IN KRISHNA'S LAND

Mathura-Vrindavan I was actually looking forward to this train journey, as it has been a while since I last boarded a train and Shatabdi series are supposed to be the most comfortable of the lot. Since I was late in booking my seat, I had to be satisfied with the normal chair car as against Executive class, which I presume would be better. On boarding the train, I found that my seat was already occupied by some foreigners and had to ask them to vacate. They were initially hesitant but then, one of them moved to the Executive class, which is where he was booked. My co-passenger was a kid in the A level at New York, on his first visit to India. They were jews, but were a lively lot. The kid got talking and was explaining that he had been to Scotland, Canada, Mexico and of course Israel, and how the country side everywhere looked similar. He liked to play Baseball and he loved to pitch and that he probably would grow up to be a lawyer. He then complimented my English and I was sort of nonplussed, whether to take it as a compliment or to take an offence at their perception of the common educated Indian, which is what I think I am. I simply grunted in response. By then Mathura station was approaching and the sight that I dreaded, started to appear, men defecating in the open. We are quite used to seeing it, and are uncomfortable but sitting with a foreigner, it is really embarrassing. One is simply forced to look the other way, pretend these men simply don’t exist. Thankfully he did not probe me on that. I made a quick getaway as soon as I could. While travelling from the railway station, I was lost in my thoughts, wondering as to why can’t we as a nation put an end to this. This punctures all our hollow claims of growth, we can’t provide the basic amenities to our citizens, naturally we have no right to expect them to keep the city clean. Jairam Ramesh recently tried to raise the issue but unfortunately it remained mired in politics. They have no stakes whatsoever and we the stakeholders and conscious-keepers conveniently look the other way, ostrich like refusing to even notice it. We have buried our heads in our self proclaimed growth stories that we have become oblivious to the miseries our fellow countrymen undergo on a daily basis. The scooter rickshaw in front was overloaded, with the conductor cum cleaner actually indulging is some acrobatics to stay on board. Mathura- Vrindavan are venerated by the Hindus the world over, believed to be the birthplace of Lord Krishna. It is an irony that the only thing missing is the peace and tranquillity which one associates with such places. These towns and the places of worship in general have become cash cows for the locals and they are being milked remorselessly. The towns are dirty with no semblance of sanitation, public hygiene, the roads are narrow, congested, traffic unregulated and chaotic and of course, the cows, omnipresent on Indian streets have to be here too naturally, after all Krishna was a cowherd (gwala). They amble along merrily munching all the trash thrown their way, which is plenty as there are no waste bins anywhere, so naturally all the left overs find their way on to the streets. The bovines on their part retain their gentle spirits and go on with their lives without getting hassled by the fellow travellers. They also leave their imprint with the dung strewn all over. Since I had some time up my sleeve I decided to visit Vrindavan as well. The story was no different here. The same dirt, filth, strewn everywhere. In contrast Vaishno Devi shrine is a lot more orderly and organised, relatively clean with the basic amenities available to all the pilgrims. I wonder why can’t the same model be emulated elsewhere also. Places of worship at least must be spick and span, like the Gurudwaras or churches etc.

PUNJAPURA

PUNJAPURA Punjapura is a small sleepy hamlet in the remote areas of Madhya Pradesh, a state which still had a fair share of forested area in those days, when my uncle was posted there as a Forest Ranger. A Forest Ranger is a small time govt officer, but like all govt officers, they enjoy the perks and privileges which go with the assignment. A retinue of servants, a jeep and a huge bungalow to boot. The village was bereft of any civic amenities, not even electricity. I was all of five when we visited him, an impressionable age and have some vivid memories of that back of the beyond place.

 Summer vacations were the time to go visiting the uncles, unlike these days when kids have to suffer the tuitions and workshops, which they endure, but parents prefer it purely because it is better of the other evil, where they are confined to the four walls with their umpteen electronic gadgets and literally turning into couch potatoes. But those days we were fortunate, there were no such choices and we really looked forward to these vacations, as uncle moved to a different location every other year and being a Forest Officer, these places were quite interesting though not in the thick of the jungles as you would presume. Forests in Madhya Pradesh are not the thick woods that we normally associate them with, instead they are deciduous Sal and summers they are generally bereft of the foliage and appear rather barren. Anyway, we could not accompany him on his tours which we presumed would be taking him to the densely wooded portion of his Forest Range.

 This account pertains to our experiences in this small village, as we came across petromax lamps for the first time. Although we did notice these when we got back to civilisation at Indore, where the Kulfi vendors carried it at night to light up their cart. Kulfi, for the uninitiated is the country cousin of ice cream without any artificial stuff, just pure milk frozen in an earthen pitcher, but delicious and mouth watering and old timers would prefer it anyday over the ice cream. In fact since those days most households did not have a refrigerator, the kulfi vendors were much in demand and one eagerly awaited their call. The kulfi making process was an intricate do, a bucket full of ice with a handle which one had to constantly operate, which resulted in the setting of milk. Kulfi though has survived the onslaught of ice cream with many of us still preferring it over its more suave cousin the ice cream. Getting back to Punjapura, those days running water was not available in these villages, well I am not sure if it is available today also. So when we landed up we witnessed the digging of a well, for the first time. The area was rocky and hence we also heard about dynamite for the first time and even saw it being used for blasting the huge boulders to smithereens. In fact we were so scared that we literally ran like mad capers fearing the debris would injure us grievously. It took a while for us to return after the blast and when all was quiet on the well front.

 There was a servant called Pooran, a very loyal and affectionate soul. My younger brother was all of two and a half and would invariably doze off by dinner time. Pooran dutifully fed him, before putting him to sleep. It was also quite hilarious for us kids to observe the sycophancy of the subordinate staff, who would go to absurd limits to keep the boss and his lady in good humour. We also got the opportunity to watch a “nautanki” for the first time, “Sultana Daku”, I still can recall the name. These plays were the only source of entertainment and the the team would stay on for a few days perform a few of their shows and wind to move to the next village. The format was the same, some dances on popular Hindi film songs, a story line adapted from couple of movies, but all the same an interesting fare. All these in a makeshift tented stage lit up with petromaxes made it even more intriguing.

 Once on a trip with our uncle, we came across an uprooted banyan tree, some people were busy cutting some branches to clear the track, and lo and behold, the tree as though suddenly woken up from its slumber, started to rise and got back on its trunk. The locals were initially petrified and then started to pay their obeisance calling it a miracle hence an indication by God that this was a holy tree. Later the Conservator explained the science behind such miracles. How I wish we could provide our kids also with such carefree times, when they could be indulged by their uncles and aunts in such exotic places. Being in the Army one was fortunate at having been posted to some very interesting places, Kashmir, Ladakh and Wellington to name a few. However, since me and my spouse both are the eldest siblings, the nephews and nieces could not enjoy these places. Our kids though got a taste of it!

What a Tour

What a Tour Our first halt was at Pune, the stay was reasonably comfortable, with individual rooms (no sharing;). Glorious ! India from first world glitz and glitter, state of the art technology Reliance Petroleum Refinery to the third world, the familiar stench, the water logged streets, muck thrown around all over, highly polluted congested township of Jamnagar. All in a space of twenty kms. Are we surprised, no, not really because we have simply got used to these two Indias that we inhabit and come across daily. The life outside our cocooned environs is BAD. But Gujrat is the most progressive state of the country, with even the likes of Suhel Seth gushing over the corporate style of functioning of Narendra Modi, so what has gone wrong here ? Is governance restricted to Gandhi Nagar alone in this state, because there is practically no system in place here. Welcome to the real India. What a striking contrast from the RPL refinery, the exact anti-thesis of all that chutzpah of Reliance. So is this model recommended model for inclusive growth, the Senior VP there was gloating over their success stories of successful land acquisitions for the SEZ, the sworn loyalties of the villages sapanchs to Reliance as their saviour, the mai baap,anna-data. What is Rajkot all about ? A casual evening walk laid bare the dirty underbelly, with filth every where, people did not seem to care as naturally they had not seen better days. It was business as usual. What a tour!! Nonstop binging, one was not aware of the elasticity of the stomach, as the meals were not restricted to the three meals but just went on and on, may be a dozen a day. In fact now we start to feel hungry after every ten minutes if a snack is not on offer. The briefings have become secondary, as we are greeted by a snack before the briefing and one after that. As if this much of gorging was not adequate to spoil us , we have these cocktails thrown in and then there are those occasional treats where drinks are on the house, then By Bacchus , we make sure that we do not let our brethren down and Occasionally we also get to admire the sunset on the beaches!!!

hamara ghosla

This mid-term break proved out to be a real blessing in more ways than one, the time that I got to spend with folks at home was indeed precious but there were other benefits as well. I own a small plot of land at Mhow, which was about to re-enact the “Khosla ka Ghosla”, “encroachment” for the ignoramuses who refrain from watching anything bollywood. Fortunately, I happened to be there just at the right time, when a small hutment was erected there; supposedly for watch-keeping of the neighbour’s construction material. My physical presence and perseverance finally saw me return triumphantly with the dwelling having been suitably relocated. But you know how these friendly(?!) neighbourhoods are, as a nation we have been at the receiving end all along; so one can’t be very sure of the intentions of these neighbours either. I naturally decided that it was about time for me to construct our very own “ashiyana”. The pay commission and the massive income tax deductions proving to be added incentives.
Most of us are aware that construction of a house in India is a once in a life time kind, because by the time you finish, you are also finished financially, mentally and of course physically. Although with the advent of modern townships these headaches can be avoided and one can settle for a readymade flat or a bungalow. But the charm associated with a villa in the countryside is unique and quite tempting. So here goes, I met an architect who could guide me on this whole process. The first question which he posed was what kind of a house did I have in mind. The question was a googly, foxing me totally. All these years one has barely even given this aspect any consideration, type of house was the last thing that you thought of as long as on was assured of a roof somewhere. Then all MES houses are alike in their feel, whether temporary or permanent.
But not wanting to look foolish, I said I would prefer an ethnic kind of a bungalow. That only was the starters, the questions simply multiplied exponentially and finally I surrendered meekly, just give me a decent place. In fact I was tempted to get him to visit MES houses, since we would naturally be more comfortable in these conditions, having lived all our lives here.

Confused Confucius

I am a confused person these days, to be honest have been in this state all my life, except for brief periods of revelations when I thought I had discovered my calling. These interludes were rather brief and interspersed at various stages of the four odd decades of my existence on this planet. I can only talk about myself, though I have a sinking feeling that there are many who would in their private moments share this state of confusion of mine. The confusion essentially relates to life in general, but can get very specific at times, for example the ladies are generally quite at a loss in their choice of the couture for the evening party. It is left for the spouse to clear the air more often than not. Then the confusion of the kitchen, selecting the menu for the day is equally time consuming with even the hubby and the kid not coming to the rescue. But irrespective of the fare on the table, criticism is likely as it is indeed a herculean effort to cater for both kinds of palates at the same time. These are the routine mundane kinds of confusion, and then there are some which have national or at times international ramifications. Election time confusion of which is the better of the devils to be entrusted for running the country for the next five years. The choice that you made more often than not makes you rue your decision and questions your own rationale behind the choice.

My recent confusion is borne out of the raw deal which the armed forces have been receiving over the last few months. You guessed it, it relates to the pay commission or should I call it “pay omission”? In a democracy the civilian hierarchy is supreme, this is an established fact. But here, there is a deliberate attempt to ensure that a career in the profession of arms is not just unattractive but downright second grade. Having made a choice over three decades ago (counting my RIMC, NDA and IMA days also), today I am not too sure whether I would find it as challenging as it used to be. The rank structure of the army is only sacrosanct for us in uniform; the outside world has long gone past all that. Our obsession with this hierarchy reminds me of a joke; my friend bought a pup and named it “Lt”. I was amused and asked him as to why this particular name, he responded that he wants it to learn the correct manners and be on the ball all the time. The next time when we met, he had rechristened him a “Capt”, apparently a promotion for a good job done so far and expecting to do even better in the future. It soon became a “Maj”, having pleased his boss no end with his exploits, loyalty and alertness. Now there appeared to be a change in his attitude, his responses were excellent whenever the friend (his boss) ordered him about, the rest of the family he simply ignored. The friend was seized of this malaise and felt may be another promotion would motivate him. Couple of days later, the dog was nowhere to be seen, on my enquiry; I was informed that my friend had shot it dead. The friend then clarified that on having been promoted to “Col”, the dog started to behave in a very strange manner, he was very friendly to all the outsiders but would not only keep barking at the family members but would on occasions not desist from sinking his teeth as well. Thank God he had stopped at that rank itself because beyond that I shudder to think what would have been the consequences!

Of late I have started fancying my chances at literary pursuits. I have interesting credentials to staking this claim, two articles in “The Hoot” in succession! May be this too shall pass muster! Yes I have had some exposures earlier as well, an article in the “Deccan Chronicle” some seven-eight years ago for which I was awarded a microwave oven. Some articles in “The Signalman”, our school chronicle and a silver medal in the USI Gold Medal Essay competition a few eons ago. I wonder if I can...

This is the confusion then, I do not know if I shall get over it soon or languish in the morass.

Kennedy

Kennedy, no not JFK, but our very own indigenous Tamil anna; our Tamil friends are unique and they adopt the names of dignitaries from across the globe, naturally it is a mark of respect for the country in question as also the person. We have quite a few of them, Stalin for example. Can you imagine any Russian naming his kid Stalin? But our DMK patriarch apparently felt that naming his progeny after the Russian dictator was a testimony to Indo-Russian friendship. Or maybe he wanted to prove his communist credentials and did not want to leave anything to chance. Anyway, the naming of our politicians can be suitably discussed some other time. So it was friend Kennedy we were discussing, this man is a driver; that is his job, so to say, but he is a walking encyclopaedia on Wellington, Coonoor in particular and the Nilgiris in general.  He can give you a biography of Sam Bahadur, Fd Marshall Manekshaw giving out each minute detail including his  shopping in the Connor market. His disappointment with the govt of the day at ill treating this great general during his last days has been commented on by Mr Nitin Gokhale also. Any queries relating to the possessions of real estate by the rich and famous and he has the answers from Narayan Murthy to Azim Premji, Nandan Nilekeni to MJ Akbar. When the IT czars are here can the bollywood stars be far behind? The bollywood also has some cottages tucked away, Rekha is said to be the recipient of one from the Big B during their lovey-dovey days. Even Amir is said to own one here. The glitterati obviously keep these possessions a closely guarded secret, away from the prying eyes of the paparazi. They have been inspired by our mythology and revert to the Agyatwas (in cognito) of the Mahabharata days, whenever they wish to get away from the hustle and bustle of their rather hectic lifestyle, with literally no time to stand and stare.

But getting back to our friend Kennedy, his expertise is not restricted to matters of real estate holdings alone, he has the memory of an elephant with respect to the senior hierarchy in the military brass as well. He was recruited in the early eighties, I feel that is the more appropriate term rather than employed, (as recruitment is normally associated with military recruits and he is half military as it is, serving here at the DSSC) and since the days of Sunderji, he recalls chauffeuring each Chief of each service. Not just this he even knows their regimental affiliations and the year of their visit quite distinctly. I had the pleasure of being chauffeured by him recently, when I had the privilege of being detailed as the protocol officer to Mr Azim Premji and had to receive him in his own little cottage here in Coonoor. It was a surprise for me, that he owned a dwelling right here, and then my friend Kennedy having realized that I was an ignoramus; decided to educate me on the happenings in Nilgiris.

But Kennedy is one of a type, uniquely gifted with the grey cells which are a storehouse and wealth of information. Ranga, is a name, most psc officers of the bygone era would be familiar with. The khaki clad postman was another such encyclopaedia, who would rattle out your locker number on seeing you and confirming your mail or otherwise for each course, on and on till he breathed his last. He was an institution! Another person comes to my mind with similar traits, Shuklaji of Srinagar Transit Camp. I would often joke with friends that the militants only need to get hold of this man and they would have not only our exact order of battle in J & K but also the details of officers in each unit, including their leave destinations, duration, Temporary duties, courses. Please remember half the Indian Army is there in the valley and the sheer number of officers transiting any day is mind boggling.  Incidentally both these individuals have moved on the other world. This unique ability of these individuals is because they are extraordinarily gifted and also because they really enjoyed what they did. How I wish we could  emulate and imbibe this  passion....

Mr Knowalls!

How often have we had this feeling that in a discussion, it seems we are banging our heads against the walls literally? I am sure we have all gone through this ordeal a number of times. Sometimes it is the stupid sales clerk who just doesn’t listen to any reason but just goes on blabbering endlessly, but when it is a senior person who is the perpetrator then it really becomes a test of patience. Well today was just one of those days, a very senior person decided to preach a sermon which probably was lost on him as well. He was clear about just one thing and that was to ensure that he gets some sort of an endorsement from us, irrespective of the merits or demerits of the case. Annoyingly repetitive, he had no clue on either of the projects but still he resorted to using some “high sounding” words, for example, let us “synergise” if we look at the “larger picture” or holistically speaking so on and so forth, meaningless words thrown in the air, trying to weave a web of confusion. It works on a number of occasions, when you can simply browbeat the listener with this tomfoolery, but one has to be smart enough to realise that not every one falls in the same category, moreover when the other person happens to be better informed.

A common weakness or may be it is a congenital disorder, is the reluctance to acknowledge ignorance, somehow, our know alls; and we have plenty of them, have to have an opinion on every subject under the sun. They feel belittled at admitting that they have no clue about the subject, so they resolve to disguise their ignorance by going into soliloquy, a unilateral declaration of verbal offensive, often achieving the desired end state; a moral supremacy or ascendance over the insignificant other . If the other person is a junior in professional hierarchy, he naturally goes by the age old adage of wisdom is better part of valour and gracefully nods his comprehension and if he wants to add his two penny worth, he adds a few more adjectives in the same vein to further his boss’s cause, i.e. to massage his rather inflated ego. Alternately he really may not just want to join issues and lets it pass without offering any comments on the subject, which may be construed as an act of utter disrespect by the master or an abject surrender. Then there are some who actually reach the end of their tether and respond trying to rationally address the issue, which only renders him vulnerable to another set of verbal volleys. There are no escapes from these and he is forced into a grudging silence, the boss of course now adorns the looks of “the slayer of the thousand demons”, emerging victorious as though from a Roman Arena.

Today I had the misfortune of suffering the same fate, but stupid that I am, I went through all the phases before retiring hurt, but with the satisfaction that at least I made an effort and did not give up without a fight. Anyway ,may be there are lessons in this as well…