OUT OF THE BOX THINKING?

This is the dilemma the armed forces face. In a uniformed service we choose to promote the uniformity of training, response, actions; in short everything. It is a virtual cloning. DSSC tells you that even letters have to be written a particular way: “I have the honour to state that we are not getting anywhere” etc. Then, suddenly, at a particular rank and seniority, we hope that some would still have some innovative grey matter left, and would be able to think out-of-the-box. The only solution is to separate the occasions that require uniformity from those that can be done in various ways, right from the beginning; say, if someone writes a Letter of Procedings like a blog we will not call him to task and use the “standard” armed forces response: “What s__t have you written?”The entire thing arises from our sense of insecurity that if ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’, it would be end of discipline in the armed forces; “For heavens sake, today, if we allow him do things differently, tomorrow there will be nothing left of our culture, traditions, and heritage.”

Think about a simple thing like ‘contact with foreign nationals’. Have we amended the Navy Order knowing that every time you go on Internet you are in contact with foreign nationals? Or AC cars for Commodores and above only; knowing that these days, even if a Ag SubLt wants to buy a car, there is hardly any choice but to buy an AC car.

Are armed forces resistant to change but at the same time expect that its people would think out-of-the-box?

 

“Ah, but there is ample scope for innovativeness even in the strait-jacketed atmosphere of a hierarchical structure. Some officers really turn out to be innovative” is the oft heard refrain of some senior officers. The answer is, “Sir, we don’t want a handful to become innovative. We want a larger percentage to be thinking out-of-the-box. And, in any case, Sir, those who turn out to be innovative do so not because of the system but despite the system.”

We don’t want out-of-box thinking as an accident or aberration. We want it as a norm. For this not only that we have to start thinking of it at fairly early stages (formative years) of officers careers; but, also send signals that it would be rewarded just as, if because of it, we land up into failure, we shall not do witch hunting.

HOW CORRUPT OR HONEST ARE WE?

Suddenly, due to Anna Hazare’s movement, the subject of Corruption is everywhere. The focus or the target is still the Powerful and the Rich. It has been taken for granted that all of us are upright; but, like the good, sati-savitri, bathed in milk, Hindi movie heroine who is forced into prostitution by the cruel samaaj (society), we are somehow forced into giving bribes. Hence, we’d make ourselves believe that giving bribe has never been our first convenient choice but the last recalcitrant one.I don’t know how many really believe in it and can really say with conviction that they were forced into taking short-cuts; that their conscience didn’t go through an upheaval when they reached smartly for the wallet to sort out a minor, insignificant aberration of jumping a red-light and being stopped by the traffic cop; when, if he had any sense, he’d be really concentrating on those who do bigger and more serious offences? You reason it out with your conscience, “Red light hi jump kiya na; daka to nahin dala, chori to nahin ki hai?” (Only red light I jumped; (for havens sake) I didn’t commit dacoity or theft?)

I am reminded of the my young Sub-Lieutenant days. I was travelling by a train from New Delhi to Bombay. The train had started from Amritsar and there were these young students as my co-passengers in the Second AC compartment. They were playing cards and the subject was extolling the virtues of the TTE. Amongst other things, here is what I heard, “Marvellous and well behaved TTE (Traveling Ticket Examiner) really. Took a hundred rupees from each one of us and provided reservation without any fuss.” At this, another solemnly observed, “People like him are becoming rare these days.”

Then there is another incident I brought out in Adarsh Society, CWG, Corruption in Armed Forces and Public Morality; I am re-producing it here because of its relevance:

Most of the First Class compartments had been booked for our course as we headed towards Jamnagar. To pass time, we played Bridge and drank beer and rum. When the TTE (I still remember his name on the his name telly: V Srivastava) came to our compartment he saw that we were drinking. He was visibly shocked at this and addressed us in chaste Hindi which is translated thus: “Young men, you should be ashamed of yourself. You are passing through Mahatma Gandhi’s state wherein drinking liquor is prohibited. And yet, here you are – young men who would be responsible to defend our nation – shamelessly breaking the law and drinking.”I was, at that time (perhaps I still am) an idealist and moralist. I was so mortified by this that I left the gang, collected my Ayn Rand and climbed to the upper berth to hide my head in shame. I was so immersed in ‘The Fountainhead’ that after some time when I looked down I found the TTE having a drink with my friends. I got down from the berth and berated him, “Srivastava ji, you had no right to be pseudo moralistic. Look at you, now, a TTE on duty having liquor. I think at the next station we shall hand you over to the Vigilance people”.

His reply is pointer towards the central theme of this essay, “Ab chhodiye bhai sahib. Main to ek do peg pi ke chala jayoonga; vigilance wale kam se kam poori botal lenge aapse“. (Just forget it, brother. I shall (quietly) go after one or two pegs; the vigilance people would demand a full bottle, at the least).

Is this what we are, honest and upright by comparison to the bigger fish? If that is the case we should be conscious of the fact that where we are today and the nation is, is not merely because of the neta and the babu. In the Indian society, as of now, it is a smart thing to be a man (or woman) of the street and know the tricks of the trade.

Have you ever considered asking your lawyer or doctor for a receipt of the fees paid to him? Are you scared that in case he/she get annoyed with your effrontery he/she would spoil your case or your health, or worse still that of your children or aged parents? Does your not asking for receipt make a difference? Of course it does because he/she then obtains – what is called – black-money and the government doesn’t get tax on his black income. Have you ever thought why is it that whilst a doctor or lawyer gets large amount of fees he/she is shy of receiving these in cheque or even by credit/debit cards? Is it because all these instruments leave a trail that he doesn’t want to leave?

Have you looked the other way when the vendor tells you the price of a thing and that it would be cheaper by a certain amount if you don’t insist on a bill or receipt or invoice? Have you ever considered that the cumulative sum involved of these kind of sales is much more than the loss to the state caused by A Raja?

Well, chances are that you actually thought of these things but have argued that a drop is really a small thing as compared to the ocean of corruption. Isn’t it the same convoluted reasoning we give for not voting or for littering or for playing our loudspeaker?

Yesterday I was listening to Kabir’s dohai (couplets) and the most appropriate to the situation that I heard was:

“Bura Jo Dekhan Main Chala, Bura Naa Milya Koye
 Jo Mann Khoja Apnaa, To Mujhse Bura Naa Koye”
(I went looking for an evil one, I couldn’t find one;
Then, I looked into my inner self, I found I was the most evil.”

Lets do everything to set right public corruption. However, lets set right ourselves too.

SHATTERED DREAMS

Shamli was  a quaint village. From across the hill it would appear as if huts and houses were rolled down from the top of the steep hill and they somehow managed to hang on to a relatively flatter portion. This was fortuitous because a few metres more they would have surely fallen over a cliff into the silvery river far below.Lakshmi was born into a traditional farmer family. She was the youngest of six daughters before her parents were finally lucky to get a son, her brother Mohan. Farmer community often waited for a son to be born for keeping possession of the land within the family as also to have a male member to till the land.

Lakshmi, however, used to wonder why her parents ever wanted a son. She and her sisters worked at an apple orchard and a canning unit about five kms from the village and brought enough money home every month for the family to somehow afford two meals a day. They also studied up to sixth standard in the government run primary school. She and her sisters, when they received their monthly salary from the ‘factory‘, were allowed by their father to keep up to 50 rupees to indulge in such things as buying bangles, ear-rings and bindis. Mohan, on the other hand, grew to be a lout. He never helped their father on the field. Even when he was sent to the school, he started spending the money given to him for fees and books on buying a glue like intoxicant simply called nasha.

Initially, Mohan was drugged only during school-time; but, lately, many a times Lakshmi had seen that he was in a stupor even at home. Despite his uselessness and hopelessness, Lakshmi noticed that her mother was partial to Mohan, being a boy. He was the heir-apparent of the family; when he would get married, he would demand and get dowry, whereas, for lakshmi and her sisters dowry had to be to offered to the parents of their bridegrooms. Even in the orchard where Lakshmi worked, men were paid ‘daily-wages’ at least thirty rupees more than women; all because men had greater physical prowess or so they thought.

Lakshmi knew this was not correct at all. She had seen the Border Roads Organisation (BRO) women, with their kids tied to their back, doing such ‘manly’ works as lifting and breaking rocks, using pick-axes, spades etc and then return home and cook meals for their men-folk. Mohan, her brother, might have been physically stronger but she could do twice the work that Mohan could do.

Lakshmi was not into nasha at all. However, She was not above fantasizing. She had seen a few Hindi movies and was fascinated by the life-style of the actresses. They looked like goddesses; she felt even better. No one in their village had ever seen an actress (they often referred to them as heroines) but, Lakshmi had heard that in a village called Ghata, about a hundred kilometres away, once a famous actress Madhuri Dixit had arrived to shoot a movie. People said she looked even more ‘sundar‘ than she looked in the movies. Lakshmi never let her fantasies get the better of her. She was a great believer in her religion and kismet (fate) and knew that it was entirely Ram’s will that she, Lakshmi, was born in Shamli and Madhuri and others lived in the City of Dreams, Mumbai.

Mohan, however, was different. His dreams had not stopped at seeing the movies. He actually dreamt of going to Mumbai and tasting life of that filmy city. He and his pals strongly believed that in Mumbai, money was literally lying on the roads and was waiting to be picked up. He had, helped by liberal doses of nasha, come to the conclusion that his future would never be in Shamli, but, in his dream city Mumbai. He had made good friends with a lorry cleaner Subhash. During the apple season, many lorries left from Shamli and other villages for Delhi and Subhash told Mohan that some were even sent to Mumbai too. Mohan had asked Subhash if he could take a lift with them up to Delhi and then, if possible, up to Mumbai. Subhash had informed him that their lorry was small, meant for hill roads; whereas, the ones that left for Mumbai were bigger and had three to four drivers who drove in turns so that the apples would reach without much time delay. Since Subhash was also in nasha, Mohan, during all his visits to Shamli had frequently procured it for Subhash. Therefore, he felt he had the right to ask Subhash if he could find for him a lift all the way from Delhi to Mumbai.

One day, it was all arranged, and Mohan simply went missing. Lakshmi was quick to realise that so was her carefully saved kitty bank. Her father also reported a few hundred rupees stolen from his almirah. The family was crestfallen, but, fell shy of lodging a police complaint. Everyone in the village knew that it didn’t help to have the police involved in one’s woes; for, the woes were sure to increase after police’s interjection. It was, indeed, fortuitous for them not to have gone to the police because a few days later, during his next trip to Shamli, Subhash told them that Mohan had left for Mumbai. He assured them that Mumbai was a city of great fortune, like no other city in India, and very soon Mohan would be a big man.

It took them some time to get over the loss of Mohan. The father, as always was impassive but the mother was inconsolable. Lakshmi too missed her brother. He could sing the pahari songs really well and was a great hit at family gatherings and even at other people’s celebrations. Now that he was gone, she reminisced about the time when he tried teaching her how to ride a bicycle, and other memorable acts of his.

One day, when Lakshmi returned home for lunch from the factory, she found Bhumi Ram sitting there and being treated to kheer by her mother. She really perked up at the sight of Bhumi Ram since he was the postman and his being there signalled a letter from someone. She couldn’t believe her eyes that the letter was from Mohan to her father. He apologised for his sudden departure but said he had dreams, which could only be fulfilled in the great city of Mumbai. He said he was already doing good bijnus, and would have them all there in Mumbai in a big bungloo. At dinner time when the thalis were served to them in front of the choolha, the father was once again quiet as usual but the mother just couldn’t hide her ‘I-told-you-so’ look. She said she had predicted that her honhaar (accomplished) son would one day bring joy and great fortune to the family.

It became a ritual receiving Mohan’s letters periodically. The mother couldn’t read but made one or the other daughter read them several times especially in front of the father. One day, it came out that Mohan had moved into a house and requested that one or more of them should visit him there to see the lovely sights of Mumbai. The father was ailing and mother couldn’t ever think of leaving him alone. Gradually, it was decided that Lakshmi would visit Mohan in Mumbai. However, it was easier said than done. For Mohan it was easy to hitch-hike on apple lorries;  but, she was a girl and it was not practical. Finally, after much debate in which the other villagers too participated, it was decided that she would take a bus to Shimla, another to Kalka and then take a train to Mumbai. They told Subhash to take a letter to a relative in Kalka who would help with the train reservation.

Lakshmi had never been on such a long journey and she was both fearful and excited. Up to Shimla she had in the bus her own type of people. Even though the bus was very crowded, they guided her nicely. She had to wait a lot for a connecting bus to Kalka. Outside the Kalka Railway Station, her anxiety was the most intense but she met her uncle Sewak there whom she had seen when he had visited them last year with his family. He had even brought packed dinner for her since the train was to start late in the night.

She had an upper berth on the side in Second Class. She didn’t mind it at all. Most often than not she slept. Sometimes only she sat with the old lady on the lower berth who was going to visit her daughter and son-in-law in Mumbai. But, she was more interested in looking out than talking to the old lady. She hadn’t seen so much of flat land ever and her reaction was that it would be much easier tilling the plains than the hilly regions.

On the first night she slept peacefully because of the tiredness of two bus rides in the hills. However, on the second night she hardly slept with the anxiety of meeting Mohan at a strange station in a strange city.

As the train came to halt at Mumbai Central the morning of next to next day after they started, the din and flurry of activity were more than any that she was used to; even more than the time Mohan had taken her to the mela (fair) in the village. Mohan had written to her to wait for him in front of the compartment till he’d find her. But, such was the rush and confusion that it was difficult for her to stand there with her suitcase. Finally, she spotted him. He looked weaker and haggard but she was glad to see him. She hugged him. As they walked outside the station, she noticed that many coolies exchanged greetings with Mohan. She was alarmed. So, when they sat in the taxi, she asked him, “Mohan, are you a coolie too?” He said no; he had a fine bijnus.

It is only days later that she found that his bijnus was to stand in a queue everyday at the Reservation Counter, and get reservations done in fictitious names and sell them to passengers in need who gave him commission on every ticket. “But, doesn’t the booking clerk suspect this?” she had asked. “No, he doesn’t suspect. In fact he knows. I have to give him a cut on every ticket just like all the other agents do.” She had another valid doubt, “What about the police?” He very confidently responded, “Police too have their cut.”

She insisted that it didn’t sound like a very good bijnus. He said he was lucky to be promoted. Earlier, at the same railway station he was a Pusher. She wanted to know what a Pusher did. It turned out that many people travel in the General Compartment, where they are allowed to travel without reservation. The only problem is that the number of people getting in normally exceeds by a few hundred the capacity of the compartment. Hence, a Pusher, well versed with the right push at the right time, charges a passenger about Rupees Fifty or so, to be pushed inside the comaprtment. Once inside, there is never any chance of anyone being pushed out since the traffic is always one way. Many weeks later when she travelled by the local trains, she found that one has to get in and get out with the general flow of other passengers. Else, one can be stranded either inside or outside.

When they reached his house, she was in for another shock. It was in Dharavi, Asia’s biggest slum, with such inhuman conditions that she nearly vomited. He shared a ten feet by eight feet room with three other men; two were Pushers and one was an Agent like him. When they spread their mats on the floor to sleep there was hardly any place for anything else. When the mats were lifted, a kerosene stove was brought out from under a stool (the only piece of furniture in the room) to make meals. The washing of dishes was to be done common at the end of the floor where there were also toilets and baths. Water was available for about ten minutes in the mornings and evenings. There were some utensils and plastic bottles kept in the room for storing water. The four trunks of the four men were kept on one side in a row. Mohan asked her to keep her suitcase there and to ensure that just like the trunks it should be always locked.

Gradually, Lakshmi came to know that Mohan didn’t want to waste money on toilet and bath (one has to pay everytime for the use). He and his friends found that there are always leaking pipes at the Railway Station and all you require was a small soap to make yourself clean. As far as urinating and relieving oneself was concerned, Mohan had found that Mumbai is a very friendly city. Nearly all his friends (and not just the room mates) did it anywhere and everywhere.

She was normally left in the room when he went on bijnus. However, on the sunday after she came, he took her sightseeing. There were people in mad rush even on a sunday but it was nice and a little peaceful at the Gateway (a 1911 monument to commemorate the visit of King George V) and she saw the sea for the first time. Mohan bought her singdana (roasted peanuts) and she felt that was life. For the duration of time she sat there and looked at the Taj Hotel, the ships at anchorage, the people gayly walking by, the cameramen asking her if she wanted her and Mohan’s picture to be taken, the boats on the side of the Gateway, which Mohan told ferried people to famous Elephanta Caves; she forgot all about the life at the chawl, the daily struggle to live, cook, bathe etc. She looked at the cars of the rich people coming out of Taj hotel. They looked exactly like what she had seen in the movies.

Mohan had gone to see a taxi driver friend just a few metres away and told her to wait for him at the other end of the Gateway. That’s the time when she heard the explosion; no actually felt it in her bones. Suddenly, there was carnage all around her. She had blood splattered on her face and she was knocked unconscious. Her last recollection was that of a girl being killed  by shrapnel at a spot where Lakshmi had stood only a minute ago.

When she came to her senses it was in a hospital. She screamed. Where was Mohan? It was much later she found that he was not only instantly killed but his body was blown to bits.

Mohan’s room-mates were all from Bihar. They were very nice to her and arranged for his cremation when after much delay they could receive the body. It was in no condition to be kept for funeral later. She had sent a telegram home but she knew no one could have made in time for the funeral. After the funeral, the next day, she sent another telegram informing them about the date of her return. There was nothing much to be sorted out since Mohan didn’t have much.

Next week, she was on her way back by train to Kalka. She didn’t have to be pushed in the General Compartment as Mohan’s friends had managed reservation for her through their contacts.

When she seated herself, this time on the lower berth, through her tears she took out from her suitcase the picture of Mohan and her taken at the Gateway just before the explosion. He looked so happy as if he owned the Gateway, if not the city of Mumbai.

She, however, felt, that in the City of Dreams you don’t really own anything except your dreams. And one day, you have a rude awakening. As the train picked up speed she looked at the chawls next to the train track, some as precariously placed, as the dreams.

Note: All characters in the above story are imaginary and have no resemblance with any person dead or alive. However, the incident of explosion at Gateway of India actually took place on 25 Aug 2003.

IS YOUR BLOG YOUR CHILD?

This is mainly for the blogging community.

I have often wondered what does my blog mean to me. Finally, the comparison that comes to mind is that of my sons Arjun and Arun when they were small. How I worried about them. How I wished they would do well.

Because of them it became common for me to show interest in other people’s children so that they too would show interest in mine. Earlier, I may have detested people showing volumes of pictures of their children on every conceivable occasion: birthdays, bath, picnic, simply in the cot, drinking milk, standing and looking cute, putting on hat and lapping up attention. But, after Arjun and Arun were born, I welcomed the show of pride of other parents as it gave me opportunity to show them their pictures too. Earlier, when we visited friends and their children wanted to recite ‘twinkle twinkle little star’, we would abruptly change the topic. But, later, with Arjun and Arun, we had something to recite and show of our own. I guess, it is the same with blogging.

Arjun and Arun we had to mind our language. Earlier, when friends were home we could speak all kinds of gibberish. With the blog it is the same. You have to be careful lest you should be misquoted or held accountable for something. If your child, for example, wets his knickers, you’d be embarrassed even though other people also have gone through the same or similar experiences. But wetting knickers, ugh.

But, I think, the biggest similarity is that the wailing of other infants used to cause us considerable discomfiture, if not annoyance. However, after our own child was born, not only that his incessant crying appeared absolutely appealing and cute, but, we had something good to say about other kids crying too. In blogging too, we do find renewed zeal about other bloggers’ utterances or even screams. There appears to be lots of merit in these as long as they forgive us our own trespasses.

Lets not forget surprises. You discover things about your children virtually on everyday basis, especially when they are small. It is not different with your blog. Wherever you go, you want to take your child with you, as close to your chest as possible; and so it is with your blog.

Your child’s marks in exam were as if your own marks. Your blog’s rank too reflects the same emotions. Nothing of your blog, just like nothing of your child, can be a secret. You are known by both.

Here is another great similarity: you have enormous anxiety about whether your child would do well; whether he would be appreciated; whether he’d speak, walk and run. Ditto with the blog.

Names are important for both. As Guru Granth Sahib says, “Changa naam rakhayi ke jas kirat jag le.” (By keeping a good name you (hope to) earn a lot of fame and repute in this world). Similarly, the name of your child or blog has to be in sync with what you want him/it to become.

And what about the first time? Do you remember the first time your child said something? For whatever it is worth, all he may have said was “goo”, but, you were walking on cloud nine. Don’t you think it is the same with the blog? It appears inane to you, Sir? Well, don’t forget it is not cut and pasted. It is as original as my son’s “goo” or “ta ta ta”. Today, it is “goo”, ma’am. Tomorrow, he’d write poetry better than Shakespeare.

There used to be any number of children of Arjun’s age who would rattle out poetry, history, current affairs and facts and were accomplished in games or other hobbies such as photography. Parents used to show off their medals and awards and trophies. I used to spend sleepless nights thinking why was my child not as smart. Now too, I look around and see superbly laid out blogs with excellent google page ranks, Alexa ranks and other ranks. And then I look at my own; why can’t my child do as well?

I feel like Waheeda Rehman singing to her newly conceived child in ‘Mujhe Jeene Do’ (Let Me Live):

“Tere bachpan ko jawani ki dua deti hun,
Aur dua deke preshaan si ho jaati hun.”
((My child), I pray for your childhood to step into youth,
But after praying, I become full of anxiety)

Could I have adopted a fully grown blog? But then, it won’t entirely have been my own. Also, it would probably signal to the world that I don’t have the spunk to father one of my own.

So, dear readers, as my child fumbles its way through its childhood, forgive it if its babbling and baby-talk does not have the intellectual bent that you all are used to. It stands and falls, falls and stands; but, eventually it would learn to run and even climb hills.

Sunbyanyname, my child, I am your father and mother rolled into one. Come last in the class, if you wish to. Be a laggard in sports if you can’t help it. Dawdle your way through. However, don’t ever cheat. Also, don’t ever be afraid to say what you feel is right. Whatever you become, I want you to stand on your own.

It isn’t a race, my son. In your style of doing things, you would always be Number One to me.

Your rank will always be the highest to me.

Twinkle, twinkle little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

WHY MUST WE LOVE INDIAN ROADS

Fed up of driving on Indian roads? Frustrated with our driving habits? Well, we have a good thing going and you are either not aware of it or don’t have respect for Indian values. In your hurry to denigrate us you have missed out the following:

1. India is the only country in the world where we have “environmentally friendly” roads. You are never too far from mother Nature.

Environmentally Friendly Road in Mumbai

2. If it hadn’t been for these roads, people living in cities would never know what it is like staying in villages. These roads, therefore, inadvertently result in “national integration”.

Village? Well, no, it is in the heart of Mumbai

3. We heard Neil Armstrong on the moon with his “one small step for me, one big leap for mankind” and wondered when would an Indian be able to say that. Now, at least in Mumbai, we say it everyday when we take our “big leap” over the craters that invariably start with a small step.

Pic courtesy Hitxp Blogzine by Gurudev

4. There are hardly any chances of meeting with accidents which can’t be ruled out if one goes at crater-less roads with high speed.
5. These roads make you believe in God; indeed, several times during your journey you will think of Him. “Hey Ishwar, us paar (used to be said for our life on Earth) pahuncha de.” (O’ God, make me reach the other side(most Indian scriptures think of this world as an ocean that we have to cross))
6. These roads provide means of living/employment for several people including politicians, municipal councillors, contractors, labourers, and motor mechanics. Taste this:

Overheard the following conversation between two vendors of toys at Chunna Bhatti Junction:

Vendor1: Sales are really good these days. 

Vendor2: Why shouldn’t they be? The traffic hardly moves and we have all the time in the world to convince motorists to buy our stuff.

Vendor1: The most favourite toy they want to buy is aeroplane. Fed up with the stalled traffic they go on flights of fancy.

Vendor2: We ought to thank the BMC guys for their generosity. 

Vendor1: Yeah, lets silently salute them for the traffic snarls year after year. However, lets not say it loud lest the guys should demand their cut as they do in everything.

Vendor2: I agree with you; ain’t we sick of paying hafta (weekly bribe) to the cops?

 

7. In various other countries – I don’t know why they call them advanced nations when we Indians are far more advanced – they have to drive to get to water sports. We in India have water sports along the way.

Pic courtesy PTI

8. Many people in these so called advanced countries just reach their destination. Nothing great or big deal about it. For us in India reaching a destination is a celebration of sorts. Many of us want to go straight to the temples to thank the gods. Here too we have looked at the people’s convenience: most of the pandals (a temporary structure) for gods are right at the roads.

A pooja pandal in the middle of the road at Turbhe (Mumbai)

9. Indian roads, just like Yoga and meditation, teach us power of concentration. Can anyone ever think of taking their eyes of the road?

10. Finally look at the “socialist” nature of these roads: between cities the upper middle class and the rich go by air. However, in a city they have to reach home just as the poor man has to reach his chawl (shanty). It is a great leveller.
Actually, anyway you look at it, the benefits far outweigh the “small inconvenience” caused to you.

 

PITFALLS OF MAJORITY RULE

Winston Churchill once said that Democracy is not really an ideal system of government. However, he quickly added that it is better than other systems that we have tried out. One big pitfall of democracy is that since it is a government chosen by the majority, at least in theory, the others have to make peace with their wishes, desires and needs being subsumed by those in majority. It also assumes that the majority is the good lot.Let me try to explain this point through a hypotheitical situation. A train is approaching at full speed and you notice that there are a dozen kids playing on the track. They are seemingly oblivious of the approaching train and you reckon that the train would run over them. In the available time you have only one option. You spot a lever next to the track by which the train can be diverted to a disused track on the left. The only problem is that there is a lone girl playing on that track too. You have only a few seconds to take a decision.

When this hypothetical problem is given to people, majority of them opt in favour of diverting the train to the disused track to the left thereby saving the lives of a dozen kids. In the process, their logic goes, if one small girl on the disused track is killed, that is a small price to pay for saving the others.

At first glance that appears to be the acceptable solution. However, think and you will find the following things wrong with the majority solution:

  1. The dozen kids who are playing on the used track are knowingly doing something wrong. The lone girl playing on the disused track is actually right.
  2. In the majority solution we have opted to punish the lone girl who is right and reward the majority who is wrong.
  3. The dozen kids who are wrongly playing on the used track should be expecting a train passing and hence expected to jump off the track, even if at the last minute. On the other hand, the lone girl would never expect the train on the disused track and would surely be killed.
  4. Lastly, why is it a disused track? By diverting the train on the disused track we would willy-nilly make the lives of hundreds of people on board in danger; and all for the sake of a dozen kids doing the wrong thing.
Hypothetical situation it may be; however, in our everyday life we come across situations that intrinsically favour the majority even if they are doing wrong and even illegal things. Let me give you just one example. During the last festival season the noise levels were simply unbearable. If India were a civilized nation, and Mumbai a civilized city, these kind of unhealthy noise levels would be banned. Well, they are banned in India and Mumbai. However, the majority indulge in it and none of us have a say. One Dr Sanjay Bedekar, in Mumbai, a few weeks ago, took up a PIL (Public Interest Litigation) that in several parts of the city the noise levels were far in excess of the maximum prescribed and the authorities should be asked to intervene. Firstly, he was heckled in and outside court. Secondly, the court ruled that such mobs as those making excessive noise during festival season are to be treated with great care lest we should have an unpalatable situation. As far as the government is concerned, it loves the majority (votes) and brushes away such nuisances by, “The sentiments of the people (in majority) are to be respected.”

Last season, at 0130 hrs (loud-speakers have a time limit only up to 2200hrs), with excessive noise of loud-speakers, I complained at the nearest police-station. After a series of questions about my name, address, phone number etc, the cop finally wanted to know what I wanted to do. I told him, “Mujhe sona hai.“(I have to sleep). Here was his prompt response, “Nahin, Navaratri ke time sone ka nahin.“(No, please don’t sleep during Navaratri). With this he disconnected.

Here is another incident. In the year 1990 I got posted to Naval Headquarters in New Delhi. I drove to visit a relative close to Rohtak Road. At one of the traffic signals when we stopped for the red light, a burly looking sardar got out of the taxi behind me, walked up to me and let me have it for my “poor traffic sense”. This is what he told me, “Naye aaye ho dilli mein? Ek hi lane mein chale jaa rahe ho; accident karwayoge kya?” (Are you new in Delhi? You are merrily continuing in one lane; do you want to cause an accident?) I looked at him. There was a genuine look of being wronged on his face. And, guess what? I realised that I might actually be a traffic hazard with my lone tendency to follow rules. The English were very good at devising mottoes that were not only practical but safe. One of these is, “Whilst in Rome do as the Romans do.” A friend of mine in Delhi has this sticker on his car, “Caution: I drive like you do”.

Lets, for a minute, turn to Anna Hazare movement against Corruption. The movement has (erroneously) assumed that only a handful of politicians, bureaucrats, and government servants are corrupt. The majority who are with Anna and take part in processions, fasts etc are good lot who look down on bribes, short-cuts, dishonesty etc. What if the majority are like-that-only? How will they right themselves?

In the end, I also want to bring out that historically great things that have changed the world are not accomplished by majority but people who thought and did differently than what the majority believed in. Take just a handful: Copernicus, Galileo, and Darwin. If we had continued believing in the majority we would have continued believing, say, the Sun revolves around the Earth. However, to reach there, they had to face castigation, mockery, and derision.

It is the same many centuries later.

A FATHER IS JUST A FATHER, BUT A MOM IS LIFE

If friends try to detect just a wee bit of the ‘J’ word in this article, let me tell you I won’t be writing this if I was jealous. I have spent the best years of my life in the company of my own mother, and how can I be jealous of my own kids thinking no end of their mom?Talking about best years of one’s life, I am reminded of this anecdote, I am sure apocryphal, that I heard when I was in school. India’s Prime Minister Nehru was giving an after dinner speech in London. He started off by saying, “The most memorable years of my life are spent in the arms of another man’s wife”. There was, naturally, disbelief and shock at this sudden explosive confession. Enjoying their discomfiture, Nehru took another fifteen seconds or so before he concluded, “My mother, that is.” There was, as was to be expected, resounding applause. The External Affairs Minister Swaran Singh noted this for its sheer audacity and ultimate punch-line. Hence, on arrival in India he insisted on an after-dinner speech. He started, “I have a confession to make: the best years of my life are spent in the arms of another man’s wife”. He enjoyed the hushed silence, the shock and incredulity and concluded, “Nehru’s mother, that is.”

Jokes apart, there is much to be said about the security of being in one’s mother’s arms. I remember the time when we were in Wellington in Ooty Hills and Lyn, my wife, had to leave us for three days to meet her relatives in Chennai. As the train departed with her at Coonoor, Arun, our younger son, stuck close to me and was almost at the verge of tears. When I asked him what happened, he responded tearfully, “Mama is leaving and three of us are going to be alone.” I reminded him that it was she who was going alone and we three were together. However, his reasoning was unshakeable.

The ‘tallest’ amongst us all.

Here is an excerpt from a Catholic prayer. Catholics think of God as a Father and Jesus is seated on the right side of the Father. The prayer starts with extolling the various qualities of the Father. However, half way through it says, “Father, I feel safe with you like a baby in its mother’s arms”.

If any proof is required in our house about the virtues of the parents, and not that anyone has any doubts, our dog Roger too felt securer with mama. During the festival season, with the noise of loud-speakers, conches, singing, and crackers, he was to be found under my wife’s bed, the safest place for him in the world.

As I said, fathers will never be jealous, because they too have happy nostalgia of their own moms. One of them, when he was making a fuss about eating his mother’s cooked food, was gently told by her, “Eat it, son; many years later you will be telling your wife that she can’t ever cook how your mother did.”

Where would we be without our moms?

ANNA HAZARE AND THE INDIAN MIDDLE CLASS

Last night as soon as the letter by Indian Prime Minister Manmohan Singh was read out by his emissary Vilasrao Deshmukh, Anna Hazare on the twelfth day of his fast, thanked the people for having come this far that they can rejoice about what he called “half victory“. 


Who are the “people” that he thanked? Well, largely these are middle class people of India who have made Anna’s movement against corruption so hugely popular. I also want to reflect on half victory later.

Middle class is variously described but the most recent definition is based on its earning capacity, that is, anything between Rupees 3 to 17 Lakhs per annum. In the pyramid of Abraham Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, starting from Physiological Needs and going up to Safety Needs, Belongingness & Love Needs, Esteem Needs and finally Self Actualization Needs; the middle class perceived that it is being neglected as far as Safety, Belongingness and Esteem Needs are concerned. To some extent the rich and the poor are responsible for taking the focus away from the middle-class needs, but to a large extent, the other middle class is responsible for the loss of esteem and belongingness of the middle class. Who is the other middle class? Well, the babus in government offices, the railway TTEs, the policemen, the patwaris, tehsildars, magistarates, collectors and the like. What A Raja and Kalmadi do affect the middle class only indirectly. However, what the other middle calss does affects the middle class directly.

Let me give you just one personal example to make a point. A few years back I went to my home place, Kandaghat, in the Shimla Hills. My mother, after the demise of my father, stays there alone. Because of her helplessness in being a widow, some people have encroached on her land. Thereafter. whenever I went on leave, I had to run from pillar to post, with local bureaucracy, police and judiciary to get justice for my mother. Was it provided? You are mistaken. The local patwari, in order to show me down, even whilst acknowledging my rank Commodore, derisively told me, “Us din mujhe milne ek Brigadier Sandhu aaya. Maine kaha bahar baith; jab main bulayoon to aana.” (The other day one Brigadier Sandhu came to see me. I told him sit outside; when I call you then only enter). In the court, I took a request under Article 23 of the Navy Act requesting the judiciary to settle our case expeditiously during my leave period. Indeed, as per this provision the judiciary is required to record as to why the case was not settled during the leave period. The truth is that after more than a decade it is not settled. Navy Act is an act of Indian Parliament but they had no respect for it. There is a letter written by the Indian Home Minister to all the state governments to provide assistance to the members of the armed forces who can get things done only during their leave period. But, they care two hoots for it. Hence, the disrespect for the Indian Parliament, is erroneously being pinned on Anna Hazare and his team and movement. This disdain is to be found with the other middle class in villages, towns, cities, states; indeed, everywhere.

The focus of the middle class, therefore, should not be merely politicians, and bureaucrats or the big fish. But, those who defeat it and keep it from realising its needs; and that is the other middle class. Anna Hazare movement must realise that middle class is both the focus of its movement as well as the target.

The Indian middle class is defined not just in economic terms; but also by being the middle of nowhere; its voice not being heard at all. The authorities have no choice but to be seen as pro-poor (which includes even ignoring or permitting indicipline and lawlessness so that “people’s sentiments are respected“. The rich look after themselves. But, the middle class gets step motherly treatment. Who is responsible for it? Well, it doesn’t require knowledge of rocket-science to conclude that the middle class itself is responsible, to some extent, for this sorry state of affairs. During the very first elections held after 26/11, when the middle class in Colaba (the scene of carnage by Kasab and co.) took out candle-lit marches and other vociferous protests against the neglect of politicians towards such issues as terrorism and security, a dismal 40 percent voted in Colaba. Largely, this 40 percent comprised the poor in such localities in Colaba such as Murthy Nagar and Geeta Nagar. The middle class just didn’t bother.

Therefore, for the movement to succeed and really bring relief to the people, the moment has to be a catalyst for change for the middle class both within and without and not just target the politicians and babus at higher places. In short finally the middle-class awakening has to help the middle class become more effective in people regaining their national and individual character.
 Will the middle class, exultant at “half victory” of Anna Hazare, be able to look within as well look without?
Lets now focus on “half victory”. Have we really achieved half of what we wanted to achieve? Is a vague assurance by the parliament really “half victory”? Is passing of or even voting on Jan Lokpal Bill then full victory. Nothing can be farther from the truth. Here is what I wrote just a week back (Anna Hazare and the Indian Democracy):

The second is that our middle-class, the main pillar of the movement, has become quite impatient. It is true that we have been conditioned to it. But, the catch here is that in its impatience it may very well regard some quick wins (as passing of Jan Lokpal Bill) as the ultimate solution to set right our democracy. I laboured over the current shortfalls in Indian democracy to bring home the point that, at best, the movement and the passing of Jan Lokpal Bill can be only the beginning and not an end by itself.

So, I don’t think it is anywhere close to “half victory”, unless what Anna ji meant is the “half victory” of the first phase.

Anna Hazare’s movement has done for us Indians what nothing else in independent India did. It has suddenly given us hope. He has shown the kind of character and perseverance that all of us, particularly the middle class, must emulate. Lets not belittle the movement by assuming that all our problems will be sorted out by targeting the rich and the powerful. The middle class’s fight is mainly against the other middle class and the demon within. Anna Hazare has shown us the way. Lets now take the movement to the next logical stage.

LOST

Where should my friend
I search for thee?
You have been lost in me.
Should I search in my heart?
But, lo, my heart is not in me.
You stole it and took it away,
And left me…..lost.
Where shall I find thee now?
Where shall I find me now?”

KID THEM NOT

One of the biggest mistakes that parents sometimes commit is to think that their kids are not old and smart enough to know or understand. This often has some amusing fallouts. A little girl was asking her granny how did her papa arrive on earth. The granny replied that the stork brought him. Then the li’l girl wanted to know how was grandfather born. Once again granny said that the stork brought him. The third time the girl asked how did great grandfather happen to be born. For the third time the granny confirmed that the stork brought him too. A this, the li’l girl, fresh from her class at the school exclaimed,”Granny, are you trying to tell me that for the last three generations in our family there has been no natural reproduction?”

I too have had some amusing incidents with my sons: Arjun and Arun when they were kids. On one of the occasions it was a peaceful scene in the drawing room. Both were making drawings, which I had given them as assignment so that I could watch a cricket ODI on the telly. What should we draw, they had asked. So I had told them to draw a scenery with hills, trees, birds, sun, house and children playing football in front of the house. This I had reckoned would take at least 30 minutes, and I would be able to watch 7 to 8 overs. I was right; it took them about half an hour with all kinds of colour pencils. Finally both came to me to ask what I thought of their drawings. I told them their drawings were good. So far so good. However, there was potential for a sticky situation when the younger one, Arun – all of four – asked me which one was better. I insisted both were good; he insisted on knowing which one was better. Like all sensible fathers I was not going to fall for this. So I tried explaining it with a metaphor, “Arun, son, you have two legs; can you tell me which one is better?.” Before even the words were out of my mouth he responded, “The right one, of course, because I can kick with it.”

Then there was the time when I tried to impress upon the elder one, Arjun, the pleasure one can get by going for long walks that I used to go for. On our very first walk, we had barely walked two kilometres when Arjun told me that he was tired and could we please turn back? Ah, but naval officers have lot of tact that comes in handy under these circumstances. So, in order to keep him going I engaged him in conversation. I asked him if he knew about something called pleasure-pain? This was a tough one for him at the age of eight. He knew pleasure, he knew pain but what was pleasure-pain? So, I explained to him about long-distance runners. At the end of, say, thirty kilometres of running, when the limbs are fatigued, a substance called Endorphin secretes into the brain and they get a high; intensely pleasurable feeling whilst the limbs are aching. This, I said, was pleasure-pain. I secretly patted myself on the back for motivating him for another few kms at least. We must have gone only a few steps when Arjun stopped and said, “Guess what, pa? I am already getting the pleasure-PAIN.”

Then there was the time when we had gone on a holiday to my mother’s place in the hills. Arun wanted to go to the market to play video-games (he later became the video gaming champ for India in Need for Speed for seven consecutive years); but, we wanted to keep his mind of it by indefinitely postponing it. One of the surest method of doing it was to tell him, “As your uncle JP next time he calls.” JP, my brother was in the US and used to call once in a fortnight. During those days calls to the US used to cost ninety rupees a minute and it was a big hole in the pocket to call frequently. That same afternoon, after lunch, Arun, all of three, picked the handset of the phone and was having animated conversation with JP. We all knew that it was only a mock conversation because he would be too small to know the ISD code and JP’s number etc, let alone the procedure. After more than ten minutes of conversation suddenly he said, “Ok, JP chacha; now tell my dad to let me go for video games.” I, playing along with him, took the handset from him only to realise that JP was actually on the other hand and that Arun had correctly dialed his number, apparently in the middle of night for JP.

When I was small I used to read Dennis the Menace comics. When Arjun and Arun were small I didn’t have to read any comics. Here is what Arun said as he burst into the house after his playtime, “Mama, I love you…” but then he saw her face in a mudpack nad he added, “…but I also hate you.”

Pleasure-pain, anyone?

MUSINGS IN A NAVY HOSPITAL

The word hospital, Wikipedia informs us, comes from the Latin hospes, signifying a stranger or foreigner, hence a guest. Another noun derived from this, hospitium came to signify hospitality, that is the relation between guest and shelterer. Hospes is thus the root for the English words host (where the p was dropped for convenience of pronunciation) hospitality, hospice, hostel and hotel.

I was recently admitted in the Navy’s hospital Asvini in Mumbai because of a complicated and potentially dangerous Psoriatic (skin) condition. I record some of my musings as a stranger, foreigner or guest of the Navy.

The first thing that occurs to you in a hospital is that you are now confirmed sick. There is no fig leaf of pretension anymore. A hole in your socks is a mere accident; but, getting it darned is a sure sign of poverty. Similarly, the moment you are admitted you realise that your illness is beyond your own control and the docs have to do the darning. You are a proclaimed patient.

The second thing is that whilst earlier you could do your work simultaneously and attend to your complication, in a hospital, your complication is the only focus of attention for yourself and those around you. You don’t have many options in a hospital; certainly not in Asvini whereat most cellphones don’t even have a network. You are cut off, isolated, and entirely at the mercy of the staff. Fortunately the Navy has the best of the doctors and nursing officers, who are not just completely professional but devoted. Most of them you have grown up with and they are more your warm-hearted friends than specialists at other hospitals who often subject you with cold-blooded detachment.

You are made to feel special and cared for in a Navy hospital much better than you would in a civil hospital. The doctors and the staff actually conduct themselves as hosts giving you the confidence that you are in safe hands. I have compared notes with even cancer patients. All of them have the confidence that nowhere they can get treatment comparable to Navy’s own hospitals.

However, the same can’t be said of the maintenance of the hospital infrastructure by the MES (Military Engineering Service) staff. These worthies often compete with the nation’s worst in inefficiency and corruption; but, the Navy often finds that it doesn’t have any choice. Curiously, with the best that the Navy offers in various aspects, eg, strategic thinking, operational efficiency, naval diplomacy, disaster relief, camaraderie and esprit de corps, it becomes helpless in inefficiently spending crores of rupees in new projects and in maintenance of existing facilities through MES. Everyone knows that it costs nearly thrice as much to get anything done by MES and that MES designs and methods are archaic, but, such is the stranglehold of MES that there is no escape.One of the reasons it lands itself in this mess (MES?) is because of the penchant to do everything itself. For example, the same persons who are operationally engaged (and these days with ever-increasing responsibilities from coastal security, anti-piracy to war, these personnel are hard pressed to even do justice to their primary responsibility) are also made responsible to oversee that works undertaken by corrupt and inefficient MES are executed properly and in accordance with laid down standards. It is the same in the naval hospital Asvini, which was inaugurated only a few years back as one of the finest in Mumbai, but, is already coming apart. The doctors, hard pressed for time with other responsibilities, are also made responsible for overseeing works (which is a highly specialised job) and are often taken for ride by the MES. Please have a look at the pictures of the ward that I was in. What a coincidence that the patient and the room were both getting darned at the same time

The last two pics are two cupboards on either side of same room. And here is the wonderful view from my window; MES has, like its civil counterpart PWD (Perpetual Works Department) has mastered the art of perpetually engaging itself in meaningless works. They often engage themselves in breaking walls and pavements and banisters and re-building them.

Despite the proven sub-optimal track record of the MES, and naval officers and sailors constantly moaning their indifference and inefficiency, as soon as a naval officer gets promoted to a Flag Officer’s rank he/she suddenly develops tremendous respect for MES. The reasons are not difficult to find. A retired C-in-C once told me that during his tenure, to his dismay, he found that “each of these officers spent an average of Rupees Five Lakhs in doing up their already well maintained houses”. During our visit to one of them the lady of the house proudly took us to the bathroom and fawned over her colour choice of floor and wall tiles. The last occupant, she asserted, had such awful taste in colour.

Talking about bathroom, here is what I found in the toilet of my ward in the hospital:

For the life of me I cannot imagine as to why should Toilet Paper be specially manufactured for the Indian Navy; unless the intention is to show that the naval personnel have probably thicker skin. This is even more quaint because the Navy doesn’t have uniform cloth, shoes, head-gear etc “specially manufactured” for it, even though these items, as compared to toilet paper, are unique for its personnel. Some attempts have been made in the past but the corrupt procurement personnel ensured that the entire exercise was brought to a nought. I was personally responsible for obtaining 18 months Rigorous Imprisonment for one of the senior officers engaged in this.So what exactly is the solution?

I think the main reason for being in this mess is because the Navy feels that since it is so efficient in its core areas of responsibility, it has to somehow prove that it is equally efficient in administration, maintenance, catering, house-keeping, logistics and other allied activities. It is high time that we offload these to people (even if civilians) who are good at it. By this if the Navy loses a bit of power and control, it should be acceptable.

Let me just give three examples. The Navy runs shore messes at great cost to itself (if one has to take in the overall cost of infrastructure, training and running costs). All it has to do is to outsource these activities to civilians. It may fear two things whilst doing so: one, the Flag Officers who feel obliged to lavishly entertain civilians and uniformed personnel, will not have similar options as they now have of being large-hearted about such entertainment. Two, the naval tradition of great style, pomp and glory will see a come-down. I think both these are misplaced anxieties. As a corollary, a mall like Big Bazaar, for example, is able to provide more discounts than the Indian Navy Canteen Service and yet make more profit.

The second is the concept of supporting establishment to the headquarters, eg, Indian Naval Ship Angre to Headquarters Western Naval Command. Gone are the days when this establishment used to provide support for pay and clothing of sailors and general administrative support. At present it is expensive to keep it both in terms of manpower and infrastructure. However, we often are stickler to naval tradition (a euphemism for not accepting desirable change) and must keep this stone-ship alive. Most of what Angre does these days can be easily outsourced except perhaps to parade guards of honour to visiting dignitaries. But that doesn’t really warrant a full-fledged establishment.

The third is the Naval Transport Pool. In today’s environment when cabs and particularly radio cabs are freely available, it would be much cheaper (as compared to the overall cost of owning vehicles, looking after their fuel, maintenance and most inefficient drivers and maintenance staff) than providing personnel with “naval transport”. Oh, but the Navy personnel have to move in transports with stars and flags. I am sure an arrangement can be made with the transport hiring agency and they would easily oblige.

In 2009, together with the present Chief of Naval Staff I visited the Naval War College of the US for a Sea Power Symposium in which Chiefs of Navy and Coast Guard of over a hundred countries participated. I was pleasantly surprised to see that despite the Newport, Rhode Island US Naval Base being larger than most of our bases, it didn’t have the equivalent of our Command Mess or for that matter an Officers Mess. All of us were accommodated in a hotel adjacent to the base. All of us were transported to and from the venue of the symposium by buses and there was no unnecessary and misplaced pomp and glory.

Indian Navy is one of the finest institutions of our nation, if not the best. It is fairly quick to assimilate changes, especially in comparison to its sister services (Indian Army and Indian Air Force). It is already making some transition into outsourcing non-critical services. For example, it is common, these days, to see officers stay in starred hotels on temporary duties rather than in the naval messes. However, it is high time that it goes whole hog and gets rid of its flab and white-elephants like the MES and support or depot establishments.

This will enable the Navy to concentrate on its core competencies and further excel at things that it is good at. My being admitted in the Navy Hospital after 17 months of retirement redeemed my faith in the excellence of Navy doctors, near angelic MNS (Military Nursing Staff), and medical assistants. But the state of my ward got me thinking about the baggage that we unnecessarily carry and must rid ourselves of now.

Lets not pride ourselves in having Toilet Paper specially manufactured for the Indian Navy.

ANNA HAZARE AND THE INDIAN DEMOCRACY

I brought it out, a few months earlier, in an article (How Proud Should We Be of Indian Republic at 62?) that despite the dream and objectives of the Indian Constitution, brought into force on 26 Jan 1950, the lot of the common Indian has not changed even 61 years later. The article was based on facts and figures (say, from UN Human Growth Index Report) rather than my perception or anyone’s bias. One of the main reasons that I found responsible for it is that the Indian style of democracy is not representational at all. With the multiplicity of parties and the average percentage of voting pattern in constituencies pan India, an elected representative, on the average, represents only 10 percent of the voters. These 10 percent too do not elect the MPs/MLAs on some issues that would make the lot of the common Indian better. The major issue, in our elections, as seen from the trend of the last two decades, is primarily the denigration of the previous or other party/candidate; so much so that our politicians nowadays talk about the inevitability of anti-incumbency factor as much as, say, the chances, in the bad old days, of one’s contacting cholera whilst traveling through an area hit by the cholera epidemic.

This single factor has made our elected representatives not just immune to the hopes and aspirations of our people but has also made them arrogant. Hence, even though we coined a phrase ‘public servant’ in the Constitution (the term used to describe a person who holds a government position either by election or by appointment), no one holding a government position has ever considered oneself a servant of the public. Both the elected and the appointed public servants have mainly been serving their own interests and those of their families. As far as the public is concerned, the main job these so called servants have ascribed to themselves is to exploit the public either collectively or by polarising it. Sardar Patel’s essay on British Policy had just three words: Divide and Rule. The modern Indian public servant did exactly the same. Elections are fought and appointments in government are made more on issues of caste and creed than on detailed programme and plans to improve the lot of the people.

Wikipedia describes governance (what governments are supposed to do) thus:

“The word governance derives from the Greek verb κυβερνάω [kubernáo] which means to steer and was used for the first time in a metaphorical sense by Plato. It then passed on to Latin and then on to many languages.”

Steer towards what? A government must steer the people and the country towards a better and more secure future. However, because of the self-serving nature of the Indian democracy, our public servants have steered the country towards chaos, poverty, corruption, polarisation and inefficiency.

An Indian electorate, it can be thus argued, does not exercise a choice when he goes to vote. After an average 10 percent elect the government, they are helpless and defeated by those who were to serve them. The result is that as a nation, we are a dismal 141 in the Human Growth Index. However, the elected representative, just like the appointed representative or even more so, often gives vent to the supremacy of the parliament. Recently, if you recall, Kapil Sibal and Manmohan Singh endeavoured to display this arrogance based on the mistaken notion of such supremacy; at least until people’s power, under the leadership of Anna Hazare manifested itself into a sobering effect for the government.

Team Anna has, directly or indirectly, conveyed to us that the momentum of the movement has now encompassed (or at least aimed at) much more than Jan Lokpal Bill, wherein the government and the so called civil-society differ over six points and not merely the inclusion of the PM and the judiciary in the ambit of the bill. People’s expectations, as manifested in the large crowds and rallies across India, have risen to the point of hope for 1.2 billion Indians, good governance, and a responsive democracy rather than only in numbers. To that extent each one of us should welcome the movement and await its strengthening, as opposed to its abatement that the politicians seek. I am not going to extol the good points and good fall-outs of the movement. By and large, the media has done it extensively.

I am, therefore, going to concentrate on the pitfalls and other considerations of the movement vis a vis the Indian democracy. I feel that if these are not taken into consideration, we may again have our hopes and aspirations belied despite the passing of the Jan Lokpal Bill.

The first and foremost is that it even though it may not have been originally intended, it has degenerated into a we versus they movement. The government’s mishandling of the response to the movement, Anna’s arrest etc, made it even more so. The movement is, therefore, seen as a expression of our contempt towards the elected representatives particularly the ‘corrupt‘ and the ‘inefficient‘ UPA government. Whilst all this is totally justified, it has the potential to change the focus of the movement into a narrower objective of tasting victory by bringing the politicians to heel. The media has even started keeping a score sheet such as Anna – 1, Govt – 0.

The other reason why the movement must steer clear of we vs they is that people at large (and not just the politicians) must share the blame for the rot or loss of character of Indians. Indians are, by nature, opportunists. From our driving habits of being just a few feet ahead of the next vehicle by hook or by crook, to getting ahead in business, school, college, debates, contests, and indeed life by taking short-cuts has come to be seen as a national character. Of course, the politician, or the bureaucrat, or the businessman is a crook but he/she does not stand apart unlike as portrayed in the movement. He is of the same stock as we are (We Are Like That Only). We have to do many a thing ourselves whilst asking this of him/her. We too have to show equal discipline in our individual and social lives.

The second is that our middle-class, the main pillar of the movement, has become quite impatient. It is true that we have been conditioned to it. But, the catch here is that in its impatience it may very well regard some quick wins (as passing of Jan Lokpal Bill) as the ultimate solution to set right our democracy. I laboured over the current shortfalls in Indian democracy to bring home the point that, at best, the movement and the passing of Jan Lokpal Bill can be only the beginning and not an end by itself.

The third is potential for polarisation. One reason why we have been exploited by the netas, babus and the like is because we can be easily exploited. The government after failing to peter out the movement by disdain, high handedness, and by labeling Team Anna as corrupt itself, will surely stoop to polarising it on lines of religion, caste and creed. We Indians are easy prey to such tactics.

Pic Courtesy Mail Today

The fourth is the rights of the minority. The movement must not get bloated in the belief that surging crowds, mobocracy and rights of the majority are all that matters. Indeed, once of the shortcomings of our current interpretation of democracy is the contorted belief that the rule by the majority is always right. We must be able to listen to that small voice of reasoning even when we are riding high on the wave of public support. In this, it may do us good to remember that the movement is primarily that of middle class and the majority is still the poor.

Lastly, the need to strengthen democracy. Civil disobedience cannot be the dharma of the Indian people, a cure or remedy for all ailments of democracy. We have to finally make our institutions stronger and then respect them.

I, like all other members of middle class, am breathless and excited abour Anna movement. I do wish it strength. But, at the same time I pray that it would steer clear of pitfalls as enumerated above and give serious thought to the considerations of this article.

Jai Hind

SLEEP AND I – LOVERS ONCE STRANGERS NOW

Last night, with body full of Psoriatic lesions, as I tossed around in my bed, waiting for (what I thought to be) my beloved Sleep to come to me, take me in her arms, and give me the much-needed relief from pain and itchiness, I found that – what has become common now – Sleep had abandoned me. Like a jilted lover I have now decided to make my affair with Sleep public so that the readers can decide what went wrong. I can’t keep it under wraps anymore. Here are the two mails that were exchanged between me and her. You be the judge.

Dear Sleep,

I am still calling you ‘Dear’ because of the priceless memories of the past. You had, in the past, proved to be a reliable partner, a friend I could turn to in joys and sorrows, a beloved who gave me long hours of happiness, and many a times, ecstasy. I don’t mind admitting that there were moments when I didn’t want to leave the coziness of your arms and face the world. You had given me enough evidence that you cared for me.

I wistfully remember many memorable moments spent with you in the privacy of my bedroom when you caressed me and I reciprocated with eagerness and defiance of the world. There were times, during my boyhood, when I had to attend to a lot of things: school work, reading newspapers etc that my dad insisted on, writing mails and so on. But, such was the urgency of your demands that I capitulated to your charms. My only demand was that you would keep it private and clandestine. I didn’t want the world to know that I dreamt of you in my spare time.

But, did you keep it under wraps? No, slowly and surely, you were hell-bent to let the whole world know about our love or affair. There were times when it was most embarrassing to have you around.

I recount just a few of these whilst waiting for you to come to me tonight. Do you remember the time when the Maths teacher in the class was telling us the most interesting algebraic equation, in which the mystery of an unknown figure called ‘x’ was unfolding? I should have been agog, like others, for the denouement. But, no, at that precise moment you came to me. “Shh” I told you, “Go away, love; everyone can see you. It has been just three hours when I was your slave. I promise you tonight we shall be together again.” But, it had no effect on you. You were determined to have me again. Looking back, I think that you were an obsessive beloved, deriving loads of happiness to see me cringe in public. Do you remember, dear Sleep, what the Maths teacher did to me in finding you with me? I denied it, but, he could see my love for you in my eyes. I was publicly rebuked.

Now that I am at it, how can I forgot the night before the matriculation History exam. There were battles, places, dates and personalities to be remembered. You knew the urgency; didn’t you? Because more often than not in the classes you had kept me from remembering the incidents of the Battles of Panipat and Quit India movement. The night before the exam was my only time to prove to the world that I cared for Indian and World History. I begged you to leave me alone. But did you do that? No, darling, once again – as always – you considered the demands of our love more important than my paying attention to Mughal Zahir ud-Din Muhammad Babu or Dadabhai Naoroji or Wilson Woodrow. The whole night you played with me and I nearly failed in the exam. You were so selfish about our love, so engrossed in it that you didn’t give a damn.

You continued demonstrating your overwhelming power over me even after I became a man. I wanted the world to take notice of the fact that I too was an intellectual, caring as much for art movies, as a lot of knowing people around me did. So, I went to see a Shyam Benegal movie; a sure shot way to be counted amongst the cerebral lot. In order to distinguish his movies from commercial ones, he had (probably no choice, but) to make the dialogues in the movie even slower than that of – many years later I discovered – Prime Minister Vajpayee’s. For example:

A: Gaanv gaye the? (Did you go to the village?)
B (after an eternity): Gaya tha. (Yes, I went)
A: Kya dekha? (what did you see?)
B (after much thinking): Kuchh bhi nahin. (Nothing)
A (looking at B hard): Kuchh bhi nahin? (Nothing?)
B (confirming): Kuch bhi nahin.

I am sure if I had looked around I would have seen the arty audience at the edge of their seats with the gripping dialogue. But, nay, I couldn’t see any of them because long before you had claimed me. I had paid all of Rupees 40 (at that time a princely sum) to sit in the Dress Circle. Later, in order to rub shoulders with some of my learned friends I had nothing to add to the conversation about the merits of the movie. Thanks to you, dear, my money and time had been wasted.

    Even after I joined the Navy, your penchant about being seen with me in public got me into serious trouble. I remember the time when the Gunnery Instructor was telling the class about the intricacies of 40/60 Bofors (much before the company was made infamous by RG and the clan) Anti-aircraft guns, you decided to visit me. I had hell to pay. Gunnery Instructors are unlike Algebra teachers. They don’t punish you by making you stand at the back of the class. Up rifle and going around the parade ground five times in heavy drill boots is for them the mildest chiding. Many of them are probably employed in places like Guantanamo; but, that’s another story. And, dear Sleep, you rejoiced.

    Whenever I have essayed to point out your thoughtlessness in getting me into deep trouble you have gleefully told me that I am the only lover you have who complains. You have tried to show me down by rubbing into me about parliamentarians (in more important positions than I am in) who have slept through the complete sessions of, say, Women’s Reservation Bill. Recently you have told me about a certain Qasab and his cronies coming to us in Mumbai all the way from our neighbour Pakistan and how all those involved in giving them a grand reception were closeted with you. You also told me that when trillions of our nation’s public money was being siphoned off to foreign locales, how the government and those whose duty it was to stop this illegal outflow just frolicked with you.

    All this is very fine, Sleep, but why is so much time to be given to you when you are not true to anyone? Do you visit A Raja in Tihar Jail, for example? No, he probably tosses around in his bed (even the air-conditioning has been removed now) waiting for you.

    Are you a friend or a beloved only in your lovers’ good-times? I would think so. They told me that awaiting your promised arrival all I have to do is to count sheep. Last night I reached the figure of 210,114 and yet you didn’t come.

    What’s your excuse?

                                             Yours truly,
                                             Sunbyanyname

I received the following reply in the wee hours of the morning.

Dear Sunbyanyname,

    I pity you. I pity your name. You are the kind of lover who ‘uses‘ a beloved when you want.  The problem with you is that you always want to be in control; you always wanted me in the Master to Mistress relationship: asking me to come to you when you felt like and trying to shoo me away when you’d had your fun. So, dear Sunbyanyname, you can’t have it both ways. I detest clandestine affairs. I want you to want me, love me and respect me all the time, and in front of everyone.

    You have given me a number of incidents that have embarrassed you in public. Let me tell you how many times you have let me down. In comparison my other lovers have desired me more and kept me with them in full public view without any shame. Take for example, councillors of BMC (Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation). They did not hide their affair with me even when people were and are complaining about perpetually pot holed roads in Mumbai. There are Ministers I am in love with who were never ashamed to be with me when complete forests vanished and people encroached on public property. There is a favourite Prime Minister of mine who opted to be with me when such important decisions were to be taken and implemented as CWG, 2G and many other Gs.

    And don’t give me A Raja bullshit. I am with him always. Don’t believe the media who always scandalise my affairs with such important people. By the way, who do you think you are? I have had an abiding affair with President Obama too for which the results are just coming out.

    You complain now. But, to tell you the truth, I am fed up of your double standards. You want to cuddle me only in the privacy of your bedroom, as if I am some highly paid call girl. But, otherwise, you don’t want to have anything to do with me publicly.

    I hate you. Many others in India and abroad are better than you. Go about tossing in the bed now. I am not coming. I too have moved on.

                                                                                                Yours fed-up-with-you,
                                                                                                Sleep 

DEMENTIA – IS IT AN INDIAN NATIONAL DISEASE?

For something to assume the status of being ‘National’, it has to be accepted thus by the people of the country and not merely by the authorities. For example, though Hindi speaking people and the central government, sometimes in the sixties, claimed that Hindi is the National language, states and people from the southern and eastern parts of the country (non-Hindi belt) rebelled and rioted. They claimed that Malyalam, Telugu, Tamil, Bengali etc had all the right numbers and qualifications to be declared as ‘National Languages’. And so all these were included in the Indian schedule of languages.

So, other than common National Anthem (Jana Gana Mana..), National Currency (Rupee), National Bird (Peacock), National Animal (Lion), what are the other things that can be bestowed with the ‘National’ status?

I think ‘Dementia’ deserves the ‘National’ status; to be called an Indian National Disease or complication.I shall give my reasons later. But, first lets look at what is Dementia. Wikipedia describes it thus:

Dementia (taken from Latin, originally meaning “madness”, from de- “without” + ment, the root of mens “mind”) is a serious loss of cognitive ability in a previously unimpaired person, beyond what might be expected from normal aging; the affected areas of cognition may be memory, attention, language and problem solving.
Now that we have already read the brief description, we can straightway go to Kalmadi and his ilk. Of course they have a general dementia; the moment they are elected they forget all about the people who elected them. All the promises that they gave, the Common Minimum Programme etc are quickly forgotten and they invariably start from a clean slate. What could be the reason? Do they take the Indian electorate for granted? They themselves have coined a phrase called ‘Anti-Incumbency Factor’; which means that because of the excesses of being in power they hardly expect to be re-elected after their term gets over. Hence, dementia about election promises is not such a bad thing after all.
Suresh Kalmadi singing his own version of famous ‘Julie’ song
Smt Indira Gandhi is reputed to be the most efficient Prime Minister the country has produced. But, when her 1971 elections were declared null and void, on 12 Jun 1975, by Hon’ble Justice Jagmohanlal Sinha of Allahabad High Court, for “misuse of official machinery” during election campaigns, and she was debarred from fighting elcetions for the next six years, what did she do? She had the President, Shri Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed, invoke Article 352 of the Constitution of India, and declare a State of Emergency in the country. Many civil liberties that people enjoyed were revoked and she threw many prominent leaders of the opposition into jail. These included Shri Jai Prakash Narayan, the leader of the people’s revolt against the Emergency, and two others who later became the Prime Ministers of India: Morarji Desai and Atal Behari Vajpayee. The State of Emergency was imposed on people not because we were attacked or at war (we decisively won the 1971 war against Pakistan, liberating one half of Pakistan and calling it Bangladesh); but, because a political leader was being unseated. Such is the reaction of “the most efficient PM of the country” in case she is being unseated by the power of the court of justice. She was not the only one who had scant regard for the judicial process. Most of our Netas even when convicted by the court disdainfully assert that they would rather go to “Janta ki Adalat” (People’s Court). They are absolutely certain that people of India, like they themselves, have contrived severe Dementia; and they actually have, as Indira Gandhi’s case would prove. Read on.

An iconic figure called Jai Prakash Narain channelised opposition against the Emergency and its excesses; she was left with no choice but to call for fresh elections. The result was already known: nearly two years after the declaration of Emergency, an opposition governement came into power on 23 Mar 1977. The people of India had given their verdict? Well, no; two years later, the same people brought down the Janata government and Smt Indira Gandhi, the erstwhile villain, was ushered in with vastly increased majority. She perpetrated the worst on the people of India in two years of Emergency; but, she, because of Indian national disease called Dementia, knew that very soon they would have loss of memory about the excesses of Emergency and re-elect her.

Our political leaders have various serious contrived complications at various stages. The first complication after they get elected is called Megalomania. They behave worse than the erstwhile feudal lords. They don’t ever believe they are ‘Government Servants’ (as the Constitution describes them). They believe they are all powerful and start using the pronoun ‘Hum’ (We), which the kings used to do at one time. For example, if you remind them of a specific election promise, they would inform you, “Hum poori koshish kar rahe hain.” (We Are Trying Our Level Best); and so on. In the meantime they are filling up their own coffers by hook or by crook; mostly the latter. Sooner or later they are exposed. Irrespective of whatever evidence you may have – for example a picture of them attending the Dubai bash of the biggest enemy of nation Dawood Ibrahim – they get to the next stage of Prevarication (“I have to attend so many parties; I don’t even know whose and where”). Then comes Amnesia, and False Daring (“Let the law take its own course”). During the trial, there is complete Denial. But, the law actually takes its own course (especially, if by that time, they are in opposition) and finally they are convicted. Now, starts the ‘Janata ki Adalat‘ routine. In case going to jail becomes inescabale, then chest pain (to start with) comes handy and later they are declared having a Cardiac problem. This ensures them to be treated with kid gloves; so much so that often the courts have to intervene that they are being given better (“Five Star”) treatment in the jail than 99 percent of our countrymen enjoy outside.
Loss of attention span is one of the several complications of Dementia. For this you ought to see our parliamentarians discussing the defence budget of several crores. All this does not interest them. They would, on the other hand, dissipate several days of debate on insignificant issues. A minister in Indian state of Maharashtra, for example, decided that most problems of Maharashtra would be automatically sorted out in case we banned the Bar Girls or Bar Dancers. More hours of debate took place on this earth-shaking issue than the drought in several parts of the state forcing some of the farmers to commit suicide.

Problem solving? You know as much as me how many problems of the people we have sorted out since independence. Forgetting language? Well, you should see our Netasin the Parliament or State Assembly. The only cognitive skill that they retain is that not a single one has forgotten that our ancestors were monkeys.

Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation members have acute Dementia. Let me give just one example: Year after year the city of Mumbai, during the Monsoons, is reduced to being a rough and tough country-side. Roads often resemble craters on the moon. Every year the courts intervene bringing out the plight of people driving through pot holed roads. (Read Mumbai Rains). Every year they give their firm commitment that roads would become better and road constructors and contractors would be penalised and so on. Every year it is back to the same old story.
I can go on and on and on; making this article so long that readers not suffering from Dementia will vie with those having this disease. So in order to end, let me give you a point-form list of several symptoms in people and authorities that I have noticed:
  • A few years back in a bar in Delhi a bar girl named Jessica was shot dead by a man in front of 350 people. All of them suffered from Dementia as soon as the investigations began.
  • A few years back when CBI raided the residence of our Communications Minister and found suitcases full of currency notes, the Minister did not remember who and why anyone left these in his residence.
  • Indira Gandhi dead was as dangerous as Indira Gandhi alive. On 31 Oct 1984, when she was assassinated by her own security guard, a pogrom of Sikhs took place in the national capital. More than 3000 innocent Sikhs were massacred. Her elder son Rajiv Gandhi, who succeeded her as the Prime Minister (dynastic rule is the most enduring policy of the Congress), justified this carnage by saying, “When a big tree falls the earth shakes”. The collective Dementia thereafter not only resulted in no conviction but two incidents described how acute is this disease amongst Indians. First, the Sikhs themselves presented shropas (a scarf of honour) to those accused of directly instigating the mobs to kill the Sikhs. Two, after a number of years when a similar pogrom (this time against Muslims) took place in the state of Gujarat, the Congress completely forgot that they themselves had participated in a similar and more heinous one in the national capital.
  • Many political parties, both at the Centre and at the States levels, routinely have alliance with those against whom they had started various enquiries of corruption and complicity. They forget.
  • Our External Affairs Minister at the UN didn’t know that he was reading the speech of Portugal until well over five minutes of the speech was read out.
  • India’s erstwhile PM, Atal Behari Vajpayee, couldn’t remember what he was saying at the beginning of a sentence even as he came to the end. Even people listening to him often forgot what he had embarked on.
  • Our countrymen have the sharpest intelligence to demand for their rights. But, suddenly, by the end of the financial year, a large percentage of them forget to file Income Tax Returns.
  • Most politicians whilst evaluating their assets, which they are required to do by the law, often forget to add a few hundred crores.
  • One of our airlines pilots, last year, did the country proud by sleeping through and forgot to land at Mumbai and continued undisturbed for another 500 kms to Goa.

Therefore, Indian  Health Ministry and World Health Organisation have probably got it wrong when they bring out facts about India having the larget cases in the world of Malaria and Tuberculosis. These are nothing in comparison to cases of Dementia.

Should we not do something about it, if we care and remember, that is?

ANNE’ NA RAHO (DON’T REMAIN BLIND) (POEM IN PUNJABI)

ਹਜ਼ਾਰਾਂਅਨ੍ਨੇਯਾਂਤੋਬਾਦਪੈਦਾਹੋਯਾਅੰਨਾਹਜਾਰੇ,
ਲੋਕਾਂਨੇਹਜ਼ਾਰਹਜ਼ਾਰਦੇਨੋਟਉਸਤੇਵਾਰੇ,
ਅਤੇਕਹਿਯਾ, “ਜੰਗਕਰੋਅੰਨਾਅਸੀਂਤੁਆਡੇਨਾਲਹਾਂ.”
ਮੈਂਕੇਹਨਲਗਾ, “ਤੁਸੀਂਅੰਨੇਹੋਸਾਰੇ.”
“ਜਿਦਾਂਦੇਤੁਸੀਂਹੋ, ਓਦਾਂਦੀਹੈਤੁਆਡੀਸਰਕਾਰ,
ਵੋਟਿੰਗਲਈਤੁਸੀਂਹਰਦਮਰਹੰਦੇਹੋਤੈਯ੍ਯਾਰ,
ਪਰਐਸੇਬਦਮਾਸ਼ਾਂਔਰਮੂਰਖਾਂਨੂ,
ਕ੍ਯੂਂਵੋਟਦਿੰਦੇਹੋਬਾਰਬਾਰ?”
“ਲੋਕਪਾਲਬਿਲਨਾਲਕੋਈਫ਼ਰਕਨਹੀਂਪੈਨ੍ਹਾ,
ਇਹਬੋਝਥੁਆਨੁਅਤੇਮੈਨੂਹੈਸੇਹਨਾ,
ਜੇਇਦਾਂਹੀਅਸੀਂਅੰਨੇਬਣੇਰਹੇ,
ਤਾਂਇਕਅੰਨਾਅੰਨਾਹਜ਼ਾਰੇਨੇਕੀਹੈਕਰਲੈਣਾ?”
“ਲੋਕਪਾਲਨੂਛਡਕੇਲੋਕਸ਼ਕਤੀਕਰੋ use
ਸਾਰੇਲੀਡਰਾਂਦੇਬੁਲਬਕਰੋ fuse
 ਰਿਸ਼ਵਤ ਮੰਗਣ ਵਾਲੇ ਨੋ ਖੋਲ ਕੇ ਮਾਰੋ ਛਿੱਤਰ,
ਤਾਕੇ corruption ਦਾਰਹਜਾਏਨਾਕੋਈ excuse.”
ਜਿਸਮੁਲਕਦੇਲੋਗਹੋਜਾਣਚੰਗੇ,
ਉਥੇਭਰਿਸ਼ਟ leader ਆਪੇਹੀਹੋਣਗੇਨੰਗੇ,
ਸੋਅਗਲੀਬਾਰਉਸਨੁਕਦੀਦਾਨਾਨਾਪਾਯੋ,
ਜੇਹੜਾਕਰਮਚਾਰੀ underhand ਪੈਸਾਮੰਗੇ.
Hazaran anneyaan to baad paida hoya Anna Hazare,
Lokan ne hazaar hazaar de note uste waare,
Ate keheya, “Jang karo Anna, asin tere naal haan.”
Main kehan laga, “Tussin anne ho saare.”
“Jidan de tussi ho, odan di hai thuadi sarkar,
Voting layi tussin hardam rehnde ho taiyyar,
Per aise badmashan nu ate moorkhan nu,
Kyun vote dinde ho tussi baar baar?”
“Lokpal Bill naal koi ferk nahin paihna,
Eh bojh thuanu ate mainu hai saihna.
Je iddan hi asin anne bane rahe,
Te ik Anna Hazare ne ki hai ker laina?”
“Lokpal nu chhad ke Lok shakti karo use,
Saare leadran de bulb karo fuse,
Rishwat mangan waale no khol ke maro chhittar,
Ta ke corruption da reh na jaaye excuse.”
“Jis mulk de log ho jaan change’,
Uthe bhrisht leader aape hi honge nange.
So agli baar us nu kadi daana na payo,
Jehda karamchari underhand paise mange.”
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