Days of Innocence ....

Opening my office dak pad on a Monday morning is hardly an enjoyable exercise. While mindlessly marking the letters to various sections this morning, I suddenly found an envelop bearing the name of NAAA- our academy in Shimla. I was asked to ‘pin down the elusive quality that distinguishes us from the rest’ by the Director General of the Academy . He had asked me to ‘distill this essence of ‘Life at Yarrows /Academy’. Aha, now that is something! I stopped reading rest of the dak and like a true general of CAG’s army I rose to the call of the service , picked up my pen and decided to start writing right ahead. The pen did not move for many minutes.

I was trying to think of days when office building did not remind me of the important meeting at 4 for which I have yet to write a brief or when ATNs, memos, IRs , and record productions were merely academic subjects and not hard core realities of life. I pushed aside all these dementors like realities by happy thoughts of our dreamlike existence in our beloved yarrows. I had to write my most favorite reminiscences, a Julie Andrew kinda list of my favorite things that fill my mind in times of need. The list got muddled up in my brain. There were room secrets, batch secrets and taboos …Just can’t tell everyone about those.Then there were unspeakable facts …I had to respect those. There were also things that may be seen as clichés, I would avoid those too …..and rest , by jove, they are so personal, would anyone get the ‘feel’ of it just by my poorly drafted words. (I sincerely regretted sleeping in those classes of drafting ‘complete, concise and correct reports’). How I wish I could borrow Dickens’ words. I would have then famously said about those days that “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness ,it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,…..we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.” The dementors came back to me despite the image of yarrows still wet in my eyes – may be the contrast was just too much.

It was just this morning only that I was thinking of Sisyphus. Am I going to spend my life like that? Even gods, for some reason decided that there is no dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labour. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing. Just nothing. This is the price that must be paid for the passions of this earth. Am I a Sisyphus coming back to the plains -- down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end .May be not….the dreadfully dull and meaningless daily existence may not be the stuff made of dreams but then it is not a torment—it is great fun also
.At least sometimes. On some moments it is worth living. It is worth bearing when those moments are not there … After all, a long walk, a refreshing bath, a cold breeze and lots of memories…. above all my imagination, my ability to enjoy all this –that is also a part of my being. How it can be a torment then .Perhaps these patches of indescribable pain – the feeling of spending time in vain , make me appreciate the moments when life is not so bad.

Oh, but it was definitely better in those days . Then I thought of Yarrows and the exact words came from Mary Hopkins
Once upon a time there was a tavern
Where we used to raise a glass or two
Remember how we laughed away the hours
And dreamed of all the great things we would do
Those were the days my friend

We thought they'd never end
We'd sing and dance forever and a day
We'd live the life we choose
We'd fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way.
Those were the days, oh yes those were the days !

Then the busy years went rushing by us
We lost our starry notions on the way
If by chance I'd see you in the tavern
We'd smile at one another and we'd say
Those were the days, oh yes those were the days

Just tonight I stood before the tavern
Nothing seemed the way it used to be
In the glass I saw a strange reflection
Was that lonely woman really me………………
Oh my friend we're older but no wiser
For in our hearts the dreams are still the same
Those were the days, oh yes, those were the days

PS: No this is not what I will write in my Julie Andrews like list to DG (NAAA). I will find words to tell the tale – my tale, for that .

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy....

Hey was it not very hot just yesterday? Were we not fanning ourselves desperately while sipping iced tea only the other day ? And today morning suddenly I sighted the first shawls and sweaters on co-commuters. All at once, it is not comfortable to get up from bed in the mornings or to go swimming in the pool . It seems winter has approached and its time to sip ginger tea at every possible opportunity. Time to take out the woollen sweaters from the closet. Time for huddling together. For warmth. For comfort. Visible breath, which amused me endlessly as a child . Even the topics of conversation have changed. Winter time is as much a festival time as it is a time for shopping. You want to be out in the sun for every big or small task. Seasonal sweets of jaggary and til are appearing on the confectionery shops . I am again feeling envious of people enjoying the sunshine while I concentrate on the files and figures of Income Tax in this close office room .Evenings are foggy and sunshine is pleasant . I think of Eliza of My fair Lady asking for only "a room somewhere,far away from the cold night air,with one enormous chair."to brave the winter . But then she also dreams of "Lots of chocolate for me to eat.Lots of coal makin' lots of 'eat.Warm face, warm 'ands, warm feet. so loverly sittin' absobloominlutely still.I would never budge 'till spring Crept over the windowsill." Yeah that is really something to ask for the winters !

Its strange that my visualisation of winter is different for different places . When I think of winter in Lucknow, I always remember sitting in my lawns with winter flowers all around, but for Shimla it is biting chill of snow melting and a of ice-cream cone at the Mall. And whenever I think of winters in Calcutta I think of Christmas celebrations and the amazing range of sweets available only in these months. Of course in plains the winter months are very uncomfortable , specially if one has to go out for work and if there is so sun for days . While I prepare myself for the notorious 'dilli ki sardi ' I can't help feeling good about it too. After all I missed this kind of northern winters for last 4 years in Calcutta . I cherish all the memories of winters in various cities I have lived so far but interestingly,my most favourite winter imagination is of what I found in BBC adaptations of Victorian novels. I long to see the harsh winters in the English countryside and the joy of sunshine after that. But on second thoughts I feel that I may find it very romatic but that must have been a difficult time for people who actually lived in that period.Speically for the poor and the workers . Here is poem describing winter time and the winter-y concerns. It is by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Winter-Time
Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.
Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.
Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.
When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.
Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding-cake.

The Loss

A very dear friend lost his father recently. This was fourth such case in my friend-circle. When one reads about such deaths in newspapers or on general discussions they seem so small insignificant incidents. They sound very much part of the natural system . But when something like this happens in your own family or in your friends’ you feel very differently. God forbid if you yourself happen to lose a parent, it’s a tragedy beyond comparison . It is one of the downsides of being an adult that you come closer to the loss of your parents. We all know it has to happen one or the other day…but one can’t be really prepared for it. My grandfather died when my father was already in his fifties . They had a typical father son relationship with disagreements combined with fondness and very little talk. But in the last few days when my father was alone with his old man the relationship changed dramatically. I never saw my father being so emotional before. Probably for the first time since his achieving adulthood , he had time to pause rest of the world and spend time with his father. He came to know a very different person from what he remembered from his teenage days. My grandfather’s life struggles, his ideals, his poetry all appeared before him in a very different light . And then the inevitable happened. Papa grieved the death much more than he himself expected. For rest of his life he kept his father’s last scrawlings on his study table .
Unlike this relationship, both I and my sister were always very close to our father. He was always our best friend, our favourite punching bag and our ideal .In the year 2000, just after I wrote the main exams for civil services , my father was detected with cancer. It was already in an advance stage and we were told that it is now a matter of days- and so it was . I can never express in words how I felt in those 15 days of his illness and 8 years since then. When he breathed his last, we were holding his hands. We were too numbed by the shock that for days we could not accept that this has happened. The world around us was, of course creating enough nuisances to keep us away from the estimation of the loss. But can you ever measure the loss? It’s like erasing a basic postulate of your world. It’s like telling you in the middle of a jigsaw puzzle that the rules have changed. Its like removing a thick layer of blanket from your shoulders and exposing you to the cold of a winter night. It is worse.
It is generally believed that people get over all pains and that time is a healer in such cases, but I disagree. You just learn to live in an incomplete world. In a world where at every important stage your mind will ask, how your father/mother would have reacted to this . You never realise the importance of having your parents around till the day you lose one of them. Loving one’s parents is so different from any other relationship. You love your father even if he never made any money . You like your mother even if she has a buckteeth . Some time back I got a mail-forward presentation on how the relationship with parents change with time. As toddlers we love them unconditionally, as kids we look upto them as ideals , as teenagers occasionally we feel embarrassed by them , as adults we feel they don’t know anything about the world and then when the fear of losing them sets in , we again want to be kids holding their hands tight , with the conviction of a small boy trying to stop the weather with a stick in hand .
My granddad , an urdu poet, wrote in one of his poems –

हमारी मौत भी एक मौज है दरिया-ऐ- हस्ती में / बस एक गोत्ता लगाना है यहाँ डूबे वहां निकले !

( our life is like a wave in the sea of existence , its just a matter of a jump, you dive here and rise there ) . I find consolation in the thought .

Crash and the Blast

I woke up disturbed that Saturday morning. It was partly to do with less sleep and partly to the movie I was watching on friday evening. Crash- the movie which won several awards including Oscars is very provocative and sensitive at the same time. It stirs something very basic inside you ….questions the stereotypes we built around us in a multi ethnic society …and leaves many questions unanswered. The movie follows few characters living in Los Angles in a span of 36 hours and chronicles the racial tensions , their volatile interactions and their struggles to come out of the distrust and fear of one another. It searches the grey area between the victim and aggressor , black and white ….where there are no permanently right answers and people collide into each others’ lives helplessly playing both victim and aggressor simultaneously. The images were still fresh in my mind next morning. Though the movie is about post 9/11 America the comparison with any multi ethnic society comes naturally.
To lighten up my mood I decided to go round the markets. Not for any real shopping but just to come out of the gloom and fill in myself with more pleasant smells and sounds than a bullet shot. But it was not to be so ….half way into a south Delhi market I got a desperate call form my husband to come back. There was yet another Saturday bomb blast in Delhi. This time in Mehrauli. Once again killing several innocent people including a child who lend an innocent helping hand to the bombers by trying to pick the tiffin case in which bomb was planted. The news means several things to me. My weekly shopping at nearby mall goes for a six. My husband will be late from work-as his news channel would be following the blast and after blast coverage till midnight and my dear friend Rani would be patrolling the Delhi roads with her policemen whole night to prevent any further mishap. More than these a sad taste will cover over our weekend . In brief a weekend wasted for no fault of any of us.
On my way home the crash images again started flashing in my mind. Its the same distrust and fear that is seeping in our society too. Hindus fearing Muslims, Muslims fearing Hindus, Dalits fearing upper castes ,Biharis fearing Marathis and so on. Anyone can put a bomb anywhere in Indian cities . We have just too many crowed public places to protect. So far after a blast the city resumes its normal pace within few days …in a very helpless , very resigned way . But the images never fade in the mind. With each such incident the level of distrust goes higher and higher . With all these recent bombings by Muslim hardliners, are we not going to lose all trust on Muslims-all Muslims, though we know that most of them are innocent victims of these mishaps like rest of us. But how to distinguish between the two groups . As a friend commented the other day , if anyone is planting a bomb in a children’s park- there is only one explanation . There is mind that is mad! No amount of brainwashing, philosophy of Jihad , poverty or lack of education can justify this act. Its unfortunate that intolerance between groups is increasing day by day. In my growing up years we were hardly conscious of the other person’s caste or religion…but no more now. The defining limits of Hindu and Muslim clusters are getting more and more distinct. Its very unfortunate that several secular features of language and arts are also getting religious-ised . The Ganga Jamuni culture of Hindustan is almost lost . What is worse is that we always find reasons to spread hatred against each other . Its not only Hindu-Muslim, There are also regional, castist and ethnic colours of hatred and terror .
What cause one an serve with such random killings . Its such a waste of human life and effort . The future seems rather gloomy . It appears that soon we would be suspecting each stranger in the vicinity and no unknown face will get friendly smile from the neighbours and colleagues .I feel very upset and aggrieved with these changes . How are we going to survive with such ridiculously low tolerance and respect for one another? After all , moving with the speed of life…we are bound to collide into each other .

We must kill Mickey Mouse!

If you are shocked by the title of this post please read this news item . Mickey Mouse must die for the good of Islam, a leading Saudi cleric said last month in a broadcast on al-Majd TV. This same cleric on August 10 had denounced the Beijing Olympics as the "bikini Olympics," saying the immodest dress of women athletes was "satanic" and issued a fatwa against women's participation in the Olympics as the games were also "satanic". In 2005 he denounced soccer, saying the short pants worn by players "reveal nakedness." He called for a ban on women's sports and public exercise as to do so would require them to don "tight fitting, short" tunics that were offensive to Muslim decorum.
In the present case he was actually asked to state the Islamic legal teaching on mice. He responded that mice were called "little corrupters" in Sharia and it was permissible to kill them at all times. "The mouse is one of Satan's soldiers and is steered by him," he explained, adding that should a mouse come in contact with food, the food must be disposed of as the mouse is an impure creature. "According to Islamic law, the mouse is a repulsive, corrupting creature," he said, adding that he was concerned that popular culture had given mice an undeserved positive image. "How do you think children view mice today - after Tom and Jerry?" he asked. "Even creatures that are repulsive by nature, by logic, and according to Islamic law have become wonderful and are loved by children. Even mice. Mickey Mouse has become an awesome character, even though according to Islamic law, Mickey Mouse should be killed in all cases."
I know nothing about Sharia or any other law but I know a lot about ‘Tom and Jerry’ , Mickey mouse and other cartoon characters. A devoted viewer of cartoons I feel they are the highest form of creativity in today’s media world. I came to know about this fatwa on Mickey mouse through my husband, who in the news room of his TV channel accidentally come across this wire. This ‘news’ was received in the news room with much amusement and everybody laughed at the issue…everybody except one colleague of his. This fellow argued that the cleric is asking for the right thing – for wrong reasons. He agreed with the rest that such ridiculous interpretation of any scripture is foolish but argued that Mickey mouse and the entire gang of cartoon characters are responsible for erasing local and regional flavours of upbringing of children. His arguement does have some strength . There are very good attempts these days to tell children about our cultural characters like Hanuman, Tenali raman and Gopal Bhand etc through their ‘disney-isation’ . How true are these animated versions to the folk tales they are claim to be originated from? Don’t you feel that animated avatars of chota Birbal, Tenali raman and Hanuman do the same stunts as Aladdin and Mickey mouse?For that matter Disney’s Aladdin is also miles away from the original character from Arabian Nights . Stories for these are mostly written for American kids and they are full of contemporary American notions . Disney on its side is trying to enhance local elements in its characters. Disney princesses are no longer always blonde with blue eyes and their characters at times speak with different accents. But is this enough? Despite being a die-hard fan of animations and all these Disney creations I can not acquit them from the charge of killing our local culture.
On second thoughts …is it Disney or is it market ? Market which ensures that world over kids eat similar potato chips , drink same soft drinks and watch similar sitcoms. Market which ensures that all popular English (read American ) sitcoms are available in their Hindi versions too. No not through dubbing ….an entire new series with Indian faces and Indian setup but with the copied concept and script. Let us face the truth – these are a hit with their targeted clientele . These animated versions are cute and there is a lot of creativity in the series also . No wonder kids are wearing Harry Potter T shirts and cuddling Chota-hanuman ‘ stuff toys with equal fondness . Even Indianised version of Batman and Superman- Krrish and Shaktiman go well with the children…even when they are selling biscuits and chewing gums through advertisements . So is it a good bargain that our kids know about our mythical characters but only through a Disney filter? More importantly can we stop the forces of globalisation to make everything-including our myths, history and folktales, as they deem fit. I really have no answer for that. I strongly feel that Mickey mouse should not be killed but should Mickey meet T-shirt wearing Hanuman in Akbar’s court …..I really don’t think that is a good idea either.

PS: If you wish to read more about my views on animations in India from the industry point of view read this article .

The sophisticated sychophant

"... this man, who has crawled and crept through life, wounding the hands he licked, and biting those he fawned upon: this sycophant, who never knew what honour, truth, or courage meant...

— Charles Dickens, Barnaby Rudge, Ch. 43

Its not that there are no such people in other organisations , sectors and places but just that I encounter this species most in Delhi. They are found everywhere - in all age groups and in all surroundings. What distinguishes them so distinctly is a very polite gesture on face(nearly always) and a wish to please . They call it courtesy , I call it sycophancy . In action what they do is nothing unusual, its the reason why they do so makes all the difference. I find it strange that if someone has died in the family of a service officer I hardly know why should I go and convey my condolences , or if a BIG boss( with whom i hardly meet otherwise) has got a further promotion I should I take an appointment to congratulate him/her. But many others do it as ' a matter of courtesy'. I am even fine with this courtesy bit if it is genuine. But how do you justify the reaction if it is exactly opposite of what they really think. You hate the person , call him a blood sucker and such other words but would not mind going to him with a bouquet in hand on his birthday or promotion.

Now the big question- or as I said, the element making it sycophancy is the reason . I feel( though everyone vehemently decline ) its for career goodies, business promotion and in general keeping superiors in 'good humour' . Its so strange that when one joins a profession one feels he/she can rely on his/her skills and competency but within few years even the so called smart ones start believing in factors which can be loosely clubbed in the category of sophisticated sycophancy. For some it is so much a matter of habit that they do not even realise that they are going overboard . I too face it with my subordinates . Imagine after the lousiest presentation of my life this young officer comes to my room and request for a copy of the most 'wonderful presentation he has ever seen'. I need not even look at his face . His words betray their meaning . The tone is all made up and the only intention is to get noticed .
Have you ever noticed what are the commandments in a sycophant's world? Let me list out few- the sirs always right and the ma'am always give very appropriate advices. They always have very bright ideas on everything from gardening to parenting and from governance to global warming. Bosses always have the best taste in music and wine and their offspring are lovely little angels even if they break your car's window while playing . Dare you contradict them- how foolish! how very uncool ! Argument with a superior on anything related/unrelated with work......nah ...that's blasphemy .
These days I wonder whether all these tricks pay off in the end. My answer is yes and no . Yes if the person you are trying to please is also as dumb as you'd like him to be and no , if he has a better discretion. I would still feel that if a superior falls for such false praise and respect he is not worthy of any real one. Why should I lower my dignity to cater such a person's ego?After all those who are worth praise and respect would see through these rituals easily . One always come across stories of people who got a plush posting or some other 'goody' by being his boss's slave but I don't feel that so far I fared badly by speaking my mind , not indulging in such rituals of praise and even differing with bosses also . In fact I was lucky to find bosses who even after fighting with me on work related issues always rated me high in performance appraisals. I can say this with some certainty as I too as a boss can not think too positive of people who do not miss a single occasion of praising me , my dress, my way of working and of all things...my handwriting!! At times I feel sorry for the celebrities and people on top of their fields of work . There are of course people who despite attaining great heights lack great depths (in fact they form the majority )but for the rest what a torture it must be to always be on guard against such false compliments and admirers.
Last week after another round of promotions of bigwigs of our department when a colleague asked me if I would care to come on a 'mission congratulations' to a big boss I told her to ask the old man on my behalf how is the scene from up there . How many bald heads he can see from the top? She was obviously scandalised by my response .

Learning Unlearning and all that …..

The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn.
Alvin Toffler
Yesterday sitting in an interview board of Staff selection Commission I met with about a dozen such illiterates holding degrees from some of the well known Universities/colleges. How would you react if a first class masters’ degree holder from University of Delhi for English (hon) failed to recite a single poem of Shakespeare..or Keats…or Shelly ? The chairman of my board, a retired bureaucrat , was not much shocked with the blank and confused look of the interviewee . I am sure he must have seen a lot more such samples during his thirty odd years in the government. But with just 8 years of experience , I found it difficult to believe as among the interviewees we had History graduates unable to tell the significance of 1707 AD as the beginning year for –Modern Indian History. There were people working as tax assistants unable to distinguish between direct and indirect taxes and MBAs (shockingly from my own university) who could not explain two factor theory of motivation . Probably one can let go of ignorance about theoretical aspects of a subject studied but how do you ignore the poor language skills? Or ignorance about the world around us ? All candidates were using terms like naxalites, Maoists, insurgency, terrorism, fundamentalist organisation loosely. Neither they knew the difference between these nor were they aware of its correct usage. Another senior professor on the interview board informed me that the situation is almost similar even in Civil services interviews. His reading was that one can get most degrees without much knowledge of the subject or command over the medium of instruction . I can’t blame it to students. Most of them were from small towns and were trying hard to break the ceiling between Bharatand India . If some of my friends are to be believed , in corporate sector too there is acute shortage of qualified staff . My sister informs me that in big IT firms we have engineers on roll who don’t know even the most elementary logic and in my own office I find Hindi translators with abysmal knowledge of the language .
My first reaction was of disbelief followed by anger …..gradually I realised it is not surprising at all. Where is the scope for imagination? Of taking interest in a subject ? Of learning for learning sake ? It is simply a stepping stone to get into a secure livelihood . Don’t you come across students ‘preparing for competitions’ asking about which subjects are ‘in’ and are considered scoring these days . You get to meet parents of school going children inquiring about which branch has better chances of getting a job. We have our school boards making examination patterns more and more objective to ensure less stress , better marks and …err..poor language and expression skills for students . We also have our syllabus designed by barely eligible educationists. Years back I found a classic case in this regard when my father started teaching English to our Milkman’s son who was doing his 10th from UP Borad with Agriculture stream. The boy was totally disinterested in opening the book . My father diagnosed the problem after a while . The prose and poetry chosen for his compulsory English textbook was devoid of any sensitivity to his surroundings. A village boy of UP studying amidst poverty and illiteracy of elders was to go through essays about English Parishes, Wordsworth’s Lucy Grey and even ‘La belle dam sans merci’ to learn a language still foreign to him. Things and scenes explained there were so strange to him that they hardly made any sense to his mind. My father was so agitated that he started compiling a book for this boy’s reading which included stories by RK Narayan, Ruskin Bond and poems of Sarojini Naidu. The boy found this interesting. But to pass his exam , he still had to mug up the ‘foren’ poems and texts with which he can’t relate to . The teacher of their school was also a fresh graduate quite uncomfortable in English and a product of the same system. Naturally like all other classmates he was keen to take refuge of ‘guidebooks’ written in awful language and ‘key books’ and guess papers . All his friends were just mugging up part of these booklets to ensure passing marks – for most of them no doors of jobs will open without mandatory school degrees and school degrees will not be obtained without resorting to these horrid keybooks and guessbooks. Many would not even buy the original textbook to save some money. What knowledge of subject we can expect from these kids in future?
This is not only for village students , even my colleagues complain that their kids studying in best public schools are discouraged to innovate while solving maths sum. They have to ‘learn by heart’ even the explanations of poems and steps of maths equations solving. No scope for expression even in literature subjects and no question of deviation in solving mathematics. On our word processors we have spell checks to ensure correct spellings and tools to ensure correct grammar. There are interactive TV channels to help them with homework and still the quality of education from school to college is nose-diving . Degrees like MBAs, MCAs and engineering are available from Never-Heard-Before institutes and hordes of our young men and women are making big with international companies. I am not for ridiculing these youngsters. They are simply a product of their education system and surroundings . It is the same culture that forces our young sales executives to speak in English and wear ties in the hot summer days to ‘make an impression’ while selling goods…however uncomfortable it makes them . But next time you found the call centre executive faltering on a well rehearsed sentence or speaking nonsense – think about it seriously. Its about time we take a serious note on our education system. We must take our kids out of the obsession for marks catching techniques and encourage them to the good old ways of learning rather than just acquiring paper degrees . Or else let us be prepared to face a situation (already there in many government sector offices) where we have workers incapable of understanding the work assigned to them for want of elementary knowledge of the field .