Sunbyanyname

INDIA PAK ODI PREVIEW – JUST A MATCH?

The atmosphere is electric. Work in both the countries has come to a stand-still. You can distinguish ordinary people from those in powerful positions (or so they think) by the latter barely hiding their excitement by saying, “Come on; it is only a game“.Mohali stadium is more full than the last Himachal Roadways bus from Chandigarh to Shimla. The noise levels have defined newer standards in cacophony. People in both countries are glued to the television as if it is their last chance ever to watch a match.

There are still ten minutes for the game to start. In the VVIP stand Pakistan PM Yousuf Raza Gilani, on his cellphone, is urgently discussing something with President Obama. He is whispering so low that no one can hear him. Manmohan Singh is not even making an attempt to overhear because, on his phone, the RAW is providing live text of the conversation.

Gilani: President Sir; forget about any other financial aid to compensate us for our sterling and sacrificing role in your Global War on Terror (Aside, that too is picked by RAW: Global and War are yours and your allies but Terror is totally ours). We want your help in winning this match.

Obama: But why is winning so important to you?

Gilani: Several reasons. The most important is that from the earlier aid you gave us for floods etc, my cabinet colleagues and I have bet nearly a thousand crore on Pakistan winning. Two, the team and us want to go back alive after the match, and…

Obama: Okay, I get the idea. But what can we do?

Gilani: What can you do? How are you asking, what can you do? We have seen for ourselves what you can do, Sir. Davis, an ordinary US embassy technical and administrative staff showed us what you can do. Your display of humanitarian assistance to Libyans has hinted to us what you can do. Sir, we know there is nothing that US cannot do.

Obama: Let me see; should we send some one in disguise to the Indian dressing room?

Gilani: Aha…now you are talking. I leave the method to you, Sir. But please hurry, President Saheb, the match is about to start.

The din is excessive; which is only appropriate for two countries in the world that make maximum noise between themselves. Indeed, when they refuse to make noise (in some circles this noise is called ‘talks‘), others have to intervene to ask them to re-start making noise…..and gas.

Umpires Simon Taufel of Australia and Ian Gould of England walk up to the middle. Both the Captains join them. The cheering has broken the sound-barrier.

At the toss, Afridi has asked for ‘Heads’. He knows there is something typically Pakistani about asking for heads; their history from ancient times is replete with instances when they have demanded heads. Dhoni, like what Indians are always used to, gets the ‘Tails’. The coin is tossed.

Gilani pulls out his cellphone (ever since 26/11, men in authority in Pakistan know the importance of cellphone): President Sir, let me see proof of your being with us. Make us win the toss.

Pakistan wins the toss and elects to bat.

Manmohan to Gilani (as always in the appeasing tone so that they would listen to reason): Great, you have won the toss. Congratulations…

Gilani ignores it as Pakistan does with every attempt to placate them.

Indian team takes up positions. Mohammad Hafeez and Kamran Akmal walk to the crease. There is pin-drop silence even on the TV except for one B Dutt who has perfected the art of saying the obvious: “The match is about to begin. History is about to be written….may Pakis….I mean, the best team win”.

Her comments go totally unnoticed as people have learnt long ago not to pay her attention.

Zaheer Khan goes on top of his run – up. Prayers take on renewed vigour. Every ball counts. He bowls and it is hit for a four. There is uproar from the Pakistani fans. Gilani is on his feet.

The going is good with both the openers fluently hitting the bowlers all over the field. So happy is the going that Gilani has no need to make any calls.

Bhajji is brought in early and he too is hammered all over the place.

An aide reports to Chidambaram that some Pakistani fans quietly left the field and are headed towards Srinagar. Chidambaram asks the Security to keep a watch on them. Army Chief calls to say there is large scale infilteration from across the border. Manmohan tells him to keep a watch on the situation since there is an important World Cup match in progress.

“But, Sir”, persists the Army Chief, “It is just a match whereas the situation here is turning grave”.

PM, “I know it is just a match; but, we have to give the impression everything is normal. The whole world is watching us. Ring me up after four-five hours”.

Meanwhile there has been a change of bowling. And Yuvraj, as expected, has struck. Gilani is about to reach for the cellphone but Younis puts the train back on track.

Later, the wickets keep falling at regular intervals but the batsmen in an act of supreme defiance – the one that they ususally assume when playing against India – take the score to 267 in 50 overs, ably helped by a swashbuckling innings of 52 runs by Shahid Afridi.

It is not a very big score but under the conditions everyone agrees that it is a fighting score.
B Dutt also agrees.

After the break, Sehwag and Sachin take the field. Akmal before taking up his position behind the wickets says something to Sehwag. Most of it is inaudible but Sehwag hears the word “ma” clearly. This inspires Sehwag to send the first two deliveries of Shoaib Akhtar to the boundary. Shoaib goes across and tells Akmal to refrain from the “ma” word and….. switch to other relatives.

Sachin goes early on a no ball by Umar Gul. All Indians are crestfallen.
Air Force Chief rings up the PM, “Sir I have bad news.”
PM: “I know…Sachin just got out…”
Air Force Chief, “Sir, actually one of our planes on routine mission was hit by a missile from across the border…..”
PM: “You manage the situation. What are you Air Force Chief for? Here there is do or die”
Air Force Chief: “Sir, it is just a match..”
PM: “Don’t I know it? Now let me concentrate please…”

Despite all the tamasha, the match goes on. Fortunes swing, sometimes this side, sometimes that side.

And then….

It is the last over. India requires 5 to win…

Tension is everywhere. “Why does an India – Pakistan match resemble a cliff-hanger?”, everyone asks. Everyone knows the answer. Bookies laugh all the way to the …..well, not the bank since they can never put these kind of winnings in a bank….maybe, laugh all the way to…well, you know the answer; why do you require me to tell it?

The first ball of Abdul Razzaq, takes the wicket of Yousuf Pathan who had made a quick 43 in 27 balls.
There is hushed silence.
Will India lose again?

In various parts of India, B Dutt reports, as many as 6 people have died of heart-attack.

It is just a game….they had said.

Bhajji is the next batsman in. Akmal tells him, “Teri ma…” etc.
Bhajji is quite used to it and just before Razzak bowls his next delivery, he tells Akmal a ripe one.
Akmal misses to catch the snick by Bhajji in the confusion and Bhajji and Ashwin take two runs.

Four balls to go and three to be scored.

Camera shows a girl in the stand closing her eyes and praying to Allah to make India win.

Gilani does the same but asks for Pakistan to win. Allah too is confused. He tells his assistant, “You had told me it is just a match“.

Can they do it? Or won’t they?

Bhajji takes one run on the next ball against all odds and now the match is nearly in India’s favour with three balls to go.

Gilani reaches for the phone: “President Sir; the Indians are about to cross the threshold”.

Obama assumes he is talking about nuclear threshold. His worst fears are coming true.

There is an urgent call to Manmohan even as Razzak is walking up to the top of his bowling run-up: “Listen Singh; call off the ruddy match. We don’t want mayhem on our hands”.

Manmohan: “But, Mr President, it is just a match…..”

BHAG BHUAJI IS NO MORE – AN ERA ENDS

Bhag Bhuaji Left Sitting with her entire family

My Bhag (short for Bhagwant Kaur) bhuaji (in Punjabi we pronounce it thus rather than the Hindi ‘buaji’; father’s sister, in Hindi) died at about 10 pm on 30 Jan 11. With that an era has come to a close. She was the youngest of my father’s three sisters; the elder one, Jaswant bhuaji, was the eldest in the family of five brothers and three sisters (all dead now except Meji chachaji, the youngest of the siblings). Then there was Ratno bhuaji, younger to Jaswant bhuaji. She died a few years back; at a relatively younger age.

My bhuajis were the reincarnation of love and kindness. My grandfather’s family had strong charactered men; each one a perfectionist in his own way. The men, including my father, were extremely ambitious and hence given to anger and frustration. It was thus left to my bhuajis to bring some semblance of compassion and calm in the family. They had these in abundance. It was natural for them to think of others without asking for anything in return. I cannot remember a time when I saw them without a radiant smile on their faces and the desire to make the best of any situation.

Bhag bhuaji (L) and my mom (R)

Bhag bhuaji, just like her two sisters, was very beautiful indeed, both from within and outwardly. When she smiled, which she did all the time, her nose stud would shine and make her look even more radiant. She was in awe of my father; what with his always being in a hurry (he died young; he won’t have wanted to keep God waiting). But, she loved him unconditionally, as she did the rest of the family.

Bhag bhuaji loved family gatherings

Hospitality came naturally to her. Bhuaji and my uncle lived in Chandigarh. There were no occasions when we passed through Chandigarh on the way to Himachal (where my dad served) without looking them up. As we would enter the house, without ever seen by us or seemingly ordered by her, one of the kids would run up to the sweet shop to fetch fresh ghulab jamuns, jalebis, and samosas for us. These would be in addition to the goodies at home such as gajrella (sweet carrot dish), pinnis (round sweets like laddus made with wheat and dry fruits) and kheer (sweet made with rice and milk and dry fruits). Irrespective of the number of people for whom bhuaji would have to suddenly make meals, bhuaji would do so smilingly, and indeed whilst cracking jokes. Her youngest son Monty’s wife Manjit has inherited these virtues. Last time when I visited Bhag bhuaji, as if she knew it was going to be the last time, she had invited all the near and dear ones for lunch with me. Manjit cooked delicious food for everyone; there were nearly three dozens of us.

She was fond of Rana, Ratno bhuaji’s son

Bhag bhuaji, mummy, and sisters would be at their best during weddings. They would enjoy dancing and bolis and tappes (folk singing with a view to invite rejoinders) and indeed encourage others to do so. One of them would play the dholaki (traditional Punjabi drum) and the other would rythemically beat it with the back of a spoon. And this with all the work at home.

On one of the occasions when I visited her, she made me climb up the loft to fetch a carton of beer with just two bottles

Bhag bhuaji and my mom at Rana’s party

in it. She explained, “Munde khunde beer pee rahe si; main ohna nu keha Ravi layi do botlan rakh layo” (The boys were having beer one day and I told them to keep two bottles for Ravi). I was touched. Generally, bhuaji looked down on anyone drinking. But, since it was offered to her jawaai (son-in-law), her quick reaction was that me being a fauji (armed forces man) would probably relish it. There was nothing strange about her keeping beer for me; she did it for everything that would make others happy. For example, if anyone would appreciate the taste of her saag (spinach), kheer or anything, she would freeze it and keep for me.

Our last picture together

In our recent life, after my father died, Bhag bhuaji visited us in the hills only once since she was very scared of driving in the hills. She enjoyed the scenery, the freshness of air, trees and flowers. Encouraged I thought of taking her and others for a picnic to the forest around Chail. We made a small fire for heating up the goodies that we had carried for lunch. Suddenly, Bhag bhuaji looked around and remarked about the remoteness of the place and the likelihood of a sher (lion) jumping on us. I thought she might be joking but the more she talked about it the more she convinced herself that there was ample likelihood of sher surprising us (even though there were none in that forest). Finally, we quickly packed up our stuff, not because of being surprised by sher but by rain. After the rain stopped I took her to the Chail cricket ground atop a hill (reputed to be the highest cricket field in the world during the days of the rajas). As she climbed the last of the steps to the cricket field, she came up with her characteristic remark, “Aithe cricket kidan khed de honge; aithe tanh uppar chad de hi saah chad jaand hai?” (How would anyone have played cricket here; one is breathless just by climbing up here).

Bhag bhuaji in America, just prior to 9/11

Truly, in her observations, fears and anxieties she would become a small girl. She would be a small girl in the family gatherings too. A few years back my youngest uncle Meji in America invited the surviving siblings, that is, Pitamber Uncle, Dilgir Uncle, Bhag bhuaji and my mom (representing my dad who died in 1984 of an accident) to spend time with him there. Their visit coincided with 9/11. Bhag bhuaji was very excited telling all of us about the US and its quality of life; but, she also added, “Main nahin uthe wapis jaana. Asin uthe gaye tanh ohna ne saare paase bomb sutne shuru kar ditte.” (I am not going back there; they started chucking bombs all over when we were there). Indeed, Bhag bhuaji, her three brothers and my mom were there in Washington when the attack on Pentagon took place. Some of her fears were not so girlish afterall.

Bhag bhuaji and me

For the last two years or so Bhag bhuaji had lost a few teeth. She had a renal problem and had to go for dialysis twice in a week. One would think that with her age and this problem she would have complained or forgotten to crack jokes. No; when she laughed through her missing front teeth, it made her look even more cute. There was never any problem that would make her complain or forget to enjoy life and company of those around her.

For me, just like my dad, I never missed out on visiting her even if it were for a few minutes. She would often tell everyone, “Ravi nahin maiton milne bgair jaa sakda.” (Ravi would never cross this place without seeing me).
So tell me bhuaji, when I visit Chandigarh next, where should I come to see you? You always thought of everything; did you think about this too?

IF DAD AND MOM HAD TO CELEBRATE VALENTINE’S DAY

We don’t have to go as far back as my grandparents times; if Valentine Day had to become popular during my dad’s times, how would it have been? My dad died of an accident when he was just 56, one year younger than I am now. During his days, except for in movies, couples never publicly expressed love for each other. It would be indirectly hinted rather than ‘in-your-face’ proclamation. There were no Valentine Day cards or other accessories.

Now lets suppose it was to be imposed on my parents, how would they have reacted? The entire conversation would have been in Punjabi but I think we would understand it better if I translate this imagined conversation:

Dad: In the office there is lots of talk these days about Valentine Day. I wonder what it is?
Mom: How should I know? I have tough time remembering all the other days: Republic Day, Independence Day, your birthday, our Anniversary Day, Holi Day, Baisakhi Day, Diwali Day, Christmas Day…
Dad: But, Ladi, there are all thinking of partying and singing love songs and saying I love you.
Mom: Chhi, chhi. What kind of zamaana (world) we are coming to?
Dad: They are also thinking of buying gifts, and…
Mom (cutting him short): That’s a wonderful idea ji. We should get new shoes for Ravi, another frock for Mona and…
Dad: No, Ladi, the gifts are for us, that is each other.
Mom (seriously and smelling him): Did you have a drink in office?
Dad: No, I am serious, we should get something for each other.
Mom: Who told you that?
Dad: I believe this Valentine was a saint and he told that.
Mom: He actually told to waste money on unnecessary gifts? He couldn’t have been a saint. These western saints will next tell you to forget all decencies of life, will you do that?
Dad: But, Ladi…
Mom: Suno ji; you should forget about this Valentine thing at the earliest. We are happy without him and his crazy ideas. Our children are growing up now; don’t forget that. Mona has already started wasting a lot of time in front of the mirror and Ravi has started growing feathers. What if they come to know their parents are getting influenced by some foreign sadhu? We would have cut our noses in public.
Dad: I think you are right. I got carried away.
Mom: (not giving up too soon): What else were they saying?
Dad: They were talking about appreciating one’s partner?
Mom: (wistfully) This you will never be able to do. For the last twenty years I have been cooking for you; you have never told me it was good what you ate.
Dad: (shocked at this ‘unfair‘ inference) But, I ate everything without complaining, didn’t I? What more do you want?

Mom before going to sleep, totally satisfied with the argument, would have known that words/cards/songs/memorabilia were never necessary to convey deep emotions.

Even to this day she tells us, “Your dad would never eat out anywhere without me. And when we went out for parties, he would always return home complaining. So, in comparison, I knew that he liked my cooking.”

Mom: (Later at night, holding my dad with all her strength) You don’t require lessons in love from some phoren saint. You would have taught him a thing or two.
Dad: (half asleep) Main tanh makhaul kar rahiya si (I was only saying in jest).

I know why no outwardly gifts, V-Day cards etc were considered necessary during pre-Valentine days. The reason is that they gave each other something that modern couples can’t give, that is, time. They did not require a day to compensate each other for all the lost moments of togetherness….of love.

Happy Valentine’s Day. Perhaps, we should love all the year through like my dad and mom did. And yours too.

TRAVEL LIGHT IF YOU MUST

The man waited at the platform

With a suitcase full of ideas

And a small bag for the journey

Waiting for the train of humanity to arrive.

In the night before, he was barely able to close

The suitcase, so full was it

He had to squeeze and force down

And even sit over it to close

There were simply too many things

For a small sized suitcase.

He had planted himself

Where he thought the ‘General’

Compartment would arrive.

But there were simply too many people

There generally are in ‘unreserved’ compartments.

He had to jostle his way through

Pushing, fretting, fuming

Finding room for himself

And for his suitcase full of ideas;

It was almost a losing battle.

He would have given up

But the dynamics of ‘General’ compartments

Are well suited for going with the flow

As anyone would know

Who’s been in Mumbai ‘locals’.

So eventually he found room for himself

And a little overhead space for his suitcase

But he just couldn’t open it

There was simply not enough space

The train started; the journey began.

It gathered speed

The suitcase, not on firm footing

Fell, but the man scarcely missed it

He was busy sharing goodies from his bag

That he carried for the journey

Others shared too and he found

It wasn’t a bad journey after all.

At the destination, he got down with his bag

That was all that belonged to him

That was all that was needed for the journey.

HOW PROUD SHOULD WE BE OF INDIAN REPUBLIC AT 62?

What exactly does the republic day signify? It is the day when the Indian constitution came into effect on 26 Jan 1950. The opinion expressed by an American Constitutional authority, Granville Austin, was significant. He said that the Indian constitution was “perhaps the greatest political venture since that originated in Philadelphia in 1787.” He described it as a “social document”. We should never forget that the Constitution, as envisaged by a committee under Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar, was to foster a social revolution.

A few years after the declaration of the Indian republic, Sir Anthony Eden, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom said, ‘Of all the experiments in government, which have been attempted since the beginning of time, I believe that the Indian venture into parliamentary government is the most exciting. A vast subcontinent is attempting to apply to its tens and thousands of millions a system of free democracy. It is a brave thing to try to do so. The Indian venture is not a pale imitation of our practice at home, but a magnified and multiplied reproduction on a scale we have never dreamt of. If it succeeds, its influence on Asia is incalculable for good. Whatever the outcome we must honour those who attempt it”.

Republic Day is, thus, an affirmation of common aspirations, hopes, strengths, responsibilities, and will of our people. Therefore, one cannot and should not celebrate R-Day unless one pauses to take stock of how far we have come with the vision of the forefathers of the Indian constitution. Let us, therefore, not look at the Constitution of India as a holy cow but pause and critically assess the social revolution that the constitution was meant to bring about. Where are we at the end of 61 years of this social revolution? Here are the facts:

Eighty percent of the Indian population lives on less than two dollars a day. We have nearly 500 million people who live Below the Poverty Line (BPL, a term used to describe those who have less than the UN stipulated $1.25 a day), which constitutes nearly 45 percent of our population. This amounts to one-third of the world’s poor. We have more poor in just eight states of India than in all the African countries together.

Why does it not compare well with our “spectacular” GDP growth? It is because, as brought out by Mani Shanker Aiyer (the then Minister for Panchayat Raj), about four years back, our so called 9% GDP growth had not made dent in the lives of more than 0.9% people. MSA was of course made a pariah in his party for this and other statements. I tried doing a check on the veracity of the statement and found startling facts: One, about 10% of the GDP is because of the richest 10 Indians; and two, the richest 50 Indians control as much as 30 percent of the country’s GDP. As a contrast, on the day Madam Pratibha Patil became the President of India (and hence owner of this social revolution called the Constitution) two farmers in her home place committed suicide, unable to pay the loans they had taken to raise their crops.

At the time we declared ourselves a republic, we coined a term called ‘Public Servant’. Broadly, the definition describes a person who holds a government position either by election or by appointment. Sixty-one years after the constitution came into effect, have we cared to think, to how many of our political leaders, bureaucrats, doctors, engineers, technocrats etc can this moniker be applied. For instance, can we call a certain A Raja, the former Telecom Minister, as a “servant of the people”? Did he cause the loss of `1.76 Lakh Crore in issuing licences for 2G spectrum in the interest of the Indian public? Did Suresh Kalmadi make crores of rupees in preparation for the commonwealth games (CWG) in New Delhi last year so as to distribute these amongst the poor? Now that the Finance Minister Mr Pranab Mukherjee has taken cognisance of the public concern in bringing back black money stashed away in Swiss banks, do you think that this money has been stashed away by ‘Public Servants’ or by those we elect to rule over us?

What exactly went wrong with the best of the intentions of the makers or drafters of the constitution? I think the origin of the problem lies with the way we have implemented democracy, the sacred cow of our Constitution. We are very fond of saying that India is a shining example of democracy, a lotus flower of democracy in a pond of autocracies around us.

I am not going to give my perceptions but some facts and figures that would make us all sit up and take notice. The only perception that I want to give is that democracy or rule of the people is conveniently used by our leaders to escape the clutches of the law. Initially, when a minister is accused of a scam, his response is a very noble, “Let the law take its own course” (smug in the knowledge that if law is an ass, Indian law is the biggest snail in the world; very few get justice during their life-times). As soon as this minister is convicted, he displays his total contempt for the law by declaring, “This is a political vendetta; is ka faisla to ab janata ki adalat hi karegi” (I shall go to the people’s court for justice). He succeeds there because of the shortcomings of our democracy. He succeeds because the collective memory of our people is short. Elections these days are an exercise in deciding – what we feel as – the least evil.

So here are the promised figures. In our esteemed democracy, on the average, about 50 to 60 percent of the electorate votes. What is an electorate? Since it comprises the registered eligible voters, it would be naïve to assume that 100% of the eligible voters are registered. The correct figures are close to only about 80%. So when 60% (the higher average) of the electorate votes, it means only 48% of the eligible voters do so.

With multiplicity of candidates, a candidate is declared a winner if he/she gets between 13 to 25% of the votes cast. This would make him represent between 7 to 12% of our electorate. This means that about 90% of voters have not voted for him/her. And yet, when he becomes a minister, as A Raja did, he does not feel any need to consult the other parties, let alone common people, about a subject that is going to affect their lives in a big way. What kind of democracy is it? Why are we so proud of it? How can we forget that due to this, we rank 119 in Human Growth Index out 169 countries in the United Nations Human Development Report released on 4^th Nov 10, just eighty three days before the celebration of our 62^nd Republic Day. How can we forget that we rank not just below China but also below Sri Lanka, Namibia and Nicaragua?

Now let’s look at the issues with which this winning candidate (who secures, on the average, backing of maximum 12% of our eligible-to-vote people) fights his election. Do you think that he/she takes to people pragmatic solutions to their poverty and lets them decide whether he/she should be elected on the basis of these plans and programmes? No, on the other hand, the primary issues on which he fights elections are the denigration (verging on mud-slinging) of the other parties.

I am not going to bring out other issues about secularism, respect for all castes and creeds, and other fundamental rights. All I am saying is, without giving vent to perceptions and biases, that the lot of the Indian common man, after 61 years of our social revolution, sought to be fostered by our constitution, brought into effect on 26 Jan 1950, has not improved. There is no remedy in sight because he/she does not exercise a choice.

On the 62^nd Republic Day, let’s all put our heads together and think how can we empower our people. All facts and figures prove that so far we have scarcely empowered them.

Here are some of the arguments used to bolster our feel-good factor: “these days even the road-side cobbler has mobile phone”, “even those in slums in Mumbai watch colour television”, “Slumdog Millionaire won many Oscars”, “our fashion industry is growing at a stupendous rate” etc. These are arguments given by the political class and the elite to make us forget the failures of Indian democracy.

“Hum honge kamyaab” (We shall succeed). Sure, pal, first let’s decide on what we want to succeed at. I am sorry but on the 62^nd Republic Day, we still have only a vague idea, let alone a firm plan.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

There is absolutely nothing to suggest that God had intended any particular day or event to be more important or significant than the others. It appears that in God’s scheme of things every month, hour, minute and second is an old one dying and a new one being born.

And yet…

And yet we have special days: our birthdays and those of people close to us, our anniversary, graduation day and days of festivities.

New Year is really different. It appears that if we didn’t have something to peg our lives to there won’t be any beginning or end to anything.

The Guru Granth Sahib talks about God being there before the Universe and that He would be there after the Universe. In the Bhagwat Gita there is a description of God saying that He is the Beginning and the End. Therefore, in order to avoid ourselves into falling into the illusion (actually reality!) of a Universe without Time, we have ourselves devised the Calendar year.

The other day I shared a discussion in latest issue of the Time magazine that until the sixteenth century there was no particular date to celebrate the Birth of Christ. According to the Bible He was born sometime in Spring. It was only then that the Pope decreed that it should be universally accepted as twenty-fifth of December. Nowadays, we have become so sacrosanct about this date that at the stroke of midnight on twenty fifth December we burst into sudden rejoicing for Christ having been born.

India too got its freedom from the British at the stroke of midnight, universally accepted as the beginning of a day.

It is really very convenient for us. Timelessness, as God had intended, would have killed us; we won’t have known what to do with it. In the olden days, we measured time by the Sun and the Moon or the changing seasons. Indeed, there are many Hindi songs about measuring time likewise; eg, “Chaand phir nikla, magar tum na aaye.” (Moon is out again, but my Love has still not returned); or “Tere bin saawan kaise beeta” (Love, do you have any idea of how I the monsoons weighed on me without you).

There is an article in my blog titled ‘The Virtual World‘ on this issue. It may just be worth reading it to remember that the concept of Time that we have devised, just like any other virtue, makes all of us to live in a Virtual World. And yet, when a lover gets affected by Time playing tricks on him awaiting his love, we tease him for living in a world of his own.

So, there is as much New about the New Year as is about every moment.

However, having said that, lets realise that Time is amongst the best known discoveries or inventions of Man. If it hadn’t been for it, Life would go on without any newness! Everyone would use relativity of time (which it is) than absolute terms to describe events, eg, Boss to Employee, “You are later than Sunita in coming to office but, you are earlier than Rakesh. Next time, be earlier than the most”.

Or, the train is late today but is earlier than it was last summer.

Or, Happy New Year to those in India now. In Europe, wait for another few hours.

Since all this is, in any case, an illusion (maya), there is one thing that depicts it really well; it is the New Year Resolution. Since, we set the meter to beginning or start again, we are filled with great resolve to reset our Life starting….well, you guessed it…the stroke of midnight. Some of the popular resolutions are:

I shall lose weight.
I shall give up smoking/drinking.
I shall stop worrying.
I shall be kinder to my parents.
I shall become leaner and fitter.
I shall stop lying about small things.
I shall become more punctual.

The illusion of these resolutions lasts for a few days and then we realise that the year has become as old as everything on earth must and we don’t have to treat it with renewed resolve. We slip back into timelessness!

So, friends, Happy New Year 2011

I resolve that in 2011 I shall write at least fifty percent articles about things that at least fifty percent of the people around me can understand if they find time to read them. For the others who actually rejoice in ‘Ignorance is Bliss’ (which is exactly how God intended it to be):

“Aage bhi jaane na tu,
Peechhe bhi jaane na tu;
Jo bhi hai, bas yehi ik pal hai”
(Future is unknown to you,
Past is not known,
What IS, is only this moment)

Rejoice!

LIVING WITH DIGNITY IN INDIA

Living with dignity anywhere depends upon how much freedom we get to do the things that we want to do as long as the doing of them is not illegal. One doesn’t exercise a choice in being born in a country; if at all, sometimes the parents may exercise such a choice. So, if you grow up in the country of your birth, wherein you did not exercise a choice to be born, you expect to live, above all, with dignity. This is despite your not being in majority; by your religion, caste, creed and vocation. I know that James Michener had commented, “If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people, you might better stay home.” However, JM’s comment is suited for those who exercise a choice. What if home is country or state of your birth? Where do you go if you reject the ways of your people? Worse, where do you go if people reject your ways? I am not talking about seditious ways chosen by some, eg, Arundhati Roy or Geelani.

I shall give you a few examples of how your dignity (not ego) gets adversely affected simply by living in India.

There are extreme examples of carrying night-soil that was banned only recently in India. Or there was this tradition of Sati – the self (sometimes provoked) immolation of a widow after her husband’s death. Dowry, poverty, being born a girl, having to face injustice or to be wrongly accused, would be some other such extreme examples. This article is not about these. This article is about the dignity of ordinary middle class people living ordinary lives.

My examples starts with my home (whatever that means) state Himachal. The other day a friend from Himachal asked me how is it that we settled in Himachal when we are Sikhs and Punjabi speaking. When I showed surprise he asked me a more direct question, “When did you migrate from Punjab into Himachal?” I told him that I was born and brought up in Himachal and that each one of the Indian states are supposed to be multi-lingual and multi-religious and that an Indian has got a right to settle down anywhere in India. I told him that there is a recent Supreme Court ruling on it. Now, it was his turn to show surprise. Even though well educated, he had never dwelled on this point and had taken it for granted that whilst Hindi speaking people can hope to live with dignity anywhere in the Hindi belt, others necessarily belong to where they are in majority, ie, Punjabis in Punjab, Bengalis in Bengal and so on.

I had read about the travails of a Muslim trying to buy a house in a predominantly Hindu locality in Pune. It was in the papers last year.

I tweeted and wrote a lot about the Navratri festivities in our part of the city. The cacophonic noise of filmy songs had nothing to do with any religious sentiments. At thirty past midnight, one night, I phoned the local police station to complain that with the excessive noise we couldn’t sleep. The constable on duty told me, “Nahin, Navratri mein nahin sone ka.” (No, Navratri is not meant for sleeping). Even though he did not say it, since the majority of people was involved, it was taken for granted that everybody must share the sheer joy of those festivities, even though outside legal limits. However, in the same breath an indoor ‘midnight mass‘ on Christmas eve had to finish by 2215 hours to keep us free from “excessive noise” caused by ‘Silent night, holy night’.

A time has come in India when one has to be apologetic about belonging to any community, caste, creed, and culture other than the majority’s. At many places it can be dangerous too. The Wikileaks revelation about Rahul Gandhi telling the US Ambassador to India, Timothy Roemer, that Hindu radicalism is a greater threat to India than Muslim fundamentalism was certainly well off the mark, at the verge of being anti-national (considering the damage to Indian societal fabric being done by such organisations as LeT and SIMI), and in poor taste. But, we must take notice of the fact that a potential PM candidate thought of voicing it. Do we still maintain that we give equal opportunity to other communities, castes, creeds, cultures in ordinary things that they can do? When I voiced it on Twitter the argument given was that we had a Muslim President, services Chief, Sikh PM and so on. I maintain, as I did above that this article is about the dignity of ordinary middle class people to live ordinary lives. I am not talking about extreme and isolated examples.

Here is another example. Poor driving habits kill more people in India in a year than in all the wars India fought with its neighbours. However, when the majority believes in jumping lanes, red lights, drives on the wrong side of a road with median, edges you out of the lane, honks relentlessly in case you have stopped to let a woman or old man to cross; try doing the right thing, see where it lands you? You will be a like a foreigner in your own place. Talking about foreigner, you can see Indians driving abroad; but, have you ever seen a foreigner in India driving in, say, Mumbai?

In case by lack of road signs or wrong road signs (they are aplenty) or because you are edged out by a lorry and you land up in the wrong, you have to face the traffic cop whose only assistance to you is to make you rid of some of your money. Indian police makes you feel like criminals even if you have stopped to ask for directions or gone to the Police Station to lodge a complaint. Try to do any of these things with dignity. Indeed, all so called public servants in India make you feel as undignified as possible for your error of judgment in having approached them for any help.

Now, if you belong to a niche group like Indian Armed Forces, who are largely disciplined, secular and upright; all attempts would be made to bring you down to the level of the majority for any small or big aberration or perceived aberration. At a bus stop in my native place I gently told a man, who spat out paan, that he could have done it in a trash can. He gave me a thorough once over and the conversation with him went like this:

He: Aap afsar ho? (Are you an officer?)
I replied in the affirmative.
He: Afsar ho to kuchh bhi kar sakte ho? (because of being officer can you do anything?)
I did not like the sudden unexpected turn he gave to the subject. However, he proceeded without paying heed to any interrupttion from me.
He: Afsar ho to hamare ghar aa ke hamari bahu betiyon ko bhi kuchh bhi kar sakte ho? (By being an officer can you force yourself into my home and do things to our women at home)
I tried to protest at the unfairness of it. But, by that time a sizeable crowd had formed and they asked him what had happened.
He: Pata nahin ji kya zamana aa gaya hai? Mujhe keh raha hai ke main afsar hun aur kuchh bhi kar sakta hun. (I don’t know what world we have landed in? He is telling me that he is an officer and can do anything)
At this another equally wise person remarked: Pehle Angrez afsar the, ab yeh aa gaye hain. (At one time we were under the British officers; and now we have these).
At this the wisest in the crowd remarked disdainfully, “Chhodo ji, mujhe to fauji lagta hai. Bechare ko civil tareekon ka pata nahin hai”. (Let it be. He appears to be a military man. Poor man doesn’t know the ways of the civilians)
Having said that, they “forgave me” for my effrontery in asking a man not to spit out paan in public. Phew.

In case this incident has to take place now, post Adarsh housing scam involving some senior officers from the armed forces amongst bureacrats and politicians, I can foresee the ultimate jeering, “Jao jao, jyaada adarsh mat bano“. (Go, don’t try to become adarsh (ideal in literal meaning but actually with an eye on the Adarsh scam)

Try to, with dignity, become adarsh when you board a bus, or train. You will be left at the station long after the bus or train has departed.

I am reminded of this scene from a Shyam Benegal movie in which a village teacher has his wife abducted and raped by the village goondas. He goes from one government office to the other asking for justice. Finally, he realises, with frustration, that the process of asking for his and his wife’s dignity to be restored is even more undignified.

If you are an Indian, you are used to such indignities as can rape your feelings and emotions, liberties and honour on an everyday basis. From the indignity of a woman being molested in public to your driving a car through extreme pot holes, filth, chaos, indiscipline, you are always under stress; more so, if you are law abiding citizen. Try standing overnight in a queue to obtain train reservation and face the indignity of knowing that your neighbour has managed better seats than you by paying underhand and getting the tickets delivered to him at home.

Adarsh, my foot. Indian society is as far from being adarsh as can be.

Have you ever been to an Indian court? I have been several times for a case involving our neighbours who have encroached upon my mother’s land. Eventually, you may win the case after decades. But, you have to decide whether you can go through the extreme indignity of dealing with lawyers, police, court clerks, officials, judges etc. Your only fault is that someone encroached on your land and now you are an equal contender in the case as the other party! A similar experience awaits you in case you are walking on an exclusive pedestrian foot-path and a vehicle knocks you off and you approach police or the courts for justice.

Here is what Rabinder Nath Tagore wrote in 1910:

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Let us pause and reflect on how far we in India have come from these ideals.

AMARANTH

Like a gentle rain
On a placid pond in wilderness
The memory of our tryst forms
Never dying ripples
Each one capturing
Those brief moments of togetherness.

Did you at that time know
That the twinkle in your eyes
The softness of your lips
Your looks, your scent, your laughter
Would remain with me forever?

Indelible…unfading.

And I would search for these
In the pearl drops on lotus leaves,
In yellow flowers of joy
By the gurgling brooks;
In the haunting song of cuckoo
Pervading the silent secrets of woods.

Did you know that I would
Eternalize each whisper,
Each colour, each touch, each look
Each song, and each ditty
And treasure them
As a Life Time’s Achievement Award
For my undying love for you?

ANYTHING FOR ME?

The Missile Boats, of the type that took part in our daring attack on Karachi in 1971, had a deadly punch of missiles. However, due to their low height of eye, they were many times poor in inter-ship communications, especially in comparison to larger Fleet ships. This often produced frustrating results. One of these is described here.

For CinC’s farewell at sea, the Fleet Commander had got the combined strength of the Fleet and Flotilla (to which smaller boats like Missile Boats and Durgs belonged) with him. Whilst the Fleet ships had to do the traditional steam-past the mighty Vikrant with CinC embarked, the Flotilla ships were to approach Vikrant from ahead and fan out abreast of Vikrant in pairs on obtaining the crucial signal.

This complex manoeuvre required coordination of extremely high order. To ensure proper command and control, the Fleet Communication Officer had tried to get all ships, big or small, on a common communication circuit. At this stage, a small Missile Boat (Let us call it MB One) was trying to establish communication with the Fleet Commander (Let us call it Flag), for example:

“Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me, over”

And again: “Flag, this is MB One, Radio Check, over” with increasing urgency since the serial was about to start.

I was on a newly commissioned Fleet ship and we could hear the repeated wails of MB One. Even though Flag had many times acknowledged the calls of MB One, the latter could not hear it. In the meantime the grand manoeuvre commenced and the communication operator on MB One must have been panicky that he had not established two-way communications.

Before the Fleet ships’ planned steam-past, came the first of the Flotilla ships, the Durgs who were to fan out abreast of Vikrant, their ship’s companies calling out ‘Teen Jais’ to the CinC. One of the Durgs (Let us call it Durg Two) fanned out earlier than called for and that part of the grand manoeuvre looked shabby. The Fleet Commander could have waited to return to harbour to convey his displeasure; but, there is nothing like on-the-spot-dressing-down. So a signal was made on the common net, “Durg Two this is Flag, your stupidity has spoiled the whole show, over”.

Meanwhile MB One was still trying, in vain, to net in, “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me? Over”.

The ‘stupidity’ signal, not being in the proper signalese, completely flummoxed the operator on Durg Two, who asked for a repetition by the most commonly used words on the circuit during those days, “Flag, this is Durg Two, say again your last, over”.

I am sure, Commanding Officer of Durg Two, if he had heard this on the speaker on his ship, as the rest of the Fleet did, would never have wanted such a signal to be repeated. But, now, the Flag operator had no choice. Hence, he tried again, “Durg Two, this is Flag, your STOO PEE DITTY has spoiled the whole show, over”.

Meanwhile, MB One, getting a lot of crackling sound on the headset must have been in total panic, more so as his turn to perform similar manoeuvre was fast approaching. Hence, his “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me, over” had become agonisingly more desperate. At this stage, Durg One, to our amused horror, requested Flag to spell word after ‘your’.

After this, the entire sequence, heard on my ship was:

“Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me, over”

“Flag, this is Durg Two, say again all after ‘your’ and spell word after ‘your’”.

“Flag, this is MB One, anything for me, over”

“Durg Two, this is Flag, I say again my last: your STOO PEE DITTY, I spell, Sierra Tango Uniform Papa India Tango Yankee, STOO PEE DITTY, has spoiled the whole show, over”

“Flag this is MB One” with alarm now since a long message had been made and he had missed it totally, “Anything for ME over”!

They also serve who only stand and wait!

A FOUR LETTER WORD CALLED LOVE

Love, they say, is the greatest feeling on earth; some even go to the extent of saying that Love is God. The fact is that highest attainments of mankind are possible through a feeling of love towards others. The other day I wrote about the case of this woman in Russia who was found alive with her infant under the rubble after several days of an earthquake. In order to keep her baby alive she had fed the baby her own blood; and that the baby could be kept alive only through this way, kept her alive too. She loved her baby so much that she went beyond just giving up her own life to save that of her child.Here is Lord Collingwood writing about the death of Nelson, “I saw the tears in the eyes of the young sailors on knowing that Lord Nelson had died”. Can you shed tears without loving? Leadership at its best is through the feeling of love towards the men one commands. So, when you go into harm’s way you are prepared to give your life. Of all the qualities that Nelson had – some good, some bad – the one that set him apart as a great leader was his love for his men.

Go back into history and you have Jesus Christ as son of God loving us to the extent that he even forgave his persecutors.

There is a school of thought that goes on to compare this kind of unconditional and supreme Love as also possible between a woman and man. Indeed, Guru Nanak told us to “approach God with perfect humility. Throw yourself on His mercy. Give up pride, show and egoism. Beg for His kindness and favour. Do not think of your own merits, abilities, faculties and capacities. Be prepared to die in the pursuit of His love and union with Him. Love God as a woman loves her husband. Make absolute unreserved self-surrender. You can get divine favour and love”. Throughout the Guru Granth Sahib there are repeated mentions of loving God as a woman loves her husband. Indeed, Guru Nanak goes about asking the woman (ie, all of us) what kind of Shingar (Ornaments and Make-up) are required to get our Suhag (husband), that is, God. Of course, we know, that such Shingar is not with material things.

The important thing to remember is that Guru Nanak thought of love of a woman towards her husband as the stuff divine love is made of. Contempraneous with Guru Nanak was Meerabai. Born a princess in Rajasthan, she gave herself away as a wife and worshipper to Lord Krishna:

“My beloved dwells in my heart all day,
I have actually seen that abode of joy.
Meera’s lord is Hari, the indestructible.
My lord, I have taken refuge with you, your maidservant.”

The legend of Heer Ranjha in Jhang (Pakistan) in Punjab has it that Heer became mesmerised by the way Ranjha played flute and fell in love with him. Even though she was forced by her family to marry Saida she continued to love Ranjha. Eventually, when Ranjha again visited her village, she was poisoned to death by her wily uncle. Ranjha heard of this and bit into the same poisoned Laddu to kill himself. Waris Shah, the poet, who documented this legendary story, is reputed to have made the Heer (a tearful singing tradition in her name) as a depiction of parting from the Almighty. So, once again, the theme of purest form of love being that of a woman for a man or vice-versa was manifested.

Cut now to the modern India:

“Dekh Waris aake apni Heer nu,
Sikh gayi hai roz naviyaan lahn di.”
(Waris, come now and see the modern Heer,
She has learnt to find a new liaison everyday)

In the epic of Ramaayan, Lord Ram’s consort Sita, crossed the Lakshaman Rekha and was abducted by Lanka’s king Raavan. Eventually, Ram fought a great war, helped by Banar Sena (an army of monkeys), against Raavan to win her back. But, guess what? She had to have an Agnipreeksha (Trial by Fire) to prove her loyalty and devotion to Ram.

I do not agree that a woman has to go through any Agnipreeksha to prove devotion to her husband or lover. However, the fact is that the Indian woman has taken her emancipation too far; something like the feminist movement of the United States. In her bid to seek parity with the man, the Indian woman, at present has made a mockery of the word Love. There is no love lost is probably the right expression to use for the modern Indian woman.

The modern Indian woman is at a stage now when, if Guru Nanak was to be reborn, he won’t think of her love as the prime example of divine love. I know I would be immediately dubbed as being racist and sexist. But, all that I am saying is that the modern Indian woman ceases to be an example epitomised by many before her such as Sati Savitri.

I am one of those who feel that modernity and traditional values can co-exist. Pragmatism and equality of sexes do not permit ‘I love you‘ to become just a catch-phrase, eg, going to Archies and asking for ‘I truly love you’ cards on Valentine’s Day to be sent to a dozen really close boy-friends.

What about men? I am sure the same applies to men too except that no one had ever given them credit for being so patni-vrata (true to wife in all respects) as to sing paeans describing their virtuous nature as we did of the Indian women of yore.

But the way that poor guy is nowadays treated by the modern Indian woman, very soon we shall have a Munnabhai (in reversal of role of Meerabai) marrying the idol of Durga in supreme devotion.

Any comments?

SOUNDS OF SILENCE

“The stars of midnight shall be so dear,
For her and she shall lean her ear,
In many a secret place;
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound,
Shall pass into her face”.

Despite our love for silence that Wordsworth and others wrote endless verses about, the fact is that sounds and noise never leave us. We want to hear, we want to be heard.

As soon as a child is born, we want to hear him or her make a sound..any sound. For, unless you make a sound, there is no proof that you are alive.

Is life a cacophony in which the louder you are the more powerful you become? Or, is the reverse true? Despite all the shibboleths such as ‘silence is gold’, we commonly associate silence with the meloncholic, sad and poignant. Happiness and joys, on the other hand, have sounds…happy sounds.

“Hontho ko si chuke to zamane ne yeh kaha,
Yeh chup si kyun lagi hai aji kuchh to boliye”
(The moment I sewed up my lips, the world asked me:
Why does silence reign? Speak something at least.”

According to the Hindu religion silence within and without is the attainment of greatest joy. The Hindu philosophy has it that even thoughts make sound. And, if you can shut off all sounds, even those of thoughts, you are one with your God.

And yet, we never want to be silent. Honking, crackers, screeches, shouts, loud speakers and even blasts become parts of our life. We go as far away from tasting life as from the true flavour of tea by adding sugar.

There is so much to be heard in silence but we become immune to it. Here is how Wordsworth described it:

“THE world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:

Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!”

“See it with your heart, ’tis mere joy” said he. Guru Nanak too described it as a music that can’t be heard with the worldly senses given to man.

“Chup hai dhartii, chup hain chaand sitaare,
Mere dil kii dhadakan tujhako pukaare.”
(The Earth is silent (my love)
And so are the moon and the stars,
The only sound that is there,
Is that of my heart beat calling you.”

No, silence can’t be sad or stifling or melancholic.
Silence is the beginning of the condition,
In which you hear sounds you had never heard before.

Try it.

CHASING A RAINBOW

He had set out to explore a new world; a world where – as per the lyrics of the old Hindi song – there would be no sorrow or sadness, no tears; where there would be only Love as far as the eye would see and heart would feel.

First, there was a hill to be crossed. He had overheard many a wise people in his town telling about the wonderful new world that existed beyond the hill and beyond the rainbow.

He set out just before the crack of the dawn one day. He was alone. The going was tough not just because of his aloneness. It had rained just a while back and there was wetness in the air. Because of it the ground had become slippery. Even though the hill was beyond the valley and the stream, the thick vegetation was there to be negotiated and was making the going difficult. Some of the rocks too were slippery.

It was late in the afternoon when he reached the stream. The rainbow had been showing at the hill from the time the sun rose but even though he had headed straight towards it, it appeared beyond his reach. He wanted to continue going but the heat and toil had taken their toll and the stream beckoned him to take out his shoes and immerse his feet in the cool and clear water. He lay back his upper torso on the grass and his eyes closed.

Suddenly he heard a voice very close to him; it was a heavenly voice, a goddess singing exclusively for him. It appeared to him that the singing was sweeter and more heart-warming than that of Wordsworth’s Solitary Reaper though he was quick to admit to himself that he wasn’t really there when the great poet heard the reaper. Anyway, he wasn’t getting into having a dual with WW and turned all his attention to the singing, “Aapko apna koi dard na sehna hoga…” (You won’t have to bear the burden of any of your pains).

This was music to his ears. Suddenly, the scenery transformed itself into a paradise. The rainbow appeared so close that it was almost within reach. But, at this juncture, he had no desire to touch it since he had both his arms around her; the most beautiful person on earth and beyond. Indeed, he forgot all about climbing the hill. There was no need really because he had – he thought – found his new world there and then.

They set out to make their world more beautiful than any world anyone had ever seen. He worked in a farm and she amused herself in the hut by the stream. They often observed to each other that God must have been kind to them for having given them each other. Listening to each other, being with each other, loving and dreaming, dreaming and loving were the only things that mattered. The world that they had made protected them against everything, or so they thought.

Time passed….as it always does…

One day, she ventured out to go and look at the scenery upstream whilst he went to work at the farm. She came to a spot where the stream had formed into a near still pool. As she watched from behind the bushes she saw a number of men come to the spot, remove all their clothes and bathe in the pool. She was totally in love with her man but it appeared to her that this was, after all, innocent fun just to watch other men bathe.

That evening he asked her where she had been. She lied and said she watched the cattle at the meadow and enjoyed the sight; brown, white and black cows grazing with their calves. She deliberately omitted to mention about the bulls she had seen.

He knew instinctively – as one would in love – that it was a lie but he did not say anything.

Time went on, as it always does…

By this time she had taken to watching the men at the pool whenever she could. She liked the gleam of their muscles as they dried themselves in the sun. Gradually, she became familiar with the features of every man in the group. Everytime she lied to her own man. Everytime she was overcome by the fascination of seeing the men in the pool.

And then one day..

She took a dip in a smaller pool downstream from the men. It felt great. Why hadn’t her man ever suggested it? It was, she reasoned, innocent fun.

He was returning home a little early that afternoon as he had a headache. From a distance he saw his woman bathing in a pool with men. There was no need to lie now. He had seen it with his own eyes. That night when they lay in each other’s arms he asked her; to his shocked surprise he found that she lied about this too. Incredible, he thought. She said she was feeling so warm that she just thought of having a dip, and…she had no idea of men bathing so close to her.

Lies multiply and mutate like living oganisms. Now that she had gotten over a hump (my first lie?) she became quite crafty with it. For everything she had an explanation and often quarrelled with him for doubting her. “What do you want me to do? Quit bathing? Do you like dirty women?” she would confront him and made it look like he was a demon for having even doubted her.

He wanted to get over the trauma of her bathing in nude so close to men. Was it really as innocent as she made it out to be? But there was one thing that made it less innocent; the fact of her lying about it.

One day, when he slept, his dream came back to him. Next morning he got up and went to the stream and watched the sunrise. There soon formed an exquisite rainbow across the hill. Why had he paused? Why had he forgotten about the brave new world? Who had he set out to become and what had he become?

He took the first hesitant steps to go across the stream, to start climbing the hill. It wasn’t easy since he had really worked hard at making the world, their world. But, later he found he could do it. From the first stop up the hill, he looked back. There she was in her pool…and the men appeared close…very close.

The steep part of the hill was still to come but, he knew he had to keep climbing beyond the hill, beyond the rainbow.

He hit a rock.

He found he was with his feet in the stream and body resting on the grass.

An eternity had passed since he had closed his eyes….

JO BHI HAI BUS YEHI IK PAL HAI

I am so unsure of myself when I glance at forecasts, horoscopes and what the stars foretell. The reason is that I don’t know whether to believe or not. However, I often read the horoscopes to confirm that my experiences are – laugh if you want – according to some cosmic plan! Amongst all the forecasts, I found that the late Peter Vidal’s were the truest for me. Lately, I found that the Blackberry’s daily Horoscope comes close to my situation. Here is my Horoscope for today:

“You are stuck in a rut, Gemini, and the stars are urging you to dig out of it. What? You did not know you were stuck in a rut? That’s the worst kind of rut – the one that you don’t know you’re in. If you are feeling a bit stifled or if it seems you have become lost in a particular routine, you need to shake things up. It isn’t that staying this way will harm you, but going beyond your current pattern will be the first step in building a bridge that can take you to a much more attractive place. Don’t be afraid of change.”

It can well be argued that it is a very general statement and with a little variation can fit just about anyone. However, I am surprised at the confirmation of my current state of mind. Is there something to it afterall?

I don’t know whether the total people on earth can actually be divided into just twelve categories, but, I do know that shaking things up is something that a Geminian is actually good at.

Out of all people on earth, it is probably a Geminian who can be at home singing Kishore Kumar’s ‘Door Ka Rahi’ (Long Distance Traveller):

“Rehguzar mein kai manzilen bhi mili;

Dekh kar ek pal, dam liya phir chale.

Khushi do ghadi ki mile na mile.

Shama aarzoo ki jale na jale.

Har kadam par naye marhale the khade;

Ham chale dil chala, dil chala ham chale,

Khushi do ghadi ki……”

(On the way, I came across many a destination;

I saw, rested a while and moved on.

I may not get the joy of the moment,

I may not get to see my desire fulfilled.

At every step I found new stops,

I moved, heart moved,

Heart moved, I moved.

I know that when you move on, the criticism that hits you is that you don’t care; you are heartless. Here too I know for sure that a Gemini is probably the most emotional of the lot; the most caring in his/her special way. But, a Gemini is bored with trying to make music with a violin with strings deliberately loosened to make wrong or ugly music. How many times a Gemini is expected to tighten the strings to liven up the music? Why should it be his/her complete responsibility to make things work.

In the end, the more you stick, the more you want to make it work, the more it is uncharacteristic of a Gemini.

No one understands more than a Gemini that:

Jo bhi hai bus yehi ik pal hai.

(All that is there is just this moment)

and…

Dust thou art

and dust returnest

was not spoken of the soul.

LEADERSHIP LESSON #2

Life’s little things are the ones that teach you more than bigger events. I spent thirty-seven years in the Indian Navy and I am convinced my life was moulded because of the small nuggets that came my way. I shall periodically try to recollect some of these in this blog. This is the second of these nuggets.

I was posted on INS Himgiri for obtaining my Bridge Watchkeeping certificate. Himgiri was the second of the indigenously built Leander class frigates (the first one being Nilgiri). It was a fully air-conditioned modern frigate with the latest in weapons and sensors. However, my next ship, INS Karwar, a Hunt class minesweeper appeared to be a big letdown. It was old, leaking (especially at the forepeak where the previous ship’s company had banged it whilst going alongside at Gateway of India whilst practising for President’s Review of the Fleet) and as far removed from the luxuryof a Leander as possible.In addition to the pathetic state of the ship, I suddenly found myself in a position wherein I was responsible for my job (unlike when I was an under-trainee on Himgiri) and could not turn to anyone for advice about how to go about doing the various tasks that I was expected to do.I had been on board for about a week. On one night when I was the Officer of the Day, at about the time when the last libertymen should return, there was commotion in the water near the ship’s berth on South Breakwater in Naval Dockyard, Mumbai. Kuldip Singh, Seaman First Class, Radar Plotter, Third Grade, had fallen from the brow into the water. It came out that he was in the habit of returning drunk on board and that the incident was bound to happen one day or the other.

Anyway, I got him fished out of the water. Kuldip had lost his turban and his Identity Card, two of the things that he should have guarded with great care; one protecting his izzat (honour) in civil life and the other in navy life. The next day he was marched before me and thereon to the Executive Officer (second in command) and to the Commanding Officer (the Navy Act and Regulations for the I.N. gives powers to those in authority to summarily try and award punishments). He was awarded Punishments numbers 14 (Reprimand, that was recorded in his Service Documents), 12 (Stoppage of Leave for 30 days), and 11 (Extra work and drill for 7 days).

On the same day, my CO called me and told me to get in touch with the concerned staff officer in the Bureau of Sailors and have him transferred out of the ship and ask for someone smart.

I was about to make the phone call to the said staff officer when I gave it one last thought: what would be achieved by transferring him out? Instead of being a headache to us he would become a headache to them. He should either be boarded out (which punishment we had not given him) or reformed. But, who was going to reform him?

The next day, Kuldip was standing before me for another default verging on insubordination; he had refused to wash the mess utensils as a mess man on duty. Instead of putting him on defaulters I consulted my XO. Despite the setback, he was very encouraging of my plan to reform Kuldip and never told me that the idea was doomed to failure. He, however, commented upon how bad Kuldip was in anything that was entrusted to him. As a Radar Plotter he was simply awful.

When I called Kuldip in the evening I wasn’t sure where to start. I asked him about his family. He told me he came from a small village near Jalandhar in Punjab. I enquired about his parents and siblings. I then told him that at my parents place my mother always did the cooking and even washed the dishes. Suddenly Kuldip warmed up to the commonality and said that at his village too his mother did the same.

We talked for well over an hour and I discovered that Kuldip was not bad at all. He was only rebellious as most young men at that age. Indeed, he joined the Navy as an act of rebellion against his father who wanted him to do something worthwhile at his village.

I also discovered that Kuldip had many things to tell me about his village, his family, his stern father and his goddess-like mother. At one point when he was describing the food and sweets his mother would make, I intervened to tell him how much I loved the Shakkerparas (Jaggery coated sweets made of flour) that they made in our villages.

I gently led to the topic of his drinking. It came out that initially he did it as a macho statement prevalent in Punjab villages. Later, he was drinking because he felt nobody would understand him.

In all this I only listened rather than offering any platitudes. Kuldip left and I switched on my Sony portable tape-recorder that I had acquired on my last ship Himgiri during a cruise to Aden. Elton John’s ‘Talking Old Soldiers’ was playing. Some of the words that I remember are:

You’re right there’s so much goin’ on
No one seems to want to know
So keep well, keep well old friend
And have another drink on me
Just ignore all the others
You got your memories…

The next evening as I was getting ready to go to the United Services Club to play Bridge, there was a knock at the cabin door. There stood Kuldip with a paper-bag. He was sweating due to the Extra Work and Drill and it appeared that he had gone straight to his locker to fetch the paper-bag after that.

“This is for you”, he told me, “My mother made them and you would like them”. I called him in and we again started chatting whilst having the Shakkerparas. It came out that Kuldip was very fond of reading, football, jokes, and serving langar (free community meal) at the gurudwara. I told him about my own interest in reading, writing, badminton, squash racquets, bridge and chess.

I did not go to USC for Bridge that evening; indeed, for several evenings after that.

A few days later, when our Navigator’s Yeoman was to go on leave, I suggested to XO that Kuldip could be entrusted with the job. All apprehension about his careless attitude were proved wrong when, to our pleasant surprise, we discovered the neatness and correctness of his records.

That year, Kuldip got the Proficiency Award for the best sailor on Karwar. Next year he was promoted to a Leading Seaman. That’s when I left the ship. Many years later I learnt that Kuldip rose to become a Master Chief Petty Officer, the highest that a sailor can reach.

At about the same time I was informally referred to see a psychiatrist by the edgy and pompous medical specialist at the Navy hospital in Mumbai. I was suffering from a skin affliction called Psoriasis and the doc did not like my wasting his time by discussing my situation with him. He felt that my being overly worried about my situation (seen from the fact that I needed his reassurance and wanted him to tell me the progress of my disease) was making my condition worse.

At his behest I saw the psychiatrist on three occasions in the next week and we had long sessions of discussions tailored to find my abnormalities. At the end of these, the psychiatrist pronounced me normal and balanced.

This is what he told me: “If only your medical specialist had spent fifteen minutes with you, you did not have to come to me”.

LIARS ROLL OF (DIS)HONOUR

In the world, Darwin and others would have us believe (and there is evidence to be found everywhere), there is survival of the fittest. Liars must be very fit indeed because their tribe or breed appears to be flourishing. Like cockroaches (who can get out of the fridge and go straight onto the cooking gas stove) liars too appear to be everywhere; surviving and thriving.

There is, like a reality show on the television, great tussle to win the top spot. Two of the breed vying for the Numero Uno position are the politicians and the lawyers. Opinions are divided who gets to win; both lie through their teeth, both have thick skins, both have short memories, and both do it with others’ money. But, the fact that many lawyers strive to become politicians puts the latter in winning position. Lawyers can only befool some of the people some of the times; but, politicians can befool all the people all the times. They are in a league by themselves. On another score too the politicians win; which is that lawyers do have to study and acquire a bit of knowledge to become lawyers, whereas, you can start lying your way to becoming a politician without any qualification. Ignorance of the politicians is a bliss; but, if the general public can be perpetually kept ignorant, it is even greater bliss for them.

I think there is no doubt about the third spot: the babus in government offices who tell you that your file has received the highest attention and your case, hence, is about to be decided. These worthy gentlemen and ladies are the most versatile excuse makers. One cartoon showed someone walking into a government office and asking a babu, “No one seems to take any responsibility here. Why doesn’t anyone feel accountable?” The reply given was, “Don’t ask me; ask someone who should know.”

The fourth spot in our compilation of list of liars should go to the film stars. They are masters (as also mistresses) of the game. From big lies about how much they liked the acting prowess of, say, fellow actresses, to small lies about current boy or girl friend, they bring more élan to their lies than to their acting. Their lies often are at the verge of bitchiness; you can’t make out one from the other. They even manage to lie and convince us that that they love the Indian armed forces hiding the fact that movies about the armed forces earn them the big moolah.

The fifth on the list must surely be women literally taking years to answer a simple query related to their age. Some of them confront you with their interpretation that instead of lying they are merely consistent for the last ten years or so by maintaining the same age. These are the only species who goad their gadgets too to lie; for example, their weighing machines and the mirror on the wall.

At the sixth rung are, without too much ado, husbands coming home late. “Darling, in all this sweltering heat, I was getting dehydrated and they rushed me to the nearest clinic (bar). They have a long drawn out treatment (you bet!). Today, they have just given me the first part of the course but, in my own interest, I have to take the full course for the next one year (after which I can surely come up with some other plausible excuse) to get out of this terrible congenital (my father too was good at making excuses!) problem.” Don’t believe me? Well, how can you forget about the man who went to the bar and kept ordering double-martinis. His excuse: his wife had sent him to buy olives!

The seventh spot surely must go to the members upper middle class filling up income tax returns. These are, by the way, the rare breed that tells lies in writing. If all or even some of their lies are to be believed, the IT Department should be actually giving them money so that they can survive!

At the eighth notch should be the weather men. I am putting them so low in hierarchy because I actually feel for them. Weather and Women both start with the letter W and can be unpredictable for men. Hence, these are the only gentlemen caught without umbrellas in driving rain after predicting ‘clear and sunny skies’. They are also in so pitiable a situation that no one believes their truths, let alone their lies.

At the ninth spot are our media personnel. Their style of telling lies is to tell half truths or to ignore any news that does not fit with the findings of the analysis they are presenting. They are often honoured for their efforts at such lies as investigative journalism.

The tenth spot is consistently maintained by the statistics department of the planning commission. These worthy men and women juggle figures that affect lives of the people, eg, people Below Poverty Lines (BPL). I have put them so low in hierarchy because left to themselves they cannot do much damage; but, in collusion with politicians at the Number One spot, much harm can be done and is being done.

Why have I left out Investigators or those in fact-finding commissions? Surely they must be fairly high in the hierarchy. Once again, the reason is that I have made (dis)honour roll of what I feel are independent liars or those who have free-will to do so. Inquirers and Investigators are merely paid authors writing their stories at the dictates of the politicians in power.

You think it is bad? Have a rethink because in a neighbouring country easily the first ten spots are occupied by the government itself starting from the academic qualification of its (un)worthy members to habitual lies about not having sufficient proof about their country’s involvement in terror attacks in India. They even lied about a certain Kasab and other terrorists not being from their country even when all evidence stared them in the face. Lying comes so easily to them that when they say, “We won’t take things lying down” they actually mean quite different from what is ordinarily understood.

So, readers, mine is just an Indian national list. Internationally our neighbouring country is so far ahead in the art of lying that we are mere rookies, all of us.

Should the readers have their own lists or rolls please share with us in the ‘Comments’ below.