/ Enrich that smile her eyes began.”

Public of the Republic

अब जिधर देखिए लगता है कि इस दुनिया में
कहीं कुछ ज़्यादा है, कहीं कुछ कम है

Yesterday , Indian republic completed 60 years- or in very sarkari parlance- attained superannuation. Well, as per extant rules, this is the age of retirement…but the new- senior citizen like many of his contemporaries is at the prime of life .Ready to take up new jobs with new vigour and would not even mind a facelift from being lazy elephant to a roaring tiger( a la Shashi Tharoor ). Every republic day I end up being proud, nostalgic and angry . Yes, all three sentiments together – sometimes with bits of hurt too. I like my country and its people and feel good about it most of the times. I feel nostalgic remembering my school days and those laddoos we used to get on 26^th January. I feel angry at the sheer unfairness of celebration and the trend of honouring the rich and famous.

A colleague after going through the list of padma awardees commented that in our country if you are not mainstream- you just don’t exist . Well, Suhel Seth is not the only one who dreads reading the list of people being honoured every year by the padma awards . 2years back in this blog I wrote this - Honour me! and now I have come to the conclusion that in India because of the diversity and contradictions, multiple layers of thinking, experience, consideration and opinions- you just can’t be fair in selection of any kind. We do not live in the same world after all. India functions as a group of concentric circles where lives of people of one circle never intersects the other in many ways. So when we cannot be fair in our choice, let us not have the awards at all. I mean , why to disgrace the country by awarding the highest civil honours to the undeserving . Even worse, awaring some of the most deserving less than the undeserving. Its not only about one or two bollywood stars – its about the overall criteria of selection. Its about judging what we consider contribution to nation building through efforts in a particular area . Talking of that , perhaps it is no longer about the padma awards alone. It is about all the awards being given by government /semi government agencies. Sahitya academy and lalit kala academy for instance- are good example of incestuous organizations. Once you are in- you’re in. They keep on bestowing honours to people one hardly knows . I consider myself fairly aware about Hindi literature and for past many years I find the Sahitya Acdemy award going to someone of hardly any real importance to the literature of Hindi language . National film awards – as most of us know , are usually decided through recommendation of politicians and by the way, it is not a new trend. This is how things were always . Only reason why we do hear murmurs of protest these days is because of changed access to information . State governments like UP are for some time doing their bit to this mess . Giving awards to people who have hardly anything to do with state . Let us not allow the situation to get so bad that participants of Big Boss are awarded for their bravery while item girls lap these honours for their contribution to nation building through entertainment . My simple solution to it is – let us stop all state given awards for a while. I am very sure the sectoral organizations and private bodies are enough to replace these awards . I mean its one thing that a Femina miss India is being selected through SMSs of viewers and that a Bharat Ratna being given through similar way.

Now, coming back to the nameless faceless public of the republic – they do have a life beyond what we find in teary soup operas and useless controversies on nonsensical government ads . They have their age old worries of taking care of families and they are also dealing with the newly glamourised ambition ( read greed) of making big in the brave new world of India Inc . That they manage to pack few hours of entertainment cum concern for rest of the world every day in midst of so much work and pressure, is to their credit. Where exactly this entire tamasha of republic day celebrations stand in their list of priorities? Is it like any other holiday when one can do the unfinished laundry and buy weekly provisons or is it something to feel and feel good about . I got a fine glimpse of it last evening when a rather unknown news channel went across Delhi streets asking one basic question to the policemen on duty for republic day security – Why is 26^th January celebrated? Well, about 40 out of 44 could not answer correctly and the incorrect answers ranged from “ Because president has to check the tanks etc “ to “ it was the day Britishers left India “ . The answer from a very confident policeman near Race course road takes the cake- when he said “ Dekhiye sahib, we are not authorized to reveal why it is being celebrated? You better speak to our higher authorities. “

I laughed out loud at this answer….but then is it not a very fair ( and very sad) estimate of how much our republic day means to the public? Perhaps the distance is widening between the concentric circles of Sarkari India , India Inc and Bharat and alas, neither of the three cares . So while I watched the sarkari patriotic song on DD bharti ( and liked it much more than the glamourised India Inc version of Phir Mile sur ) I am painfully aware that for most of the Public of our republic either of the two are non consequential .

Virtually me

“What can be worse than Google-ing your name on internet and finding nothing? "– A friend recently posed this question and my reply was, “ May be Google-ing your name and finding that there is another You – the virtual you, who has little or no traces of the real you.” Even without this little experiment I am daily finding proof of existence of my virtual self.

“The growth of mobile phones and internet has resulted in a death- ….. the death of distance, the death of reality and also the death of privacy . The physical location of you is now immaterial. You are always connected, always near and always here.” I was amazed at the argument of this speaker few years back, in a class on Changes in society due to Development of Technology. Something which was a matter of poetry and imagination is now true. You need not be physically present in a place to meet people , to impress them, to build relationships, to feel human emotions of love, camaraderie or…. even hurt . Your virtual avatar is capable of all sensations and emotions like the real you…and who knows, may be more than real you.

My journey on this time square of the global village of tomorrow- that is on internet, started off in 1999-2000 when my sis introduced me to email and Google . That was the birth of the virtual me . After finding information on most strange subjects, meeting my long lost friends and making impossible tasks happen in minutes- I am convinced that internet is God …or virtually God . I know many net-addicts like me who use internet almost as a pensieve of thoughts, we exist as much on net as in real world . For last few days almost every day I get to know of something which is strengthening my suspicion that this virtual me is getting more well known than the real me. I realized long back that Internet is so big, so powerful and pointless that for some people it is a complete substitute for life…they exist almost exclusively on the virtual web. But was convinced that I am not one such addict. It was only recently that media and social experts started making noises about the other side of this liberation . The virtually empowered people were losing their social skills in the real world for lack of practice. "Now that we are online Let's chat "

Technology that was built to shrink distances to bring us closer actually begin to encourage us to live a virtual life by pushing us towards seeking face-to-face interactions through the use of these devices and not the real way . My first such experience came with Yahoo messenger chats. Through chatrooms , I could meet people with similar interest. Though not all of them were nice to interact with after few chats but it was through net that I found some of my (now) close real life friends. I would not easily forget the expression of confusion plus anxiety on a friend S’s face when we first met face to face. We had talked over phone a day back…so all he could manage to utter was … “Say something, so that I know you are really you .” We continue to be as good friends in real world as we were in the virtual one. But I have seen cases where it is not like that . Once people lose the thin cover of appearing on the computer screen they do not look/sound that good. The way net chatting and socializing has liberated us reminds me of the famous song from musical Chicago-

“In fifty years or so

It's gonna change, you know

But, oh, it's heaven

Nowadays
You can like the life you're livin'

You can live the life you like….

...And that'sGood, isn't it?

Grand, isn't it?

Great, isn't it?

Swell, isn't it?

Fun, isn't it...”

Yes it is all that and more…it can also be dangerous, criminal and even fraudulent . But now we have choices even in our mode of socializing on net as well. I could never understand the logic of social networking sites as they invade in your privacy too much beyond my imagination. So I gradually limited my use of these. What I finally got hooked to is blogging. Yeah, there is a hoot , a hint of thinly coated narcissism in each post one makes on a blog. Having unknown random visitors coming and reading your posts, giving their comments and appreciation…is a happy flattering feeling. Even criticisms sounds so mild when you find that in terms of comments…..but the real buzz factor lies in the possibility that someday I might just be able to transform this virtual connections into a real ones. I got one pleasant surprise the other day when Alan Shaw , the author of war memoirs "Marching on to Laffan's Plain" send me a letter after reading an excerpt of his book in one of my post (this one ) . I was thrilled to know that my 90+ friend from the virtual world took trouble to make a real life connection. I learnt so much more from his regular emails since then about an India he lived in the Raj days. Then on another occasion I once called a business associate and his secretary before connecting the phone asked me if I am the same Atoorva who writes a blog called “A Blue dot of thoughts”. Well, I was stunned . Then marched a vague and unsure 'scrap' on my orkut profile from a guy whom I remember only as a 7-8 year old younger brother of my best friend from school . Me and this friend had lost touch after her marriage and now after decades I came to know that she tried all methods of real world to know my whereabout and finally we were able to re-establish connection only through Orkut. The most recent is someone calling my sis on her company’s intranet inquiring if I am her sister . He read a post on my name( this one ) and discovered that her little daughter’s name (Atoorva) is not unique. I share the disappointment with this young father but somehow, it is a nice feeling that the real world is coming close to me through my virtual existence.

The lost knitting needles

There is something about winters that I miss for last two three seasons and I am not talking about Phantom sweet cigarettes . Actually, I do not see many women engaged in knitting sweaters( and shawls and scarf and many other things) ….in parks, in buses…err…even in offices and schools . Something which was so common in my growing up years is now a rarity. Somehow, the fad of knitting is gone….not that I was ever good in that, but it always intrigued me how women can keep themselves engaged and entertained in something so monotonous . As I was always a beneficiary of the art and never the practitioner, my knowledge about various kinds of wool, their suitability for this design or that and my curiosity to guess the design for sweater someone is wearing on the street is very limited. I was blessed with mom and sisters who could always oblige my whims to wear some crazy design. Like once I remember I was very jealous of my elder sister’s pretty sweater with 4-5 pink flowers made of crochet and insisted that I want a “more beautiful” sweater for my birthday. So on my 6th birthday mom made me a lovely ( to my eyes) sweaters full of flowers and leaves attached on it. That I was looking ridiculously funny wearing that was immaterial. Even now in old pictures , you will find me wearing a huge smile whenever I wore that sweater . Similar fond memories are associated with many other mufflers, shawls and other woolen clothes knitted and gifted to me by aunts, granny and friends. Though I was and still am , a totally talentless creature in this field, I do appreciate the amount of labour it takes to make a perfect sweater. The machine made sweaters may be the call of the day now but can never match the mamma made ones.
Growing up in small towns , I have many memories related to knitting in winter months. Whenever two ladies of the neighborhoods met, the talk usually came down to the progress of knitting project in hand and the future plans for copying this design and that . Getting the right shade of wool and the right number of knitting needles was also a major fuss. I remember my sis, always poor in her estimate , would fall short by few “lines” to complete a sweater and then would make me go shop to shop hunting the same colour of wool . My mom also had a knack of losing one of her knitting needles and then she would look for it in all probable places for days . It must have been a very acceptable hobby to pursue worldwide as I have seen at least half a dozen portraits of women with their knitting going uninterrupted. Like this one by famous french painter William-Adolphe Bouguereau : I also remember old posters , biscuit tin images and even Christmas cards when the mother in the picture has her hands busy in knitting. Somehow, knitting being a hobby one can pursue while doing other things made it so popular among women. I can recall teachers knitting in school busses and even in recess times .
In the changing world of speed , I miss those ladies and their wool balls . Last night , when I was taking out my winter clothes I suddenly remembered the fun it used to be to ‘ help’ mummy in getting her wool sorted and made into balls , my sister’s experimental designs and her re-knitting (mis) adventures with old sweaters and their creative ideas to use the leftover wool . The emotions attached to the sweaters gifted to babies ,fathers and husbands are all woven within the colourful world of knitting. And just in case anyone find this whole business of knitting very very sexist – I at least know a male friend from my university days who was equally fond of knitting. He even knitted sweaters for his dogs and ( my ) dolls…..however much we laughed at him, he never mind inquiring about a new pattern of sweater from our moms and no wonder was always welcome in our house.
Well, we still wear sweaters, may be far more stylish then ever but the fun and joy associated with those home made beauties is lost . I do not know many friends who still knit ….my sis is now more busy writing programming code for IBM than knitting sweaters for me and even mom hardly pick up her knitting needles . Though with the care she has still kept her knitting box shows how precious it must be for her. I wonder if they still get those knitting pattern books . Just found that these are now probably replaced by knitting pattern websites. Changing world indeed.

Look here , I am austere !

Suddenly the latest fad in Indian political circles is to go austere. People who own property and assets worth billions go for this tokenism and travel by economy class. We should be indebted to them for joining our ranks perhaps. By not staying in five stars (when press is looking) and by not flying by chartered flights it seems (or so the media claims) they are leading towards cost cutting in these difficult days of drought and recession. Incidentally it is not the first time in our political history that politicians are stepping down to match the lifestyle of people they represent. In the war times leaders of those years appealed people to cut on one meal to save food grain (If one person gives up one meal in a day, some other person gets his only meal of the day") and people complied. Many leaders during freedom struggle also took simple lifestyles despite having means to live lavishly. I am sure it helps them in connecting with the people. But Then, I think it’s not the same feeling anymore.
The big cynic in me fails to ignore the difference. Why I do not find this newly invented hallow of austerity real or even admirable ? Perhaps the difference between real cost cutting and this token austerity is too big to ignore.
In the pre independence days, if Gandhi turned into a “half naked fakir” I do not think he did it for publicity alone. He was mocked and ridiculed by most of his peers but it was his conviction in simplicity that made him continue the way he did. He did not do this only for a day or two, it remained a lifelong practice for him. I firmly believe , it was not merely a style statement but a deep felt conviction in his case. So was the case of former prime minister Lal Bahadur Shastri , who was an austere man to begin with and is said to have died, leaving behind a loan and no swanky cars and houses for his family. The tokenism and the need to adopt such simplicity as a style statement perhaps got footing with Nehru. A born rich, he was always used to a luxurious lifestyle and gave it up only to keep appearances of the prevailing philosophy of the time . No wonder, his family even after four generations is keeping up appearances of austerity with matching (in) sincerity.
The funny part about the whole austerity episode this time is that it started off from a stupid media report about Shashi Tharoor and SM Krishna, both of whom were actually paying their own money to stay in five star hotels. Interestingly both of these ministers have legal ways to have means to afford such lifestyle. But the veterans of Indian politics make them realize that in a country like ours appearances matter much more than reality. My only comment on this particular episode of misguided media proactivism is what Confucius said - In a country well governed, poverty is something to be ashamed of. In a country badly governed, wealth is something to be ashamed of." No wonder both ministers shifted to more modest looking places immediately.
I wonder where these journalists are when the parliamentary committee members draw their TA/DA and stay at 5 star resorts in any city they visited for the official work- shamelessly at the expense of government departments? I have yet to see one MP (even communists) who refused this hospitality despite that strictly worded letter fom Lok Sabha Secretariat that arrives before their visits telling us that our hon’ble representatives are expected to stay in government guest houses and get TA/DA for these visits . A study of Parliamentary Hindi Committee’s tours on exotic locations across India would be a good sample to test for this. Not only that, these token austerity measures are not going to lessen the number of vehicles PSUs are providing to the controlling ministries and their political masters. Of course blinded by the holy light of such tokenism our leaders would fail to notice these vehicles parked in all government buildings. They also fail to notice the rising figures of non plan expenditure in all government departments. All it needs is a careful reading of Expenditure budget to realize that crores of rupees are being spent for each minister’s entertainment and travelling. I wonder why no one questions official dinners and even after budget press conferences being held in Five star hotels? All senior journalists accompanying PM and President are treated lavishly on each foreign visit .Who is financing these? But it is in the interest of holy trinity- politician, bureaucrats and businessmen(including media) to overlook the real issue and keep mum on such practices . Unfortunately real issues seldom make good copy. And in such scenario Rahul and Sonia Gandhi’s foolish austerity measures look laughable to me.

On Tax Code, Taxman and history ...

History is mesmerizing. It is all encompassing and is there in each one of us. Most of the times of course, we neither know about it nor realize how it is affecting our present situation and decisions . I have been thinking about the western frontier of India and how the activities there since the arrival of Aryans has literally dictated what we today call –Indian History. I was planning to write about James Nicholson , Henry Lawrence and about the NWFP in the British days …..but then a number of factors made me write this post before that one.
Being a tax auditor , I was naturally following the news about the new Tax Code of India with great interest. Just in that context , my husband informed me that a taxman in Kolkata has recently discovered the grave of James B Wilson- the father of Taxation in India. Deeply intrigued, I searched out the news item on the internet and am spellbound by the odd coincident that the New Tax Law is coming exactly 150 years after the introduction of Income Tax in India by James Wilson. Yesterday was the 150th interment day of Wilson , the Scotsman who came to India, spent eight months in the heat and dust of this jewel in the crown and lies buried here at Mullickbazar cemetery. James Wilson, by the way, had other notable contributions in the form of the Economist magazine and Standard Charted Bank(then the Chartered Bank of India, Australia, China.)- both of which he founded . In India, he imposed an income tax, created a government paper currency and remodelled the whole system of finance. He is known as the man who “evoked order out of the chaos of Indian finance” after the 1857 war of independence.
In all probability as Member Finance of the Viceroy’s council (almost equivalent to Finance Minister of today) this man, during his stay in India(at Kolkata) had his office in the same Treasury buildings where my Kolkata office was. History is definitely the biggest pulp fiction ever written- or being written all the time. Imagine the fact that it took a taxman, an assistant Commissioner of Income Tax, one Mr. Bhatia to dig out the location of Wilson’s grave . Bhatia had been researching India’s fiscal history for some time to write a book on the country’s taxation history, when he came upon the reference to Wilson and his great contribution. He also discovered that Wilson, who had been offered the post of finance member of the Viceroy of India Council, by Lord Palmerston, the then British Prime Minister, in 1859, had died in Calcutta. I was glad to know that I was not the only weirdo visiting cemeteries and checking church records to look for people I have read about. It seems, Mr. Bhatia visited various cemeteries and checked out the records at Kolkata to locate this grave . At the National Library he found the gazette published on the day of Wilson’s death which said: “He died on 11th August 1860 at the young age of 55 years after suffering from dysentery… Flags were unfurled at half mast and guns were ordered to be fired for 15 minutes from the ramparts of Fort William at the time of his burial.”
The inscription on his tombstone(painstakingly restored and made legible recently with efforts of Mr. Bhatia) declares that Wilson was born on June 3, 1805, at Hawick, a small border town in Scotland, and died in Calcutta on August 11, 1860, “from the combined effects of climate, anxiety and labour within eight months after his arrival in India
The incident, though very exciting and newsworthy also reflects how indifferent we are about history of things and institutions around us. The news item informs that there was also a statue of James Wilson at Dalhousie Institute and was removed later to built the Telephone bhawan. The statue is missing – much like the numerous other monuments, manuscripts and items of invaluable historical value .
Wilson was definitely a man worth remembering and for reasons more than income tax . James Wilson’s life shows a smooth upward rising graph. Son of a wealthy textile mill owner , he was expected to join his father’s business . But as things turned out, at the age of 16, after attempting a number of other jobs James was apprenticed to a local hat maker. After only a few months, he progressed from apprentice to partner when his father bought the business for James and his elder brother William. The business thrived and by the time he was 19 it had outgrown Hawick and the brothers moved to London and continuing trading until 1831.Wilson by this time was a wealthy man, he worked hard and believed strongly, as did his early hero Adam Smith, that there was a, “Scotchman inside every man. with a universal desire to make money and a universal willingness to work for it.”
In 1843 he established The Economist as a newspaper to campaign for free trade, and acted as Chief editor and sole proprietor for sixteen years. In the early days Wilson wrote most of the content himself until handing the reins to his son-in-law Walter Bagehot. Perhaps it was inevitable that such an influential figure should consider politics as the next step in an already rich and varied career. In 1847, he was elected to Parliament as Liberal member for Westbury and within six months he was offered the position of Joint Secretary to the Board of Control for India.
The Australian Gold Rush (1851) was the catalyst for his next venture, with miners from around the world pouring into the country there was an almost overnight need for, “The common necessities of life.”Tea, coffee, rum, tobacco, and spices were all in great demand and James Wilson immediately saw the need for a new bank to facilitate this new and growing trade. On October 9, 1852, The Economist announced the issuing of the prospectus of the Chartered Bank of India, Australia and China. The Chartered Bank was later to merge with the Standard Bank (Standard Chartered Bank) and remains today a powerful force in modern global banking.
By 1859, Lord Palmerston offered the post of Finance Member of the Viceroy of India Council. Probably more out of a sense of public duty rather than a real desire to turn his back on the House of Commons he left Britain for Calcutta . There, “gigantic difficulties” awaited him as, in essence the Chancellor of the Exchequer as after the 1857 mutiny the financial health of British India was precarious .His work in India was cut short when, like many Westerners unused to the harsh climate he died of dysentery. But in the eight months of his stay he introduced a number of changes in the tax management and fiscal administration, most of which continue till date . For more than a century and half his grave was lying there in Kolkata without any care or even recognition- much like thousands of other graves across the country . Suddenly an amateur historian rediscovered the grave and also generated so much interest in Wilson’s life and work among people like me.
Strange yet true……. and this is not definitely the strangest thing history has in its store. I remember when ace shooter Abhinav Bindra won his gold medal in Olympics last year , a very innocuous Google search revealed to me another of history’s secrets lying just in front of us. From his mother’s side Abhinav is fifth generation descendant of legendary sikh warrior Hari Singh Nalva,the Commander-in-Chief of Maharaja Ranjit Singh. You may say – so what ? Now go further in the history of Hari singh Nalva and you will find that he was born to a maratha princess, Dharmabai(d/o of Kashibai) who was the grand daughter of the great and fearless Sadashivrao Bhau, Commander-in-Chief of the Maratha army in the Third battle of Panipat. If you find it strange how a Maratha lady was married to a Sikh family in those days , the answer again lies in the history . The story goes that Kashibai and her maternal cousin were left in the house of Sardar Ramdas of Majitha as her father, confident of his victory in the battle brought the two girls along but finally left them with his friend’s family . When news of the total rout of Maratha forces, the death of Kashibai’s father Sadashivrao Bhau reached them following Sikh tradition, Sardar Ramdas gave refuge to these ladies and as per the prevailing Hindu custom of marrying a daughter within the first calendar year of her father’s death, Kashibai was married off to Sardar Ramdas’ son Sardar Hardas Singh next year . Later when the daughter Dhrambai/Dharam Kaur born out of this alliance , died during childbirth , her son Hari singh was brought up and tutored by his maternal grandmother, who made special arrangements for teaching her grandchild to be a fearless administrator and an expert in archery, armoury and musketry. Naik Fateh Khan Gardi, captain of Sadashivrao Bhau’s personal guards, played a big part in teaching Hari Singh the use of mechanics-mathematics in firing artillery-muskets. Under the training of this ace shooter of that age, the man who introduced gun firing in Indian battles, Hari singh become the legendary Hari Singh Nalwa…..and five generation after him, another ace shooter was born in the family. I hope you too will now realize the fascinating twists and turns of history
History is all around us and yet, we still have people who do not believe in fairy tales and stories beginning with “ Once upon a time…..” . Sad, I would say .