A Blue Dot of Thoughts

Officially Anti Social

2012-01-03T16:35:00.000+05:45

In my school text book many years back I read that Man is a social animal. I have strong objections against this sentence of 5 words. First why “animal”? Second -what about women? Third and most important, I do not agree with this sweeping statement- not all men (and women) are social by nature. I am very sure I am one of those confirmed anti- socials who are a misfit in any social gathering. I do not understand why such a simple fact is so hard to get. I think this too should be blamed to the school teaching which makes all of us believe that all humans enjoy social gatherings.

I have already shared my awkwardness in attending weddings on this blog. I think my readers would sympathize with me when I say that I dread invitations for lunches and dinners in my office mail. Let me tell you that those who dislike socializing are the most aggrieved and misunderstood group in any organization- may be even in the world. They do not cause any harm, wants to be left alone and yet are considered for some unknown reason, a threat to the organization. We are those who find company of office colleagues and bosses beyond office hours and beyond office work tiring. Yet the uncomprehending majority imposes its own gregarious expectations on us compelling incessant socializing, enthusiastic party-going, and easy shooting of the breeze as norms. I wonder why, our quiet, introspective ways can’t be viewed not as a deviation from standard, but as a different kind of normal.

As long as I was at a small station, these socializing with office colleagues were minimal and it suited me perfectly. Then I came to Delhi and things changed. Delhi follows a very different social code. Here calling on, official lunches and dinners, catching up with colleagues and the underlying networking is widespread. People do seem to look forward to these occasions in bureaucratic circles. To make the matter worse, they notice the absentees. I am expected to have a proper reason for not showing up at farewells and parties, Diwali meet and Holi Milan, New Year High Tea etc etc. That is a tough matter to manage…more so because such events are frequent. At least they seem frequent to me. I mean how often I can schedule a meeting to clash with a party or call my hubby or myself “fallen ill”. How frequently guests are expected at home on the same day and how many leaves I can take just to skip a social meet during the day. I wonder why I can’t be simply spared. No, I do not want my organization to be like my family.

I guess, people with my kind of philosophy did exert themselves in recent times. As a result, about a month back, the Top boss in a meeting rebuked all the absentees (without taking any names) and then looking straight at me issued a milder version of fatwa to refrain from such childish failed-to-turn-ups in future. He seems to think, we avoid socials dos because of laziness. We do not give enough importance to fraternize, to be like a big happy family at workplace. Now, there seems to be no escape!!! But how do I explain to others that I do not want to share meals and small talks with colleagues and bosses. That I feel miserable in such parties and for the life of me cannot appear happy. More than anything, I have no interest in knowing what others in the organization are up to and no, trivia about bosses’ interest does not work as a good appetizer for me. Most of the time when others are entertaining me with tidbits of their past official feats and great aesthetic interests, I do not even appear keen to listen. I mean I do try to pretend but after a while they all sound so same.

It seems in Delhi, people love to meet people-who-matter (read bosses) and they love to eat outside food (however tasteless) and are never bored of same kind of office gossip. I hardly find anyone talking anything interesting and away from work in these parties. On most occasions, to my horror, the music is too loud for any sensible conversation. I mean how long you can exchange pleasantries and praise one another’s clothes. But I realize that I am in minority – anti socials always are! So this dilemma continues.

But then being an uninterested and unattached observer of happenings, I am able to catch what I term top five themes of every official -social get together. Interestingly, most sarkari get-togethers have these invariably.

For some it is yet another opportunity to show off their fine clothes and choice of accessories. Many women flock together and exclaim to each other praising sarees, pearls, handbags etc. Recently some metrosexual men (with purple scarves and even pink sweaters) have also joined the gang. I call this theme Showcasing wardrobe.

Then comes the biggies with “I am great” written all over their forehead. They are great in work, they are great in party. They have finest taste in wine and they know the best poetry. Well, at least they think they do!!! They demand and get attention because of their position and then go on and on about their unusual feats in office projects, their revolutionary ideas about how others should do their work and the accolades they received from the other greats. In brief, they love to enlighten you about themselves and think you should be grateful to get a glimpse of their fascinating life and times. I call this type Ophthalmologists – the ‘I’- specialists.

A big group is there to get free /subsidized food and booze and gossip about other colleagues. They are recognizable by their ready to please smiles whenever a boss crosses their way. They promptly show their face to all big bosses and their wives and then settle down with glasses in hand in one corner. For rest of the evening they remain oblivious with the proceedings. They appear only when the food is laid on table. Except for their gossip part for first one hour, they are a likeable and focused group in my opinion. With clear priorities and good intention, they settle down to make merry. After an hour of course, alcohol speaks and speaks too much.

The most mobile group however is of people on a mission. Mission to get attention, mission to please one particular boss, mission to build bridges, mission to register presence or for pure and simple networking. They get down to their business as soon as the party starts. Some of them even overdo themselves. They try to talk loudly, even try to play semi-host by inviting others to drink, dance etc. They volunteer for work also. For an observer like me, they are good entertainment. I look at them and try to guess their mission. Usually I am not off the mark. Believe me it’s a funny way to while away time in such hopeless situation.

Then of course there are loners like me- unfit in any group and generally confused with the happenings around them. Some play with phones, others try to engage in talks, few vanish in the corners and wait the torture to end. They are generally first to leave. They often call back home and are found standing silently in the groups looking intently in the glass/ plate.

Yesterday, I was still recovering from my birthday cum New Year euphoria and missed out two official occasions. In the heart of my heart I know, it was intentional but I was too reckless to even think of an excuse. First thing in the morning, I got a censure from a colleague. I am sure more will follow and to save the situation, I would have to be doubly VISIBLE in the next such occasion. Till they realise the futility of making me forced-social , I see no escape from boring evenings , routine pleasantaries and unappetising conversations . How very pathetic!

Maid in India

2012-01-02T17:11:00.001+05:45

Two days before the New Year an Indian couple, now living in Singapore, visited my house. When I invited them in and said that there is no need to take off their shoes, the wife exclaimed that such luxury is possible only on a Friday. I could not really get her, till I learnt that in her house the help visits only on a Friday to clean and for rest of the week they have to be very careful about dirtying the floor. It got me thinking about the luxury of being served, of having a maid, a help, a dhobi and a chauffeur. In India, mostly, we do not realise the importance of these essential elements of our daily life.

In Kolkata, where I first set up my house independently after marriage, I was amazed to find that even housewives do not cook anymore. Neither do most people do their own laundry (despite having fully automatic washing machines at home!). Of course babies need ayahs to mind them and a driver is a must even for a small hatchback car. Very amusingly the term used to define the serving people is “Kaajer Lok”- the people who work. It is almost like that literally – they work and the rest pay. Kolkata is not alone. All Indian cities today have the same “can’t-survive-without-maid” trend. Not that it was very different in the previous generation. I can now understand how spoilt and feudal the Englishman must have felt during their stay in colonial India. They had power to keep an army of servants – and soon they made it a way of life.

One finds many versions of these server-served relationships in a typical urban setting today. There are full time maids/servants and part time ones. All in one – servant and specialised mali, dhobi, cook etc. They also join the families at different age groups. Some are teenagers. Some are women with families; others are single men who have families back in the villages. Sometimes entire family is in the business of serving in different capacities. Some live with the “master’s” family, others in the outhouse and some even independently on their own. Some eat with the family they work for, some don’t. But then there are many commonalities as well. They are expected to be obedient and quick, unquestioning and silent. They speak when spoken to. Their needs come at last in sleeping, eating and rest.

It is somewhere in our genes. We love to have people to lord over. If you are born in a certain affluent class – you expect the servility from these workers unquestioningly. Why only domestic helpers – even in hotels and trains, how many of us say “ thank you “ to those who serve or for that matter, even acknowledge their presence by a nod or smile. There is an underlying, unspoken acceptance of their inferiority in “class”. Sounds very feudal isn’t it? Many stories of exploitation of domestic help, inhuman treatment of children working as help must have crossed your mind. They are mostly true. The sad part is that somewhere in our heart, we also expect the children of these workers- inferior to our own. We kind of assume that as our children will replace us in professions, they will replace their parents. In India like most other such complex societies, we do not expect a certain section of society (read poor) to dream. To our convenience we would always like some people lesser privileged than us. We have a different yardstick to measure their Dos and Don’ts. The existence of servants in a house is taken as a status symbol. The new affluence is often recognised by the neighbourhood when an expensive full time maid is hired by the family.

But then things are changing even for them. The old days of family retainers that lived in servitude of a family for a lifetime are increasingly a fading memory, and today's generation of servants are very clear that this is not their eventual goal in life, and most certainly this is not what they are preparing their next generation for. Most send their kids to school and hope a better future for them some day. I often feel that it’s not them but us who needs this retinue of workers to do our daily chores. That we ill-treat or look down upon them is doubly unfortunate because it’s us who are unskilled to run our lives, look after our kids, cook our food and clean our houses. Interestingly, we are also the ungrateful ones who love to circulate stories about criminality, callousness and unpredictability of our servants to somehow portray as if we are the victims of bad services at a high cost.
In reality, we often rate the work done by them with a soap opera like evil Mom-in law. No amount of sincerity and hard work satisfies us (it’s a given ....we pay them money after all!) but an isolated case of negligence is worth quoting as often as possible. Oh yes, fascism starts at home.

But that is just one side of the story. There is a bright side of this relationship too. The side which often takes a comical turn . The side which found portrayal in the media and literature too .

In a typical middle class urban setting, maids are also big binding force. A colleague with whom I share my maid rightly claims that we are “maid-sisters”- persons who share the woes and stories of maids. Maids are also great company to many people living alone. They supply information and stories about neighbours free of cost. For many of us they are a mirror to the rest of the society. Their family life, their beliefs, their compulsions- there is so much to learn and compare. I have very fond memories of people who worked in our family in different capacities and became almost like family members. Many keep in touch even decades after the employer –employee relation was over. Some of the skilled gardeners in my parents’ house are responsible for my love for gardening. Some of the “family” recipes actually came from the cooks we had at different stations and are always credited to them. I had my driving lessons from my father’s chauffeur and my mom cannot complete one story about my childhood without mention of one or the other help she had at that time.

There have been many depictions in literature and movies of this servant- master relationships. Some comical and some bittersweet. Some even tragic. I still remember one short story titled Bahadur in our course syllabus is school. Bahadur is often the nickname of people from hills or Nepal coming to serve in the cities. The story tells about one such boy who was working faithfully in a family as domestic help till a false charge of theft leads to his expulsion. The story depicts the sad tale of unequal and often unfair relationship that exists between the two classes . It is still a relationship which largely depends on the benevolence of the master rather than a fair work contract .

Recently, my poor maid went through hell of a time because of her family and health problems. None of this ever made her even one inch less sincere in attending to her work. So much so that at times I had to warn her from overdoing her bit. Undoubtedly, it takes a superior heart to adopt an unknown family with such sincerity as she has adopted mine. These domestics practically run the show at home, especially in the metros where both husband and wife are in busy earning the family bread. Their world would go topsy-turvy if these servants The numerous maids who rear children of others with care and affection while the mothers go to work/ party are contributing much more to the society than we can measure in purely material terms. It is they who give us the taste of “home-made food”. Children often learn their language more from the maids and nannies than from the parents. It is because of these men and women that today’s young couple manage their newly set up homes. And yet we consider that we are the masters and mistresses of their fate!

What if the Mayans were right?

2011-12-31T13:57:00.000+05:45

Have you heard about the World ending on December 21, 2012 as per the Mayan Prophecy? Chances are that you have. For the last few months and specially after the movie 2012, there have been a lot of discussions on the 2012 phenomenon which the Mayan calendar (or its modern interpretation ) holds.

The 2012 phenomenon comprises a range of viewpoints according to which disastrous or transformative events will occur on December 21, 2012. To some, this date is regarded as the end-date of a 5,125-year-long cycle in the Meso-american Long Count calendar. Various astronomical alignments and numerological formulae related to this date have been proposed. Another interpretation of this transition is that this date marks the start of time in which Earth and its inhabitants may undergo a positive physical or spiritual transformation, and that 2012 may mark the beginning of a new era. Others suggest that the 2012 date marks the end of the world or a similar catastrophe. Scenarios suggested for the end of the world include the arrival of the next solar maximum, or Earth's collision with a passing asteroid or a planet called "Nibiru". It will definitely remain a subject of curiosity and debate what Mayans meant by the “end” of the calendar. Whatever little I know of that civilisation, it seems unlikely that such optimistic and scientific civilisation was actually thinking of an end as –THE END. But one would not know till the date arrives (and hopefully passes on).

But reading about this, and generally joking on this phenomenon, made me think. We all have heard the famous saying -

“Dance as if no one were watching, Sing as if no one were listening, and live every day as if it were your last”

But few of us are able to live lives like that.

There have been many imaginary takes on the last part of the saying “ ....live every day as if it were your last.” I know at least half a dozen movies, plays and books where one central character (mistakenly) gets the impression that he is going to die in a day/ month / few months and that has a comical and dramatic change in the way he lives. People also attempt to list out things they would like to do before they die....but what would you do if you know the end is fixed and you know about it. Just as an experiment, let us imagine that your life is going to end tomorrow night. You have 24 hours to live. How would you live? Would you wait for the hour to approach with fear and panic or you would be calm and cool about it. May be you’d like to have your last party with friends. May be you’d like to spend all the money lying in your bank account? Depending on your personality type- this can be a funny, curious or sickening thought.

I for sure know I would not care about the “important” and “urgent” things on my work table. I would also ignore the decorum and conduct becoming of an officer. I would rather go out and enjoy the pale sunshine of winter. Observe people passing by. Eat what I love to eat (read fattening and more fattening dishes) and go and meet the people for whom I care (but usually forget to call/meet). Come to think of it, I may also give a piece of my mind to few and give unsolicited advice to few others. Write mails to all my crushes and write a will for my huge collection of comic books. Laze around at home and may be sitting pretty updating my Facebook status (through my newly acquired android phone), when the time comes.

Then I extended the experiment and started imagining how others would react to such a situation. Hubby dear (being rational and proud of it!) would definitely discard such nonsensical prophecy, but somehow, if brought to believe, would rush to make his essential phone calls (LOL!). Mom may even worry about the remaining food in the fridge and a particular colleague would pay last visits to the big bosses in HQ. A friend in media will give 6 new ideas how to cover the event of the Doomsday and my walking partner would be depressed to know that after so much efforts to lose the Kilos she won’t live to fit in that new dress. My dear brother-in law will jump to catch his last nap and another girl I know would be “really sorry” that the world is ending and she can’t stop it. The list can go on. The experiment cheered me up endlessly on this winter morning.

But on a serious note, I know at the end of the day my thoughts would be somewhat echoing the sentiments expressed in John Denver’s famous song “Poems, Prayers and Promises”.

“And I have to say it now, It’s been a good life all in all

It's really fine to have a chance to hang around

And lie there by the fire and watch the evening tire

..........And talk of poems and prayers and promises

And things that we believe in .

How sweet it is to love someone, how right it is to care!

How long it's been since yesterday, and what about tomorrow?

And what about our dreams and all the memories we share

The days they pass so quickly now...Nights are seldom long

And time around me whispers when it's cold

The changes somehow frighten me still I have to smile

It turns me on to think of growing old, for though my life's been good to me

There's still so much to do"

(listen to the full song here .)

NB: Whether or not the Mayans calculated it right – we definitely have another New Year to welcome tomorrow. Wish all of you the very best of 2012 ....with or without the doomsday.

Cook it up Babe!

2011-12-29T14:00:00.002+05:45

Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.

Harriet Van Horne

For many like me who cook three times a day and love it, cooking is an expression of our personalities. It somewhere defines us. It is part of a tradition, a culture and always a welcome topic of conversation. I can talk, preach and watch cooking without getting bored for hours. Even the thought of cooking is so happy and of course happier is the sound and aroma coming out of a busy active home kitchen. It’s heartening to see that cooking as an art is finally getting its due. It’s no longer what a housewife does or an act of bare necessity, a symbol of a woman slaving unpaid and un-praised - at least for many of us. Of course there are others who love to eat and hate to cook- both with same intensity. (I would consider this types suffering from a personality disorder) Then there is another variety, who hate to cook, hate to eat and for them all talk on food is trash (I do not dislike such folks; I pity them for being such uncultured fools).

But for those of us for whom good cooking is like a prayer- pious and selfless, a whole new world is unfolding. I was born in a house where food was an evergreen topic of conversation. Each season had its special dishes, pickles, sauces and sweets. My family would go to any extent to ensure we fulfill the gastronomic rituals of eating Kulfis and chaats in the summers, Pakoras and Ghevars in Rains and Carrot-Halwa, cakes and Gur sweets in the winters. Then there were family recipes of particular curries and koftas, rice pudding and stuffed parathas. No wonder when I think of seasons, I think of food associated with it. Even my memories of particular days are intertwined with memories of food cooked on those days. There was a typical menu for my birthday which falls in winters and another typical menu for holi day in the month of March and so on. Of course, festivals have little meaning without the food that comes with it. The food preferences and recipes differ greatly in different families but still we all crave for home-cooked food some day in our lives. In variably the definition of home-cooked is what we ate in our childhood days.

As I said earlier, cooking is finally getting recognition. It remained a neglected art for centuries. Many of us have heard of painters, singers and writers of various ages in History. Can anyone tell me names of some legendary cooks? Say who in Noorjahan’s kitchen came up with the divine recipe of Gulab Sherbet. Or who baked the first Bourbons in the Royal French Kitchen? Little was known or written on these topics before. But now in recent years a lot of research is going on to discover our culinary past. There is of course still a good scope to document and research our old recipes and their origin, the history and the art of cooking in various regions and how it defined the people who ate these dishes.

Talking of legendary cooks, I must acknowledge that one very admirable fact about Bengal is the respect given to the cooks in that province. Right or wrong- but they do know and recall which shop/ who invented Rasogulla? And one which day their popular sweet Ledikeni (named in honour of Lady Canning – the sweat was prepared for the first time by sweat shop owners of Burdwan in honour of Lady’s visit to the town)) was first made. Many years back the first cooking expert I heard about was Tarla Dalal. She came to my life through a cook book which accidently landed up in mail one day and stayed with us. Her vegetarian recipes came very handy for the bunch of us when Mom left for my eldest sister’s place and the cook fell ill. Those were my earliest memories of independent cooking. But even before that as kids, Mom allowed us to make one samosa or make one chapati as part of our play. I was in College when I met my cooking Guru- Kamie auntie. Our very generous neighbour who spent time and effort to my half baked (literally) attempts towards baking and more. It was she who made me fall in love with cooking as an art, to read about recipes, to compare them and to talk of cooking equipments.

Today I watch at least 6 cooking shows on TV and regularly glance through the recipe sections in magazines and newspapers. I also browse food blogs and have my favorites too. Recipes are a treasure trove to explore. Every family has them. Some comes to us naturally by watching our moms and Grand moms cooking, others are acquired on inquiry from aunts and sisters (in my case even uncles and brothers). Nowadays you can also download some more recipes from net and even share them with friends. For me Nigella Lawson and Nita Mehta are no less celebrity than Barak Obama or Shahrukh Khan. I watch the shows reverently and read the books as “pep-me-up” reading.

Interestingly the love for cooking no longer remains a “women’s only” trait. Though in my family and many others, the male side has been actively involved in cooking…. It was by and large a woman’s domain till recently. I was so pleasantly surprised to find a friend in my Italian class proudly declaring that both her dad and her sis are chefs. Even in popular culture, the image of woman cooking and men eating is changing.

Another very visible change is the globalization of cuisine. In India we no longer just eat Indian. We experiment with our own dishes and adopt the foreign ones too. Even in other parts of the world there is a lot of awareness and acceptance of various cuisine traditions. Even fusion cooking is getting popular which kind of mingles the best of all to create even better.

There is a lot I can write about cooking, about the changing face of our kitchens, the legendary cook books and favorite recipes. But for now, in this festive season, let me just ponder over the fact how a hearty meal can reconcile all differences and makes a man feel more charitable toward the world than any sermon. My cooking pals would vouch for me that a well raised soft cake made by you can fill you with so much happiness that can hardly be compared to most things and phenomenon of the human world. But recipe is just a tool to create the magic. As Madam Benoit noted in her famous cook show: A recipe is only a theme, which an intelligent cook can play each time with a variation. In my culinary journey, the variations have at times turned disastrous and on other times amazed me at my own fluke. They say that the magic lies in the hands. The same recipe will give different results with different cooks. Some even believe that even the cook’s emotions and feelings have an impact on the outcome. I do not know that for sure, but can certify the therapeutic side of cooking. It’s a great stress buster. It engages all your senses and is a very fulfilling experience.

Cooking traditions are an astute index of a family’s lineage in my eyes. Great families have always been proud of great family recipes and the family kitchen. As they say- you are what you eat.

Let us list

2011-09-27T11:42:00.001+05:45

I am a compulsive list maker. My family, my colleagues and friends will vouch for the fact as every day, I make several lists manually and electronically. I list out things to do- things to buy on my way back home, things to pack for vacations, things to complete in the weekend and even things I have to discuss with boss when I go to his room. That’s not all -I also make lists of books to read, movies to download, places to visit.....even people to meet when I go to my hometown next. Something like the movie "Dasvidania" I also have a dream list of things to do before I die.
Now with years of this habit, I realise that in the habit of list making- likes attract likes. Many of my friends on facebook make lists of “50 random things about me”, “6 great books to read” , “5 people who changed the world” etc etc. I get forward mails on - things to keep yourself fit, “ things you should not say to children”, “ Top 10 motivational quotes”, “Top 10 Codes You Aren't Meant to Know” etc . I even subscribe to Man booker award’s short lists and long lists in my email. When we get transferred from a city to another , I made list of stuff in each box and then a list of boxes too. While hosting friends for a meal, I list out the dishes and also the tasks one day before. My friends believe that my life is lived from one list to the other. But well, I love making lists!

And come on, I am not the only one. Every day parlance is littered with lists: laundry, grocery, shopping, honey-do, to-do. In fact buried deep in the fine print of every wedding is a clause that legally enables the creation of the “Honey-Do” list. For those not familiar with it (read: all unmarried men), the “Honey-Do” list is a compilation of tasks, chores, repairs, and improvements that wives would like their husbands to accomplish.( Quite obviously, the list never dies...but then, we can’t stop hoping , can we?) My hubby gets it quite frequently. I would never understand what is so irritating about a list. I mean, don’t they make lists in business and work too. I read somewhere that when Dick Cheney was asked by then-presidential candidate George Bush to find him a suitable running mate, Cheney did what any decent man would do: He drew up a short list. Incidentally I do the same whenever, my better half asks me what I need on my next birthday – I make a long and a short list . Needless to say he hates my “listing- everything” habit . I keep telling him that actually it’s not that bad. Lists, looking rationally, really get to the heart of what it is we need to do to get through another day on this planet.

But of all the lists I make, the most frequent ones are obviously my shopping lists. Interestingly enough, most of the days either do not find the list (in my bag) or do not consult it when I reach market. Still it’s a comfort to know that a list is there somewhere. While shopping for veggies or groceries, I am usually governed by my mood, the colours and aroma. In no time my bags are full with an assortment of eatable I do not know what I am gonna do with. Still it is very satisfying feeling to see them on my kitchen counter. Once I have brought them, I will find a way to use them.

That in short shows how lists are useful- and how they are not useful. They do not actually dictate us in our lives but they do help in organising, in turning the vague subject in finite doable tasks. Most of the time they are just a comfort thread for us to resort in case of crisis. With the coming of electronic lists, we need not even carry the lists physically with us. My to-do list features prominently on my iGoogle homepage – is just a click away where ever I am.

A friend who is mother of two and a list making enthusiast once told me that she makes the list so that end of the day crossing all/most of the entries would give her a feeling of “day- well – lived” . Another one argues that without lists her life is chaotic, unorganised but less stressful. She feels the burden of completing everything on the list before the end of the day. I think both of them have a point . But for me , lists are often a method to day dream. Imagine ticking even one entry on my dream list of places to visit – it fills you with so much of happiness, the feeling of achievement and satisfaction.

It’s kind of heartening to find that I am not alone in this list –making business. Every day in malls, in office corridors and even in books I find people mentioning lists or referring to it. With so many widgets and websites for making lists – I am sure the tribe of list-makes is prospering. Internet infomrs me that notable list makers include Thomas Jefferson, Peter Mark Roget, Martha Stewart and Benjamin Franklin. Franklin biographer Walter Isaacson even noted that, "Franklin loved making lists. He made lists of rules for his tradesmen's club, of synonyms for being drunk, of maxims for matrimonial happiness and of reasons to choose an older woman as a mistress. Most famously, as a young man, he made a list of personal virtues that he determined should define his life." All these just give me hopes to excel further in this habit .
The other day I read an article criticising the "pop culture epidemic" of making Top ten lists of everything. The arguement was that the authority with which the ranking is done is not established . If you ask me, I wouldn't care much for the authority. VEry frequently while searching movies of a particular period or genre I love to search out these lists made by random people. If Ilike them its okay, and if I don't then I discard . But experience says that if you go through 4-5 lists on a particular subject the individual bias can be removed to a large extent. I mean , how else one would digg out the best movies shot in Tuscany or Best mystery books of 1950s?
Now before I go back to my work, I must tick off " Publish blog post " on my Today's do list .

Was it just a dream ?

2011-08-18T13:16:00.000+05:45

“So long ago

Was it in a dream, was it just a dream?

I know, yes I know

Seemed so very real, it seemed so real to me

Took a walk down the street

Thru the heat whispered trees

I thought I could hear (hear, hear, hear)

Somebody call out my name as it started to rain”

- John Lennon (Dream)

Have you ever wondered about the dreams? Stories that our mind weaves when we are asleep. And also the visions for future which keep us awake for nights – rushing adrenaline in our veins. Dreams are also the hopes that keep us alive when the real world disappoints us. If you ask me, dreams are magnificent journeys that never cost us anything, but are invaluable in the way they make us thrive, inspire us and push us to seek more. In our dreams (especially the ones we see with open eyes) we are strong, we are powerful, we are beautiful, creative and we are forever young. In short, we are everything we aspire to be – at times to the tiniest detail. Our dreams have the power to make us feel like superheroes, an alluring vamp or just a love struck teenager with an incongruous crush. They also have the power to make us feel scared like a five year old, haunted like a ruin and diseased like a leper. It is so sad that day-dreaming is at times ridiculed. To me it sounds like a very important and creative phase for any important achievement in life

I am an addicted, incorrigible dreamer. I dream with my eyes open and closed. I dream about so many things and people – and so often that at times I find it difficult to believe that they don’t exist. I mean, I get such vivid memories of these dreams that I wonder if in my old age I would actually start considering them real.

I dream myself alive. I dream of fascinating places ...or experiences I would never have. I dream myself as an eagle sitting on a branch of tree overlooking a valley. I dream myself falling from the peaks enjoying the fall. I also sometimes dream weird. I see deaths and destructions. I see myself trapped in a place. These moments are so real for my mind that I am sure the real experience would not be much different from that. Once or twice I thought of keeping a record of my dreams but being always bad with words, the dreams sounded so lacklustre once they were put on paper. I could never describe them with the verve with which they come to me.

Dreams fascinate me. Although I am never sure what might actually trigger me to tumble into a dream, I am capable of closing my eyes and stringing together stories and tales, sometimes of such precise details, I can almost feel, smell and taste them. Some of these dreams, when they turn up before me in reality, they leave me stunned. I almost feel that I have created them.

I am sure there have always been people like me who believe so seriously in dreaming. There are mornings when I wake up giggling with the memory of some weird dream and there are those sudden frightful moments when I force myself to open my eyes to escape some scary dream. There is a good reason why in all ancient cultures and civilisations we have sayings about dreams. We even had people who could interpret dreams. There is a significance attached to the dreams one sees on special occasions. Like the vision of Mahamaya before the birth of Siddhartha or Lincoln dreaming about his assassination.

Many celebrated poets and writers, mathematicians and scientists claim to find their inspirations and discoveries in their dreams. I read about mathematician Srinivasa Ramanujam, who claimed that goddess Namakkal, would appear and present mathematical formulae in his dreams which he would verify after waking. The tune for "Yesterday" came to Paul McCartney in a dream... and so did the idea of Frankenstein to Mary Shelly. Many others kings, statesmen and writers found their dreams guiding them in real life. I totally buy these stories as I have firsthand experience of such guiding dreams. Many of our myths and legends talk about famous dreams and their interpretations. We have popular literature, songs and movies inspired by dreams.

It is generally believed that the mind plays tricks with our dominant thoughts and concerns to put across a blend of scenes, sounds and emotions as the dreams. But then how does one explain the totally unrelated dreams about things you do not know exist and places you have never been to. I guess, it is this dilemma that led to the explanation that dreams are when angels try to converse with humans.

In the Land of Extremes

2011-08-16T21:21:00.003+05:45

The very first day, my two companions declared that they see no beauty in the barren mud mountains. I told them to be patient. By the end of the seventh day , I had one definitive and one hesitant convert. Being there once, I know it takes time for our sensibilities to appreciate beauty in “nothing”. Yes, at that height- it is nothing that prevails. Miles after miles without any vegetation, bird or flower. The freezing streams too match the colour of mountains with mud in them. The glazing sun burning your skin hardly helps the matter. But with all this – Ladakh is beautiful. It is hauntingly bare and stunningly enthralling. It lures different people for different reasons. The peace seeking troubled souls for its Gompas and the adventure tourists for its imposing passes, geologists to study its ecosystem and the historian to get the pulse of its rich history. The place has so many shades and colours that at times one fails to appreciate all of them at one go.

The land like its neighbouring Tibet is a land of dhamma. It is the land of Gompas and prayer wheels, prayer flags and Buddhist paintings – even on the high mountains these signs of Buddhism very defiantly declare the presence of this peace loving ideology. I always find it very intriguing, how this particular philosophy conquered some of the toughest terrains of the world and managed to rule the hearts of these people for centuries. Sometimes I feel that Buddhism in this region is very much like the Gompas which stand high above every habitation almost hanging from the peaks. These monasteries are fascinating.

Some like Alchi and Lamayuru are definitely ancient places of worship. They bear such solemn and “knowing” look of their ancientness that even most unobservant visitor would note it Others like Thiksey, Likir etc are very alive, very happy places to be. But the Monastery which stole my heart in first look was not one of these. Deep inside the Nubra Valley, while your eyes are still adjusting to the change of scenery from the snow peaked mountains to the white sand dunes, you find a huge Maitreya statue welcoming you to Diskit. In Diskit, next to a huge waterfall stands the beautiful Diskit monastery- the oldest and the biggest in the entire valley.

The 32 metre tall Maitreya statue facing down the Shyok River towards Siachin is of course a recent addition to the place. The monastery however stands guard there from 14^th century onwards. The architecture is very interesting and reminds you more of a fortress than a Gompa. Perhaps there was good reason for such a built. Being located on the Silk Route – this monastery has a series of attacks from robbers lured by its legendary wealth donated by the traders over the centuriesand also the reigning Kings of the Nubra Valley. Somehow, this colourful history makes the place much more fascinating in my eyes than the Alchi Monastery located amidst beautiful orchards of apricots and apples with the river Indus flowing below.....or even the Monastery at Lamayuru giving a fantastic view of the moonland.

But Ladakh has much more to offer than these Gompas. As a trekker I fell in love with the idea of a cold desert while trekking in Spiti. The place is magical. It shows you the power and the serenity of nature in the same canvas. A fragile eco system- where winds can recite poems in your ears and can also change the look of the mountains. Where streams provide a much needed rest to the monotonous scenery and also play a role in flooding the habitations ...where mountains make you philosophical about life and also fill you with ambition to conquer them.

The place filled me up with so many contrasting emotions. While rafting in the river Indus ,I got a distinct sense of achievement , of riding the waves , of power of human race over the wild river . On another occasion, staring at the crystal clear blue water of Panong Lake , I could not help feeling spiritual . What a beautiful reminder God left in the midst of high mountains of the sea which was there long time ago. A salty lake of 110 Km hidden from the eyes of civilisation ...where only the deserving can reach through a strenuous path . The place also made me realise the folly of human nature – who in the race of “owning “ this beauty end up ruining the peace of the region . Yes this is part of the troubled state of Jammu and Kashmir and China is just few miles away . The Kargil region and the Siachin is unfortunately remembered more for the fights than for the beauty. The place if full of memorial stones for army officers and common villagers who died in these fights . What a sad fate for a region so enchanting ! That in fact was one sentiment I carried with me throughout the trip.

But I would be blind if I fail to see the bravery of the people here. Despite harsh weather and fragile topography , I do not remember one impolite or dishonest person. People were friendly , smiling and looked happy. Even while mentioning the cloud burst of last year which swept away hundreds of people, my car driver Dorjee smiled and added that “ We have re-built it now .It is over .” I am sure it is this never-say-die spirit that kept this place alive for centuries.

I came back from Ladakh promising myself that I will go back there. Alone. For a travel with myself – sans all baggage , all programs, all maps and all thoughts of daily life .

Country on Celebrity “Fast” track

2011-06-24T16:58:00.001+05:45

It was with great interest that I read my hubby’s post about two much known fasts from Indian History. Fasting for protest- it is a curious subject. It has both funny and tragic sides to it. Yes, fasts are the “in” thing these days. But come to think of it – when were they out of fashion anyways? As it happens, we only notice the celebrity fasts while there may be many other more real fasts on protest happening around us, which go unnoticed. Let me recount- you fought with your spouse and the dinner went untouched that day. Next day, there is a high probability that the demands of the aggrieved side would be acceded to. . The teenagers too very often use the fast-way to get their demands from pocket money to piercing and from that “awesome” new dress to the latest gadget their best friend has purchased . Not only that, now a days the teenagers of both sexes are almost always fasting to remain in shape. Then we have workaholics like I know one Miss R, who would willingly skip a meal or two to complete the work at hand. That the work at hand can be postponed in favour of a lunch break would never occur to such selfless souls. They after all, consider even the most routine work as a step towards world peace and nation building.

Incidentally, I also have an aunt who wears her vegetarianism on her sleeve. I mean, even I am a very proud vegetarian, but this aunt would happily skip a meal in a party claiming to be on “fast” if she has slightest of doubts that the food may have been contaminated by non vegetarian food. I respect the sentiment and cannot count how many of her friends and colleagues have turned their party food “100% veg” to ensure that she doesn’t go empty stomach. So here it is. We as a nation believe in getting our way by threatening to go on fast. We do it with our spouses, with our parents and even our friends. It is , therefore, very understandable why Gandhi, Jatin Das, Jaiprakash Narain or very recently Anna Hazare thought of it as a political tool of protest .

But as I said earlier, only the celebrity fasts are noticed. A very well known Indian trait is that we love melodrama – not only in our politics and society, films and family life but also in our religion and work. Sans that we do not care who is eating and who is not. In most cases we do not even bother for the issue a protestor is trying to raise. We just follow the drama part. It was therefore, not hard to believe why one of the most heart wrenching fast was so easily forgotten by us. On 2 November 2010, Ms. Irom Sharmila Chanu, a Manipuri girl, completed ten years of hunger strike demanding the repeal of the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act, 1958 (AFSPA). That is a story of a human life wasted.

Last time I heard she was lying in a Government Hospital and was being force fed by nose. A torturous procedure, which keeps her alive for last many years . I understand that most of her vital organs have been wasted by this decade long hunger strike and it seems that our country has decided to let her go on her protest without even considering her demands. I won’t be surprised if most of the people who joined Anna Hazare or Baba Ramdev have not even heard of Sharmila. I can’t recall when any of our politicians tried to contact her. They are probably too busy in receiving the charlatan Babas on airports and bugging each other’s rooms. No filmstars visit her, no young professionals or activist groups try to listen what she is trying to say through her protest. In and out of jails for the past 11 years, Manipur's 'Iron Lady' Sharmila has a tube running down her nose as the government alternately force feeds her and incarcerates her for attempting to take her own life through her hunger strike. We have very conveniently decided to forget her as a Government liability - uncomfortable, but manageable nuisance. I do not judge whether one protest is greater than the other but can say with some confidence that in most cases people who support or oppose such protests have nothing much to do with the issues in question. They join sides on considerations like political parties, region, religion, vote bank, hero worship and publicity. In the long run that is the tragic side of these “fasts”. We remember the personalities, garland them, give them awards but forget the issues.

On second thoughts, there is one more side of celebrity fasts. I mean other than the funny and the tragic sides. It adds a new flavour to our daily entertainment....er...news. I won’t be exaggerating, if I say that this Fast-track at least bring back viewers to TV, gives magazine stories to write about, geeks to form support forums online and ordinary men and women to gossip about . No wonder, everybody loves a celebrity fast!

Hospitality Government Style

2011-05-06T12:07:00.001+05:45

Few years back on this blog , I wrote a post about the Dak Bungalows. The post till date remains one of my most popular posts and received tremendous response. Many wrote to me through emails and many commented on it online. Best of all, Dr. Alan Shaw, from whose war memoir “Marching on to Laffan's Plain” I had quoted in the post , contacted me and we became friends ever since. About a month back, my dear Friend Dr. Shaw (94) died peacefully in Norfolk UK, after a long life lived to the full. In last four years through his gracious e-mails and letters , Dr. Shaw enlightened me about many things about India, the wars, and of the world 50 years before. Today when I sit to write another post of the same subject, I think of Dr. Shaw and his times and most humbly dedicate this post to my friend who reached out to me across the seas and overwhelmed me by his generosity.

Once again I got a taste of hospitality in the Government style . In my recent trip to Gujarat , I stayed in some of the well maintained circuit houses and felt terribly nostalgic about my childhood memories of Dak Bunglows. However since then, many things have changed. Government servants can now afford to stay at hotels and are also permitted to do so as per rules. Most find it very convenient and prefer them over Government maintained guest houses . Many departments have “outsourced” the guest houses by arrangements with private guest houses/hotels. The new guest houses in general lack the stately air of the old Dak bunglows. They are many times much more modern and facilities equipped and are preferred over the old austere guest houses and circuit houses. Unfortunately in many states now these old guest houses are not being maintained well. In Gujarat however, things have not changed much .

On the whole things have not changed much- as I already said in my previous post, time stops at these Dak Bunglows. But here and there, one does notice a change in courtesies of attendants, the taste (or the lack of it) in the furnishing of the rooms and the ignorance of the keepers about the historical importance of these places. Across the country, these circuit houses are located in some of the best locations and usually have an incomparable view from the rooms. But the “new” Villa circuit house of Porbandar surprised me with the lovely location is has. The rooms almost open on the beach. You come out of the rooms and you have Arabian Sea in its full glory ready to meet you on the steps. Watching a sunset from there was a treat for my senses. No wonder, these used to be the erstwhile ruler’s Guest rooms and are at a stone’s throw distance from the maharana’s palace ( now lying grossly neglected) . In fact in Saurashtra like many other parts of the country, these government Guest houses (specially circuit houses) are former properties of ex-royals. In some cases even their palaces. In Junagarh e..g. the circuit house still has its silver cutlery for special occasions and the wood carved furniture of old nawab .

View from the porbandar circuit house

This sprawling dak bunglow is a very typical compound and the sitting and dining area reminds you of the days gone by. In Dwarka by contrast, it was a plain and simple fare at circuit house. No grandeur of oil paintings or stuffed tigers in the common room. The garden was also bare . The one characteristic which marks all such places was however intact- the well informed attendant, who knew everything about the places to see, the best shop for buying things and best eatery to try. Aha, there is something in that age-old wisdom !

While staying in these places, I once again thought of other interesting guest houses I have stayed. There was a very well managed international guest house at Pantnagar University where the chef Daniel served most exotic desserts. Then there was one in Uttarakhand where I actually thought I saw a ghost. Another very bright and happy guest house at Kothi (HP) where we stayed several times on our ways to various treks . However, the weirdest place I remember staying was one in Darjeeling. I went there for some work and was forced to leave the taxi mid way. My staying arrangements were done in a guest house of Himalayan Mountaineering Institute. But before I could locate the place it started raining. By the time I reached the place it was already dark and I was totally drenched. Whatever I could make out of the place at that time,it seems small but comfortable and welcoming. In the night however, I noticed some strange sounds –growls, screeches and grunts. Anyhow, I discounted these as my imagination and managed to sleep . It was only in the morning that I realized that the guest house was inside the Zoo. To top it all the animals in Darjeeling zoo are not caged but just restricted by slightly high walls. My heart skipped few beats. I could not understand why my people chose that place for me, till the morning I was about to leave and I opened the window of my room. After few days of overcast the sky was clear for the first time and I had the most majestic look of Kachanjungha in front of me . I just wowed the sight and gaped at snow-clad mountains with awe.

Junagarh Circuit house -the sitting (Baithak)

Another very peculiar memory of these circuit houses is the names of the rooms . In many places of course rooms are known only by numbers, in some older ones you may find rooms named after rivers , famous personalities of the region or even the trees in the campus. I remember staying in a guest houses where rooms were named after eminent leaders who stayed in them once upon a time.

Modern hotels may be much more comfortable but they cannot replace the charm of these old places. I do realize that they have become just a thing of past but then, we do go for heritage hotels too. These places are living testimony of the good old days of government on tour and may be still have some rational to be maintained with care and concern. I wonder how many in the government circles would agree ?

Days of King Krishna – and Remains of those days !

2011-05-06T10:11:00.000+05:45

Unlike the West, in Indian thought time moves in cycles. Nothing goes forever- it goes, it re-emerges, re-constructs itself and then gets re-destroyed. While for the western world- we are born, we live, we die; in India we die only to be reborn. It’s not only humans but even cities, temples, trades, beliefs are reborn after they grow old to be used safely in a particular time . At some level it’s a very comforting thought and though like every other Indian I believed in it subconsciously, it was only last week that I saw one such re-birth of a city , at Krishna’s Dwarka .India conceives of four great epochs or ‘world ages’ of varying but enormous lengths: The Krita Yuga, the Treta Yuga, the Dvarpara Yuga and the Kali Yuga. At the end of each yuga a cataclysm, known as pralaya, engulfs the globe in fire or flood. Then from the ruins of the former age, like the Phoenix emerging from the ashes, the new age begins. According to Vishnu Purana - Dwaraka was submerged by the sea right after the death of Lord Krishna.

“On the same day that Krishna departed from the earth the powerful dark-bodied Kali Age descended. The oceans rose and submerged the whole of Dwaraka."

Like many other metaphors of our scriptures, I believed this one too at only metaphoric level . But as I entered Dwarka city in Saurashtra, my beliefs got shaken. I am no longer sure that this was only a myth and not a poetic description of a historical event. Honestly, I never thought of Krishna as a historical figure. In fact even in our scriptures(e.g. Mahabharata) he is human and God at the same time – a description that makes one doubt his being real. In any case, Sri Krishna is a towering personality in Indian thought and it is difficult to separate the human aspect of his life from the divine in Krishna concept. He is a grand mystery and everyone has tried to understand him in his own way, according to his spiritual light or vision, devotion or human-ness of his life .Whether one thinks of him as an object of love or hate, one attains him. Yudhishthira attained him through friendship and Narada by devotion. Krishna is the embodiment of intellectual and spiritual glory. No other single idea has so much influenced the course of India's religion, philosophy, art and literature as the life and personality of Krishna. I have seen many people around me getting fascinated by Krishna in many different ( and contrasting) ways. But once in Dwarka I actually realized the truth in the words of Annie Besant that "He (Krishna) is so fundamentally the God, who is human in everything, who bends in human sympathy over the cradle of the babe, who sympathizes with the play of the youth, who is the friend of the lover, the blesser of the bridegroom and the bride, who smiles on the young mother when her first born lies in her arms, everywhere the God of love and human happiness; what wonder that his winsome grace has fascinated the hearts of men."

Similarly multifaceted is the city he supposedly found for his capital. One look at Dwarka- and all your doubts about its ancientness vanish in thin air. The only other city that gives me that kind of confidence is Varanasi. Called by whatever name, built by whoever, there is no doubt that this place was an ancient place of worship. It is said that after the Mahabharata, Krishna along with his yadava clan came here in search of a new Kingdom for himself. He decided to built a new city here and named the new city Dvaravati. A rather appropriate name- as the city is almost the first door of entry to the subcontinent from the Arabian Sea. The city finds mention in many classical texts. The one that comes to my mind is Sisupalavadha, by poet Magha where in sarga2; he describes the city of Dwaraka as-

"The yellow glitter of the golden fort of the city in the sea throwing yellow light all round looked as if the flames of vadavagni came out tearing asunder the sea."

In 1960s, the first archaeological excavations at Dwaraka were done by the Deccan College, Pune which revealed artefacts many centuries old. The second round of excavations in 1979 under S.R. Rao's direction found a distinct pottery which could be more than 3,000 years old. Based on the results of these excavations, the search for the sunken city in the Arabian Sea began in 1981. Scientists and archaeologists have continually worked on the site for 20 years. But the city is a manifestation of faith over science. Most people flocking the city are not in search of the archeological remain but the signs of King Krishna – which a devotees eyes cannot miss.

Dwarkadheesh temple is a landmark structure in the middle of the city. Parts of this temple belong of 12th century Ad and rest of it was built in 16th Century. Much like the dual-faceted personality of Krishna, the two main entrances of the temple are appropriately called "Moksha Dwara" (Door to Salvation) and "Swarga Dwara" (Gate to Heaven).Now the maintemple is surrounded by several other temples and shrines built subsequently by devotees .

But more than the main temple, I loved the temple of queen Rukmani which stands on the way to Bet- Dwaka. Intricately carved and grossly neglected, this old monument is has a strong presence and Character much like the queen to which it is dedicated. She claims the limelight in this region much before you enter Dwarka. In fact it is very curious that in this region, Radha , the childhood companion of SriKrishna is not present at all .Rukmani, the Patrani , takes her place instead .

On the way to dwarka in a little obscure village called Madhopur lies the place where Krishna supposedly married Rukmani. The temple standing there was pretty ordinary, till I laid my eyes on the old original temple, which was submerged in sea and re-surfaced in 1850s . The virgin beach of madhopur with a huge shiv-ling lies just below the temple. I was still mulling over the co-existence of Shiv and Krishna as reigning deities of this region when the evening prayers started in the temple. To my utter surprise , I found the recorded voice of classical maestro Pt.Jasraj doing the aarti in that small unknown village. India, as they say , contine to surprise you at every step!

Bet Dwarka- supposedly the place where King Krishna resided with his family, is a beautiful island. But the temple there is marred too much by commercialization, lines of small shops that even the lovely boatride to and fro could not make me like the place.

Even around Dwraka, there are numerous places establishing the humanness of Krishna. One such location was the Bhalka Teerth – the place where Krishna was killed by a Bheel . The place is few yards away from Somnath . On the banks of river Hiranya and marked by lines of coconut trees the place is picturesque and gives you the feel of divinity. It’s the only temple I know where Krishna is depicted in a lying position . The best part about myths and legends is the minuteness of the stories. Since Krishna left his earthly incarnation here , it was only fair to expect Sheshnaag who accompanied him on earth as Balram( his elder brother) to join him . So they also have a temple from where Balram went to pataal lok .

I did not like the Somnath temple- the big Government built, highly secured temple of India. But the location was exquisite. The remains of old temple lying behind the new one adds a sense of time to the whole complex. But the best was the pillar informing that from that point to the South Pole, the lightway is unbarred by any landmass. The pillar, which is said to exist since time immemorial left me stunned. Is this why they selected this location for the temple? Is this why despite numerous attacks, the temple was re-built again and again? Just outside the temple is another smaller temple built by Queen Ahilyabai Holkar. It is said that the ancient Shivling of somnath is in this temple.

I am not a religious person, so the temples and their myths, however fascinating did not affect me so much to ignore the fact that we are not keeping our heritage the way we should. We seem to be too engrossed in the immediate issues and gains that we ignore the historical and cultural aspects of this legacy. The encroachments and small shops fill the temple sites. The ASI, as usual has no control to preserve the ancient sites . The traces of scientific search of the old city are not to be seen anywhere and the business of the day goes on as usual.

I look back at the gushing waves of Arabian sea and console myself that well, it is just another side of the eternal cycle. After all, nothing goes forever.

Apno Amdavad

2011-04-22T22:04:00.000+05:45

Ahmedabad is one city I was always curious about. Somehow, I always had very good vibes about the city. If you ask me to count reasons, there are many. Most of the top ones are ‘snakes’ (i.e. snacks) of course- available everywhere and consumed frequently – Khamman, Dhokla, Khandvi, Dabeli, Vada Pao, panipuri, Bhel to name a few. To top them all , the city is truly the Ice cream capital of the country- Vadilal, Havmore, Dinshaw , Natural and not to miss AMUL . That itself raises it several notches in my opinion .

Then it is a vegetarian’s paradise….a foodie city , a city with culture, cuisine and most importantly the pride. Yes, the last one is important because in last few days I have come to realize that I cannot tolerate cynics and in most parts of my country, cynicism is the prevalent disease. “kuch nahin ho sakta!!” is something I hate to hear. It was therefore, so heartening to find a place where people speak about present and future also with pride , hope and optimism. Where despite notoriety of communal politics- politics by and large is based on development initiatives . Where despite corruption, things move and get done .

There is something in the city that moves people. Make them react about it. Sir Thomas Roe described Ahmedabad as a "goodly city as large as London” and Emperor Jehangir sneered that Ahmedabad was actually Gardabad (The City of Dust). But one must also remember that the 17th century Muslim historian Muhammad Qasim Firishta said that it was on the whole, the handsomest city in the Hindoostan. According to legend, the main reason behind Ahmedabad coming into existence 600 years ago is a love story involving Ahmad Shah, the city's founder. Teja, the gorgeous daughter of Asha Bhil who became queen of Ahmad Shah, wanted to remain close to her parents' home, and thus soon after marrying her, the sultan again came to Ahmedabad to be with his beloved . Camping on the banks of Sabarmati, he was surprised to see some rabbits which were being chased by his hounds, turned around in defence and confronting their attackers. Sultan's spiritual advisor explained that it was the character of the land that it inspired courage to timid rabbits and advised the Sultan that the site would be auspicious for his new capital. And this is how the Sultan, who had been looking for a place to build his new capital, decided to locate it in what was then a forested area close to the river bank . He called it Ahmedabad. The incident is popularly described in a one liner: "Jab kutte pe sassa aaya, tab Badshah ne shaher basaya". When the hare chased the dog, the emperor built the city. The city however remembers its beloved old man much more than that empress . Gandhi is a trademark in the city and its newly designed cousin Gandhi-nagar . The city, however seems to be in a dilemma to decide what to do with this trademark. While in the heart of it- every Guajarati is a very simple, God fearing person – but in real materialistic world the community has walked far ahead. The dichotomy is very visible in their humble appearance and yet massive wealth , their love for roadside snacks and their swanky malls, their entrepreneurship and their faith in God – their ability to go ahead and their ability to cheat in taxes . Very understandably, the city dreams to be the next Manhattten or Shanghai.

M.K. Gandhi-the old man who claimed that his life is his lesson- continues to be the biggest hero in this city . I , however , visited his sabarmati ashram in most unsuitable company. Cynical bureaucrats and Rusted engineers could hardly appreciate the simplicity and beauty of the place . They posed and clicked pictures , collected brochure and walked away saying that the place was “ nothing much” . For them the place was not even a mediocre picnic place . For me it was an oasis of peace amidst the bustling city . A place where time is frozen since Bapu left it . Except for the river front- which was very ill kept, I loved the serenity of the place . The house where he lived for years was so bare, so austere that it is difficult not to be moved by it . Unfortunately he continues to be judged by his politics. And not always very kindly.

While roaming around the campus of IIM- the ace business school of the country , I think of Gandhi, of Ahmedshah and also the Scientist founder of this place- Vikram Sarabhai. Space Research to snacks- Ahmedabad is indeed a city of multiple colours.

A Pause

2011-04-06T11:41:00.000+05:45

Louis MacNeice was an irish poet, a contemporary of W.H. Auden . I reproduce a poem written by him here as it gives me strength on those desparate moments when I feel that a cyclone of "life" is sucking me in its vortex.It helps me in realising that at the other side of all the despair, frustration and failures ....life remains our only chance to redeem ourselves, to purify ourselves and to cleanse ourselves of our weaknesses. And we live this life with all our disappointments and despair, yet not lose our innate faith on ourselves. Every misfortune only makes us stronger, every grief steels our heart ever more and every battle we lose makes us more determined.

The cynic would say that in the course of our journey, we only move from one frustration to another, from one despair to another, from one pain to another, from one sorrow to another, from one disappointment to another, from one hopelessness to another. Only for some fleeting moments, we are allowed to be happy – “Happiness” as Thomas Hardy said, after all “is an occasional episode in the general drama of pain”. But that does not mean that we take our frustrations and despair and disappointments for granted and resign ourselves to our fate, knowing fully well that

“Alike for those who for today prepare,
and for those who after a tomorrow stare
A Muezzim cries from the tower of darkness
Fools, your reward is neither here nor there.”

No, the strength and determination are certainly not for any imaginary victory over an imaginary foe, not even against ourselves. It is only to realise that despite everything, just to be living is an wonderful experience. So here I begin once again, heartbroken after one more disappointment...full of hope for the next assignment ; praying that they do not turn me into a stone....ever.

PRAYER BEFORE BIRTH by Louis MacNeice

" I am not yet born; O hear me.

Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
club-footed ghoul come near me.

I am not yet born, console me.
I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,
with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,
on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.

I am not yet born; provide me
With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk
to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light
in the back of my mind to guide me.

I am not yet born; forgive me
For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words
when they speak me, my thoughts when they think me,
my treason engendered by traitors beyond me,
my life when they murder by means of my
hands, my death when they live me.

I am not yet born; rehearse me
In the parts I must play and the cues I must take when
old men lecture me, bureaucrats hector me, mountains
frown at me, lovers laugh at me, the white
waves call me to folly and the desert calls
me to doom and the beggar refuses
my gift and my children curse me.

I am not yet born; O hear me,
Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is God
come near me.

I am not yet born; O fill me
With strength against those who would freeze my
humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton,
would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with
one face, a thing, and against all those
who would dissipate my entirety, would
blow me like thistledown hither and
thither or hither and thither
like water held in the
hands would spill me.
Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.

Otherwise kill me."

The One Bag girl!

2011-03-31T17:28:00.000+05:45

In the coming days I look forward to several rounds of travelling by train, by road and by air. Even the thought is full of hope and excitement. I mean, I love to travel...so much so, I even love the 40 minute drive to office (Just the drive of course...not going to office!) . Travelling is fun and the farther you go the more you learn. About the world and about yourself. The traveling however is not hassle free. Even the planning for it is full of “ifs” and “buts” . I wonder how the always-on-move people manage their travel itineraries. Experience says that the name of the game in frequent travelling is being “fashionably light “. There cannot be a doubt that the amount of load you carry with you is directly proportionate to reduction in the enjoyment of the trip. And yet, it is difficult to be a light traveler. I envy people who just pick up some clean T-shirts and a toothbrush in a bag and are ready to move on anywhere in the world. I would also like to emulate them but I can’t. The reason is simple- I like to carry my world with me… well, almost literally.

So every time I have to go even for two-three days trip, I start making a travel list. The clothes, the gadgets, the cosmetics and the footwear come first. Then of course medicines, books, snacks and the other equally important items. I don’t use most of them but the knowledge that they are available with me is very satisfying. Selection of clothes is not easy either. Thousands of considerations and rounds of thinking goes before I pack clothes - What if I would like to wear casuals while on an official trip. May be I would need a sweater in the evenings …and socks and cap and a cozy shawl may be . What if for some unforeseen reason, I have to extend the trip. Must carry some extra clothes…and so on. Similar reasons go for packing extra shoes, extra books to read etc. With the increasing use of gadgets, the load is increasing even further. I mean I would need my laptop and my Mp3 player for sure. The mobile charger and the camera are of course the essentials. Then , what if I want to watch a movie while travelling. So add the external hard disk too. After all these reasons( and stuff) to fill the bag till it is full, I wonder how I can travel light. After years of carrying around a huge bag loaded with lots of things I “might need,” I have decided to right-size my luggage with minimum of equipment, clothes and other stuff.I intend to seriously try once again this time . I know, my gender is notorious for packing and carrying useless stuff (and adding more through shopping on the way) , but I am determined, I am going to be a one bag girl for most of my travels from now on .

I will try shedding my luggage load because I see people struggling with their baggage and sweating to keep it safe on train stations and airports, on escalators and buses . The clumsy travelers are most often carrying loads of luggage. The efficient backpackers have so much more fun. And look at the brighter side, in case I do “really” need something which I am not carrying, I can almost always buy a new one. That’s shopping and I love it.

While I may not be the most efficient traveler , believe me I am not the worst . I had a roommate who had a huge human size suitcase ( which could be used to carry corpse easily!) . She would find it impossible to lift it or even push it but would insist on carrying it wherever she would go. While traveling to Africa this year, an airhostess told me her stereotypes of travelers. How East Asians are most efficient travelers and how middle eastern and Indian fuss on luggage. She totally discounted the European tourists also when it came for travelling light. Perhaps it’s human nature everywhere . We feel comfortable with our familiar stuff around us ..specially so in unfamiliar surroundings.

I must tell you the inspiration for this latest resolution . The last time I was about to board a plane from Kampala, I looked enviously at the one and only small bag my colleague was carrying. It was such a contrast from my about-to explode luggage. I asked him how he managed to pack “everything “in that bag. How could he be so decisive about what he would require on the trip? How can he be sure that he has covered for all eventualities?

Always a wise man of few words, he smiled as he said "A journey is like marriage. You go wrong when you try to control it. So don’t. Expect the twists and learn to find solutions on the go. "

Confessions of a Cricket Challenged Indian

2011-03-30T13:51:00.002+05:45

Today is my day of feeling out of place. The season has started sometime back and now there is no escaping. The planetary position is adverse for me for some time to come. It’s a day when rest of my country would be going crazy with excitement about the India-Pakistan Cricket match and I would be somehow ensuring not making a stupid or insensitive comment. Being Indian and not knowing about Cricket is sacrilege. Everyone in my family from my sisters to aunts and from my husband to grand uncle is like a good Indian, interested in cricket. My father was in fact captain of his university team and a very enthusiastic cricket player. Unfortunately I am a Cricket-challenged person. I have watched parts of matches now and then (generally when forced to) but I fail to get into “the cricket mood” unlike my fellow countrymen and women. Even before the world cup started, I had a sinking feeling in my heart. Things are going towards worse since then. Cricketers are suddenly everywhere- selling cars, colas and houses, making guest appearances in the TV shows, and even the newspaper is full of them and their lives. Starlets feel grateful for rumoured affairs with them and politicians brag their connections. The journos are offering deeper and deeper insights about the game and the players and here I am thinking, “Jeez…the madness starts once again”. Even in the midst of finalizing a very crucial report, one of my seniors would have a computer window opened on Cricinfo.com and would, rather guiltily, take a peek on score every five minutes. People in office started falling ill on match days and leave applications started pouring. The FM radio had nothing but cricket to talk about. I felt like an outsider in my own country.

Cricket is definitely much more than a game in India. It is a bond, a passion, a sudden rush of adrenaline and in its purest form an emotion.Someone once quipped that what holds India together is parliamentary democracy, Bollywood and Cricket- not necesarily in that order. In India cricket has an accepted protocol. Even a stranger can strike a conversation asking about score. Listening to radio cricket commentary, watching of a match in front of a TV showroom and now web-TV in office is very understandable ….more so when India plays with Pakistan. Believe it or not, even in trains /public buses they tune to cricket commentary on match days. However important is the meeting, it is important to update everyone about the latest in the ongoing match. In brief the entire country waits with baited breath for the match. The cricket fans come in several colours-

The Passionate- they associate cricket with patriotism, cannot think of cheering Pakistan even if they play very good cricket. Capable of breaking TV sets (and someone’s neck), slamming doors and abandoning food when India loses a match, they firmly believe that cricket is like worship- or even more, it’s like your first love- pure and unconditional.

The Cynics: they always predict that India will lose hoping in the heart or their heart that it won’t. With every falling wicket, they sigh and give I-Told-You-So expression and if India wins a match, predict that it was just by luck next one they will surely lose. They believe that every match is fixed and yet for reason unknown watch the match till last ball.

The Rationals: they quote a lot of statistics to predict who is in better form and which team will win…and when the opposite happens can produce even more statistics to support the result

The Superstitious: well, cricket can make even the most rational fans superstitious. A radio channel is running a competition on your favorite TOTAKA (charm) to make India win. People dress up in a particular colour, sit in a particular pose and eat some particular food to make the team victorious. People cancel meetings, trips, offer bribes to gods and perform havan. In effect, the winning and losing is a product of the combined strength of our charms vs the rival charms. The funniest such fan I knew was my friend Manish, who was an ardent cricket fan but would not watch any crucial India matches on TV as he “knew” India, will lose if he watches the match. I wonder if the Indian Cricket Team knows what sacrifices are committed for their victory from a rickshaw puller to a business tycoon (Come to think of it has a very socialist message!).

The Know-alls: they always know who is going to win, which is going to perform how and are never surprised. Usually their favorite team wins or has a noble reason to lose. It’s always a fault of the other team if things do not go as they “knew”. By the way, they know the best cricket anecdotes and jokes.

The Hero worshippers: with a fair representation of fair sex, this category has people who do not look for the game but for the men- or more specifically few men/a man in the game. They cheer only for the hero/ dream lovers and cry when the hero performs badly. Their rooms are usually decorated with this particular cricketer’s posters and they have some crazy trivia ready for whoever cares to listen about their favorite star (his favorite drink, soup, city, his unhappy life, his appearance, clothes etc etc). They buy everything from Cola to instant noodles as per the supposed preference of their star cricketer and participate in Orkut and Facebook fan forums with great enthusiasm.

But then while you can divide almost everybody in Indian population in the above categories, there are some miniscule citizens of this country who do not fall in any. Loosely we can call them the Disinterested. For them cricket days are hard days , they almost feel ashamed of not knowing/not taking interest in this noble game and at times wonder if that makes them bad Indians. Some by peer pressure try to look interested, others like me stay out of any cricket conversation to hide their cricket ignorance. They question why cricketers should tell them which product to buy and which brand to wear; they sneer at people glued to TV sets and sometimes even dare to change channels when a match is going on.

Dear reader, I confess that I belong to this last category. The category of the damned – as my cricket crazy hubby would put. He would not have minded my being a vampire as much as he regrets my being a cricket challenged Indian. Over the years, while my father, my sisters and now my husband is eating and breathing cricket- I just try to leave them with their game of glorious uncertainties and look at the cricket crazy world around me with a very knowing philosopher’s gaze. Well, let me confess when the entire country is at halt, there is nothing much to do anyways.

Where words come out from the depth of truth!

2011-03-27T11:00:00.001+05:45

“Privacy is for individuals, the governments try and use secrecy sometimes for legitimate reasons, sometimes for legitimate period of time and most often, for illegitimate reasons. The problem with secrecy is that how do you know it is not be abused.”

Julian Assange (EnC of Wikileaks ) in an interview to The Hindu

Mr. Assange is my latest hero. I have always been a great admirer of Google and its two founders because they showed the way for free flow of information, information about anyone and anything available to everyone. Even the thought is so liberating. I know it is clichéd to say that Information is power, but I also know that it is very true. Free flow of information – availability of it in public domain is however not easy to ensure. Of course, at times it leads to disasters – personal, professional, political and even global; but still the power of information came flooding us with Google. At least it opened the world before frogs-in-the pond like me. Almost everything you want to learn/know/check is just a click away. Good, bad and ugly- world at its naked best is in front of us….but then there is a catch. Google’s world is the cyber world and there was still a big bad world of non-cyber nature which was behind the curtain. An iron curtain one should say. There was hardly any way a commoner can peek behind the curtain. In most countries there are legislations, privileges, rules ensuring “official secrecy”.

There is usually miniscule information in the public domain on political decision making, diplomatic push and pull and the way destinies are written for millions of us. Some years back India adopted a Right to Information law. The idea was to make the governance transparent. All public offices are now open for the common man. This however, happened only in letter, the intent part has been missing badly. The law is today more abused than used. In every public office bureaucrats consider it a big victory if by quoting some or the other clause, or by some clever word play they can refuse the information being asked or at least maintain some level of ambiguity. People are taught to write notes and opinions in a way that it cannot be “caught under RTI”. How very often, my flustered subordinates would complain that I am not being a true “PIO” (Public Information Officer) as I am always in favor of giving all information. Somehow in the Government, we love to conceal information, even if there is nothing wrong in our papers. Let alone RTI, official try their level best to deny and delay documents and information to even statutory audit. Giving information to the clients (common public) in public offices is a taboo. Even giving acknowledgement of papers/application received is often grudged. I guess in our hearts we know that we may not be doing the right thing right way and also, we do not mind the wrong way to ensure never getting caught. The fear applies to politicians, businessmen and diplomats too.

The way Mr. Assange and his organization have opened the floodgate for this concealed information that may be illegal in some countries but surely unstoppable. Of course the Governments of the world are reacting in a very predictable way – therefore, attempts at personal defamation, arrest warrants and discrediting the information. Recently on a couple of occasions our top leaders were found “lying “ publicly and when caught, quoting the technical and legal details tried to get away. First the Radia tapes, then CVC appointment controversy, then ISRO-Devas deal and now the wikileaks. Times are tough for the people who were safely hidden behind the iron curtain. As usual, in my weekly phone call I discussed the issue of Mr. Thomas’s appointment as CVC with my grand Uncle and we got into very philosophical mood. He, as usual told me tales of his times. The stories reach to the core of concept of justice and fair play, so I am tempted to re-tell them here. In British India, an aggrieved employee filed a case against his office (i.e. the crown). In the court he gave details of a file which if produced before court would prove his point. The office was asked to produce the file. A newly recruited babu put up a note to the head of his office urging him to use the privilege of the Crown and not to give that file as in all likelihood- government would lose the case, if the file is given. The head, a seasoned British bureaucrat, replied that the file may be produced before the court immediately. He added that the purpose of having courts is to correct the wrongdoing and dispense justice and if the Government is wrong, it must lose the case. There was of course no “right to information” in those days and if the privilege of the crown was claimed, even the court could not get the information. The employee won the case against the Government in the next hearing. Of course, we do not believe in things like justice, fair play and honesty in those puritan ways any longer. Very recently, one of country’s highest public offices did everything from pressurizing to lying to deny information asked by a scrutinizing agency. I watch such happenings every other day and they no longer shock us. But then there are exceptions, in one of his previous offices my husband had a subordinate who was a proven trouble maker. He had messed up his personal and professional life and was generally disliked by everybody. As head of that office, hubby had his share of problems with this person and was not at all sympathetic when he heard that this person had won a court case against the Government. The case was related to his promotion which this person felt was wrongly denied to him. It was a complicated case and hubby along with most others in the office felt that the government should appeal against the verdict. His arguments went for vetting at his HQ. Except for his Director (Admn) everyone was for appeal even in the headquarters. So the Director - convinced that justice demands this trouble maker should be promoted – referred it for legal opinion. Office lawyer said they should appeal. Next it was sent to the Ministry, they also felt the government should appeal. Undeterred Director decided to refer the case to Ministry of Law. My hubby was flustered with this sympathy. He narrated in detail about the conduct of this person and how he has created many embarrassments for the office. The HQ senior was unperturbed, his argument was that the person’s conduct otherwise should not affect his case and even a troublemaker, deserves justice. The Ministry of Law opined in favour of the petitioner and the case was dropped by the Government. I often ask the question, how I would have behaved if I was in place of his senior. Would I have allowed my opinion to be coloured by the employee’s behavior? Can I see justice is such pure terms?

I do not know the answer. But every time I get an RTI petition, even if I know that the person is seeking the information to defame the Government, to settle some petty score or creating trouble, I find it difficult to refuse or delay. I cannot take abuse of a law as an excuse for denying use of it. Think about it – how good it feels if you know you are being treated fairly. How satisfactory one feels if one knows that he got his due. Then why do we want to keep the public information private – hiding it from the very people it is meant for.

My Gypsy streaks in the Concrete City

2011-03-25T22:24:00.000+05:45

How do you survive a city where everyone is hell-bent on buying a house but you are not interested?…Where friends greet you with an offer to form a housing cooperative more frequently than they comment on your new dress?…Where the most practiced form of romantic outing is searching for a perfect flat to buy in the suburbs? Delhi is a real estate crazy city. Here people love to talk, walk, and eat buying and selling of properties. However unreal it may sound to everybody else, I fail to appreciate the point.

For almost all my life I loved travelling, specially by road. Reading road signs, posters, and hoardings is almost a habit with me. But nowadays while travelling to work or in and around Delhi, I usually avoid looking at hoardings. In this strange place called NCR, you find only two kinds of hoardings-

1. Unknown political wannabes wishing you Eid/Holi and New year (or even worse, the birthdays of their almost-in-grave leaders) or

2. Real -esatewallas advertising for some new housing project promising you a Jannat on earth

“Elegant and stylish living!” “Cosmo living – just a few minutes from city centre” “Give your family an exotic lifestyle” “ A house you’d like to boast” and so on…. I dread these ads for housing projects like plague. In Delhi alas, there is no way you can escape them. A polite conversation in Delhi starts with “Did you hear about that housing project coming up….” or “You know that XYZ builders are selling flats like hotcakes?” It seems even in this scam and pollution filled capital city, people no longer talk about politics and weather. I am sure with my colleagues; Japan’s tsunami would have evinced less interest than selling of forms for DDA’s latest project. Even every second radio ad is about these real-estate projects in NOIDA-Faridabad-Gurgaon. Try to avoid that, and there comes unwanted SMSs promoting some housing project or the other. I wonder what happened to the good old times when people used to sell toothpaste and shampoos, soaps and mosquito repellent through radio, print and mobile ads. So much so, hoardings claim that some cricketer or singer has also booked a house in the project- no one tells me why should I follow suit ? I wonder why I need property advice from MS Dhoni, Kailash Kher or Bipasha Basu. Believe it or not- I broke out of my office lunch club, largely because it was impossible for me to tolerate the real estate talk every afternoon. To top it all there is always free advice – “Double income no kids…and not yet buying a house, how can you?” “Arre…so and so, got a house in such-n-such sector- 2BHK plus study , go have a look at least.” “If for nothing else, just for investment, may be”. Uncles and aunts, friends and colleagues, bosses and neighbours – they all seem to be convinced that one must buy a house. And that is precisely the problem.

While in my generation, people start dreaming about buying a house the moment they get their appointment letter, and here I am, even after a decade , I have absolutely no interest in owning a place. No no…don’t get me wrong. I do want to live in big, beautiful houses all through my life but I see no reason why I should own one. It is difficult for me to commit myself to one house. I still love and cherish memories of all the houses I lived in…but when it comes to owning a house, I don’t see the point. It seems no one other than me subscribe to this kind of disinterest in buying of properties. …..not even my better half. For most it seems so unreal to believe that they start pitying my naiveté. All my contemporaries are either in the process of buying a house or have already bought one.(interestingly, in Delhi people do not stop after buying one house, they simply graduate to either bigger /better house or get into commercial property talk.)

For most people, buying a house is the costliest financial bet of their life and they desperately want it to go right. The “successful” seniors brag of building one house for each child before they retire. Even the juniors declare with such pride that they asked parents of both sides to help them buying a house as wedding present . People somehow, just love the thought of – a roof of my own. Getting a house and talking about it is a passion with this city. At least for the salaried class 30 something, it is nothing less than a hobby. I know several couples who love to spend weekends scouting for a house. Romantic, some would believe. Someone even tried to portray a very emotion-tinted picture of “one mortgage –two kids” theory of modern life. For the life of me, I do not subscribe to it. While in good old world people used to brag their children’s report card, in Delhi people brag about the appreciation in housing prices of their locality. The disease is contagious and is spreading fast in all cities. Most however, get cheated in the way and spent a considerable time justifying their decision or reversing it by finding a buyer. The real-estate enthusiasm , however, does not fade .

Hubby informs me very authoritatively while reading the Economist, that in last 100 years property prices ( inflation adjusted ) have not actually risen at all in USA. I am not so sure about India but leave aside the price inflation , buying of property is hardly hassle free.It is one sector which can make even the most honest person, dishonest . But most people doesn’t mind that . I tried hard to understand the emotion/logic .

To my credit for the last few days, I really researched on the argument, but I know, when it comes to brass tacks, I am what I am- a gypsy in my mind. I read all housing project ads on my way to office (even the one which claims that the tower would be so tall that the moon will look bigger!)…..I suppressed my amusement at the “Holi Dhamaka” offers and did not frown at the lousy radio ads promising everything from swimming pool to Golf course with the flat. I came to the conclusion, which I already knew; I can’t make myself get into the let-us-buy-a-house mode.

The interesting part is that even the sensible ones fail to see the fallacy in the tall claims of these projects and go for it. Most young couples are ready to compromise comfort and luxury in their youth in order to get an assured place to live later. One of the most sensitive take on this issue was in a movie titled “Grihapravesh” . A couple saving each pi to build a house end up distancing themselves from living a life. Many real life couples experience that but can not resist the urge to buy a house of their own- specially when it is kind of accepted landmark event of middle class Indian life . I do not doubt the intention with which people in this city invest their time, hopes and energies in buying properties but then it escapes me by miles. I just accept the fact that happiness comes to different people in different packaging . Whether I will change my mind ever in life , whether there will be a house tempting enough that I yearn to own it ……… I just wait and watch.

The Pecking order

2011-02-25T01:01:00.001+05:45

On this Republic day, amidst all the flowery and routine mobile messages, I received a very thought provoking sms from an ex-colleague. It said:

“The best index to a person’s character is

(a) how he treats people who can’t do him any good, and

(b) how he treats people who can’t fight back.”

I do not know what made Narayanan sir sent this on the Republic Day but the comment made me think about the character of people around me….and also about my own behaviour to others. Meanwhile, in my last weekly telephonic discussion with my 94 year old grand uncle, I asked him what is new and happening in my hometown. He informed me that Lucknow’s street royale- Hazratganj is getting a facelift and that he is not so happy about it. He reasoned that in front of his eyes things have changed so much for the worse that he feels very cynical about any change. As an example, he told me that he worked for 10 years in pre independence India and 29 years in independent India. Once, when India was still under the “foreign” rule of racist Brits, he reached in front of the lift in the State Secretariat to go to the topmost floor. Before he could reach, the lift had already started with three British officers inside the lift. One of them, on seeing him, asked the liftman to take the lift down and asked him to step in. Today outside the same lift, they have a notice in big font- “FOR CHIEF MINISTER’S USE ONLY”. Before I could react to this story he gave me another one. Once in connection with his work he went to a district office where a truckful of food grain was being unloaded by 5-6 labourers when it suddenly started raining. The collector, a British man, who was supervising the work standing in the veranda, immediately took off his shirt and started carrying sacks of grains on his back. My grand uncle told me that even he and two of his colleagues were standing with the DM but they never thought of doing the same, till he started doing it. He asked me if I can think of any collector today doing the same. He very painfully commented, had it been so, food grains would not be rotting in FCI godowns. I wanted to say a lot to him in defence of my times and my contemporary world - but I could not. I do understand that things are no longer that simple but I fail to see why we should let them be so. No, I do not mean to generalize anything by re-telling these stories here, but the more I see officialdom around me, the more I realize the presence of an extremely feudal, discriminatory and almost racist mindset. A senior colleague once jokingly told me that Seniority is the biggest caste system in bureaucracy, but believe me, I can tell you about many more forms of discrimination. The new formed caste systems in our minds come from power quotients, financial status, at times from cultural and social biases as well. In our public dealings, irrespective of our position, we have a mental hierarchy of people. Well dressed, well off, English speaking people…even if they are rude, receive much better treatment even from the cabbies, shopkeepers and even Government babus. On the contrary a weak old simple pensioner has very little chance of getting a fair hearing in a public office. Sad but true, we are no longer the people who respected simplicity in a person. Of course, we have very high sounding laws to protect equality of every human being, but in our social milieu we are getting more and more racist and worse, we blame one another for starting the wrong trend.

Interestingly, even those who complain about others’ snobbish and snooty behavior, do not fail to return the same to those below them in social, financial hierarchy. Just as an example, in most modern houses, even if the maid is virtually bringing your child up, cooking and cleaning the house , she remains, a step lower. She won’t eat with the family and in many cases would not even eat the same food. Even in workplaces, those who work for you, by some unwritten rule, do not deserve a kind treatment. I have even heard a theory that, if one is too kind to one’s peon or driver, they get pampered. Many, in the position of power have a similar high and mighty attitude towards their clients. Especially so in the government and in professional services. What an irony that Public service officers look down upon those they are supposed to “serve”. The discrimination starts from home. I stopped going to the residents meeting of my colony after I found that I was the only found no issues in kid’s from the servant quarters’ playing with other kids. I was zapped by the reasoning given for this. It was an almost unanimous demand that those kids should not be given entry to the sporting facility and garden etc, meant for officers and their families. Some even had issues with other residents (subordinate officers) using these facilities (And we talk about end of untouchability !!!). Very generously someone suggested that the families living in the out houses should be given a separate area to sit out rather than coming to the same garden which we use.

Home, office, street - there is no end of discriminations. At times I wonder why the children do not ask parents uncomfortable questions after learning the story of Gandhi being thrown out of railway compartment in South Africa . I read somewhere that in the idea of swaraj a very prominent sentiment was to learn the best of British System and merge it with the concept of “Ramraj”. Unfortunately, in both systems, in the words of George Orwell, “ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL, BUT SOME ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS".

No wonder a poet wrote about the world around him:

घरों पे नाम थे, नामों के साथ ओहदे थे

बहुत तलाश किया कोई आदमी ना मिला

Those Stranger than Fiction Moments

2011-02-22T01:09:00.004+05:45

“Salander assessed the situation and saw that it was anything but under control. Her brain was working at high speed . Click, click, click. She still held the crowbar in her hand but she knew that it was a feeble weapon against a man who could not feel pain. She was locked inside an area of about a thousand square meters with a murderous robot from hell.”

My heart skipped multiple beats at once but then the car braked and I realized , I was in my car and , unfortunately, about to enter the office building . Life is tough if you are reading a crime thriller and happen to have never ending work at office. 24 hours seem too less for a day. For next 10 hours my eyes followed the usual office sights, my brain mechanically responded to others but my mind was with Lizbeth Salander- facing a life threat in a remote place. That brings me to the question, I intend to ask here.

Have you ever seen a murder? Or a suicide? A really bad accident, an attack or may be a narrow escape from death …an armed revolution, a terrorist attack or a war? Come to think of it ,how often we go through such dramatic moments . Not very frequent ..isn’t it? But we love to read about them, love to watch them on TV/cinema screens .It is a sort of simulated kind of pleasure. A sensation of things going terribly bad combined with the relief that its only fiction . Probably that is why we love watching horror movies too. Of course we knew there are no evil spirits or Hannibal the Cannibal at loose, while watching the movies at night - but the sleep was disturbed anyways . Have you ever thought how you’d have reacted if such incidents actually happen to you. I was thinking about it since last few days for no particular reason .

We all have some stories that remain glued in one corner of our mind for ages. Stories that haunt us in contemplative moments, stories that come back to us unexpectedly ….stories for which we yearn for a different ending (or may be not). There is a good genre of fiction which weaves stories with completely unexpected endings. I can think of reading O’Henry and Roald Dahl. They wrote stories that make me jump with the sudden turn of events . Sometimes a subtle unveiling of facts turning the happenings upside down and at others , a tale coming to a dramatic climax just to turn back in the last sentence . I do not generally read racy thrillers or pulp fiction so I am not really use to increasing heartbeat with the turning of pages. But recently, I made an exception . I was reading millennium trilogy by Steig Larson . I would confess that I read these books mainly because I was fascinated by a very unusual heroine –Lisbeth Salander , a hacker with tattooed body and almost anti social attitude . Surprisingly, the books made me realize (once again) the need for drama in life . If not real, at least virtual.

Hitchcock once said that –“Drama is life with the dull bits cut out.” To paraphrase : Life is drama with a bad editing and unwritten climax . Of course we love it that way. Mostly, we rue the fact that the ending is not for us to decide , but we love it nonetheless. A life without a dash of conflict and colour will not be a complete one. Indians specially love the drama in life. Look at our takes on very minor issues of day to day life- drivers yelling in traffic jams, women bargaining with vegetable sellers , children throwing tantrums, colleagues gossiping with full concentration, housewives watching tearjerkers and politicians giving speeches. Its not hard to find drama in real life . But that seems to be insufficient for us. We search for heavier doses of it in fiction and gossip.

Interestingly, its often the tragic tales that stick to mind most unknowingly . I remembered a story that haunts me for years. It was a short story by Tagore where an eccentric old man wanted to hide his wealth for his long lost grandson and decided to bury a child with the money, to guard it as yaksha . He found an orphan on street and decided to sacrifice him for this work. In the end this orphan turned out to be his own grandson . I cannot imagine the plight of that old man. I can’t help thinking “what if…”. Then I thought of a Prakash Jha movie titled Parinati. Something similar to Tagore’s story – here an innkeeper and his wife were convinced by a merchant to give away their son . They did it so that the son will get education, they can’t afford , but could not help missing him badly. The merchant had promised to send the son back after he is settled in life. The couple started mugging and killing the travelers staying in the inn so that one day they can pass on wealth to their long lost son. One day a charming young man comes from the city and they kill him too. Only to realize that it was their son who wanted to surprise them. The story never died in my mind. I have no explanation why. I have not witnessed such drama in my life, neither do I really yearn for it, but I wonder how people survive such incidents. A crime committed on you may be still easy to forget than the guilt of doing something terribly wrong. Losing a loved one accidentally or by your own mistake must be horrible to live with. Yes, it is great fun to watch murders and mysteries in the movies but I am very sure it would be devastating to live through any such real life drama . One of my university professor lost his son, daughter , son in law and nephew in a car accident. It happened just a day after the daughter’s marriage when the brother was driving the newlyweds to their new home. I shudder to think of the family that lived this tragedy ever since .

It is funny that when I am trying to recall the stranger than fiction moments of life, I cannot think of anything happy. Is it because we take our blessing for granted and fail to see the magic in it ? Why is it that life’s drama is most visible in fights and deaths…in struggle and defeats and not the other way round . Many of us will remember the TV images of twin towers burning or the attack in Mumbai but would not remember the face of an Olympic winner .

Why should drama be always tragic- the Greeks believed in the power of tragedies in a major way. The Asian theatre traditions- be it Sanskrit plays or the Japanese Noh plays disagreed. In Indian classical plays – essentially woven in a background of love and mistaken identities, the stories always ended happily. The good triumphed over the evil . So why do our mind carries tragedies for longer than it should. Why can’t in life too we can choose the genre of the drama around us . I have no answer to that question. But if it comes to choose- I know my choice would definitely be a Rom Com for life around me .

Dhobi Ghat : Towards a Stain free world

2011-01-31T00:33:00.001+05:45

I am sure if there was a Padma Shri or Oscar for washing clothes, my family would have had two. The two most important men of my life- my father and my husband , enjoyed this seemingly routine activity to no end. I must confess that though I do consider washing clothes , a very hygienic and important activity of life, I could never bring myself to share their love for it. While other families fight over the remote control of TV , in my house fights are on the use of washing machine . Hubby thinks , I can never match his expertise and his skills in washing clothes carefully. I accede to this claim. Both of us coming from the middle class families with the passion for Do-it –yourself , always saw our parents investing time in washing and ironing clothes . Of course , the quintessential Dhobi was just a call away for emergencies.

There is definitely a lot of fun in washing clothes- till of course you are forced to do it frequently . Talking about the art in it, I guess there is much more than what meets the eye. While in the good old days , detergent was the only chemical to be tested on fabrics- we always had home remedies to keep the stains away. My mother would say – use lime or vinegar . Her mother would add soak the dark colours in salt waters first . My father even had standards on hanging the clothes to dry. My sister has evolved her whims for bleaching and starching . Clearly, it runs in the family. And to my luck, I found an equal washing-clothes-enthusiast as my husband .

Earlier , Sundays and holidays were great laundry days . Washing bucketful of clothes – sorting them, soaking them in detergent , special treatmenst for cuffs and collars , hanging some in shades, others in sun and a lot many other rituals were routine for every family around us . The lines of clothes hanging in each courtyard were signs of a sunday well spent . There was something very puritan, very innocent about those laundry days . Of course, those were the days of hand washing and no-driers. Things have changed since then, besides the range of specialized detergents and stain removers , we also have fabric conditioners and whiterners . I wonder how do people in some develop country live without drying their clothes in sun . I am told in many places there are laws against it .They definitely miss out that fresh, crisp touch of freshly washed and dried clothes. Aha , what a feel it is .

Did you ever notice how much this mundane looking activity catches the eye of artists in every age. There are almost equal number of photographs and oil paintings of people washing clothes at streams and ghats of India as there are of women bathing . While one can guess the interest of the artists in the latter , the former beats my imagination. But there must be something or why the heck we have almost half the TV ads on detergents and the other half on shampoos . I ,being a vintage ad collector, can tell this with authority that this has been always like that . If you don’t believe my saying so, come on, do a small test yourself . Try to remember you favorite taglines from your childhood print/TV ads . Nine out of ten, you are either remembering Lalitaji telling the wisdom in buying surf or you are saying “ उसकी साड़ी मेरी साड़ी से सफ़ेद कैसे?( super Rin क़ी चमकार )” . Or may be you are thinking of the little girl in poster asking a pedestrian- “सुनो सुनो ओ बाबूजी कहाँ चले , कपडे क्योँ हैं मैले धुले ?” or is it “ Nirma- promising you “दूध सी धुलाई ” . Now try to think of some recent ads – there is still a high probability that you are thinking of some or the other washing powder/ detergent cake / washing machine ad . Not only this, washing clothes has also been looked at very philosophically, very symbolically.

Given the amount of learning this activity involves , we all have our washing mis-adventures . Even my better half, who claims to be such an authority on the subject , finally conceded that long back in his “learning” days , he spoiled his most expensive set of pants after soaking them overnight . Talking of that, I can’t resist telling the most amusing washing mis-adventure I know. This is from my batchmate who apparently never got a chance to wash his own clothes thanks to his dotting mummy. Now , in the cold days of shimla , his only resource for this work was our dear dhobi. This dhobi once disappeared for many days together . Rest of us continued or started doing our own laundry and were not that affected by dhobi’s disappearance . Someone ( my guess- his lady-love) also advised him to do his laundry himself. Bit unsure about how to do it, our dear novice washerman selected the wash room in one corner of the hostel which no one used . In a bucket he soaked 5-6 clothes for “just 30 minutes” after which he planned to wash them . As you can guess he forgot. And he forgot it for days . It was only after 3-4 days when someone passing from that washroom sniffed a rotten smell and called the cleaners thinking it must be a dead rat , that his soaked clothes were discovered. Of course, the clothes were gone by that time . While all of us teased him to no end, consoling him my roommate told him that she had once soaked her mom’s expensive silk saree in normal detergent and got a tight slap thanks to it. I too have some sob stories of getting my sarees spoiled by dhobis of different places but by and large, it has not been very bad for me. Of course, my husband will never let me forget how I mixed his new jaipuri kurta ( a bright yellow one) with while clothes in washing machine and you can guess the result.

So I do not doubt the skill and expertise of all the dhobis around me. I look upto them with so much respect and admiration .I am aware that in India washing your husband’s shirt is considered a very symbolic gesture of both love and drudgery ( depending upon who you are – a traditionalist or a feminist !) . I am also acutely aware that behind every working couple , there is a huge pile of laundry waiting to be done . I do not get to do that anyways . I read in an article that once Cherie Blair was asked by a journalist that Who wears pants in her house ? She coolly replied –“ Of course it is Tony (Blair) , and he is the one who washes and irons them too .” Believe me , I can empathize .

Enchanting Chants

2011-01-29T23:34:00.001+05:45

I was surprised when one morning I found myself humming an old vedic chant. I have not performed a havan for months now..neither have I participated in one. In any case, I am not a religious person to suddenly start chanting vedic mantras. But I wanted to. In fact I went ahead and searched for Arya Samaj havan video clips on You Tube and played them on my computer. Those familiar sounds of my childhood had something very soothing about them. Whole day I was unconsciously repeating the havan mantras in my mind .

I was born in an Arya Samaj family. On every occasion- festival, birthday, anniversary, the family used to perform a simple havan. As far as I remember, by the time I was six or seven, I knew all the mantras, without knowing the meaning of course. Though later on I learnt the meaning as well but I just liked the sound. For me the best sounds on a troubled moment is the way my father used to recite them loudly. These were of course not the only chants I knew.

One good thing about going to a missionary school is that they change something in you forever. Some of the hymns and chants are part of the memories too. Most favorite prayer of my childhood- Ave Maria, whether performed in our school chapel or by Luciano Pavoratti, has an immediate effect on me. I never bothered to know the meaning – not even now. I just like the rhythm, the ups and downs of voices singing it together – some with deep faith and others (like me) just mechanically. All getting affected by it nevertheless. These sounds are so powerful, so moving and at some level, very comforting. Somehow, they belong to a world where parents, teachers and elders were in control of things- where life was protected. I tried hard to remember who taught me Hanuman Chalisa. It must be one of the servants or may be some family friends. This beautiful chant also contains a lot of power for me. Somehow, it got into my mind that in case of any fear, crisis or danger, I should recite this. Though I can’t remember who gave this wisdom to me but I still do that . I was mentally chanting it when I travelled alone for the first time, when I feared a really bad result….even when I went to collect my father’s medical tests. I do not believe things turned out any different because of it. But I felt stronger and more capable of dealing with them. That is the power of chants .

Come to think of it, it can be anything. It need not be religious too. Any mantra, any poem, any words that give you strength or peace just by repeated recitations. Have you ever wondered why these chants are so powerful? Why they have such calming effect on us? Why almost all established religions of the world believe in them? I can think of Vedic mantras, Buddhist chants, Gregarion chants, Bahai chants and even African chants. Chanting of psalms and prayers is an essential part of most religious services - be it Hindu or Catholic. In all cultures rituals like marriage, birth and death involve group chanting. Even the new age gurus accept the power of positive affirmation. The power to tell your mind repeatedly what you want it to believe. They say if you can visualize something as if it’s true, it happens. Even in the battles they had chants and war cries. And this remains a tradition of wars and battles from ancient times till date. In contrast to the calming effect of the religious or spiritual chnats, battle cries aim to invoke patriotic sentiment. Their purpose is a combination of arousing aggression and esprit de corps on one's own side and causing intimidation on the hostile side. And they work. Team sports too believe in the power of these chants. Teams and their supporters have their own chants. Protesters too use these chants to express solidarity for a cause. Even some of the punk bands use the chants to involve their audiences. Isn’t it amazing how sounds have so many different effects on us? Sometimes bestowing power and strength and sometimes pouring divine bliss on us. Sometimes making us strong against an enemy and sometimes making us control our anger .

May be we never notice it but even in our daily life we unconsciously use many of these rhythmic sounds. Can you remember the familiar sound of “Haiyya ho” which is used to carry or move heavy objects? In literature too we come across such songs/sounds used for a particular occasion/by a particular group of people. I can think of the palanquin bearers using a rhythmic “ hun huna” and then there are sounds to which even the birds respond. Coming from a culture where the teaching of almost everything was passed on by recitation and oral tradition - the power of spoken word is not difficult for us to understand. If in our eastern classical tradition we have our trust in healing powers of chants, the western world too looks at this tradition as much more than a musical genre .

I had a French teacher who used to listen chaupaiyya of Ramcharitmanas every morning with much devotion. I once asked her what is in this sing song style of recitation that she likes. She told me that it takes her in to a different world. A world of bliss and glory. That -I think is the beauty of words well spoken. Even if you do not know the meaning, just the faith is enough to take you where you want it to be. Enchanting indeed!

Nostalgia, Cynicism and the Republic Day

2011-01-22T22:44:00.000+05:45

I read somewhere that Nostalgia is like a grammar lesson: you find the present tense, but the past perfect! We all find the past perfect – at least that is how we like to filter our memories. We idealize past even more when we grapple with the uncertainty of the future. Therefore, it was not unusual that when I sat down to write about the Republic Day, the first images that came to my mind are of my childhood . The school function, distribution of ladoos and later on the craze of watching Republic Day parade on TV. I always found the sound of our national anthem playing and people (including the President) watching the national flag with pride very emotional. I still choke at times when the band plays “Jai jai jai, jai he…!” . Then I thought of the last Republic Day. Living in a government colony makes it easy for us government servants to attend a flag hoisting function. In my campus, it is done with a lot of pomp and show as it is an international institute where we have to showcase our national functions in front of foreigners. I found to my utter shock that many of my contemporaries were not so sure about the wordings of the national anthem. One even suggested jokingly if we can sing the A.R.Rahman version of “Jai ho!” Thanks to the schools, the children took the lead in singing. I came back with a bad taste in mouth.

I avoid being cynical about the world around me. So much so, I often ignore the pessimistic facts and sights. But it is difficult to think about the state of affairs in our republic without a tinge of sadness when I find Binayak Sen facing life imprisonment and CBI failing to file a charge sheet in three months after CWG scam. We indeed live in an incredible country. Contradictions that make one shiver with fear. Divisions that defy any logic, cruelity that surpasses mythical devils and the political milieu, which defines all the ills of society. For some inspiration, I go back to the voice of one frail man who took our country out of similar (if not worse) hopelessness about a century back. Gandhi once wrote about Seven social sins: politics without principles, wealth without work, pleasure without conscience, knowledge without character, commerce without morality, science without humanity, and worship without meaning. Interestingly we have all the seven present before us – We feel them every day, deal with them every day but do not fight back to come out of them . Mostly, I too think that it is beyond one individual to fight back these ills. Where is that small body of people with unquenchable faith in its mission to alter the course of history, which Gandhi talked about? But if I believe in Gandhi, who talked about the only one tormentor- the quiet voice of his own conscience, I think I know the solution as well.

Think about it. Why do we deserve fair play and life without exploitation? Do we give that back to those around us. People who break the rules to have their way, bribe to get undue advantage, beat their wives and do not do their own duties faithfully- why do we think we should get honest government, fair treatment, no bullying and correct dues. How many times people ask me to put in a word, to twist the rules so that they can get their child admitted to a school, get that license bit early or get the income tax penalty waived off. We have almost come to believe that it is fair. Haven’t we? Many of us even justify this posing as helpness victims of a corrupt state ...but if you look around there is a difficult but honest way always there...well almost always. It's just that our faith is following the honest way is so badly shaken that we do not even want to give it a try. I cannot count on how many occasions I fought with an urge to break a traffic rule, to show my Identity card and get a special treatment, to unduly bend a system for my vanity, my greed and sometimes for even less…to just show off . When I think of it, I do not know how to blame the government, the politics, the businessmen and everybody for doing the same – just at a different level. Look around ...we need not even try hard , we have become a country of crooks so obiviously ...so apaprently . We gladly accept that we break rules, we short circuit systems, we bribe the policeman who cought us speeding and then we talk big about other people's similar dishonesty. I do not say that the world will treat you fine if you follow the right path ....but then, if charity starts at home...so does honesty and fairplay.When I ask myself, if I have been fair to those who are powerless before me....my answer is not an undounted YES. Who am I then to pick up stone on others?

So what do I intend to do this Republic Day? The options are:

1. Feel disgusted at the list of celebrities getting the Padma Award , and getting caught in one scam or the other soon afterwards

2. Getting soaked in nostalgia of the good old days . Days which I will cynically conclude are gone forever.

3. Being cynic that nothing will ever change and making excuses of helplessness to go unfair myself

4. To be what I should be, a moral, ethical , fair human being . One who does her duties honestly, who calls for positive change in the system by following the rules, by being true and fair herself first .

The frail voice of my conscience tells me that the correct answer is 4. So, why to think harder- Lock kiya Jay?

Death of Originality and the CPF

2011-01-07T00:48:00.000+05:45

CPF- that is Cut( or copy) paste and forward. I am sure you know about this . I am also sure that like me you use it almost every day . Calling it a miracle would be an understatement. Whoever first thought of this feature of word processing was a big plagiarist …or may be he/she was just lazy . It’s a big convenience and a great tool to edit . But today it has turn into a livelihood provider for many, ice breaker for others and even popularity tool for some . Tell me how many forwarding mails/ sms you get everyday ? Have you ever found yourself connecting to a friend but without anything in particular to say…just send a couple of forward-mails . Do you want to impress someone- just do a wiki and some googling on anything under the sun and write a brilliant piece on it. Do you have to submit a paper by tomorrow morning and you are suffering from a creative block? Never mind , there are millions others who have uploaded readymade solutions for you to CPF. It does sound magical . But how many times we face what can be called a cut-paste faux pas . I am sure we all know some of those too .

This 1st January I woke up with a sms from an old friend B . A very poetic message wishing me a happy new year , I was marveling the words till I reach the end where I found “….from X” . I was puzzled for a second…who is this X . Right then I got another message from my friend B …who again wished me a happy new year and very coolly added “ this time from his side” . Apparently he just forwarded a nice message without editing the last part. My sister did something even worse. She had her signature as her name which gets added at the end of each message . So on one festival , all my aunts and uncles, grandfather and relatives received message – a real good one “from XYZ “ followed by my sister’s name. The faux pas created a mini scandal in the family for a day as everybody wondered who is this XYZ with whom she is wishing everybody . But then, these are just very innocent goof ups . Worth a laugh of course, but nothing serious.

Let me tell you a recent example where the magical CPF( cut paste and forward ) gave me a rare laugh during an otherwise serious workday . I was looking into an expensive report given by an international consultant for a project. This was one of those colourful looking documents which everyone admires (mostly for its graphs and printing ) but no one reads. But as an auditor, it was my job to read the bulky report, I somehow continued reading it beyond the preface. Suddenly it appeared that things were not adding up. The report seems logical but in between there were unrelated words. The report was about hygiene and food. So while it had Delhi featuring in several places , it was talking of organizations which are nowhere here in India. There was mention of City and borough government and also of Dal makhani . I gave it another careful reading and I found the key. It was a classic CPF from a foreign report. Not only that , the author replaced the key words e.g. name of organization with the Indian counterpart through find- replace ( another magic mantra of word processing ) . The result was hilarious. But as it happens in government, no one ever read that document and everybody was happy. When I narrated this story to a colleague, he was not surprised. He told me that her brother cleared most of her strategy papers, dissertations and presentations through CPF. My dear brother in law exclaims that in his field (software and banking) it happens all the time . Oh yes, I should have known better.

Internet resources have made plagiarism really easy. While in earlier days we used to write down our favorite quotes and poems to remember them at the right moment , today we do a search and in a click we have opinions, thoughts, reactions and even appeals ready for us. The more ethical ones change a word or two and if possible use liberally from more than one source . The real masters copy it as it is and make it their own.

For those of you who thought despite everything else around us changing, we bureaucrats are still the same, here is some news . In Mussoorie academy we had some very prestigious essay competitions . One of these was sponsored by Indian Army . In the year when I was doing the foundation course, the evaluation committee found it difficult to select the shortlisted entry as many of the entries were very similar. Thanks to internet resources and the magical CPF , many of us came up with “very similar” thoughts . Training courses are another example of changing times. On how many occasions I found myself looking at an old presentation being repeated by multiple speakers with their name. We even had one speaker who stole the jokes and cartoons as well from the presentation available on internet and passed it off as his own experience . In support of his obivious CPF , one such speaker once quoted john Milton who said “ Copy from one, it's plagiarism; copy from two, it's research.”

There is an old saying that whatever you throw at the world it comes back to you. Believe it or not, this is aptly applicable on the CPF as well. I have received back my own forwards a couple of times and on files I often find my own notes copied and presented with a different formatting and font. People have very differing views on this . Some consider it unethical others take it in their stride. One even told me that it is just quotation without inverted commas . He argued that this is in a way, a praise of your draft – a compliment that you expressed it so well that there was nothing to do more. Someone recently gave me a very interesting phrase for it. He said it is not plagiarism , it is creative re-producing . I was impressed for a second and then a doubt occurred in my mind whether this phrase is orginal or well…taken from somewhere .

Season’s Eatings!

2010-12-26T23:54:00.001+05:45

The work was never ending and the stress level was high. It had been like that for more than a month. But this particular day was exceptionaly bad. It was one of those workdays when everybody form your boss to colleagues and from subordinates to family members is after your happiness. I looked out of the window. The December is almost through. Fading afternoon sun hardly had any warmth but still it was a very tempting time to resist going out. In the moment of anxiety, fear or even desperation- my thoughts often go back to my good food memories. The Good Food memories of Winters necessarily includes cakes and bakes. Recently a school friend very aptly described December and January as very “Cakey times”. So I left the file I was pretending to look at and walked out of the building. I hardly had any idea of the place I wanted to explore. I had searched out an address in Paharganj but knew nothing what I can expect there. German Bakery! The very name brings to my mind delicious cakes,breads and doughnuts. I have no idea why they are called German Bakery, I don’t even know why they are scattered all over Himalayas and some other selected towns of India. Yes there was one at Kaza as well. One in Manali I remember and also a small one at Tabo . And why German -Are Germans supposed to be great bakers anyways? Or it has got something to do with German Hippies of 70s, who could not stay away from their cakes and bakes even as they continued their search for Nirvana.

But I couldn’t care less. I needed a distraction from work and what could be better than a bustling market with narrow lanes, traffic snarls, colourful display of things and all familiar sights of an old city. My driver and peon were certain that I am off for some shady place when I told them where I am going. I have been to Paharganj many times before- but this part of Paharganj was new to me. The firang part- I mean. This part caters only to foreign tourists. Mostly backpackers. All eateries claim to be “the original German Bakery” and there were at least half a dozen World Peace Cafes. They all offer a menu difficult to find in other city bakeries. No cream filled black forest and pineapple cake (with red cherry on top). Here the offerings were more to suit the taste of our foreign guests - less of cream and more of cake. The cinnamon rolls and croissants, the pies and the doughnuts looked tempting. Of course these were not for me- there were no eggless varieties available…but they looked very different and very yummy. When I finally reached the German Bakery I was looking for it was disappointing. The ambience was just ordinary - hardly what I would imagine at a place so famous. I mean it was not even a bakery – it was just a small time tea shop with some baked stuff inside the glass case. Some shops selling knickknacks for tourists were also part of the same room. But then I looked closely – the stuff was different . There were exotic cakes- Walnut, Apple-honey, Cinnamon, and of course chocolate . All without the usual generous scoops of cream. I bought several types for my friends and my husband and walked out . While coming back from this odd bakery – I thought of other bakeries I have loved .

For me Birthday cake was always very special and with three birthdays in the family in January – our supply of cakes was continuous for that month. I could never hide my excitement when my birthday was round the corner. My dad- pampering his youngest , always brought multiple cakes for the day . Being the glutton I always was, I never said no. It was so funny that the owner of Lucknow’s Burma Bakery which supplied my birthday cakes from my 9th birthday onwards also remembered my and my sister’s birthday .

Bakeries are very happy smelling places. I read somewhere that smell of baking soothes nerves and makes one feel relaxed. I totally believe in that as I recall my baking memories. My trials with baking have been mildly successful. I tried all kinds- scones, cakes, pies, breads and even cookies. It was great fun to learn new baking tricks with friends . But my success in baking are almost equal to my failures. The good part is –I never left trying . As my sister- my captive taster once commented jestfully - “ You keep on trying …we will get either cookies or paperweights . Both are useful. ”

It is unfortunate that now bakeries have lost their individuality. In Calcutta the three bakery chains have identical stuff in all outlets. Very uninspiring if you ask me. Even the middle range bakeries in Delhi have similar stuff. They are not even open to try new items. Some do customize of course, but most have limited items to offer- they do not even change the icing for your choice. I remember in my growing up days I used to specify the icing on my birthday cakes. One year I wanted a wafer house and on another multiple coloured jam layers. It was always made with perfection.

Some old colonial towns ahve great traditions of bakeries. I have seen lovely small bakeries in Shimla, Mussoorie and Pune. Mumbai also have some very special ones . Another place which comes to my mind is Kochi- the place where Jewish bakeries are still thriving with pride . Calcutta too had Nahoums' . The famous new market bakery - which hardly had anything for a no- egg cake lover like me. Even though I never tasted their famous rich plum cake on Christmas - I can see that even a mention of it brings a delightful shine in my hubby's eyes .

With the January approaching us in another four days, and with it both my birthday and the New year – I think of my yummy memories and smell the familiar “cakey” smell in the air. Happy days are here again!!

I just wanna play my music…

2010-11-23T16:31:00.001+05:45

Jonas brothers were speaking for my entire generation and the generation before us when they sang-

“Turn on that radio

As loud as it can
Wanna dance until my feet can't feel the ground (feel the ground)
…….
Music's in my soul
I can hear it everyday, everynight
It's the one thing on my mind
Music's got control
And I'm never letting go, no no
I just want to play my music”
(From Disney’s Camp Rock)

Oh yes, we just want to play our music, our way. Every morning while coming to office, I and my chauffeur go through a silent tussle. The point of difference is in the choice of music to be played in the car. I prefer old songs and using my remote from the backseat change the channel to AIR-FM Gold playing songs of 1960s. The moment car stops for a red signal, Ashish comes back to Radio Mirchi or some such noisy FM channel playing current numbers. After almost a month of this war – we declared truce. So on Monday-Wednesday and Friday we play my choice and on others, I let Ashish have his way. Interestingly on one of ‘my days’ I found him immediately taking out his mobile and put ear plugs to listen his channels privately. It was a revolt. But I have to admit - a smart one. Next day I followed suit with my Mp3 player and listened to my ragas while he enjoyed his Punjabi pop. So now, travelling in the same car, every morning we listen to two different types of music. After all, music is very personal in our times. We like to carry it with us in gadgets of various shapes and capacities. But look around, how easy it has become to carry your music. It is not unusual to find parents entertaining their babies in trains or public places by playing portable DVD players. Or joggers running with iPod or office workers playing mp3 in the desktops or fliers tuning to favorite music in-flight. Times have changed indeed.

Most people have their specific likes and dislikes when it comes to genres of music, musicians and way they like to listen. But till very recently, music was not portable. After our wedding, when my hubby called on my grand uncle, he was told that the eldest member of my family had visited Kolkata sometime back( actually in late 1930s) .My hubby politely asked if he visited the Howrah bridge and the Victoria Memorial ? With a mischievous grin my grand uncle replied that he was more interested in visiting Kananbala’s house in those days. Well, the love and craze for musicians is nothing new. We all have music icons of our generation. In my grandparents generation the only way to listen to music was live performance. People used to travel for days to listen to their favorite artists. Then came gramophone and brought the music close to its fans. It took some time to get popular and it was not so easy to find records. I remember we had a gramophone in my childhood. It was used to play records on birthdays and special occasions.I still remember how we used to dance on those old tunes. It was fun when long playing records came to the scene. We had such craze of listening to film music on them. Of course radio was our staple. Tuning different radio stations for different types of music was like following a class schedule. In school days transistor was my all day companion. Discovering a new radio station was like a favorite game. I will not repeat much about my craze for radio listening as I have already written on that here.

But in our teenage, the way people listened to music changed dramatically with the coming of tape recorders. Two in ones- as they were called popularly. A must have in a hostel room. An inevitable companion in a showroom. The tape recorder made it very easy to record and play voices from our dear and near ones. It might sound retard to today’s generation but it was thrilling to hear your own voice coming from the tape. Earlier one has to go to a recording studio to get a record made. I believe this was the time when music turned personal. We were no longer waiting in front of radio for the program to play our favorite song. We could play and replay it any number of times. Still tape recorders were bulky and not very easy to carry and cassettes were neither cheap nor durable. First factor was changed forever in India by the advent of Gulshan Kumar’s T Series – suddenly all cassettes were 29 rupees (as against Rs 120 or more of HMV), some were priced even lower at 17 rupees – it was almost liberation for young music aficionados. Then came walkman- how dramatic it sounded that you can walk and work while listening to music. An entire generation was plugged to it immediately. This was the much coveted gift which my elder cousins aspired for . It was very cool to have one. Parents, of course, thought it is incarnation of devil to ruin their children’s ears and mind. But to be fair, their parents had similar views about gramophone.

In front of my eyes the audio tapes turned into all powerful CDs- sleek and compact with immense storage capacity . First time I saw them at AIR Lucknow- I thought what can be better and sleeker than this. I found the answer soon enough. In a matter of years DVDs revolutionized the quality of music. Then technology took another step forward and came digital music. First time I heard music on computer (on winamp) I thought- this is it. In a matter of days- most of my CD collection was copied on the computer and I learnt a new lingo of music listening. Winamp, Real player, .wav format and of course .mp3 . It was a matter of minutes to find your favorite song, copy it online and play it on computer. Napster made us realize the power on Internet in very tangible, very musical way. Till the famous lawsuit made it illegal, it opened the floodgate of music for everybody across the globe. But by then, there were thousands of sites providing access to music online. It was around 2000 that I learnt all this and in just 10 years – this music is everywhere. Now, you don’t even need a computer to play it on. A small mp3 player would do for many thousand songs. Now every day I share music, download it, edit it and record it. Play it at my own convenience, at my own choice.

Of course, there is a school of thought that says that the magic is lost in this control freak environment of music listening. You no longer wait for your favorite number, no longer send request to play it- its so much in your hands that the craving for those sounds has gone forever. If you ask my mother, the sense of listening it together is also lost in this personalized way of listening to music. May be there is some truth in that. A CD of shehnai playing at a wedding can hardly replace the charm of live performance. Similarly the sound and energy one feels in a classical performance on stage can never be felt through a mp3 player. But then, convenience has a cost attached with it.

As I said earlier, music is very personal. I have people around me who listen to almost anything from Bollywood numbers to Buddhist chants on iPod, on mp3 players and many such gadgets. This morning I found that even my chauffeur has his playlists made. Come to talk of it, last year when I bought my first car, I made it clear that in my car my music playsI see people engrossed in their music while travelling by crowded buses, metro or even walking on the streets, almost every day. If you ask me, though live music will remain charming in its own way, it’s great fun and great convenience to have your music your way at your command .ok you can’t have the charm of live classical performance in other formats but come to think of it - how many more can today listen to a great musician - who 200 years back would have remained limited to only a single raj darbar. How much more music is available to the yearning ears crossing boundaries of money, geography and politics. Really, as the taglines goes, there is actually so much to hear .

So here I end this post and go back to my music :

“Don't you feel it growin', day by day
People gettin' ready for the news
Some are happy, some are sad
Oh, we got to let the music
What the people need is a way to make 'em smile
It ain't so hard to do if you know how
Gotta get a message-
Oh, oh, listen to the music
Oh, oh, listen to the
Oh, oh, listen to the music baby
All the time .”

(from Listen to the music by-Doobie Brothers)

Languages-lost and found

2010-11-19T22:47:00.001+05:45

I have always been surrounded by storytellers. Both of my parents were excellent storytellers, so were my sisters and even my husband. No wonder on most important issues of life, I cannot think without thinking of a parable. Today when I plan to write about the languages, their purity, their extinction and use…some of the most memorable tales of my childhood come to my mind.

I will narrate the one I love most . Gunadhyay was a minister to satvahana king Gautamiputra Sātakarni (also known as Shalivahan) in first century AD. One day young king was playing in water with his wives. The queen pleads him not to throw any more water on him (modaikah), which the king in his ignorance of laws of verbal conjugation in Sanskrit takes for request for sweetmeats (modaka). The queen laughed at his ignorance . King’s ego was badly hurt and he decided to master Sanskrit at the earliest. Gunadhyay promised him desired proficiency in 6 years but his rival Katantra came with a proposal for 6 months to master the language. Gunadhyay vows not to use Sanskrit, Prakrit or any vernacular ever again if the deed is done. This is done and Gunadhyay leaves the city of Pratishthan (present Paithan) and wanders disconsolate in Vindhyays. Later he meets Kanabhuti and learns a lesser known Paishachi language to write his stories. He sends a collection of his stories to his king. The king , now a master in Sanskrit, insults the language in which it is written and sends it back without reading . Heartbroken and insulted , Gunadhay started reading his stories to the animals and then burning them . The story goes that the animals listened to those stories and were mesmerized, they stopped eating and moving . The news reached the King who rushed to save the stories. By the time he found Gunadhyay, 6 lakh stories were lost in fire . The remaining today forms Vrahat katha- a compilation which inspired katha sarit sagar and many such compilations. As a child I wondered how powerful this paishachi language would have been. Today Paishachi - a form of prakrit , is an extinct language. It is mentioned as a medium of debate and literary expression in various Theravada Buddhist sources, and in Prakrit and Sanskrit grammars of antiquity. But still, we lost it , perhaps forever .

I resist from telling other equally fascinating stories about birth of a new Sanskrit grammer or about lust for learning a puritan language – stories of Panini and of Kalidasa. The point I am driving at is about our languages- old and new, changing with the times, losing their original character- developing in few cases, losing identity in most others . How our tradition tells us about people who loved them, preserved them, revered them and passed them on to next generations. Then somewhere we lost this penchant . Our languages world over are losing their strength. Some are lost others are in a process of being extinct.

Languages are much more than just a medium of expression. They tell you so much about the people who spoke them. They are a mirror of people’s perception. In my class of Philology in the University , we learnt about the relations of different languages , their history and development. It was extremely enlightening .

Now that I try to recall , it must have been in middle school that I first thought about the delicate matter of languages- the impact of not getting them right . It was when I came to know about Harappan Script and how it is yet to be deciphered . I looked at those pictorial alphabets and wondered what people who wrote them were trying to convey. In all probability, they narrate daily transactions and instructions. This is unlikely that the authors had any intention of spreading their word for times to come .But then, what is so tough in those signs, those symbols of daily life that we are unable to find meaning behind them . Why we could not try all permutations and combinations to break the code behind these symbols. It’s not that no one ever fell in love with these undeciphered languages and their mystery. I can think of Iravadan Mahadevan , a former IAS officer of 1954 batch who dedicated his life for study of Indus script and Brahmi. I can also think of one of world's greatest experts on the Indus script, Asko Parpola, who has been studying this undeciphered writing for over 30 years at the University of Helsinki in Finland. But despite some such people , despite our advancement in technology and our power of computing , we are unable to get back the tougues of the past. We are unable to do so, because the link of passing them on was broken. May be no one was interested in knowing them anymore. May be they were tougues of people who lost the war. Of people who do not mattter anymore. Of people whose thoughts and expressions were not considerred important to be understood . And it happened everywhere on the earth .

Sometimes I feel that my generation is ungrateful. We do not respect what we inherited- be in monuments, skills, traditions or anything else. But then, perhaps each generation was like that ….and who knows how complete our inheritance was in case of languages. Till James Princep conclusively deciphered Kharoshthi in the middle of 19th Century, we knew little about 600 odd years of our history. Many pre-biblical scrolls are yet to be read . Very few are interested in them. Leave aside them, very few care to learn languages just for the love of it.
Once I heard a story of Pt. Sakal Narayan Shastri, an upcountry Brahmin who came to Kolkata looking for employament. Someone suggested him to meet the Vice Chancellor of Calcutta University – legendary lawyer Ashutosh Mukherjee . The VC asked him what all he has read. The answer was simple- “Published-I have read all, unpublished- whatever I could lay my lands on.” It took the university administration sometime to decide in which department such a person can be placed. He knew many languages, arts, philosophies and more. One hears about many others of that generation, who painstakingly learnt and mastered the languages .
Then we also know how like everything else the love for languages is also politicised in today's world.Langauges are looked upon as a political tool. They are imposed on people in tthe packaged deal for education, employment etc. While I appreciate the sentiment that people consider language as such an important ingredient of their identity, I can never appreciate why they need to compete .e.g. the biggest disservice to hindi was done when it was made rajbhasha and was imposed on people. IT harmed the language , made more people resist it, made more people against it. It nearly killed the literature of the language. Knowing Hindi become a profession after all. At the end of it - we have hundreds of Hindi Officers, Hindi academies, Hindi Directorates, Hindi Pakhwaras but very few Hindi lovers. Even those who speak it as their first langauge - do not feel proud of it. Do not know it too well. I wonder how many of us would be able to recall the old devnagari script in which hindi was written just about a hundred years back. And yet, no one learns by this experience. Each regional language and its speakers only think of making institutions to spread their tougues- no one really cares to spread the love for the languages- all of them. Going this way , we might just turn more people away from the languages - fom the joy of it, the thrill of understanding the symbols and scripts and the history they carry with them.

My gardening genes

2010-11-09T16:20:00.010+05:45

Entrance of my house (Jan2009)- nasturtiums,calendulas and Sweetpeas

My favorite memory of my father- the way I often see him in my dreams , is he looking after his favorite flower beds on a summer evening. It was a daily ritual as long as I remember. My father will step out of his car- tired from a usual day in a office and would head straight to check out on his plants, roses, shrubs and creepers. His weekend activities necesarily included pruning and cutting, planting and maintaining his garden. Even with two or three full time gardeners - he believed in Kipling's saying that Gardens are not made by singing“Oh how beautiful”and sitting in the shade.So he would get down to work himself. Visits to nurseries and to flower shows are very important childhood memories to me. He devoted himself almost full time after his retirement for looking after his garden. In my family I inherited the gardening-genes from both sides. The love for gardening is so much ingrained that even now my mom would remember a particular house she lived in , by remembering the trees, the hedges ,size of the lawns , the flowers and the fruits. She can go on for hours telling you about the guawas we had in our Allahabad house and the Litchis trees at Pantnagar. Despite shifting homes every 3-4 years , my parents never lost their love for ‘ farming’ . Both of them were totally urban in their background and yet loved gardening so much. In fact a lot of my gardening trivia came from my father’s extensive reading . e.g. he taught me names of different variety of roses and dahlias , the stories of famous gardens and gardeners and the tips to grow best plants.I use to take pride in knowing names of plants in three or four languages but like most of north India we used urdu/hindustani names of plants usually . I have already mentioned in this blog how we used to shift on transfers with our favorite plants in tow .

Within days of landing up in a new place , my father would start planting banana and papaya plants. Within a year or so the fruits were ready for the family and neighbours. His another favorite was vegetables like bottle gourd (lauki), bitter gourd and ridge gourd(taroi). If the space was available he will experiment with other fancy vegetables like beans, carrots and cauliflowers too , but these three were staple. God…how much we kids hated eating these on a regular basis . But the pride with which these were presented was unparalleled . Even comparing notes with neighbours on size of rose or vegetables was part of the gardening tradition of the family- sometimes to the embarrassment of us kids.This vegetable growing was improved further when we went for deputation to Pantanagar Agriculture University ( a very appropriate choice for him!!) Mom was no less. She would find a particular flowering shurb in somebody's house and would immediately ask for a branch and next day mali would be ordered to find it out in nurseries . Once she developed a fad for all colours of Canna and hibiscus(gulhad) and within days our backside garden was full of these two in most unusal colours. Even in my mom’s parental place at Agra, gardening is a passion, a topic of discussion on dining table and a skill much valued . My uncle is a proud gardener with a ‘ vision’. He will design his garden in one way and would get bored with it after a while and believe it or not , overnight the garden would be ‘ shifted’ to another design ….with hedges and shrubs and all -intact ! How he ensured that none of the plants die in this shifting is a mystery to me but he did it with such skill that it looked like magic .

Many of these plants travelled with us from one house to another and some we left flowering for the new occupants . No wonder,when my parents built their own house one of the pre-condition was existence of a lawn and place to grow vegetables. They did not mind settling down slightly far away from the city as this requirement was non negotiable. It was difficult not to learn something about gardens and plants in a family like mine. Though the most talented of us sisters is my elder sis, I too realized off late that I cannot live without some plants and flowers to look after . It was however, difficult for me to find a niche area to specialize in the family. Father was all for flowers and specially roses , mom experimented with what she called useful plants – tulsi, chillies, mint leaves, coriander, tomatoes and the like . My sis loved the decorative greens - crotons and ferns, African grass and money plants .Now thanks to her efforts our Lucknow house looks like all green - with creepers and climbers covering the front .

For some reason I went for the scents . With the help of our gardeners I carefully planted scents like harsingar(shefali), ratrani, kamini, malti, juhi, chameli and my most favorite bela . Those who are familiar with these can imagine how fragrant the house would be when all of these are on bloom(usually around rainy season). In the early winters and again in summers , collecting the delicate and fragrant flowers below the tree was my favorite morning activity

Anyways , I was struggling with my gardening genes for past few weeks. I shifted to a new house last January and left my ground floor house with garden full of winter blooms for the next occupant. Now this new house on the first floor , has limitations for gardening . Still, I managed to gather about 40 potted plants .

Pride of my last year's winter bloom. My biggest Dahlia in a pot

Now with the winter approaching, I almost ache for the familiar sights of pansies, dahlias, cinerarias, sweet peas and marigolds. I told myself to resist this urge this year . I mean I hardly get time these days to pick up my gardening trowel and Pruning shears to look after my plants. But the funny part about genes is- you can’t resist them for long. So here I was this afternoon , standing in a nursery missing my lunch , picking up plants and fertilizers for the winter flowers . Now that I am again ready with my gardening tools ,let’s see how my winter 2011 collection goes. After all, the best thing about gardening is the anticipation and hope it provides to a person.

Msafiri at Masaai Mara

2010-10-27T22:28:00.007+05:45

Can emptiness be pretty? Can lack of anything interesting be interesting ? I asked this question first time when I visited spiti valley in Himanchal. After reaching that height – in that unusually empty cold desert it’s the lack of everything-vegetation, birds, sounds, smells and even humans that results in beauty. A place where even a sigh is heard so clearly…where the blue-ness of sky is overwhelming and where eyes search for an object to rest on for a while . Such austere , stark and yet stunning beauty. So incomparable in its components. I got a similar feeling while travelling towards masaai mara. I am not so much of a wildlife enthusiastic but Masaai Mara has a snob value. It is one of those places where I would have liked to go before I die …A kind of place one reads about in Travel magazines and sees in adventure movies ….so I agreed to Fred’s proposal of visiting it in Kenya . Me and Fred were much relieved as this trip started after completion of our rather hectic official work at Uganda . We were in vacation mood. Even the terribly inefficient Nairobi airport could not dampen our spirits .
The moment we were out of Nairobi , it was a different world …..the great rift valley was open in front of us . It is vast in its expanse and suddenly reminds you about a chapter in your geography text book on fossils and the east African rift . If one word defines our journey from here it is –Bare . After a while even the road was over. It was just a pair of tyre marks in dusty way what we were following . But we were not alone .There were many cars like ours. For miles, there was nothing more than an occasional bush or tree here and there. O yes, before I forget there was a cathedral – built by prisoners of war from Italy in 1944. A small yet beautiful slice of Italy in Kenya . Later on I found that even America has many such cathedrals and chapels built by POW. I was so tired that even the heat or the bumps from the road could keep me awake. Next time I open my eyes , we were already passing through masaai villages. Masaai- is perhaps world’s most famous tribe , may be because of their distinct dress, height or may be location of their residence near the safari parks .While it was heartening to find some children in school dresses- it was very apparent that poverty and age old customs mark everyday life in this part of the world. They love their colourful dresses and have continued to wear their dresses but it would to assume that the influence of outer world has not reached them. Try clicking one picture and they shout “ dollar ! dollar!” with a strange smile . They too understand the cost of their exotic looks .

Its difficult not to get moved by Masaai mara. You see so many animals and birds that it thrills you . They are totally at home in this place. It is very visibly their home and you remain a visitor. They continue with their business uncaring of human eyes and camera shutters. Sometimes I got a feeling that some of them specially the lions even enjoy their celebrity status- they pose sometimes and sometimes they stubbornly hide while the cars full of eager tourist wait for their glimpse. I somehow did not like the way we humans track them . To my eyes it was almost breach of privacy ….but still we followed the drill . The great fun started next morning . We had debated about it for many days and finally decided to go for it. The expensive but very alluring hot air balloon safari – was something we were really looking forward. The day started early for this. By 5 we were already at our ‘launchpad” the balloon was getting inflated. We were accompanied by an elderly Japanese gentleman and a Kenyan family . The pilot and his girlfriend – a wildlife photographer completed the crew. In minutes our beautiful balloon was ready to fly. What an experience it was !!! Watching animals from up there. We saw so many of them. The reverse migration of wildebeests was still on….and we saw hundreds of them. The migrations of animals and birds are fascinating stuff. It makes you believe in the intricacies of plot written by the Great Scriptwriter for this world. They travel all over the globe- every year …and they rarely lose track. These wildebeests were of course going back to Serengeti , following the rain . It was an amazing sight , the way they follow in long lines of ‘immigration ‘ to Tanzania . The view from the balloon was superb. It was a majestic view of the animal kingdom and we saw zebras, cheetahs , elephants and giraffes. Then followed the wonderful breakfast right there in the middle of the forest. It was unbelievable and very exciting . The river mara was flowing behind us quietly .
Back home yesterday I happened to meet a senior in my office who is an Africa veteran and is working with UN for past many years .When I told him about my journey through Uganda and Kenya he gave a very knowing smile and said: “Wealth is not always in money – this is what you learn in that continent .Isn’t it ?” Well, I couldn’t agree more.

(find my other photos from Kenya here )

Uganda: First impressions

2010-10-12T00:31:00.007+05:45

Its difficult to miss India in Uganda. Rows of familiar tress – mango, jackfruit, banana and a very similar climate ensures that you feel at home. I realized this after almost a week in Kampala . There are infact many things about Kampala which one realizes only after some days. The simmering tensions beneath the peaceful city – the complex equations between people and the politics to list a few . But I was lucky that I could afford to remain unaware with these difficult truths of east Africa. Being a foreigner has its own advantages. You can appear ignorant on many things – but then, Indians are not considered foreigners in Uganda. Even common people know them. The Indian Community has a presence in the city . Indians and Chinese are vying for the market of this distant nation for past many decades. In a reception at India House( Indian High Commissioner’s beautifully located house) I got to meet many such rich and elite Ugandan-Indians – people who have made fortune over here. People who own tea estates here or those who are personal physicians to the presidents. Bankers and businessmen , social workers and socialites ….Indians do have a presence here and thankfully after Idi Amin , they too have changed. If you believe the tales, it appears that my countrymen tried to rule over here in the same inhuman way the British ruled over us. No wonder that the local people do not like most of them. They feel uncomfortable with the shrewdness and cunningness of Indians who came here for business….but still they associate India with Mahatma Gandhi. Its surprising , how even the younger generation knows about him and his life . Somewhere it humbles you- tells you that in the end only pure things survive and are appreciated .
Every day while going for work , I list things typical of Uganda. I found you can’t miss three features of Kampala- Bikers- ready to sail you through the terrible traffic jams, the mobile company ads- which are literally painting the town pink, yellow, blue and orange and of course, the bananas. Then you can't miss the huge marabou storks. Now, anyone who has travelled in Uganda, particularly in Kampala, knows about the marabous. They are simply EVERYWHERE. They are scavengers of note. They are huge. They are semi-ugly, semi-pathetic- looking in the same way as very old men do - virutally bald reddish heads. In Kampala they sit on virtually all the trees; on the corners of buildings, on lampposts, in empty lots. They have a menacing feel about them, with their necks hunched into their wings like the boney shoulders of a creepy old man , almost ready to pounce. Other than these , whatever the Lonely planet guide tells you about the country and the city is right . Yes, people are extremely polite and friendly and the city is largely clean and welcoming . But you cannot miss acute poverty while you are here- as much as you can’t help noticing the simplicity of the people . It touches you very deep somewhere. The country runs on the funds of “development Partners” – Its their money that shows even in the remote parts . A young Japanese girl- here to manage one such fund , accompanied me to Queen Elizabeth National Park. We wondered her courage to come and work here – living alone, far off from home and in such different environment. But there are many like her- everybody here knows the Donors. They call shots and dictate terms . It’s ironic that same people who once tortured them as colonizers and rulers, today come back to them as consultants and businessmen – the equations of exploitation remain unchanged despite modern nomenclature.
As for local people they have a sad acceptance of fate- of bad systems – of unequal fight with disease and poverty. It almost breaks my heart when a well travelled , well off young man at AG office here informs me about the death of his 32 year old sister. It’s almost without emotion. She died after an unsuccessful cesarean- he tells me flatly. It was suppose to be her third child . People die of malaria, of AIDS and of childbirth all the time. Death and disease have been associated for so long that they have become part of life . And yet these people found things to celebrate, to dance and sing about. In the historical Makerere University Campus , where I am staying, it is difficult not to find groups of young collegegoers singing, dancing playing football and tennis. A gold medal at Commonwealth games is as much a cause of celebration as is winning a inter university match . Students in this campus look very simple, keen and pure .I know there are difficulties in their young lives- of drugs, of sexual abuse or HIV but it does not become apparent in the first meeting. Most of them come across as just shy youngsters happy and happening – curious about world and things around them .

Life’s little eccentricities

2010-09-27T22:55:00.006+05:45

“A civilized society is one which tolerates eccentricity to the point of doubtful sanity.”

Going by the above definition, ours is an extremely civil society. We do not mind eccentricities – we discuss them, pamper them and at times joke about them…but we do not discard them at all.
While reading a PG Wodehouse book one evening, this thought came to my mind about eccentricities- the so called sprinklings of madness each one of us has. Have you noticed how almost all Wodehouse characters have these peculiar traits. There are some who steal pigs, others who impersonate a psychiatric and my favorite , who paint moustache on the statues (for they like them better that way) . DO they appear unreal to you in anyways? Not to me, for sure. Those of you who have seen Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain (Amélie) would remember how most people around this girl have little eccentricities of their own. There are those who collected torn pictures from the bins, accountants who think they are perpetually ill and hate the words” fruits of thy womb” , some others who sneak at neighbours with a video camera , failed writers who like watching bullfights on TV , rejected lovers who spy while cracking bubble wraps, a waitress who likes to crack bones and even a cat who likes to overhear children’s stories. If you look carefully you’d find that eccentricity is not, as dull people would have us believe, a form of madness. It is often a kind of innocent pride or may be just an habit. Genius and aristocrats are frequently regarded as eccentrics because they are entirely unafraid of and totally unaffected by opinions and vagaries of the crowd. But well, eccentricities are equally divided among all age groups, income groups and gender .
I too am particularly blessed with such people around me. So much so that at times I wonder whether it’s me who is responsible for attracting such characters around me . Oh but god bless them for being how they are…. Life would have been so dull if we had no such characters around. I keep telling them that one is only given a little spark of madness and one must not lose it. Generally I find that people have these happy obsessive preoccupations, and this gives them a significant meaning in life. And they are far healthier than most people because of these traits. It somehow makes them more human, more lovable and more acceptable in my eyes. I had a colleague who had only two interests- Dogs and Indian classical music. That his two interests have no common point never occurred to him. He sings either patriotic or sad songs in parties and loves to cook desserts. Another friend was a compulsive shopper for books- which he hardly ever read. My mom re-arranges fridge racks at least thrice a day and my secretary always smiles his sweetest when one is scolding him. Another colleague cannot help starting every sentence with “ No no- yes yes…ok ok “ and yet another ( a lady), regularly forgets her bag, notebook, even cosmetics in my room and then searches for it everywhere . My hubby knew someone in college who could not reply to a question without repeating the question first . Then there is favorite category of eccentrics - the professors and teachers. Aha...what a collection we had in them. Hubby had one who would bargain as a matter of principle on every small or big item - from rickshaw fare to vegetables and usually ended up paying more than the originally asked price . He bargains , next time again - as a matter of principle .
It’s interesting to watch people closely . A very senior officer of my service once told us how most people in bureaucracy are ophthalmologist- that is “I”- specialists and who love to talk about themselves to no end. It was a wonderful joke and all of us laughed - but then he continued for next 45 minutes explaining “ But then I am not like that. I like to….I do not like to…. And many more ‘I’s ” It was difficult not to find one of other such specimen while I was in Kolkata – the city which takes pride in its eccentricities . I had an accountant who was a practicing tantric, another who did PhD in Latin to read Paradise Lost in original. A boss who used to roll his own cigarettes to save money and another one who thought he was a reborn German soldier of WW-II . Best so far however , was my ex-boss , who loved to edit my drafts by replacing some words with their synonyms. When the fair copy will go to him...he will find yet another synonym. After about 6-7 such "corrections" in 90% cases my original word was back to its place and the boss had a smile of satisfaction pasted on his face which is usually found on gentlemen after a difficult task is achieved with perfection. In the Mussoorie academy we had an economics professor who always started his lecture with “ Suppose this gaaay ( guy) has 100 pepsi bottles…..” and one whose favorite adjective was "atrocious ". Then there is one interesting superior in hubby's office whose favorite phrases are " I do not like to beat my own trumpet" and " I am an artist by nature " . That these are sometimes followed by totally unflattering stories of his career never makes him see the contrast.

I am sure I too have some favorite words something which can be called eccentric . But then I have to rely on others’ for knowledge about that . Once a cousin told me that I am a bathing freak – as I used to take bath 4-5 times a day in summer months . Hubby adds that I am a control freak and mom says I freak out if I see too much stuff in the house and start throwing things in the wastebins. So the common adjective is ‘freak’ and if despite being a freak in one way or the other , if I am being accepted – I am sure ours is a civilized society .
Coming to the genetic aspect of eccentricities , I too with confidence can say like queen Elizabeth , about my family that like all the best families, we have our fair share of eccentricities, of impetuous and wayward youngsters , senile elders and of family disagreements. To begin with the eldest member of the family , my grand uncle , at the age of ninety two gives every one appointment to meet, including his maid and the postman. He even has fixed daily phone appointments with my aunts and uncles With me he holds a weekly appointment over phone …where conversation must end with a santa banta joke. Then I have aunts who watch teary soup operas, discuss them incessantly and then trash them as foolishness. It’s heartening to note that youngsters are also keeping the family flag high. My elder sis loves to visit markets and malls – where her favorite activity is to reject the stuff available on racks . Mind you, the lady is pretty fair in her dealings…she gives chance to all markets and all shops to reject their stuff regularly. Then I have a dear brother in law who hates curds but relishes Dahi bada made up of it . He cannot tolerate smell of mango and loves to drink mango drinks and then his elder brother - my better half, who insists that potatoes cut in round shape taste differently than those cut in finger chips . Sometimes I feel irritated by these habits of my family members but then honestly, life would be pretty dull if all of us have similar habits .
After all, if you spend too much time being like everybody else, you decrease your chances of coming up with something different.

Bursting in a song

2010-09-06T00:32:00.009+05:45

My husband says I am a film addict. More than that he concludes that I can and love to watch same movies again and again and well, almost always on TV . I have to admit that he is right ...almost. I love 'my kind of cinema' and I do not enjoy watching movies in cinema hall generally. Somehow, the comfort of my home is important for me to watch a movie . It always seems to amaze me how films(and sometimes television ) are my answer no matter what life might throw my way. There is always a movie to fit my mood and console my feelings. Its difficult to worry about problems and mess in the office when a TCM musical is going on. Similarly, I am unable to feel angry or frustrated for long from my real life if a funny / romantic movie is going on. So its typical for me to come home and collapse wondering what a busy day was all about and then almost like a magic the Tv screen starts telling me tales - some known (but I do not mind hearing them again like a greedy child) and some unknown, which make me dream endlessly about places and people I know not. But my favorites are musicals . They never fail to pep up my spirits .
Do you ever get the urge of bursting in a song while you are in middle of a conversation- a serious one ? Well, I do. When I was a schoolgirl, a favorite cousin very wisely told me that we like the bollywood songs so much because somewhere in our mind we picturise them with us in it . I thought it was a joke at that time. Now I believe in it . No wonder I think musicals are very real cinema. I feel disappointed that we , in India experimented with musicals (the Broadway kind) in very few projects . I can recall Amol Palekar’s Thoda sa Roomani Ho Jaye and some of Sai paranjape’s movies say Katha . But other than that though songs were part of most movies, they were not musicals in the Broadway style. I mean in Indian movies, characters do not burst in the songs while doing normal chores. Songs do not replace dialogues mostly ….they are carefully woven in the storyline. Occasions are created for them .The main function of musical numbers in Bollywood films remains to express emotion. Broadway musical numbers, on the other hand, primarily drive the plot. While Broadway musical numbers are integrated into the narrative, Bollywood musical numbers usually are not. Rather, they’re metaphors, removed from the plot, that show how a character feels, not what the character is actually doing.
But what I miss is movies like My fair Lady , Singing in the Rain ,more recent ones like Mamma Mia, Chicago, Moulin rouge, and Enchanted ………..and many many more . The 1950s and 1960s Hollywood musicals are my all time favorite. However it is heartening to find that the trend of making musicals has not stopped since then. Most of Disney's movies including animations are musicals. The recent High school Musical series was fabulous and I adore Glee on Star world .
India we did not experiment with this genre much.Some Devanand and Gurudutt movies came pretty close to be categorized with these but mostly mainstream cinema in India remained non Broadway musical that is with music- dance sequences only. Such a shame , if you ask me.
It seems perfectly normal to me that people at times may like to sing and dance while going through their normal daily life. I also feel at times the words of a song describe our feelings much more aptly than any length of prose. No wonder at times I find people humming a particular song in a particular mood. There are songs which remind us of some event or someone and there are songs which remind us of ourselves in a particular mood. We all have songs associated with college days , school days, birthdays , our friend circle and many other such milestones of life. But still most of us , even those who love songs and movies, would be shocked to find someone singing publicly . Almost how the guy in Enchanted was embarrassed when Princess Giselle burst into her song in the Central park, NY .
My friend Rani tries hard, not to start singing loud while in office or with her hubby . Her husband like many others feel that bursting in a song is unreal . I too resist my urge to sing --- mostly . But I do sing loud with the radio, when I am alone in the car and of course, I am an experienced bathroom singer. But even on other occasions it is difficult not to imagine a song in my mind. Try this, it is very de-stressing to imagine a song with you in its picturisation while you are in between a boring meeting /conference. Or still better, give lines to each of the persons sitting with you( of course in your mind). This game is so hilarious that at times I find myself smiling or giggling while others give me puzzled look. But take it from me that this is just a poor substitute of the joy you can feel rushing into you while singing out loud. Uncaring of your creaking voice, unaware of the frowns from others and ignoring the astonished look of people walking with you. Its most liberating feeling that dawn on you when you unbind yourself from what others will say. It is almost magical. So take my advice and next time you find Julie Andrews declaring hills to be alive with the sound of music, do not hesitate in joining her in her declaration. …and remember to do it aloud . Musicals , I repeat , are manifestations of how things should be - alive , happy and moving .

My University Town : A decade after

2010-09-02T00:05:00.002+05:45

I am not surprised why I never bothered to come back to Allahabad once I passed out from the University almost 15 years back. Even now, it is compulsion of official work that brought me here. I am sure readers of my blog know what a big sucker I am ,of old memories and nostalgia. But somehow, I was never fond of this sleepy conservative town. My association with the city ended after my graduation from the university. I have already confessed in one of my earlier posts my ignorance about a lot of things associated with the history of this city . Somehow , I was so disappointed by its tardiness , lethargy and typical regressive attitude that I failed to see the beauty …even when it was in front of my eyes. Its not that I never had good times here, it was just that I missed some aspects of the town, which I would have liked otherwise in any place . But today when I go back there , I have an insuppressible urge to visit my University. Somehow, I want to be sure of what I remember about the place. I finish off my official work and almost forced my friends from Univ days to come along . Somehow sometimes even memories need company to be talked and thus sound real . So we reached the science faculty ( former Muir Central College) and once again walked through the corridors of this impressive stone building . Department of mathematics—our department, the place where we spent many years talking , teasing and at times, ignoring one another . Its so amazing that not much has changed since then. The maintenance is as poor as ever. The stone building and our favorite Vijayanagaram hall stands as tall as ever . Even the students look much like those days. But three of us visiting the place, were changed. The big world outside this town changed us. We talked incessantly about our batchmates, mimicked our professors and joked about the famous oddballs of our times. Interestingly we found ourselves talking about topics we would have not talked when we were here. Crushes, heartbreaks , complexes, fears and much more. It was so weird when my friend Prasoon pointed out that he never noticed how tall I am . And immediately he added in very matter of fact voice that anyways, it was impossible for him to measure my height by standing next to me in those days . We laughed about how some of us were terribly scared and uncomfortable in interactions with other sex. We laughed out loud about the conservative times – times when our mixed group was scolded by a professor for sitting together on stairs in front of the department . It was considered very indecent . We wondered how from that kind of life most of us went and conquered the world without much problem. It was so heartening to find that from that small group almost everybody is so well settled in life and career today.I find it amazing that most of us connect somewhere so deeply despite our professional, locational and other differences. Probably unknown to us, the city and the university taught us something that stayed and become part of us. I am not talking about the mathematical equations and statistical models , of course.
After this , I moved on alone exploring the town I hardly remember . It was kind of empowering not to belong here.I had few hours of a lovely evening and I knew no one and cared for no one this time . I started from the rivers. After all the presence of these holy rivers and their confluence is one of the biggest claim to fame for this town from past many centuries. I climbed stairs for the new Naini bridge and looked around the beauty of the river . The fort built by emperor Akbar was visible from there . Except for occasional fishermen trying their luck the ghats were almost deserted. The rivers were full with monsoon supply and the setting sun provided excellent background.
On my way back I looked for the Gora Kabristan ( The British Graveyard) at kydganj . It was difficult to resist visiting this old cemetery . But with ASI in charge , the gates were locked and no one was around except the blue board declaring it a protected monument .I cursed ASI once again . But then when have I considerred closed gates a bar for y curiosity– specially if they are gates to a such an old cemetery . So while my driver looked incredulously , I jumped the gate . In a very touching gesture, protectively, he followed suit- nodding disapprovingly all through . The place is a must go for anyone tracing history of the place . This being an old cantonment town, the graves are usually of army officers and their families. Once again like the Park street cemetery of Kolkata , the age profile of the dead is generally below 30 . Mostly the tombstones were missing . I could read one , remembering Margaret, 23, a wife and mother who succumbed to disease in 1808. It is somewhat moving that these people died on a foreign land ...so young ...so vulnerable to heat and mosquitos . From there , I went to see All Saint Cathedral – my favorite stone church and found that locked too. To my driver’s relief I did not jump anymore gates. The church compound was green and untidy with the undergrowth of weeds and grass. But somehow despite all the mess, the building is a stunner . I looked the evening light on it mesmerized . I think I had more than enough share of replenishment for my memories of this town for one evening .
I know, I still do not want to live in this town…but at least now, I do not miss the beautiful British bunglows lining the civil lines , the old trees around the cathedral and most of all , my alma mater- the university .

(Find more pics of my visit here )

My Train Times

2010-09-01T16:59:00.001+05:45

Today ,I am travelling by train after quite some time . Off late I have switched on to road and air travel- mostly due to time compulsions . But I always believed that I am very much a train-person. I feel totally at home in trains . This time however, I found myself bit nervous while dealing with the crowd and chaos that prevailed on the platform. I was kind of relived when I was alone in my coupe and the train left station . The familiarity of sounds and sight returned soon afterwards. While reading a wonderful book by Joanne Harris I found my mind was going back remembering – my train times . The time spent during my train journeys . I am surprised how we always felt comfortable travelling in ordinary class . The questions of security and hygiene never bothered us much in those days. Striking conversation with strangers was never difficult. The alertness , the guarded behavior or the fear of getting cheated somehow was not this much. I was remembering the heated debates on politics, cricket and all other general subjects with the co-passengers. It seems everyone was interested in talking . Today of course I find almost everyone either playing with his/her mobile, laptop, mp3 player or sleeping . I cannot complaint because I too am doing the same. People are curt and businesslike in talking with co-passengers . In my university days , it was difficult for me to catch a train from Allahabad and not to find someone or the other from the university in it. Instantly the conversation will start about comparing different departments, professors, hostels etc . Looking back I think it was quite funny . It was somehow so important to prove our point . People would not mind sharing food or magazines, Even the railways staff would at times take part in these regular train discussions. I was never a card player …so my favorite way to spent time was to look out of window . My mind can still visualize those scenes. Later while travelling to Bengal, I realized how dry and barren those fields were in comparison to the green Bengal land. Thankfully this years monsoon was very good and even in north India the fields are full of crops – green and prosperous. A happy sign to witness from the train window.
Incidentally the train experience is also never uniform. Its different while you travel in the toy train from shimla and different when you travel in Konkan railways. I cannot help remembering the happy days of my two Bharat Darshans when we had spent a lot of time(usually nights) in the trains. It is great fun to travel in a group. The continuous singing , teasing, dumb charade and chatting is unforgettable. I still remember when from my university- we were taken on a study tour. What fun we had in train journey to and fro. Of course it must be a nuisance for the fellow passengers. A bunch of noisy college goers are hardly ideal travel companions and we really behaved like brats. So much so our HOD had to get up in the night and shout at us. The giggling and pillow chats continued despite that . Travelling is always interesting, but the flood of memories most of us face while travelling by trains is incomparable . Each one of us has his/her own unforgettable train times.

Passing on the baton- Fasting feasting and more

2010-08-31T11:14:00.001+05:45

I am sure for each generation there comes a time, when they wonder about what they are passing on to the next generation. More likely to be when they start getting old enough to miss their younger days and not too old to forget those. Its very human to try to hold on things and traits familiar to one’s life. Change is unsettling and unknown. Most of us try to renounce the new ways as inferior and lacking in values ...at least till it is too late . I read somewhere in Readers’ Digest that when rock music came , the previous generation declared it death of the music . Some people still argue that email and e-chatting ruined the romance of an actual face to face tête-à-tête and handwritten letters. In our country for last three generations parents thought that they have lost the battle for morals and culture with the coming of Gramophone, cinema and TV soaps respectively. But each generation survived and flourished- defined their own values, culture and moral fabric in its own ways. I often feel that a lot was lost/missed in between the transition . But you can’t miss what you don’t know…so life goes on. Before I philosophize more on the issue I must tell you the context . I went to my hometown- lucknow last week . Like all people who are away from the towns they grew up in, whenever i go, I try to spot familiar things, sights, smells and sounds. It was rather interesting timing to visit this city .It is the time when one can witness the ganga –jamuni culture at its best. I reached there on Rakshabandhan day and will be returning again on the day of Janmashtami. Of course, the holy month of Ramadan is going on and half the city was fasting and waiting for Eid . These days are special for the city and they have always been so .
Though most Indian cities are now losing their old character – at least the very visible sights of it, Lucknow always celebrated festivals in style. Even when the new stuff is paving way for the old…it was the mix of the two I found in my town this time. Well, we might have new Barista and Café coffee day now….we still have our Royal café. But for some of us the change is unsettling . You can’t blame us. Those of us who left the city years back , now go back there and try to look for familiar sounds, sights and smells to renew our days . Alas, things change…and so do cities. An old shopkeeper in Hazratganj told me that the Mehfils which marked the hours after Iftar are gone . In very characteristic lehza he bitterly told that no one bothers about the usual chit chat unless they are in a TVchat show and getting paid to talk

.Thanks to the politicians iftar parties had long lost their pure social and religious meaning . The weight conscious youngsters no longer enjoy the famous nahari kulchas and other traditional stuff used to break the roza. Even the famous shops of Nazeerabad, Akbari gate and rest of old lucknow have lost the glitter and activities of iftaar . After two three hours of iftaar these shops are closed like regular days . One will still find the stalls of Kashmiri chai or huge makeshift shops selling seviyans but the ramzani raunak of our good old days is definitely lost. Even when the new generation goes for these products, they prefer taking it from the outlets in the malls rather than the old town. People no longer prefer the leisure and the joy of conversation at a shop anymore. A witty repartee or a clever remark from the shop owner …a couplet or two to answer a question from the panwallah , no longer interests the people. The customers look for business like efficiency and that’s all.
The point I am trying to reach is that while I find ( and feel happy to find) malls, multiplexes and known food chains wherever I go , I do feel a pang in my heart for the era that is lost. Its not only about eateries . I wonder who will remember the floral rakhis on rakshabandhan few years from now. These rakhis made from real flowers and customized as per the insistence of the sisters buying them, were visible at every florist shop of lucknow till 3-4 years back. I try telling myself that these things hardly matter. If we looked for those rakhis in our days the new generation has fancy gadgets and chocolates to find on this day .
But the sense of missing a part of my familiar world does not go easily . Everytime we have a family gathering my aunts and sisters end up talking about old family recipes and efforts made to make those perfect pickles, papad and other mouthwatering dishes meant for special occasions. I always loved the festival of janmashtami and the fast which comes with it . Being the foodie I am , the reason was the special dishes made up of dryfruits, coconut and other stuff. The vrat food which was “allowed” in a fast. The tradition is almost lost in my family. Even I do not care to make these delicacies in my home . The food we eat is mostly the same throughout the year . The joy of eating khichuri on a particular day and roasted green gram on other has given place to easier options. Of course, we have adopted many more dishes in our menu but the tradition of making a particular dish for a particular festival/day is not there anymore. May be the next generation will not miss these traditions- we have afterall not passed it on to them . For kids in my colony these “ minor” festivals are just school holidays and they feel happy about it by watching their favorite shows or playing computer games . It is in vain to feel sorry about old things which are going out of fashion. It is somewhat inevitable. Perhaps it is more important to hold on tightly with our values . I just hope that we are missing on just the most visible parts of legacy and not the most important ones. I mean as long as families enjoy happy times together , it hardly makes a difference whether it is in a family gathering eating traditional kheer or enjoying a TV show eating pizza.

Failure is easy to live with ..isn’t it ?

2010-08-21T14:30:00.002+05:45

I am very clumsy when it comes to console anyone grieving for a loss, a failure or a disappointment. Last night I did some introspection on it . Actually the Civil services Prelims results are out and a very dear bunch of youngsters who are very close to me and hubby, failed to make it this time. Social niceties expect me to talk to them and say- It’s alright. But then, saying “it’s alright “goes against my nature. I was unable to say these two words to myself when I failed earlier. Even now I firmly believe that any failure, any disappointment is not alright. Well, I am a big sucker of the self motivation books- ‘Think like a winner!’ Success is never ending!’ ‘Tough times never last ‘….and many more. I regularly read and distribute the fable like stories say- The Little prince, The Alchemist etc. But God knows, I am totally unforgiving when it comes to failure. Mine or of people around me. My best friend some time back joked that phoenix must be my favorite bird. If one lesson I have learnt from failure is that it just shows –the best was not good enough. For me every exam, every challenge and every assignment is like a riddle. There is at least one solution available….and in most cases there is one best solution too. All I need to do is to find this one. But failure is never alright ….I do not actually agree with the fatalist philosophy of: May be god has a better plan. I know that whatever I can desire, I can make it happen to me and around me. It’s just a question of mental strength….a question of believing that you deserve better.
But what to do with the socially required consolation? I know I mutter some words half heartedly—but I do not believe in them. I also totally despise self pitying people – people who feel devastated just after a failure or two. Have you not met people who keep dwelling on their failures- sometimes for rest of their lives? Sometimes blaming the circumstances or others for it …or even worse blaming themselves and feeling terribly sorry. People who carefully nurture their fears and phobias and ensure they do not get the most desirable deal out of life in this process. Even the best and most sincere people around me rely on fears and tears while dealing with failures. I wonder why they do not feel ANGRY the way I do when I fail. Guess, it is easy to feel sorry about oneself. But the sad part is this feeling sorry phase does not end till it convinces you that may it was ‘ alright ‘ to fail….may be you never deserved what you aspired for. I respect people who learn to see silver lining in the darkest cloud too but I admire those who fight till they leave all dark clouds behind them.
In my opinion, the only way one can turn failures into successes is by not accepting failures. Dwelling them just to learn where the riddle’s best solution was missed and going ahead once again with much stronger resolve to succeed. Most people fail to do that. Failure is never okay-because it stops you from being where you wanted to be. …at least for some time. That time may be precious…it may never come again. That you might get to live life full of beautiful moments /great experiences meanwhile, is another story . I know many people who because of some failed dream accidently found their true vocation, true partner and true destination. But that is not the point. While internet is full of motivational stuff telling you - how to turn failure into success and while many are making a career out of this –my policy is simple. I can do anything I put my mind to. I can do it; I can do it, IF I put my mind to it.” Saying this to yourself and BELIEVING it does not come naturally to most people. And that perhaps ensures that the winner stands alone at the top!

So even at a risk of sounding cruel and competitive I'd say that failure is very easy to live with , fears become old pals if you allow them to accompany you all the time - its the succcess which is difficult to hold and get habituated to .

Musings on Museums in India

2010-06-14T16:27:00.009+05:45

When I was a child , my parents always made us visit museums – small and big museums. Whereever we went, visit to the local museums and site museums was must. They took special care to make us read what was written on the boards there and try to understand it better by reading more books on that. Honestly speaking, at that time I hardly understood what I was seeing let alone its importance . In school , I read about the efforts of early 20^th Century archeologists to dig up the ancient sites about India . Again, at that time it was difficult for me to understand how important these excavations were. Then one fine day while sorting out old dust laden and moth eaten books in my grandfather’s room at his Lucknow house I came across his school text books of history. I realized that there was something weird . I mean the chapters about Harrappan (Indus Valley ) civilizations were not there. Neither was any mention of King Harsha or Budhha’s life in India . A lot of history was different from what we read as history. My granddad explained to me about how in his school days knowledge about the Indian civilization was limited. Much less had any documentary evidence beyond folk tales and some unauthenticated articles about its ancientness. It took a bunch of zealous Indologists to dig up India’s past and tell Indians about their history. Much later, during my probationary days I visited most of the well known museums across our country. I also read extensively about famous world museums like the Louvre while auditing some of the oldest museums in Kolkata . I was heartbroken to see how less we value the treasures stored in these museums .

Yesterday , with my 12 year old nephew I visited two museums. First was the Nehru memorial, Teen murti bhawan museum and the second was Shankar’s international Doll’s Museum. Both places need immediate repair, renovation and upgradation. Since then I am thinking about the condition of museums I have seen. The earliest necessity to house objects of antiquarian remains dates back to late 1796 AD when the Asiatic Society of Bengal felt the need to house the enormous collection of archaeological, ethnological, geological, zoological pursuits. However, the first museum by them was started in 1814. The nucleus of this Asiatic Society Museum later provided to the Indian Museum, Calcutta. I had one of my first assignment to audit security and preservation of artefacts in these three of the most important Indian museums at Kolkata. This is what we found . It was a sad picture of how ignorant and uncaring we could be towards our heritage. And its not about only museums of historical importance - generally (mis) managed by ASI. The same holds true for science museums, Art museums, even about museums related to Railways, dolls and other such articles. These days people hardly visit museums. These days government hardly takes care of museums. Very few scholars are passionate about the preservation of our national heritage and people generally managing these institutions are sadly, apathetic and disinterested. How else you can explain the pathetic condition of Red fort ….all water bodies dry, all buildings bearing a sad look and ugly ropes barring visitors to go near. People are still visiting these places…but I wonder what will they learn. Few years back in Qutub Complex in Delhi, while visiting with an international group, we found a ASI approved guide telling all kinds of fictional stories about the place. He even mentioned authority of his stories as a Rupee 10 worth book printed in Delhi. Not only this, in Fatehpur Sikri at Agra, we had a guide telling us about the most important event related to the place- shooting of movie Pardes, for which Shahrukh khan came to the place. I am sure emperor Akbar turned in his grave every time this was mentioned. Its not only history about which we are insensitive . We have a similar disinterest for art and science too. Tagore’s Shantiniketan( now Vishwa Bharti University) has statues and murals made by world famous artists lying in open subjected to elements of nature …some in state of crumbling. Similar is the fate of Tagore’s original paintings lying in the stores of the Kala Bhawan for years. National Library at Kolkata also gave the horrifying picture of neglect- people working there do not love the books they collect. Much like the curators of the museums. I wonder what is the condition of state museums at Allahabad, Mathura and Sarnath….which I visited as a child. I know things are pretty shabby at Lucknow, Agra and in Shimla. Many of the old sites and site museums are in the hands of trusts who do not care to look after them.

Its not that there are no efforts to improve the condition of these museums- for example the Lucknow Residency Museum is pretty good so are some of the museums in Rajasthan . I also met a very impressive curator at Coochbehar sometime back- who was very passionate about restoration and preservation of Coochbehar Palace museum. But such efforts would not do much till we find common people interested in history and curious about the things stored in these museum. I found that most young parents feel that books and CD ROMs can give the knowledge required for their kids and they do not need to see the places and things . They rarely take kids to museums- even schools these days organize visits to fun parks and picnic spots rather than museums . No wonder kids neither find the dusty manuscripts and statues appealing nor understand their value . Surprising in Delhi where we have perhaps the biggest numebr of museums , we also have the most apparent dislike to visit the museums. People do not visit NGMA, National Museum or Museum of Natural History unless they have any specific reason to do so. Very few know about the memorial museums and their condition- while some of the prime properties of Central Delhi have been taken to house these . Most Delhites would rather go to a mall than to the beautiful National Crafts museum . Very few would know about the National philatelic museum or Rail Museum .

The more I see the world ,the more ashamed I feel about our apathy for our museums and our heritage stored in these museums. In Shanghai while visiting the Shanghai city gallery at pearl tower I wondered why we do not have such gallery for any of our old cities. The only similar gallery I can think of is Calcutta Gallery at Victoria Memorial hall…which is on a much smaller scale and well, needs serious up gradation . I keep on hearing about upgradation of museums like Shankar’s Doll Museum or Rail Museum too. But the efforts do not seem very apparent. Our apathy for showcasing our heritage was also visible at Shanghai Expo where the Indian pavilion has old cutouts and pictures only to showcase our culture. We do not bother to make multimedia films like China. People tell me that almost all old cities in India have material comparable to full countries of western world…but they go far far ahead from us in showcasing and preserving their heritage. London and Paris for example, remained world class cosmopolitan cities but always gave due importance to their heritage. I wonder why we , Indians , can not be like that ?

The Big Fat Indian Wedding and me!!

2010-06-02T15:27:00.004+05:45

There is something about the big fat Indian wedding that is intimidating . Or may be there is something wrong with me? I mean everybody seems to be in love with those…all except me. Our Bollywood has a separate genre of movies dealing with marriages( most of them block busters). Most TV soap operas these days deal with the ritualistic marriages and well, audiences adore these.Not only these , even lifestyle shows talk incessantly about wedding jewellery, dresses, trends and venues . Even on a family level you find everybody so excited talking about someone’s wedding- even for persons they hardly know. As a group we Indians love the pomp and show at our weddings. We love arranging them, talking about them and seem to enjoy everything associated with it. Here I again take a turn and confess being a very un-Indian person . I hate ritualistic marriages and avoid attending them like plague . I ensured that I missed all my cousins weddings and do not even care to attend most parties I am invited to for my colleagues weddings. I remember even as a child I always found the wedding processions and the functions very fussy and if I may say, repulsive. Coming from a family where non-ritualistic marriage (usually civil marriage) was the norm, this attitude may have something to do with my upbringing. But the disturbing part is that my annoyance and dislike for these functions is very visible on my face . Despite my best efforts I cannot even appear to look interested in looking at somebody’s wedding album or admiring the pretty bride. My family members and friends fail to understand my feelings on the subject . Like when I told the female colleagues this morning that I absolutely hate wearing jewellery , they were aghast . For them this is THE topic for discussion given I am going to attend my Brother in law’s wedding . They also fail to see my point when I tell them that I am bit worried about wearing the fancy silk sarees in this weather . For them, weather takes two hoots when it comes to attend a wedding….even backless/ sleeveless dresses go for a wedding in freezing cold months and why not a kanjivaram silk for June wedding at hot and humid Kolkata .

My point is very simple, if the wedding is all about fun and happiness why can’t we cut out all the fuss. My guess is that most people enjoy the fuss much more than the wedding. On some rare occasions when I am forced to attend a wedding party, my hubby expects me to fill him with all details – and here I am -totally blank . I do not remember who all were there , what they were wearing, what was the menu and who looked good or bad! My only concern on such occasions is to somehow be in corner or in a group where people are generally busy amongst themselves , show my face to the host and find the quickest way to exit. My friends tell me I am worse than unsocial- I am almost ‘anti-social’…hubby adds that I have social conditioning problems but I think I just do not like the big fat Indian weddings . The whole tamasha looks so unnecessary to me. You go through rituals without understanding their meaning, you try to please those who actually do not matter, you dress up in most fancy and expensive dresses which would be hardly wearable hereafter . Why can’t people be themselves while getting married? Why one has to eat unhealthy, dress up uncomfortably and meet hordes of uninteresting people ?

I am painfully aware that I am in miniscule minority with this kind of opinion. Most youngsters getting married blame it on their parents’ wishes but still go for all the usual pomp and show . Funny part is that in cross cultural wedding instead of simplifying , people nowadays go for two sets of wedding ceremonies which compete with each other in grandeur .

In the last wedding I had to attend I made a mental list of various kinds of people associated with Indian Wedding Inc . First is of course the bride and the groom, who for day surrender themselves to the will of others and just do whatever they are asked to do. Very few of them seem to enjoy the wedding ceremony…most are too tired with a plastic smile pasted on their faces that they realize the happenings of the day only afterwards through marriage video. Then there are relatives who for one day become important and can boost their place in the happenings . As in India we follow a very complex hierarchy of relatives, there is always a lot of talk about who gifted what? Who did what ? Who was such a pain….and who was so generous with help. I find all these talks very very sick. Third and usually a sizable group is of friends colleagues and acquaintances of the bride and groom. These people usually come only to hang out in the group and eat. I am most surprised by this group. They are always excited to receive invitations. Girls start discussing about dresses and boys about girls . They feel that it is their solemn duty to attend the wedding and enjoy it. And well they do enjoy it. A sub section of this group is of foodies who are interested only in the feast part of the wedding. They discuss and savour each and every dish and then compare notes with one another. The interesting part is that the two people getting married and in whose name everybody is eating the feast are suppose to fasting on the day (in most parts of India ) .

Apart from these, in each wedding you’ll also find some indispensable advisors. Some old aunt or some seen-it-all uncle who would be supervising the preparations as per ‘norms’ . It is good fun watching these advisors who enjoy every bit of their sudden importance and attention as consultants on of what should be done and how and in what sequence. There are groups of women comparing each other’s jewelery and sarees and men discussing who spent how much in their sons/daughters weddings .

Are you wondering why am I writing all these when attending marriage is an important is considered the most important aspect of Indian social calendar ? Well, it is June and the mercury is touching 45 , I am all set to attend my BIL’s wedding at Kolkata and am damn scared about it. I am scared not about not liking it ( which is almost certain), I am more worried about showing my dislike on my face. Wish I had known how to keep appearances on such occasions . Wish I could play “hamari bahurani” role with perfection on days like this.

PS: (14.06.10) Well, it finally is passed..the wedding I mean. The bride and the groom looked tired but happy and I am relived that I passed the ordeal. (The third picture is from this wedding.)

Crème de la crème?

2010-04-21T15:19:00.006+05:45

We, bureaucrats love to talk about ourselves, typically our work. That is why in this blog I try not to talk about my profession …generally. I even started another blog titled – Being Officially incorrect to pen my thoughts related to my profession. But soon I realized I don’t want to talk about it so much to carry on a blog for it . The blog therefore, become non functional. Today I am making an exception to the rule and going to write about Civil Services . The occasion is that today is 5^th Civil Services Day – and I as a representative of my service was made to attend the official function at Vigyan Bhawan . I hated every bit of it- even the food.

I have noticed that despite all the tall talk very few people join civil services in India for noble / selfless reasons. And well, why should they? Getting into a job- a career service that too, is a race. Like any other profession youngsters want to join this one for very selfish reasons of power, money, status and like. There are many other reasons as well- some join it for certainty to get good dowry others because they have parents, uncles and aunts in this profession. There was a time and not very long back when in the Mussoorie academy speakers will again and again remind the young officer trainees that they are crème de la crème – but no more. The best and the brightest – at least the good guys and gals have stopped writing civil services – mostly. The new breed ( with some honorable exceptions ) is of ambitious, clever and ready to be corrupted youngsters who are very clear what they are looking for in public service. Best part is they start young. First there are races within the services- IAS the Brahmins and few other elite services make the monarchy. Rest everyone tries to forget for next 30 odd years that they too wrote and cleared the same exam. There is no equality in job profiles, perks, promotions and opportunities once you are out of the training academy’s common foundation course. Then there are very parochial notions about competency. To top it all the more time they spent more aloof they become from the reality…and talk more and more in terms of rules , orders and stuff like that .

Civil Servants mostly start suffering from some odd notions of superiority as soon as they enter . Mostly they think their job is too important and complicated and they are heaven born to be assigned this work. There are many schools of thoughts about what is officer like and what isn’t. Hierarchy is to be maintained. And yes, Peter Principle applies. Oh yes, people do rise in their level of incompetency. Very soon people stop talking and thinking straight. They talk in some vague manner in things which are otherwise very simple ….and feel important that way. Another remarkable feature is that bureaucrats always understand and appreciate what others of their flock are saying- specially if they are senior to them. Well, as they say: Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot qui l'admire.(A fool can always find an even bigger fool to admire him.)

After spending a decade in this group I have no hesitation in accepting that if even half of this group were honest and conscientious – our country would be a much better place . The group characteristic is however of very insecure and incompetent people who somehow turned lucky in one entrance exam. Many tried quitting too- at least thought of it, but continued as the stakes were high. Few of these show sparks of brilliance in many fields including their assigned work, but the crab mentality ensure the group characteristics intact. In all after few years most turn into very ordinary individuals with some status and means but (mostly) no strength of character or beliefs . Usually a very uninspiring and dull crowd with average intelligence to understand the problems but no will to solve them .

Sitting at Vigyan Bhawan , I look around the mixed profile of people around me, in the first sight they are impressive – gentlemen in suits and ladies in sarees , but talk to them, work with them and they turn into mere mortals- with no sense of public service , very little honesty and yes, self perpetuating to the core . The smart ones make best self marketers and move from one green pasture to another , the dull ones just draw their salaries and sit quite . But then there is another side of the coin as well, most of these may not be heroes and martyrs but some choose to take the road not taken . Everybody knows who they are. They run into problems some times, get awards on some others- but they make good use of their position to highlight issues close to their heart. Many excel in fields other than public service- turn into writers and artists and turn a blind eye to the ugliness of their chose profession.

Then I thought about myself vis a vis this group. I do not relate to them. I feel out of place in most gatherings. I like my work(mostly) but feel frustrated on many occasions too . I bend many rules, break few and go by few others and so far faced no big problem . I asked myself why do I like to continue here? For many long moments there was a silence. Then I heard a faint voice – because it showed me the world around me like never before. Because my profession gave me access to places and information hidden from most others. Because on some occasions when I do something good for people who came to me for work matters- I felt great. And well- end of the month, I get a salary cheque for which I am grateful. The money is not much, but its not too bad either. For someone like me who has no false notions of importance, I feel grateful to be in a job where I can earn my living without compromising my views and actions. Today , I am left with no hopes that I will be next superhero and will change the world but I feel good to bring about small but meaningful changes in my worksphere around me.

I guess at the end of the day, though it did not turn out to be a utopia , it was not a bad bargain individually. As a group , bureaucracy disappointed me – like it did to many others but then, looking around I do not see any other profession who would have come out clean on my criteria. But yes, in the end, that is what it remains- just another career option. My colleagues tell me not to judge others so harshly- I mean they never intended to serve the country in the first place. So those of you who cannot make any sense out of my confused post, let me tell you--I am just being a good bureaucrat and honestly, we bureaucrats are the only people in the world who can say nothing and mean it .

Celebrating Half the Earth and Sky

2010-03-09T16:13:00.013+05:45

तेरे माथे पे ये आँचल बहुत ही खूब है लेकिन

तू इस आँचल से एक परचम बना लेती तो अच्छा था

I am a total non-believer when it comes to celebrating days- the sole exception is perhaps my birthday . For rest of the things be it cancer awareness or human rights, I do not think we should have one commemorative days . I feel the same way about International Women’s Day . 8^th March is difficult to forget , especially if you live in a metro . Suddenly from newspapers to TV channels and from Government functions to office associations get into a ‘women friendly’ mode . They plan special editions, special movie shows, special awards and a lot of other gimmicks . Most of us fall prey to these- we feel this one is “our” day . Sadly the reality hits bad for rest of the 364 days . So, like the tale of the two cities, this post is also about two extremes – for it was indeed both the best of times, and the worst of times on 8^th March 2010 for me - most hilarious and most tragic . Sometime during the afternoon when I was firefighting the numerous files and issues pending with me , I got a call from my headquarters office. I was told that a Get Together of lady officers has been organized in the evening. Though terribly hassled with my work, I still found myself totally amused at the thought of a group of civil servants sipping tea and discussing women- related issues while admiring each other’s sarees . Of course , I politely refused to attend. On the other side of the city , few days back my maid’s 17 year old daughter had delivered her first baby . The young mother and her days old baby found the taste of big bad world – ironically on the International Women’s Day when the man of the house threatened to throw them both on streets. How it started was unimportant but a very familiar drama followed with men of both sides raising voices, women of both sides crying and the like . The drama was of course sprinkled with the usual social flavor of taboos – “a girl needs a husband- however bad he may be” “ I am girl’s father so how can I say anything” “ She is my wife, I will do whatever I want” and of course, a very convenient “ This is their family matter , how can we interfere” . The 17 year old illiterate mother and her baby might not be aware about the welfare measures being started for their likes and celebrations going around the world for their empowerment . A small incident summed up all that is wrong with the discussions on women issues – compulsion of marriage ,early marriage , early motherhood, no say on decision of life , domestic violence and no access to legal assistance .

I am unable to brush aside the contrast between two sets of women. One –educated civil servants in their beautiful sarees meeting for a get together and to discuss women issues to mark the occasion and the other of my maid and her daughter who have their destiny chalked out for them by the exploitative conventions of previous century . Well, to be fair, I can see the society changing in front of my eyes and yes, we have , on a very broad terms ,come a long way from the days of our grandmother’s generation – but still there are layers beneath the layers. Empowerment unfortunately does not come from outer appearance. It is not even a subset of economic independence. The ability to think and decide for themselves , to assert for their views and to have control over their lives is still not available to most women.

While thinking on this issue , I thought of how my family raised and liberated its daughters . It started with my great grand mother . She was a matriarch in the true sense of the word. A very forceful person in her opinions, she was more comfortable discussing politics with her four sons than making food for them. It was her philosophy that guided the grooming of women in our family for three generations after her .She used to write in journals on issues of social reforms and religious practices. A staunch believer in non ritualistic religion she insisted that her marriage would be conducted without a priest –in the Arya samaj way, and the bride herself conducted the ceremony. Even later in life on many issues she had contrasting views with her husband and aired them publicly with absolute confidence. Out of her four daughters in laws , she insisted that all of them should not only be educated but should be able to run their families independently. She insisted on freedom of opinion and freedom to earn livelihood for her granddaughters as well. One of her daughter in law (my grand aunt) though married in a Arya samaj family , remained a true communist till her death . Her mom in law ensured that freedom for her . My grandmother comparatively was a more typical example of her generation- demure, introvert and obedient. However, when it came to show real guts – she too set an example. When my grandfather was in jail (during freedom movement) she took up a job of a teacher and insisted that she will earn for the living of her kids . It was an unwritten rule in the next generation for my aunts that they should be economically independent- before they marry. They were encouraged to take up careers , wear the way they want and air their views(even when wrong) with full confidence .They were also given absolute freedom to select their partners in life. As a result we ended up becoming a true National integration family – with uncles and aunts from all parts of the country . The rules were made even better for our generation. Marriage was optional…career was not. One can argue that my great grandma’s philosophy of liberation through economic independence was a faulty one but I have seen the results first hand. All of my aunts, cousins and sisters are fiercely independent people. Many of them look very ordinary, lived very ordinary…but go a wee bit deeper and you find astonishing clarity in views , confidence to take charge of their lives and even those of others around them. They bore trials of life much better than ordinary women. Even wrong decisions, bad relationships, widowhood or old age could not break their basic courage – “ I can handle anything” remained the family motto. I look around my life these days and find innumerable number of women who were given conditional freedoms, I find popular media strengthening the stereotypes and even the most intelligent educated urban women succumbing to this slavery of mind . Even among professionals I find women getting dictated by families and friends about how to live, how to react and how to behave. For channels who think that only the romantic comedies are the “chick flicks” or the companies who feel anything pink is for the fairer sex I can just pity. For I am sure there are many more simple women like the women of my family who are much more evolved than the gimmicks of kitty party culture. Well, we do not need one special day for us, after all – all 365 days are our days .

Disturbing devil

2010-02-03T18:06:00.006+05:45

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

2010-02-02T17:35:00.006+05:45

(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

2010-01-27T14:41:00.004+05:45

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

2009-11-25T16:41:00.006+05:45

“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

2009-11-12T11:23:00.007+05:45

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 !

2009-09-16T12:59:00.002+05:45

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 ...

2009-08-13T01:01:00.004+05:45

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 .

Weber’s monster and me

2009-08-01T18:25:00.007+05:45

Musings on Why I am a Civil Servant ?

I first heard of Max Weber’s views of Bureaucracy as a student of Public Administration in my University days. The good thing about Weber’s analysis is that while recognizing the importance of bureaucracy as collective organizational structure, procedures, protocols and set of regulations in place to manage activity in large organizations and government, he also indicated dysfuntionalities that it may tend to get over a period of time. As we all know now the dysfuntionalities of bureaucracy are so apparent that the word itself has taken a negative connotation and represents delays, shirking of responsibilities and red tape for a common man. Few years after my first introduction to Weber’s analysis, I become a part of bureaucracy. Soon afterwards, a friend gifted me a book titled” Why I am Not a Civil Servant ?” . The book written by an ex-civil servant (IAS-MP Cadre) who had resigned from service as he considered the entire system so unbearable for himself, made me very angry. Not that his analysis was incorrect…but in my view , his decision was. I told very arrogantly to my friend that these are all the more reasons why good and gutsy people should join the civil services. After all if a system is malfunctioning, it need some rectification- and in this case it can only be from inside . I also remember telling him that the title of the book is very right as it is narrating the very things for which I am not here , there are higher things to aspire for . “ One taste of glory …one mouthful of sky!!” Nine years from those early days of being a bureaucrat- I am writing this blog , though still adamant on my views, but somewhat excepting the power of this giant mechanism operated by pygmies.. The particular incident is not important, neither are the players, for me the important factor in the entire experience was the way a wrong was done and how everyone involved found a right reason to do the wrong. A very senior colleague in some other context has remarked jokingly that if you are good you will be entrusted with more work, but if you are Really good, you’d find a way to come out of the responsibility. As it turned out, I was just good and not –Really good. So stuck with this particular work, I did it with full honesty and delivered what I was asked to do. Then the work was sent for a series of approvals by well, some of those who probably have forgotten how much effort such a product takes from the nameless, faceless subordinates, who are at the cutting edge of our system. Unaware of details and unwilling to take responsibility , an easy decision of diluting the entire exercise was taken. I may be accused of not understanding the constraints at that level or may be of my inability to see the so called macro picture but the example set was typical bureaucratic. What you cannot understand-ignore.

We fought and argued but to no avail. They, with years of experience , after all, have long perfected the art of seeing only what they wanted to see, which is an essential accomplishment if you want to be world’s master and not it’s victim( a la Salman Rushdie ) . It was painful when it was going through but on the hindsight one learns to accept that if sometimes you are the pigeon on others you must be the statue too.

But all are not alike. So sympathizing with my anguish at the whole affair , my former boss commented that though with time one start to accept things that cannot be changed overnight things do change ultimately. Labour and struggle do turn stones even though in the short run they may seem futile. They leave an lasting impression if nothing else and if right, this only grows stronger and stronger, and in doing so ultimately gathers enough force to effect a change in our mindset. I have realised that we only need to change our mindset to effect any change anywhere. Opinions will differ, especially in a diverse society like ours and the difference is healthy and natural. In fact when opinions start converging, we should start getting concerned.

Though soothing , these words left me thinking, if after few years I will also turn into an apathetic, cynical babu much like the ones I talk about so negatively now. Whether the Weber’s monster is finally going to kill the purpose for which it was made . . I hope and pray – that I will not. I am very sure at the moment that given another chance , I will again do the way I did …including my reactions and open admission of disappointment of decision taken by high and mighty. I do take solace in the words of Alexander Pope “ ….act well your part and there all the honour lies!” but it was indeed a bitter pill to digest .

Discouraging though it was, the whole affair was also hilarious in its own way. It was amusing how the guiding principle of bureaucracy in general remain as follows:

1. When in charge, ponder.

2. When in trouble, delegate.

3. When in doubt, mumble.

Once again, It confirmed my assertion that the system need people to raise questions and act like decision makers they once thought they will be. It is however, equally important to come out a winner in each such tussle with the indecisive self perpetuating pygmies. If not a winner , I at least hope that on every such occasion I come out what in Mahabharat Bhishma called “ Hridayen Aparajit”- undefeated in heart .

PS: I am sorry to bore my readers with this gloomy post as I usually talk about beauty and good things about life. But I need to come out of this bad mood by thinking philosophically on the issue and sometimes I have to to write in order to think .