On Tax Code, Taxman and history ...

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

Weber’s monster and me

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 .

Yeh Tera ghar Yeh mera ghar

“ If you have to name your house, what it will be?” Her eyes were shining with excitement when this friend asked this rather unusual question one morning. I promised that I will think about it and forget it immediately. Next morning on our way to office she repeated this question. This time I thought a bit but could not find an answer immediately so ended up promising once again that I will come up with an answer. She told me she is also looking for a name for her house.
I started thinking of a name – first instinct was to remember the names I have read in books or seen in movies. For example I thought of Pemberly of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice where the famous Mr.Darcy lived .Then there was Manderley which even featured in the first line of the novel Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier "Last night I dreamt I was at Manderley again...”. There is also short and sweet –Tara for the fans of Gone with the Wind or Elsinore for fans of Shakespeare….but none of my liking .
In Indian princely states too there are famous Kothis and bungalows with names of their own. I can think of Chattar manzil and Machhi Bhawan of Lucknow and of course “Constantia”, the imposing centre-point of La Martiniere Lucknow , which was the country house of Major-General Claude Martin. I just can’t miss Yarrows- which was Jinnah’s summer house in Shimla . Talking of that, Shimla has a number of beautiful houses with equally beautiful names like Peterhoff, Woodville, Retreat etc. Once again none that can define my present abode.
In search of a name for my house I tried remembering name plates in front of beautiful houses I have seen in various cities. Most of the time it is either indicating the person who is living in the house or some remarkable feature of the house .Not many of them were creative enough to fancy me say Asha sadan or Malti kunj or may be Lake house, Palm view cottage . But why should a house have a name of its own? Why an address is not good enough? I never lived in a house which was distinguished enough to have a name of its own and yet many of them were warm, homely and comfortable…..leaving fond memories for rest of my life. So how can one decide that this house needs a name .My answer is that you need a name for everyone and everything you value. Me and sister even used to nick-name plants in our garden . Our old fridge has a name and so did our car . So why not the house. Of course there is no evidence that Neanderthals named their caves, but it seems likely that people have always named their houses. House names dating back to Babylonian and Assyrian times have been documented, and patrician Romans often gave descriptive names to their villas. The ancient German city of Trier still boasts of its House of the Three Magi, built in 1230, and Lincoln has The Jew's House, which dates to around 1150. It seems likely too that these names were given as identification marks as I assume in those days there was no numbering of houses. It may have started with Aristocrats, who had the luxury of unique houses. Houses which were large and prominent enough to have an identity of their own. Such names were often single, free-standing words: Belmont, Broadlands, or the Rosings and even Pemberly . These is also a huge number of residences given dual name with a ‘villa’ , ‘Lodge’ or ‘cottage’ suffixed to it . If you want to make it more personal you can jolly well call it “Bill and Anne’s house’ or may be name your house after your dead ancestors, family name or community. It is your house so you name it as you like it . Well, it may sounds pretentious to call a semi-detached house in the suburbs Rose Villa, but Roseville is just right . I have read in Victorian novels that people were known by the houses they work in or live at. Here is an example of creative naming and the owner makes it very clear that he /she is paying a huge house loan. I am told that giving a name to a house can dramatically affect its resale value too. In Britain they even have a survey of most common names for the houses. ( these Brits!) So I could conclude that naming your house is not as simple as it seems , it can turn a mere building into an expression of its owner's character: in short, it helps make a house a home.Coming back to my choice of names- first I thought of some fancy name like Belmont or Beaumont - means "beautiful mountain" in French or may be Spanish "Sobre las Nubes" - above the clouds (as in "Villa Sobre las Nubes") which I also find a very spiritual name for any place. "Buena Vista" is Spanish for beautiful view and not uncommon as a house name.May be Beaulieu which means "beautiful place" A white colored house can be called Casablanca - white house (also, naturally, the name of a beautiful and exotic Moroccan town; and an artistic tribute to the great film.)A red house can by same logic be named Casa Rosa and a blue one Casa Azul (which was also name of Frida Kahlo's house).
So there was choice abundant and yet no one name was appealing to me. Busy with these thoughts I was about to enter my house and saw pretty pink and white periwinkles flowing with the wind. I never planted these in front of my gate. They decided to make it their home on their own. And It was decided that this house at least should be named Periwinkle cottage . Not very creative I know but will do till I find a better one….may be you can suggest something . Of course it was decided that the name will go to whichever house I will live (a friend commented it’s like Air Force One- whichever plane president boards !) Now, if you think that I am the only one who is finding it difficult to select a good name for my house , read what Christopher Morley has to say on on Naming a House

When I a householder became

I had to give my house a name.

I thought I'd call it "Poplar Trees",

Or "Widdershins" or "Velvet Bees",

Or "Just Beneath a Star".

Or "As You Like It," "If You Please",

Or "Nicotine" or "Bread and Cheese",

"Full Moon" or "Doors Ajar."

But still I sought some subtle charm,

Some rune to guard my roof from harm

And keep the devil far;

A thought of this,

and I was saved!

I had my letter-heads engraved

"The House Where Brown Eyes Are".

[which is a fine name for a house!].

PS: The most creative however, was my friend’s choice. First she settled on Blue Jay -after her favorite bird but then changed it to ‘Sqaure one’ – She said coolly “ It is simple you know, whatever I do, wherever I go, I will come back to square one. ”

Me first and the rest can wait

“ If someone hits your car on the road, you should not show any kind of emotion. Not even a facial expression. You may in fact think of thanking him for teaching you a right lesson for being on his way . No harsh words , no intention of fight ..om shanti shanti shanti…..” This was the sane advice from a colleague who regularly drives down to work from Delhi to NOIDA when I told him that I am planning to buy a car . He claims that he has seen people getting shot by country made pistol in these petty you-hit-my car fights . That is not road rage, that is simple Delhi male machismo. It is not unusual in Delhi for any car to get a dent even when it is perfectly parked or standing at a red light . It is also not unusual for people to get out of cars to settle the case on the road. Crash and there goes the front mirror. Bang and here is for your front seat ! A punch for the face may be with appropriate sound effects right there right now! Who believes in police anyways?
The metro roads on most Indian cities are buzzing with these musical sounds – which some lunatics see as noise. Getting hit by another car for no fault of yours, is just one of the perils of driving on Indian roads . Rash, reckless and even drunken driving has come of age . Its a deadly cocktail of loud music, alcohal and speeding without a reason .The Delhi drivers, fully aware of their social responsibility towards vehicles nearby , believe in playing their music on full volume. Music is good , why not share it with others. Not only that, have you not noticed that some drivers just love the sound of their horn. In a jam , just to ensure that the horn is alright , they keep buzzing it again and again. I at time feel like turning back and yelling – I am still driving an old version that can’t fly .
Patience is something you admire in the driver behind you , but not in the one ahead. --Bill Mcglashen
In smaller metros like Lucknow there is another problem of VIP sirens . Almost every second car has a dignitary passenger who claims the right of priority passage by blowing the sirens. Some intelligent car drivers even have detachable sirens, which can be used only when they can effectively pull some weight . Please do not think that our VIPs (mind you even ex-panchayat member is one!) are making noises on roads . We always have ambulances taking the nursing staff from their residences blowing a siren. In general my feelings about giving way to ambulances is echoed in this beautiful blog by Alice. But in Kolkata for the first time I noticed that ambulances of private hospitals being used for carrying the hospital staff from their residences. They shamelessly blow the sirens in a crowded street and no wonder even if there is a genuine case with a patient inside , the ambulances hardly get a way . On second thoughts , however, I feel that despite the misuse, one must give way to ambulances as just the thought of having a loved one inside it, is disturbing. Coming back to the musical roads of India , I must mention the autowallahs who feel their vehicles have model like waists and can catwalk between the zigzag of other vehicles. The scratches and marks contributed by their efforts to reach about 30 seconds earlier ….well they are incidental. Be ready for choicest of adjectives if you bar their way on the roads . If these categories of music are not enough to make Indian roads –alive with the sound of music , we also have brave hearts in pedestrians who always want to cross the road when traffic is on. You touch them and there will be a new melody instantly . Take it from me, even if the pedestrian was at fault, everyone is going to blame it on the car driver . Though sometimes, say in rainy season, when I see a car speeding and splashing the water on the poor office going pedestrians , I too feel bad. . is it that in our anxiety and urgency we fail to understand that they are exposed to the elements that we are not, or are we doing this without the slightest regard to the lesser privileged people (in terms of vehicle ownership!)?
Best sight and sound of all is the moving market on the traffic signals. So far I had seen magazines, newspapers, balloons , car cleaning service, strawberry packs and flowers …but on Delhi NOIDA highway(no.24) one can also find suit pieces , toys, vases, sport equipments and even watches with these street vendors . They must be world’s smartest salespersons for their business call time is in seconds. Their deals are unbelievable, bargain period is less then a minute and yet they do a decent business everyday . The flourish on roads because they are good for everybody- the traffic policeman gets some money from them, the passengers get some bargain deals and for rest they are tolerable distractions at signals.

I have often seen people coming back from other countries admiring the fact how people there drive without honking or without breaking rules. But all of us forget to behave in that manner in our own roads. While breaking the rules is extremely subjective in a country like India, at least the noise factor is something we can slowly progress towards abolishing. A little bit of common sense and patience if used by all , will go a long long way in improving the situations that we drive in these days. Recently in Delhi there was a drive to promote less honking. It does not appear to be very effective because an average Indian loves everything from cinema to cricket with sounds of music . A friend from Bangalore once told me that he has given up honking. “What is the use? " he argued “ …Its futile and doesn't affect anyone - animals, humans, scooter drivers , auto drivers, bus drivers et all." I don’t know if it is our ego driving our cars or our attitude of “me first at any cost” . Everyone wants to get ahead of the other even if it is a matter of seconds . We do not respect others' rights.The key is perhaps lack of COMMON SENSE. I have lost count of the number of times these "Me first at any cost" drivers overtake on the wrong side. Only to find later that our desi Schumacher is just a couple of cars ahead... or worse, cooling his heels at the next signal !!This attitude problem not only reflects in our driving style but also in our upkeep of our surroundings. I've seen educated people spitting paan on roads, chucking wrappers, banana peels and whole lot of other stuff - out of their car windows. The same lot admires the American/continental streets in more glorifying terms . The same colleague who gave me the advice for Delhi road driving, once told me the sad fact that a common thing in India is that courtesy is abused/overused instead of being appreciated. If you let one person/vehicle pass through, there will invariably be 101 vehicles behind him trying to get through.. to rub salt, they will be DEMANDING courtesy by tooting their stupid horns. Well , we do need some meditation (om shanti shanti shanti!) and some basic lessons in patience . Which on roads is definitely , the ability to idle your motors when you feel like stripping your gears.
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Me and my representatives:

A muse on democracy

These days everyone in India- more so in Delhi, is talking about the next general elections. Newspapers are full of them. The candidates and their supporters are already infected with the bug. The crazy statements and counter statements (in most rude manner and bad taste) are going on full steam on the media . Even housewives talk less of the tearjerkers and more of which politician said what . In all, very interesting and happening times for our democracy.

I too joined the bandwagon recently when I got curious about the candidate profiles. Under the rules framed by the Election Commission (EC), all candidates for election to the Parliament or state legislatures are required to declare their movable and immovable assets and liabilities/overdue to public financial institutions and government dues as well as those of their family members and dependents. Every morning , in the newspaper I find well known names of candidates and details of their assets. Going by these profiles, it appears that our representatives are a super rich lot. Of course we always knew that. But the fact that they are declaring their 3-4 cars and two houses , shares and bank balances openly, should be a cause of concern for Income Tax Department . Most of them are crorepatis . Most own several vehicles and more than one house. I must feel privileged that such rich people are interesting in representing poor me . Yeah , I feel almost poor when I look at their assets. I also feel that Politics is a very lucrative career option...

Take a case of celebrity politician Rahul Gandhi . He is almost my age. Never really worked ( I don’t consider Politics as employment ) . Within one tenure of MP-ship his assets have gone up ten times!! In 2004, he declared total assets of Rs 22 lakh. In five years, the assets of this first-time MP have shot up 10 times to 2.25 crore. While in 2004, he held bank deposits of Rs 11 lakh, £30,000 and $19,200; shares of Rs 3.9 lakh; LIC and other savings certificates in Rs 3.80 lakh; jewellery worth Rs 1.25 lakh; and a farm house worth Rs 9.8 lakh., in 2009, he holds bank deposits of about Rs 20 lakh, LIC and other savings certificates of Rs 10.2 lakh; land worth Rs 40 lakh, jewellery worth Rs 1.5 lakh; and two shops in a mall worth Rs 1.63 crore. I wonder what can be the source of such steep growth.

Rahul Gandhi is not alone . Take another case of R.V Deshpande who was the Congress candidate from Haliyal constituency(Karnataka ) in the 2008 assembly elections. He had filed the mandatory affidavit before the returning officer, and every line of it reveals why Deshpande has been so cagey about his assets and liabilities. (He resisted revealing his assets under RTI several times before Lokayukta .claiming it an intrusion in his privacy .)Deshpande’s assets at the time of the May 2004 elections: Rs 9 crore. His assets at the time of the May 2008 elections were up by more than 1000% and stood at Rs 145 crore. This beats all stock markets and investment options . Then there is a classic case of Mayawati and her party. I sincerely feel that we Auditors can learn some accounting from this lady and her elephant . I do not think that nothing can be done about it under the law. If nothing is being done , however, the fault lies in the implementers of laws. People like me and my colleagues.

Another point to note is that Politics in the family is good for women empowerment. I mean all dependent women, wives and daughters of these politicians are very rich and growing richer with every election . They own vehicles, shares, bonds , cash and of course jewellery . I know enough tax laws to understand the reason of such magnanimity towards women of the family .

These details are disturbing but they still leave many questions unanswered . My first question is -How well these super rich politicians can represent me ? What do they know of my struggles and my problems. Or as they say in administration – my ‘felt’ needs .

Check out this article for further details on my argument . I find it sad that people who made faces when Rabri devi claimed her jail going husband’s Chief minister ship as her family property , also feel that Rahul Gandhi is ‘ hope of young India’ .In my eyes the only difference between Sonia Gandhi and Rabri devi’s entry into politics is that latter is less glamorous than the former. The other day I found a well known fashion designer claiming that Rahul Gandhi is the most appropriate candidate for PM. It’s a shame that we no longer question the family members of politicians claiming the political seats as their family business. It is further shameful that even educated Indians find it a matter of fact that politicians will be corrupt and powerful. They will abuse their powers and there is nothing one can do about it . This indifference , this placid acceptance of wrong – is very frustrating . The least we can do is to ask at every possible forum – the source of this rising income .

But who cares for democracy ? As ordinary voters have we not accepted that for us democracy remains ‘the art of running the circus from the monkey cage’? We are happy with the tamasha going on around us. The 24X 7 entertainment these politicians provide us – these days live on our TV screens .Someone drinking water in a dalit household and someone else turning a poster boy overnight after a hate speech .All elements of drama and action . Better than even reality TV.

This reminds me of my father’s favorite my-school-days-story . He had a friend who was very good in science and maths but was a foot-dragger in the literature subjects. Essay paper was specially his Achilles’ heel . My father and his friend made a deal before exams . My father wrote few essays for him which he learnt by heart and he helped my father with science subjects in return . Dad had selected the essay topics carefully but it so happened that in that year instead of usual topics the paper setters decided to test students on ‘General Elections in India’ . This friend had learnt ususal topics like My favorite poet , A family vacation and 'Festivals of India' . Now after spending 15 confused minutes in the examination hall, he turned creative . He started his essay with “ General Elections in India are like a big festival. Election time is almost a festive time for us. It brings a lot of business and everybody participates in some way or the other . Other than general elections, India has several major festivals ……..” This was followed by the essay on Festivals of India which the fella had learnt by heart. If my father is to be believed , the examiner found his essay very creative and his friend passed the paper. It is so sad , however, that even after decades , elections by and large still remain just that for us- a business opportunity for us , entertainment for others .

Totto Chan and my school days

(This picture is not of my school..I have taken it from Net and worked on it through Photoshop .This is nearest to how I remember my school chapel . )

Perception is a strange element of mind . Things and events that make part of our memory , may often be perceived quite differently as they actually were. Yesterday afternoon I watched a movie 'Fireflies in the garden’ where a son perceived his relationship with his strict father in a very selective way. He had childhood memories of being afraid of him, his disciplines and his bad behaviour but he failed to remember the happy moments they spent together . Its not always like this. In our childhood memories, many of us often remember only the happy parts while deleting the embarrassing or bitter moments . Perhaps it has to do with our overall frame of mind, what those times made us feel...and what touches our heart and goes to permanent memory is a mystery ...in most cases it is unconsciously selective. For example I have been thinking about my old schools . I had 5 in all . I remember different things about all five . Last week I was reading this cute little book ‘Totto Chan :The little Girl at the Window’ by Japanese writer Tetsuko Kuroyanagi . Tetsuko Kuroyanagi writes about her childhood in a unique school in Japan. I finished rereading the book last night. This beautiful book about author’s school days and unconventional schooling reminded me of my own. Let me confess . I hated schools….all of them . Resisted going there for years and finally as an alternative plan decided to clear them off at the earliest. I always believed that I am better with my story books at home rather than sitting in the class of 25 and doing what I am told to do. I liked the Totto Chan book because I too was rebelling of the school discipline….of studying the subjects in one order…as per syllabus and not doing what you want to do. Incidentally, the book begins with Totto-chan's mother coming to know of her daughter's expulsion from public school. Come to think of it, how many schools give freedom of expression to its pupils? Many children are looked as indisciplined and somewhat 'abnormal' when they show their independent mind or are simply hyperactive like Totto Chan . It was lucky for Totto chan that her mother realizes that what she needs is a school where more freedom of expression is permitted. Thus, she takes Totto-chan to meet Mr. Kobayashi, the headmaster of the new school , Tomoe Gakuen. The book goes on to describe the times that Totto-chan has, the friends she makes, the lessons she learns, and the vibrant atmosphere that she imbibes. More importantly the book is about what she remembers about those days . Her perception of things and people around her .
The book brought back memories of my five schools . My parents unlike most parents of today, were totally cool about schooling of their kids. My father believed in sending his children to the nearest good school and never went competitive in search of the Best one. He was confident that once a basic school structure is there, he can take care of rest of learning outside the school . I like the way my parents brought us up. Without religion. Without tradition. Without the dogma of being good and doing right . I am grateful to them for letting me keep my mind the way God gave it to me. For being proud of their children when there were no reasons to be……for loving us so unconditionally, so freely…..so helplessly…for so many other things. And so it was for all three of us. We were never barred from reading any book, magazine, paper available in our house. I used to read my elder sisters’ books(specially literature text books) from elementary classes. We invented weird games and of course there was no TV/DVD in those days. To top it all, we had friends of all types. There were no bars on being friends with people elder to us or with children living in servant quarters. When I see children around me these days, I find them very conscious of their class . We were most carefree lot.

Most unconventionally I started my schooling from a university. My father was at that time posted at Pantnagar Agriculture university and in the Home Science Department an experiment of learning behaviour of children was going on. Me along with few other kids of the campus were enrolled as Guinea pigs of the project and started our nursery from a university . It was an interesting ‘school’.There were two teachers (PG students of Home Science) per students. We were not taught writing but encouraged to learn orally .The hypothesis which was being tested says that children who spent initially two years of schooling without learning to write pick up information much faster and greater details ,later on. So while we were told everything about colours, fruits and things around us ….we were still illiterates as far as writing was concerned . In the end of that year instead of one page report card….my parents got a thick file on my behaviour, learning and other characteristics. Later on reading this ‘performance report' - in my teenage days , was hilarious. Interestingly , they judged my strengths and weaknesses in various subjects quite accurately. But then, dad got his transfer . In the new city when I went for an admission test , the teachers were shocked to find my level of enlightenment when they tested me . I am told I spoke in complete sentences about how apple is good for health and what vitamins it contains.(The question was to identify apple from its picture.) Impressed by my performance they decided to put me in 1st standard directly…but then someone thought of testing me on writing alphabets . Now there I proved to be a total failure .I did not even know how to hold a pencil. They were dumbfounded by this strange profile of their future student . But instead of giving me up as abnormal, they decided to work on me ..and they did. I hated the forced education but loved that school .
Now looking back….At times I feel I must go for a pilgrimage of all old schools and universities of mine . I need to know how they fared with the test of time. Those lovely places which I used to hate . I also want to complete my memory of these places, specially my school at Jhansi ( H.M Memorial School -in the mission compound) with its huge Chapel and a church on a hillock nearby . This school was built in 1926 by the Canadian Presbyterian Church to offer education for daughters of the poor.We had many tribal girls studying with us. All I have now is hazy memories of places and people. I remember attending midnight mass in the school, there are memories of a ‘jail’ inside the school and I can recollect some faces- e.g. Ms. Wordsworth, our school manager . A tall Canadian lady worked extensively for tribal children of Bundelkhand . I wonder how are those places now? Where are those people ? Sometimes I also doubt whether my memory of my early school days is factual or not ? I need to check out the real places to ensure that .

Memories of old days coming back like floods…A desperate urge to live back the happy parts of past ....a sure sign of old age .

I protest!

My four years in Bengal did not go in vain. Some of that famous ’pratibadi chetna’(loosly translated as spirit of protest) has got into me . There is definitely something in the water and air over there that people protest on anything they find wrong. A good and aware citizen in those parts of the world is expected to know about the injustices and excesses on groups /individuals in the rest of the world and they happily protest for these excesses. The spirit is very visible in the daily working (and non-working) also.
Of late I found myself doing the same. In any case I was always one who believed in doing things right-if for nothing else then to gratify few and to astonish the rest (a la Mark Twain ). So far it worked well for me.To cite few incidents I once marched off my class (in 12th standard) because I found my teacher (a favorite otherwise!) was glorifying the kar seva and demolition of Babri mosque structure at Ayodhya. I just stood up and blurted out that I don’t think you should be teaching this in Hindi literature class and walked off. She was stunned but thankfully did not raised the issue again. Then once I fought with my batchmates during a train journey when they first used their government I- cards and then offered bribe to the ticket collector for few confirmed seats. Surprisingly they budge in to my bossiness. But in all these events my protest was very principled and calm. I never thought I can feel angry and frustrated with the ‘wrongs’. Things started changing once I moved to Delhi. As I wrote earlier on this blog, this city celebrates both Gods and Anti Gods and with same fervor . Nepotism, favoritism, power play by politicians is looked upto and when I crib on such issues, they look at me with surprise. I still find it difficult to accept the negative opinion of colleagues about sharing information, spoils system prevailing in the government and the faulty premises on which most important decisions are taken in the system. But for this post , I would like to note only my complaints in personal capacity. Surprisingly I find ample opportunity for that too, even when I often close my eyes to the daily excesses one witness on streets.( Finding a police car accepting currency notes from a rickshaw wallah or driver is not uncommon in NOIDA) . During my last train journey from Lucknow to Delhi I noticed that the service quality, cleanliness and even the food has gone down. I politely asked the train supervisor for suggestion /complaint book . He first asked me what I want to write. I said I am not interested in verbal complaints. He nodded and said he will send it. The complaint book never came, despite my reminded thrice and even going in search of it. When I was about to get down and IRCTC person came with a one page feedback form and laughingly said –you can write whatever you want on this. I shot back that I will now write an email to railways . He smugly replied-“As if anyone reads those.” I was so angry with the incident that I could not get peace till next morning when I actually send that email. Well, he was right…there is no reply. I still feel so angry about the incident .
Then the other day I was in Lal Quila with my nephew and niece and we found an ITDC run restaurant ‘Dawatkhana ‘ .They were terribly thirsty and wanted to drink something. When we went inside we found that the place was untidy and full of dust. There were about 4-5 boys in uniform but no one paid any attention to us. When asked they rudely said-“We don’t serve anything but water and cold drinks . “ The same reply was given to few foreign tourists in front of me. First I asked him to call the manager, to which his confident reply was : Manager comes only once a month. Then since the kids badly wanted water we asked for a bottle of mineral water. After 5 minutes of wait an old Bisleri bottle refilled with tap water was passed on to for double the charge. I was furious. When I started creating ruckus asking manager’s number, the fellow changed the bottle. I refused to let this go so easily and asked him to give me number of ITDC officials. He gave me a mobile number and when I called there the manager was not very willing to listen. Forced by the circumstances, I decided to reveal my official identity. The scene changed thereafter . The person with a polite tone started apologizing and insisting that I may not complaint against him. So much so that by the time we came out of the fort we found the boy who at first refused to give manager’s number was standing on the gate pleading that I should not complaint or he’d lose his job. They were not so worried when I as a common person I threatened to complaint. So much for our democracy!!! I find the entire episode very pathetic. Today I tried calling ITDC for launching complaint. There was no reply on the phone. No email on website . They just do not presume any complaint may come. I then wrote a letter to the Secretary concerned and am sending it my post (I told you the infatigueable pratibadi chetna!)
My net God Google reveled that there are many such harassed consumers and citizens like me and of course there are several fancy agencies doing the work of grievance redressal. But I wonder how efficient is the system. The common citizen still feel so powerless in front of huge sarkari machinery-railways or any other department.