Rendezvous with the Masters of a Bygone Era…

I was desperate to meet them before I leave the city they built and transformed from a small, dingy trading port to the biggest metropolis this side of London.But the time was against me. There are just few days in my hand and there are many important things to do. But last night when I was reading about Shillong , another city where presence of the colonial masters changed the fate of the place and its inhabitants forever ,I again thought of them. Mostly young men who came in search of their destiny. These were among the earliest Europeans who came to Calcutta from a different world, thousands of miles away, leaving their families and homes in search of money, fame, and power. Some with the missionary zeal of spreading the word of God as well. Most of them died young- many in early twenties. The climate was against them . The terrain was unfamiliar . The customs were uncivilized to their eyes . Only one out of three survived for more than one monsoon . Yet their spirit was triumphant. Some went ahead to subjugate the natives, some others busied themselves in collection of booty for a comfortable old age back home, few others ironically, fell in love with the culture of the ‘barbarians’ and here they are- still in the land they once ruled . Dead and buried in the soil they considered foreign and inferior . I could not stop myself any longer and today (finally!) I walked in the South Park Street Cemetery during my office lunch hour. The dead can usually be relied upon for glamour. It is further helpful of course if they are long dead . But the glamour factor for these gentleman and ladies was much more higher than the normal. In fact the entire cemetery complex has a romantic aura of its own(Or was it just the afternoon glow of the sun) . The complex is a monument of paradox – that of being dead and buried in a conquered country. The colonial cemetery in the postcolony is located in the irony of its previous glory, its past power, and its present powerlessness. It is a silent witness to an imperial regime amidst the chaotic environs of its now postcolonial subjects, who live, work, and ignore the dead remains of their earlier masters. The cemetery is rarely visited by any of its neighbors; just like the dead remains it houses, it is in a state of decay – slowly dying a sad death.
Very apt to the nature of the communist ruled state housing it, the cemetery, I found housed not only the dead remains of the colonial bureaucracy, military officials, mercantile elite and their families but also common and sundry citizenry. There were also those women, who came to India, some with their husbands, others, searching for husbands amongst the English officers. Many stayed on, married or otherwise, devoting their lives to the ‘women and children of India’ and whose service and devotion, is recounted for all time on their tombstones. Death interestingly came with many excuses, sometimes through wars or epidemics and on others by old age. Tropical illnesses and childbirth were the main causes. Battle wounds for soldiers and shipwrecks for mariners. Those were the days after all, when death was the chief occupational hazard, for the foreign community. Strangely, a surprising number were recorded as having been struck by lightning. They lived at the mercy of the inhospitable climate and the environment, and all too often passed away, when they and Calcutta were still young.
The cemetery houses more than 1000 dead – buried over a period of more than a century when the colonial power was at its zenith in India. The earliest grave dates to 1767 ( of a writer of Customs House named John Wood ) and the last memorial was erected around 1895. Each having an interesting tale to tell. I find some old acquaintances here . To begin with , my very favorite- Henry Vivian Louis Derozio. He was the youthful, Anglo-Indian poet, rational thinker and inspiration behind the Young Bengal Movement, of the early 19th century. He was influenced by the ideas thrown up by the French Revolution and as a 21 year old teacher, sought to transmit these, to his pupils at Hindu College, (Presidency College of today). His unconventional teaching methods, resulted in his being accused of promoting Atheism and led to his dismissal from the College. He died soon after at the age of 22, but he left a rich heritage of poetry and ideas that inspired generations of youngsters . Just imagine, dying at the age of 22 and leaving behind such a legacy! Every time I enter the Presidency college, I try imagining his face, his charisma , his lectures and his fascinated students …..he is most definitely the pole star of the galaxy of distinguished names associated with that college .

Next comes clean and whitewashed tomb of Sir William Jones, the founder of the Asiatic society of Bengal. Being a student of Sanskrit, I am familiar with his work. He arrived in India in September 1783 and was a judge in the Supreme Court, in Calcutta. He possessed outstanding literary genius and had mastered every European language, including many oriental languages. He wrote extensively about India, the local laws, music, literature, botany and geography, and made the first English translations, of several important works of Indian literature. I found on the grave that he passed away, at only 48 years, due to an inflammation of the liver. I am glad he did not live to see the decay of the institution he established- the death of his idea of knowledge beyond bounds . A very corrupt version of his dream, in the shape of Asiatic Society still marks the entrance of the Park Street .
Though I could not trace her grave , I am told that the accomplished (and ravishing) Elizabeth Sanderson also lies in the premises.Taking with her the memories of the Calcutta social life where she created a storm by her arrival in 1775. Memories of the men who danced to her tune- spellbound by her beauty. Memories of her famous pranks on her suitors and also memories of the pain she suffered as wife of her gambler and womanizer husband Richard Barwell. All of it in a brief life of 23 years.
Then there was Major-General Charles Stuart, an eccentric Irishman, who was nick-named “Hindu Stuart”, after he became a Hindu, within a year of his arrival, in Calcutta. Stuart adopted several Hindu customs, including bathing in the Ganges every morning, the habit of chewing paan, as well as wearing Indian clothes. He even encouraged European ladies in India, to adopt the sari. When he died on 31st March 1828, he was buried with his Hindu idols, in his coffin. His tomb takes the form of a Hindu temple, surmounted by an elaborate edifice, with stone carvings of the Goddess Ganga.His tomb was undergoing repairs and despite my pleadings the adamant security person did not allow me to click picture of it. (Perhaps in hope of a bribe I did not offer.)

The notice board informs me of other names also. Cemetery contains the tomb of Colonel Vansittart, whose wife was a descendant of Oliver Cromwell. Other graves of note, are those of Lt. Col. Robert Kyd, the distinguished botanist and founder of the East India Company’s Botanical Gardens, down the river; Lt. Col. James Lillyman, who supervised the building of Fort William; sons of Captain Cook and Charles Dickens; and many others.

These dead are commemorated with monumental tombs, some enormous in their size and sheer volume – huge canopies, supported by giant pillars, structures raised to about 100 ft above ground – providing a grandiose effect. The architectural feature of each tomb in the cemetery imitates the glory of the British Raj – its power, its ideological ubiquity.
Rudyard Kipling in his ‘City of dreadful Night ‘ comments about these tombs , rather sarcastically :
“It is as though we walked down the streets of a town, so tall are they and so closely do they stand – a town shrivelled by fire, and scarred by frost and siege. Men must have been afraid of their friends rising up before the due time that they weighted them with such cruel mounds of masonry.”
I look at it from a different point of view. It was again, to a large extent, a statement of Raj . The grandeur, even in death , symbolized - power .Not only the size of the tombs, even the epitaphs make a political statement . Take for example this one: “Here lie the remains of Augustus Cleveland, Esquire, late Collector of the Revenue; Judge of the Dewanny Adawlat of the Districts of Bhaugulpore, Monghyr, Rajamahal, &c. &c. He departed this life 12th January 1784, at sea on board the ‘Atlas’ Indiaman, Captain Cooper, Proceeding to the Cape for the recovery of his health, aged 29 Years. His remains interred here on the 30th of the same month. The public and private virtues of this excellent young man, were singularly eminent in his public capacity; he accomplished by a system of conciliation what could never be effected by a system by Military coercion; he civilized a savage race of the mountaineers, who for ages had existed in a state of barbarism, and eluded every exertion that had been practiced against them to suppress their depredations, and reduced them to obedience; to his wise and beneficent conduct, the English East India Company were indebted for the subjecting to their Government, the numerous inhabitants of that wild and extensive country, the Jungleteterry.”
Isn’t it a funerary tomb transformed into a monument of power? Cleveland, as the epitaph declares, was a martyr who penetrated the heart of darkness and civilized the barbarians, assimilated them into the grace of the mighty empire.
But I decided not to go deep in the history and power equations written by these people of yesteryears' . As for me, I am glad I could visit them after all. It was an humbling experience – something that made me think for long. Hereditary titles, distinguished careers, valiant characters, imperial backing and money power- nothing could save them from the clutches of nature …or should we call it time . It was like the Yaksha Prashna of Mahabharata – we see people dying all the time and yet we crave for immortality.
The world outside the cemetery walls carried on its business as usual . Traders selling goods, householders collecting their shopping and traffic man busy in work- everyone blissfully oblivious of the history sleeping in the vicinity.

Find my other pics of the cemetery here

All my bags are packed...I am ready to go ....

“The city grows on you….despite all its shortcomings, restrictions and negativity, you tend to love it as the times goes by.” I was sure even at that time that the speaker meant whatever he was saying. A Marathi colleague was speaking at his farewell function .He was transferred after 5 years of stay at Kolkata .That day I thought that I will never give such ‘cliché-ed’ speech when I have to leave this city. I was very angry with Kolkata in those days. It was inhospitable, ugly and unfriendly for me and it fall far short of my expectations compared to Lucknow, Shimla , Jaipur or any other city I had lived till then.
It is almost three years now from that farewell function. This morning I got a two line order that changed the course of my day …may be for days. I have been transferred from Kolkata to New Delhi. It seems I have some strange connection with the Raj Capitals. First I came from the Summer capital-Shimla to this place and now I go back to THE Rajdhani of India . Delhi- the seat of power, the place which evokes mixed reactions in my heart and also the heartless- rule less- ruthless city which belongs to no-one .
It was not Delhi and its character that I was worried about. It was Kolkata – and more than that my life in Kolkata that I was thinking of. I have a mental list ready of things and people I will surely miss once I moved out of here . People who taught me the basics of work , people with whom I traveled every morning and evening and numerous other associations which I made here . Come to think of it, I guess I will even miss the vegetable seller with whom I regularly fight over vegetable prices. But the two places which I will cherish for rest of my life are –my first HOME and my office. It was here in Kolkata that for the first time me and hubby set up our first home . Everything from furniture, linen to kitchen appliances was bought keeping this house in mind….and I am not very sure how they will fit in any other house . It is definitely the loveliest, most wonderful, most beautiful house. And my office-well, it was not my first of course. But it was the best so far. I was a pleasure to work with this group of competent officers. As I am writing this post , so many images come to my mind. Meetings and arguments with boss, discussions with colleagues, my trips to Andamans, Bhutan, Farakka and many other places. My interactions with the subordinates, my attempts to ensure discipline, my efforts to understand the audit reports put up to me . My failures…my successes. I got so much to see and learn in this office. And however much I resist, there are images outside office also…of the city, I love to hate. A city that disappointed me with its bad busses, horrible roads and terrible services . A city of suffocating politics and unnecessary aggressiveness. But have I not already mend up my relation with Calcutta in my mind? For quite sometime now, I have accepted (though grudgingly) its slow speed, its argumentative attitude for everything and even the peculiar sense of timing.
I know I will miss my years at Kolkata and the people I met here. I try my best to look at the positive side of the transfer – it will be closer to Lucknow, transfer is a reality for all of us in civil services, the new office may be even better – but none of these consolations work…the lump in my throat and the bitter taste in my mouth, continues. Don’t be surprised if you find me saying good things about Calcutta when I leave – the city, indeed, grows on you!

Enchanting Empresses : Two Parallel Asian Traditions of Entertainers

Victoria Hemming was born at Lucknow to parents of European descent: her mother was an Armenian jew and her father English. Victoria was a trained dancer of Kathak thanks to her Lucknow connection and was well versed in Urdu poetry and singing too. Around 1870 she married a certain William Robert Yeoward, who was an Armenian Jew working as an engineer in a dry ice  factory at Azamgadh near Benares. In 1870, she gave birth to a daughter named Angelina. Victoria was however destined to be far off from the secured life of a housewife. Her marriage did not last long due to Victoria’s love for dance and music and her relations with a Muslim friend named Khurshed. So after the divorce, she moved to Benares with Angelina and Khurshed, only to be deserted by her lover soon afterwards. Unable to go back to her parental or marital home, she chose the time tested profession of women fallen to misery and became a Tawaif at Baneras, which was still a centre of power and culture in 1880s. She took a new name of Malka jaan and as there was already two celebrated Tawaifs of that name at Lucknow and Agra, soon she came to be known as Badi Malka jaan. As the strongholds of Mughal empire were broken under British repression following the mutiny, the centre of power was shifting and like other women of her trade, Malka jaan too around 1883, shifted her base to Calcutta. She came here with her daughter Angelina now known as Gauhar. Gauhar also joined her mother’s profession and grew up to become the iconic Gauhar jaan of Kolkata. A woman of legendary beauty and intelligence, she was a skilled dancer, singer and was known for her repartee and poetry too. She was in the words of a historian, “the most famous, most charismatic and perhaps the wealthiest female singer/dancer at the turn of the century”. Gauhar Jan lived a very wealthy life, and she also donated generously to a number of causes. Numerous legends are associated with her. In Calcutta, she used to ride in a buggy driven by four horses, threw a party spending 20,000 rupees when her cat produced a litter of kittens, and donated only half the promised amount to Gandhiji’s ‘Swaraj fund’ when he did not keep the promise of attending the ‘fund raising’ concert and deputed a representative instead. But the glory was not everlasting for Gauhar Jaan; with the grey hair the times also turned grey for her. The lady who was also the first recorded singer of India , was soon left with little means for survival. It must be around second decade of 20th century when she started giving tuitions for wannabe singers and tawaifs. One of her student was beautiful Jardan Bai who later on moved to the newly established Cinema industry at Bombay and become a known side actress cum singer of 1940s . Later an entire generation was charmed by the gorgeous daughter of this Jardan bai - Nargis. After a successful career of film, actress Nargis even served as a member of Parliament and much like Gauhar Jaan and Malka Jaan, was associated with a number of charities. It was an unbroken chain of four women entertainers and a dramatic story of their rise(and fall) with the changes in the society . All this came to my mind as I was reading the book Memoir of a Geisha by Arthur Golden and the book made me think of a similar system back home at Lucknow. The book per se is nothing much except for the information it gave me about the things associated with the geisha.
The comparison came naturally to me. Like the Geisha in Kyoto, the world of tawaif in Lucknow is as complex and hierarchal as the society of which it is a part. In those days when even most women of good families owned nothing in terms of property in their names, these women were among the highest tax payers. Britons with their shrewd sense of business while controlling the activities of these women by legislation and otherwise did not hesitate in imposing tax on them. These tawaifs at the time of annexation of Awadh owned considerable income from the landed properties mostly received as gifts from their benefactors. Much like the Geisha of Kyoto and their okiyas these tawaifs functioned from Kothas (loosely translate as salons /pleasure houses) owned by Chaudharains who were veteran tawaifs of their own times. In a departure to the general belief these women (geisha and tawaifs ) were not prostitutes. Abdul Halim Sharar considered tawaifs as the channel through which the morals, manners and distinctiveness of Lucknow culture and society was sustained. They were not only preserver and performers of the high culture of the court but also actively shaped the developments in Hindustani music and Kathak dance style. They commanded great respect in the courts and in society and association with them bestowed prestige on those who were invited to their salons for cultural soirees. Even the young sons of nobility were sent to them for instruction in etiquettes, the art of conversation and polite manners, and appreciation of Urdu literature. They were the artists and entertainers for noble society- till the British arrived on the scene and change the society and its fabric forever. ( Much like as fate of geisha after Japan lost the war with Americans) Many of the tawaifs could not find the patrons to survive and turned to prostitution. Some other chose a life of anonymity and poverty.
Contrary to the conventional perspective of this profession historian Veena Talwar in a famous essay on the life of these courtesans argued that these women, even today are independent and consciously involved in the covert subversion of a male dominated world; they celebrate their womanhood in the privacy of their apartments by resisting and inverting the rules of gender of the larger society of which they are a part.
In the book of Arthur Golden, I found a vivid description of the rigorous training of a geisha and a great deal has been said and written (e.g in Mirza Ruswa’s novel Umrao Zaan Ada) about the education and training of the tawaifs. Besides the dancing and singing , poetry and playing instruments , calligraphy and conversation – both sets of entertainers of Japan and India are skilled in the art of Nakhra- pretense, which they have to master in order to spare no opportunity of coaxing money out of their admirers . These well practiced ploys,,- some learned, some invented, some even improvised were so much a part of their lives that even their Bollywood avatars cannot but copy those. The spontaneity of these ploys to attract attention made several otherwise worldly men lose a fortune in a moment . This may sound more like self enrichment than style but in a society which has virtually denied women control over wealth and property, perhaps it was a kind of countercultural way of life.
I try not to judge them with my contemporary morality and values. I visualize them ( much like the Witch of Portobello) as women who faced the life with courage and managed to sail through the current of society and horrors of their past lives – sometimes with relative happiness and sometimes with a resigned disinterest .

Long Live Valentine!

What a day it was today! Though I spent the day in the usual way of fire fighting the trivial issues of office and home , romantics around the world are celebrating Valentine's Day, an occasion named after a Christian patron saint for lovers. Today was the red and white day when Cupid's arrow will dart towards the pockets of many who are looking for ways to purchase gifts or provide special experiences for their loved ones. This evening I was browsing through the news related to the excitement and concerns this day is raising worldwide and was amazed to find the variety of reactions. If you ask me , I think when it comes to Valentine's Day, there are two types of people: those who love it, and those who love to hate it. I am sure shops and hospitality industry loves it much more than the lovers’ themselves as for them it means a sudden boom in revenue. The commercial sector specializing in chocolate, wine and roses see a dramatic rise on the purchase charts. So it is for the mobile companies as with the mobile phone revolution in our country, lovers are using the hi-tech mode to express their love and the telecom companies are reaping the profits. This year's Valentine's Day was the busiest text messaging day ever, according to industry experts. VeriSign predicted that 2.2 billion text messages will be sent in North America alone, representing a 40 per cent increase over normal daily traffic and a 300 per cent increase over Valentine's Day in 2007. However, for agencies, activists and businessmen Valentine's Day is no longer confined to just roses, chocolates , messages and cards. In the Arizona Republic for example Valentine's Day is a big day for divorce. On average, 19 more divorces are filed on February 14 than on any other business day in the County Superior Court, according to an analysis of divorce filings over the last decade. Ironic isn’t it ? Can you guess why it is so? For some it is the disappointment of not having the V-day as expected for others it is a statement of poetic revenge- or so believes the local social analysts . Hence while hot and heavy couples are exchanging little blue boxes and designer ties over romantic dinners today, other couples are celebrating in another was-- Divorce. Moving on to the Africa , where though Kenya's post-election reconciliation talks have not yet come up roses, the nation's crucial flower industry is blooming for Valentine's Day. The annual festival of romance is a key pay-day for Kenya's flower producers, who sell more flowers on Valentine's Day and Mother's Day than during the rest of the year combined. Most are exported to Europe of course .

The fellow traders in Israel are not that lucky . For Palestinian flower growers in the Hamas-run Gaza Strip, it was a holiday of love's labour's lost. Unable to ship their blooms to Europe for Valentine's Day because of Israeli export restrictions, they dumped two truckloads of flowers at the Sufa border crossing with the Jewish state on Thursday and fed some of the crop to sheep. And nearer home, at another border of dispute, it was an altogether opposite reaction. A rubber tube decorated with flowers and messages of love was set afloat on river Chenab for people in Pakistan on Valentine's Day by members of a political party in Akhnoor , a Jammu and Kashmir border town . In a south Asian country the health ministry is on its toes in distributing condoms as their survey shows that every third teenager will celebrate V-day by having unprotected sex.
Things are dramatically different in the northern towns of India where Hindu hard-liners are showing no love for Valentine's Day. A few dozen protesters blocked a road in New Delhi on Wednesday, burning Valentine's Day cards and chanting "Down with Valentine." In my own city Lucknow, extremists threatened to beat up couples found celebrating their love. I find it sad. Though I am neutral towards this day and the hype about it, I feel that Indian culture and values are not that fragile as these fanatics would like to believe. Their reaction is one of ignorance about their own tradition and culture.
And yet another reaction of the day for emailers --the Valentine's Day campaign that the bot-building Storm Trojan horse has been running for weeks is running at such volume that even the FBI had to issue a warning The Storm Worm virus has capitalized on various holidays in the last year by sending millions of e-mails advertising an e-card link within the text of the spam e-mail. Valentine's Day was identified as the next target.
Reminds you of the HSBC ad line : No two people have similar reactions in this world .
I really don’t know how real is all this hype and hullabaloo about the day . Some say it is the market that is driving the people for these celebrations and some believe it the other way round. Now, who is driving who is again a debatable point? Reminds me of the story of Winter prediction of red Indians which my boss told us in one of the meetings recently . The story goes like this that the red Indians by virtue of their traditional knowledge could predict how severe the next winter will be with much accuracy. The custom was that much before the beginning of winter, the group will go to their chief asking how the next winter is going to be and the chief will smell the leaves, check the moist of earth and feel the water before giving his verdict. But one year, the old chief died and his American University educated son took over . This new chief thanks to his superior education has lost the skill of predicting weather the Red Indian way. So when the tribe came for his verdict in August he called the local Met office and asked them. They replied it will be severe winter and the new chief repeated the words to his tribe and advised them to collect wood . People again came in September and October and both times the chief on Met office’s advice predicted ‘very severe winter’ and asked them to collect all the wood they can cut . Now it was November and winter was not at all severe. So the chief again called Met office and asked if they are sure it will be a harsh winter. They replied “ Of course sir, Just go to the wood and you will find even the red Indians have cut down the forest to collect wood. Take my word sir, these people are never wrong about the weather .”
But what the heck, for most of us ...it was just a day like all others ….full of an exotic mix of happiness and excitement, disappointment and loneliness, work and leisure .One cannot however, help feeling bit envious of the lucky ones who have time for V-day celebrations .And let’s be honest, its always nice to see people in love, people who celebrate their relationships, people who dare to show that they care ….and nice to watch lovey dovey movies on TV too .So in a limited way, I am also joining the bandwagon and am watching Meg Ryan in Sleepless in Seattle saying –“Winter must be cold for those who have no warm memories.” Long live Valentine !

Honour me!

It was yet another republic day, another parade at Rajpath, an expressionless new President saluting the marching soldiers, colourful tableau and a new list of people being awarded highest civil state honours. Of course the state honours lists and the debate on it, did not start on that day. This time people from various political parties started quite early in demanding the honour be conferred on their party leaders. Speculations were ripe whether the government will give in to political pressures or not. The list had some expected names and some surprises, much like every year. Our ‘breaking news’ media started its day’s business by taking exclusive bytes and quotes from those getting felicitated and those who couldn’t. Everyone had an opinion to give .Some wanted their favorites to be in higher categories others ridiculed the entire concept of state honours.

This entire hullabaloo reminded me of a similar occasion, on a much lower scale, which is repeated in Government offices each year when the list for honorarium is to be prepared. As per rules it should be only for work performed which is occasional or intermittent in character and either so laborious or of such merit as to justify a special reward. But this rule is known more for its violation than practice. In government offices, much like our political circles, these honours are ‘demanded’ “rallied for” and are a matter of power balancing. Last year I consciously left out few names from the list and my goodness, what a scene it led to. Someone very senior was sulking that his name is not included; someone else was agitated that I am biased; others expressed their grievances to their colleagues which were dutifully transmitted to me via informal channels. In some cases on my boss’s advice I had to give in. (“You can’t change the world in one go! You have to take work out of these fellows only” ) In others ,I stood firm. People continued cribbing whole year through. After all they were denied their ‘right to be honoured’.

Much like my office , even for award of Padma shri, Padma Bhushan etc –we need to pause and think. Are we honouring only those who are shameless enough to come and demand it …either themselves or through their patrons? And what is the criterion? What is the contribution of these people for the nation? Madhuri Dixit for example….she may be an able actress , a good dancer and a very talented person...but what is her distinguished contribution for film industry? Perhaps it will be fully justified if a film federation honour her for her abilities but why is our state honouring her? Did she ever consciously created opportunities for others ...was her being there beneficial/uplifting /encouraging to others in a great way ? Was she not just concentrating on her career ...much like most of us ? Then there is Vinod Dua who after decades of fearless journalism will get the same honour as Ms.Barkha Dutt….just because of the latter’s good political connections. I don’t think Barkha Dutt by any standard deserve to get Padma Shri so early in her career. I have nothing against her age but what is her contribution? Is it significant enough for such a state honour? Same is the case of Rajdeep Sardesai. I know at least a dozen other newsmen and newswomen who are far more committed to news and public service through news, than these well known vendors of yellow journalism. But what they lack is the political connections of these hi-profile journalists.
Sachin Tendelukar is definitely a hero. A youth icon par excellence. But by playing good cricket for India – for which he was suitably (if not too generously) rewarded, he committed the similar stature of service what Ratan Tata did though his business and charity!...Sorry I disagree.Sachin's success needs to be recognised but his contribution in his field is no way near to Ratan Tata's in his. Excellence in public life and other areas of activity should be recognized, of course. But who is deciding that and how? For me Dhirubhai Ambani is more of a Bharat Ratna than Rajiv Gandhi is. Dhirubhai was the first Indian industrialist to cater to the needs of the small investor. He introduced the equity cult in small towns in India. He also single-handedly revitalized the Indian capital market, by focusing on capital appreciation instead of dividend, which was the norm .His companies are globally admired for their rapid and time-bound implementation methods . Dhirubhai was also the first industrialist in India to build factories comparable to the best in the world. Narayan Murti deserves it much more than many politicians for tuning the young India on the right track of IT revolution . Ratan Tata deserved Bharat Ratna much before the names which were being coined by various political parties. He not only worked for his own profit but also showed a new way for an entire generation of businessmen on how business and ethics can go hand in hand. Today when his companies are in more number of countries than Indian Embassies are- creating employment opportunities for millions of young Indians , why can’t this nation acknowledge that he brought much more wealth to India than one reluctant son who inherited the Prime Ministership from his mother and concentrated more on bribes than his job. O yes, Rajiv Gandhi was killed in terrorist attack…but was it not his foolish decision that killed hundreds of our soldiers at Sri Lanka ? The highest civilian award of the country, the Bharat Ratna, has been trivialized with politicians throwing their weight around and demanding the honour be bestowed on their party leaders. Today all these state honours are simply a reflection of populist choices and not the prudent ones.
State awards today are a hangover of monarchy. Kings gave away titles to various people as recognition of their loyalty to the throne. But, should democracies continue with this tradition that gives fancy titles to a few privileged citizens? Privileged -because either media or their political connections ensured their inclusion in politicians’ good books .
I was writing this post when I saw that all news channels are going gaga about the Bachchan Family’s great contribution for Education of girls .They were going to start construction of a Girls’ College near Lucknow in the name of daughter in law Aishwarya . Oh, what a showoff it was! One college….in one district from a family of country’s two highest tax payers , stars who earn hundreds of crores in a year and our media is impressed. It was a full fledged drama where no one spoke about girl’s education…. not even the sitting MP Jaya Bachchan …it was all about the family – and friends like Amar Singh and their great deeds.The Bachchan parivar, of course, put in a virtuoso performance. Clad in saris and heads draped demurely, Jaya and Aishwarya played UP bahus to the hilt. I quietly remembered the man who is today spending maximum amount of money on education in India –Azim Premji. The one who has humility enough not to climb these podiums and cry out his own greatness. I thought of several other traditional business families who open schools , dharamshalas and old age homes in the memory of family members but never bother to boast of it except for a plaque in front of the institution . Media is not interested in them. They are not interested in media either . Tomorrow if you hear the Bachchan family members being given Padma Bhushan for their contribution in the field of girls’ education …do not bother to get surprised, we live in the country where self marketing is the buzzword of success and well only greatness that matters is what you see on your TV screen .
Talking of office honorarium again , one of my senior at Jaipur was constantly harassed by the inefficiency of her peon. The old bugger will come late, will crib if asked to do even a small job and was not even polite to her. While finalizing the list of honorarium for that year , I was surprised to find the peon’s name recommended by this lady . I asked her why she is recommending his name. She looked at me wide eyed and screamed – “Do you think I will be able to survive one day, if I don’t? This fella will kill me by his 24 hour cribbing .” Now if at this small level ,people can create such pressures, I am sure for Padma awards pressures will be tremendous .The message is clear, honour in public life these days , is demanded not earned. It is political decision and not a rational one.

The Chronicler of Calcutta

He will not make a great impression at the first sight. There is nothing extraordinary about his appearance and if someday you find him walking down on a street, you may not even bother a second glance. But if you know what he did for last 40 odd years you will realize how extraordinary a man he is. He is very special in his nature of work. In the ordinary appearance of that unassuming, simple old man there lies a very beautiful mind. A mind of a genius, who dedicated his life to a very difficult task of documenting a city for the benefit of the coming generations. It’s because of him that Calcutta knows about its past with such authenticity. No , he is not the only one who fell in love with this city . There are many foreigners and sons and daughters of the soil who wrote about Bengal and Calcutta ….but in the recent times, his work is the most well researched work about the history and culture of Calcutta . A quintessential storyteller,he loves to talk and talk about calcutta. He can give you as many stories about streets of Kolkata as you care to listen. Each one better than the earlier one.

Many old cities have had chroniclers of their own. People who dedicated their lives writing about the city and its history in great details for the benefit of all. I read about some medieval chroniclers for Istanbul , I have read books by Abdul Halim Sharar on Lucknow and today I met the most well known contemporary chronicler of Calcutta P.Thankkapan Nair. This charming gentleman, who will complete 75 this year, has spent four decades at National Library researching about Calcutta. He probably knows much more about the city than anyone else and no wonder even the Governor of West Bengal accepts that he is not a walking encyclopedia but a complete University about Calcutta . Mr. Nair has written 40 books about Calcutta and he intends to write many more.
I met him at National Library where my team is doing a Performance audit. In fact, we hunt him out as we were not getting some basic information about the Library from the official channels. I was surprised to know that even today every morning he will dutifully turn up at National Library and research through the dusty volumes till late afternoon. His work is often disrupted by other readers who seek his assistance about the library , as he is undoubtedly the most knowledgeable person about the Library also. He knows better about the location of the books that most librarians and their assistants …as unlike them, he loved each and every volume stored over there, in those dusty racks . I found the old adage on simplicity as the biggest characteristic of a genius ,true in Mr. Nair’s persona. First thing that strike me was his sparking eyes. Very candidly he informed me that he has to do this to this city which gave him refuge for his entire life( he was born and brought up at Travancore, Kerala) .. “After all, this much I owe to this great city” he stated in a matter of fact tone . He told me his simple philosophy of life . “I do not take favours . Do not take royalties and do not care for any honour etc…that is why I am so fearless. I do not need political patronage, bureaucrat’s approval or scholarly sanction for my work. I call a spade a spade and no wonder, I do not feature in most people’s good books.” “They don’t like me but they know they need me for some of their works…so I guess the endure me for that.” He chuckled. In true calcuttan adda tradition, he is always game for a chat and ever ready to help. I asked for 10 minutes and he happily chatted for 2 hours with my team. I learnt that though he has written extensively about the city and its life over the centuries , he started his research when he decided to write about simple things of national importance. National symbols, peacock and mango for example. Do you know Mr.Nair wrote two volumes on The Mango in Indian Life and Culture? Today after penning 48 books, he is much sought after by various people for various reasons. A TV channel want him to feature for their series on 100 haunted houses of Kolkata , the Police Commissioner persuaded him to write about the History of Kolkata Police, tomorrow he will lecture the students of IIT Kharagpur enlightening them about the history of their Alma Mater which was a prison in the British period for freedom fighters, state PWD consult him for the original designs of heritage buildings and Governor of the state call for him whenever in doubt about some monument or event related to Calcutta.

Calcutta New Market in 1940s

Mr Nair lives alone at Kolkata as his family is now settled in his native Kerala town. He purposely lives without a Car, TV, computer etc (“ If I collect all these things to looks after..when will I do my research”?) . When I showed my amazement at his ascetic lifestyle, he simply laughed and confided that he enjoys all these luxuries when he is back at Kerala but Calcutta is his workplace, meant only for work . “Why should I indulge in such luxuries over here at the cost of precious time ?”

After meeting Mr. Nair , I was thinking how much discipline it takes to bring out well researched chronicles…even on very simple things. At times I do wonder, how many people in the coming generations would like to know the fact and fiction about Job Charnock or the ghost of Hastings house ? Probably most people living in Alipur area of Calcutta would not care to know about the Belvedere , the magnificent building that once housed the high and mighty of British Raj and today stores the invaluable collection of books as National Library , still standing tall in their neighbourhood . But there was something very touching , very puritan and yet very symbolic in Mr. Nair’s style of working….his quest for trivia, his eagerness to hunt out old books and periodicals and above all his austere lifestyle to ensure the unbiased, unpoliticized research. In Sanskrit books, I have read about search for knowledge for your own happiness( ‘swantah sukhay’) but after a very long time I saw someone who is still perusing that in this age of tabloid journalism and reality shows.

Of Candles and the cake ....

"I mean, what is an un-birthday present?"
"A present given when it isn't your birthday, of course."

Alice considered a little. "I like birthday presents best,"

she said at last.

"You don't know what you're talking about!" cried Humpty Dumpty.

"How many days are there in a year?"

"Three hundred and sixty-five," said Alice.

"And how many birthdays have you?"

"One."
“………..and that shows that there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents --'’’

-- Alice in Wonderland

Well may be…..on the other 364 days I may be getting many un-birthday presents but they can never give me the joy and happiness of getting one on Birthday .My birthday …..which happens to be on first of January. I know I know....now you will be exclaiming " what a day to be born!" All I can say is that it was hardly my choice and then 1st January is a wonderful day . Imagine the whole world is celebrating the beginning of another year . So, three decades of existence on the planet...and here I am ready for another birthday .

Now, if you ask me why an old hag like me who has already joined the not-so-Thrilling Thirties , is still talking about birthdays and that too so happily ….well well well, take it from me , age is strictly a case of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter. During my college days, once I was reading an interview of Molly Keane who very rightly quipped about getting old that :
“Once I was looking through the kitchen window at dusk and I saw an old woman looking in. Suddenly the light changed and I realized that the old woman was myself. You see, it all happens on the outside; inside one doesn't change …”

So should I tell you what I am planning to do on my birthday? I will do exactly what I advised a friend few months back on his birthday --one must celebrate a birthday by being a child. I will hang balloons outside my door. Announce to random strangers that it's my birthday. One should even eat the artery clogging, blood sugar elevating, thigh thickening cake on this day. But for me this will immediately nullify my New Year resolution of shedding few kilos ….on second thoughts, it's sad that my birthday coincides with the new year day .I hate to break the resolution on the very first day …but then, aren't promises and pie crusts made to be broken ? So I will be a good birthday girl, I will eat the frosting. Make a goood wish. Rip the wrapping paper in a celebratory frenzy... and wear a big smile whole evening .

And since there aren't any random strangers around, let me announce it on my blog: Hey, it's my birthday today ! Aren't I cool? Come on, don’t give me that funny look of –when-will-you-grow-up . You know there is a saying that a person is getting old when he walks around a puddle instead of through it….and let me confirm, I love jumping in the puddle specially if someone well dressed is standing nearby ….that adds music to the visual effects after all.

So wish me a wonderful birthday and here is wishing you all a very happy and eventful New Year 2008.