These chicks were huddled up in the roots of the bushes in Wellington (Nilgiris)
Wednesday, 22 June 2011
SHOEGATE
SHOEGATE
At the outset let me put the record straight, this tendency of suffixing a “gate”, after any ignominy is an American phenomena post Watergate; this of course is for the uninitiated. I know present generation, gen X may not be aware of this fact. Now getting back to this shoe business, our footwear suddenly gained prominence after ex American President George Bush was at the receiving end of a shoe shaped missile hurled at him and it was his deft skills of ducking which saved him from a definite strike on his face. How we wish he had mastered the art of ducking on some other important international issues rather than be the bull in the china shop which he chose to be. We are still clearing the mess.
But Indians have suddenly taken to this art like duck to water and this campaign, I obviously mean election campaign, has witnessed a host of these incidents, with politicians across all hues being the target for such a vainglorious attempt. It sparked off with our Finance Minister Mr P Chidambarm and the virus engulfed the PM, PM in waiting and even some lesser known politicians. Well, I am surprised that more of these have not been reported, as it has almost become a status symbol, after all, it is not every day that you get counted in the same breath as Bush, Manmohan and Advani. So some future incidents may actually be orchestrated to be counted as the “haves”.
Indians are no strangers to this art with our ex PM Mrs Indira Gandhi having taken a hit on her nose, the most prominent part of her anatomy during an election campaign in 1971 itself. Obviously it goes on to show that we are a more evolved society than the Yanks and they have to take a leaf or two from us even here. Shoes have a mythological significance for us, with Bharat actually ruling as the proxy of Lord Rama with his footwear gracing the throne of Ayodhya. There are other known collectors of footwear, who preferred to collect them rather than receive them gratis, with Imelda Marcos taking the cake with over couple of thousand pairs, some of them were diamond studded it is reported. In India Dr Jayalalita not to be left behind in such prestigious pursuits is also a proud possessor of a thousand odd pairs.
I am surprised that the incidents have not been hailed as the greatest leveller and an act of purging our caste ridden society of this evil practice. The cobblers were considered to be at the rock bottom of the social hierarchy, so utilising the footwear for this noble task the shoe-throwers have broken the shackles of caste and symbolically have proved their mettle!
At the outset let me put the record straight, this tendency of suffixing a “gate”, after any ignominy is an American phenomena post Watergate; this of course is for the uninitiated. I know present generation, gen X may not be aware of this fact. Now getting back to this shoe business, our footwear suddenly gained prominence after ex American President George Bush was at the receiving end of a shoe shaped missile hurled at him and it was his deft skills of ducking which saved him from a definite strike on his face. How we wish he had mastered the art of ducking on some other important international issues rather than be the bull in the china shop which he chose to be. We are still clearing the mess.
But Indians have suddenly taken to this art like duck to water and this campaign, I obviously mean election campaign, has witnessed a host of these incidents, with politicians across all hues being the target for such a vainglorious attempt. It sparked off with our Finance Minister Mr P Chidambarm and the virus engulfed the PM, PM in waiting and even some lesser known politicians. Well, I am surprised that more of these have not been reported, as it has almost become a status symbol, after all, it is not every day that you get counted in the same breath as Bush, Manmohan and Advani. So some future incidents may actually be orchestrated to be counted as the “haves”.
Indians are no strangers to this art with our ex PM Mrs Indira Gandhi having taken a hit on her nose, the most prominent part of her anatomy during an election campaign in 1971 itself. Obviously it goes on to show that we are a more evolved society than the Yanks and they have to take a leaf or two from us even here. Shoes have a mythological significance for us, with Bharat actually ruling as the proxy of Lord Rama with his footwear gracing the throne of Ayodhya. There are other known collectors of footwear, who preferred to collect them rather than receive them gratis, with Imelda Marcos taking the cake with over couple of thousand pairs, some of them were diamond studded it is reported. In India Dr Jayalalita not to be left behind in such prestigious pursuits is also a proud possessor of a thousand odd pairs.
I am surprised that the incidents have not been hailed as the greatest leveller and an act of purging our caste ridden society of this evil practice. The cobblers were considered to be at the rock bottom of the social hierarchy, so utilising the footwear for this noble task the shoe-throwers have broken the shackles of caste and symbolically have proved their mettle!
GAMES WE PLAYED AS KIDS: WHERE WAS BOREDOM
Games We Played as Kids: Where was Boredom!
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, an adage which the colonial masters not only believed in but also practiced it. This is amply illustrated by the sports facilities in small towns, which were princely states in the pre-independence era. The resident military officer in each of these states was a VIP and his whims and fancies were always honoured. Tennis, Billiards, Cricket were club games which were the favourite pastime of these officers. Tennis courts of various hues are therefore a common sight in even small towns. In fact the club culture itself owes it to the lat sahib for its continued prevalence even today. Since it was more for pleasure, a pursuit such as this was never taken too seriously to pursue it as a career. Dhar is one such small town, where I had the privilege of growing up. The town is approximately 55 kms from Mhow, which needs no introduction for the men and the ladies in uniform. A small princely state once ruled by the “Pawars”, it boasts of a similar facility which was patronised by the sahibs of yester years, the district administrative, judicial and education hierarchy, as also by the local well to do business persons, who could exploit this proximity to gain favours.
We, me and my younger sibling, took our first rookie lessons in Tennis here itself. The gentry covered the complete spectrum of the society there, not only in terms of their professions, but also of all ages with pre-teens like us to retired oldies in their seventies. But the common link amongst us was the love of the sport itself and it cut across all barriers and united us when it came to stepping on the clay courts. Let me introduce you to them, the best player of the club was a Mr Hamir chand Choudhary, a zamindar who was a graduate of Poona University of yore and he had honed his Tennis skills at the hallowed precincts of the University campus. His strokes were fluent and he could not suffer the unorthodox methods of putting the ball across the net. However, in his eagerness to play aesthetic Tennis, he would often end up losing to even us youngsters, upset at our comeuppance with strokes which were unorthodox to say the least but they worked and won you points nevertheless. Then there were a few who would play bare feet as they felt more at home without the shoes, Mr Jagdish Maltare an advocate practised this art to perfection, the smiling assassin, he could on his day humble Mr Hamir chand, although his strokes were laboured but his was the street smart style, which was useful in unnerving the suave zamindar and in his frustration he would end up as a loser.
But the most memorable character there, was the grand old man Mr Dingankar, father of a car garage mechanic, he was the most regular person on the court and loved the game immensely. Always ready for a game, even his failing eyesight and arthritic bones could not keep him away! He would land up there and wait patiently till someone needed a partner. His attire was always the same, a string tied around the waist (for want of a belt) to keep his pants from descending to the ankles.
We also had a princelings who graced the courts once in a while, the propah public school groomed youngster, he was athletic and was a natural at the courts. But he played with only a select few. It took us quite a while to come up to his exacting standards(!)His Highness the Raja was also quite regular and enjoyed the evening playing with any and everyone, he of course dabbled in doubles primarily. He prim and proper, dressed in immaculate white sports gear, he was a thorough gentleman. He had served in the army during the second world war in Burma and then retired probably somewhere around the time of independence. Being a Rimcollian (an old boy of Prince of Wales Royal Indian Military College Dehradun), I enjoyed a special affinity there. The younger prince was the “enfant terrible”, both on and off court, his tantrums kept us from enjoying the game with his father, he decided to make a dignified exit from the courts thereafter, never to return. We were of course blessed that we got an opportunity to rub shoulders with some of these gentlemen and ladies and in the bargain learned a few tricks of the trade. These tips proved invaluable in days to come as we managed to pull off some tricks when we faced a tough nut as an opponent. The street smartness always won the encounter and we emerged victorious.
We indulged in all kinds of sporting activities, some of these have been lost to our kids’ generations. Kabaddi, Kho Kho are recognised activities but “Khar Neeemuch” I am sure is unheard of “Ghulam Danda”, was another one. These games were played with the farm hand urchins, with no caste or status barriers amongst us. We played them in the farm itself, dust laden, bruised but highly competitive and enjoyable. Khar Neemuch was played by dividing the court into a fixed number of segments and a player had to cross from one end to the other extreme by dodging his opponents without being touched. Naturally it was quite rough, one hardly spared a thought about one’s clothes which bore the consequence of our pursuits. We tore a few, some buttons disappeared but obviously the incidents were our best kept secrets. Ghulam Danda required tree climbing skills of a very high order and Sujay my younger sibling was an expert, he could give the apes a run for their money. The den required throwing of a stick “Danda” and the denner had to catch the others without letting the danda being touched by the others. The others climbed the nearest tree(s) so it was fun unlimited. The experts would jump off the trees, test the elasticity of guava tree branches, a failure would result in an unceremonious fall, miraculously we never broke any bone. Our parents were blissfully unaware of our exploits lest we be barred from these earthy pursuits. During these adventures we raided mulberry plantations, picked fresh green gram (Chana), peas, green mangoes and Jamun. We enjoyed all the seasonal fruits without getting caught (thankfully!).
I feel sorry for our kids as they have only PSPs, TV and ipods to keep them company. Real life games and those invented ones and the indoor games were even more interesting. More about those some other time.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, an adage which the colonial masters not only believed in but also practiced it. This is amply illustrated by the sports facilities in small towns, which were princely states in the pre-independence era. The resident military officer in each of these states was a VIP and his whims and fancies were always honoured. Tennis, Billiards, Cricket were club games which were the favourite pastime of these officers. Tennis courts of various hues are therefore a common sight in even small towns. In fact the club culture itself owes it to the lat sahib for its continued prevalence even today. Since it was more for pleasure, a pursuit such as this was never taken too seriously to pursue it as a career. Dhar is one such small town, where I had the privilege of growing up. The town is approximately 55 kms from Mhow, which needs no introduction for the men and the ladies in uniform. A small princely state once ruled by the “Pawars”, it boasts of a similar facility which was patronised by the sahibs of yester years, the district administrative, judicial and education hierarchy, as also by the local well to do business persons, who could exploit this proximity to gain favours.
We, me and my younger sibling, took our first rookie lessons in Tennis here itself. The gentry covered the complete spectrum of the society there, not only in terms of their professions, but also of all ages with pre-teens like us to retired oldies in their seventies. But the common link amongst us was the love of the sport itself and it cut across all barriers and united us when it came to stepping on the clay courts. Let me introduce you to them, the best player of the club was a Mr Hamir chand Choudhary, a zamindar who was a graduate of Poona University of yore and he had honed his Tennis skills at the hallowed precincts of the University campus. His strokes were fluent and he could not suffer the unorthodox methods of putting the ball across the net. However, in his eagerness to play aesthetic Tennis, he would often end up losing to even us youngsters, upset at our comeuppance with strokes which were unorthodox to say the least but they worked and won you points nevertheless. Then there were a few who would play bare feet as they felt more at home without the shoes, Mr Jagdish Maltare an advocate practised this art to perfection, the smiling assassin, he could on his day humble Mr Hamir chand, although his strokes were laboured but his was the street smart style, which was useful in unnerving the suave zamindar and in his frustration he would end up as a loser.
But the most memorable character there, was the grand old man Mr Dingankar, father of a car garage mechanic, he was the most regular person on the court and loved the game immensely. Always ready for a game, even his failing eyesight and arthritic bones could not keep him away! He would land up there and wait patiently till someone needed a partner. His attire was always the same, a string tied around the waist (for want of a belt) to keep his pants from descending to the ankles.
We also had a princelings who graced the courts once in a while, the propah public school groomed youngster, he was athletic and was a natural at the courts. But he played with only a select few. It took us quite a while to come up to his exacting standards(!)His Highness the Raja was also quite regular and enjoyed the evening playing with any and everyone, he of course dabbled in doubles primarily. He prim and proper, dressed in immaculate white sports gear, he was a thorough gentleman. He had served in the army during the second world war in Burma and then retired probably somewhere around the time of independence. Being a Rimcollian (an old boy of Prince of Wales Royal Indian Military College Dehradun), I enjoyed a special affinity there. The younger prince was the “enfant terrible”, both on and off court, his tantrums kept us from enjoying the game with his father, he decided to make a dignified exit from the courts thereafter, never to return. We were of course blessed that we got an opportunity to rub shoulders with some of these gentlemen and ladies and in the bargain learned a few tricks of the trade. These tips proved invaluable in days to come as we managed to pull off some tricks when we faced a tough nut as an opponent. The street smartness always won the encounter and we emerged victorious.
We indulged in all kinds of sporting activities, some of these have been lost to our kids’ generations. Kabaddi, Kho Kho are recognised activities but “Khar Neeemuch” I am sure is unheard of “Ghulam Danda”, was another one. These games were played with the farm hand urchins, with no caste or status barriers amongst us. We played them in the farm itself, dust laden, bruised but highly competitive and enjoyable. Khar Neemuch was played by dividing the court into a fixed number of segments and a player had to cross from one end to the other extreme by dodging his opponents without being touched. Naturally it was quite rough, one hardly spared a thought about one’s clothes which bore the consequence of our pursuits. We tore a few, some buttons disappeared but obviously the incidents were our best kept secrets. Ghulam Danda required tree climbing skills of a very high order and Sujay my younger sibling was an expert, he could give the apes a run for their money. The den required throwing of a stick “Danda” and the denner had to catch the others without letting the danda being touched by the others. The others climbed the nearest tree(s) so it was fun unlimited. The experts would jump off the trees, test the elasticity of guava tree branches, a failure would result in an unceremonious fall, miraculously we never broke any bone. Our parents were blissfully unaware of our exploits lest we be barred from these earthy pursuits. During these adventures we raided mulberry plantations, picked fresh green gram (Chana), peas, green mangoes and Jamun. We enjoyed all the seasonal fruits without getting caught (thankfully!).
I feel sorry for our kids as they have only PSPs, TV and ipods to keep them company. Real life games and those invented ones and the indoor games were even more interesting. More about those some other time.
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