KALA PANI

Kala Pani, the image conjured is of freedom fighters and the yoke of colonialism and our pride in the hard fought and won freedom. The archipelago is mesmerising in their appearance especially from the air craft windows. All our dreams associated with the Caribbean or Mauritius or even Seychelles seem to come alive. The pristine beauty of the islands, each one of them surrounded by the Bay of Bengal waters which have many hues of colour which even photographs cannot capture nor my words describe. The thick tropical forest cover just adds to the breathtaking beauty. The virgin beaches remind one of “Keela vee”, those of us who were addicted to the Phantom comics of Lee Falk and Barry would recall, these were the golden beaches of Denkali.
Gettingo back to tourism, our first encounter with the islands was through Ms Rao, the firebrand guide cum one woman army of Ross Islands. She was the queen and the animals and birds were her loyal subjects at her beck and call. It was a treat to watch her in action, she would call them by their names which she had given them lovingly, the deers would rush on hearing her call the birds would come trooping and even the ducks would leave everything aside to be by her side. What a picture it was, as though straight from Avatar the movie. She is a living encyclopaedia of the islands, born and brought up there and has her facts on her fingertips. We saw the islands through her commentary of the massive earthquake of 1940s which almost submerged the island resulting in massive damage and loss of land to the voracious sea. The ruins of British era, the living barracks of the troops and officers, we found ourselves amidst them, imagined ourselves witnessing those days in front of our own eyes. The next destination which is a must in every tourist itinery is the Cellular Jail, its very name is enough to send shivers down anyone’s spine, history is replete with the gory accounts of torture in this jail to which the freedom fighters were subjected to. Whether it was Veer Savarkar or the pathan Ali, an unsung hero, each one has a unique folklore about him. Each one had just one dream, that of a free India, which was then just an idea, without any geographical boundaries, just the idea of India. They were all possessed with just one burning desire of getting rid of their colonial masters. It was this spirit which kept them alive here against all odds. They defied the laws of nature and withstood inhuman tortures, lived through it yet not shedding a tear no sign of weakness was betrayed. Our salute to these martyrs! The visit here is a pilgrimage which is a must for each and every Indian. It would remind us of our own responsibilities of ensuring this hard fought freedom is preserved at all costs. We were really humbled having gone through the precincts of the hallowed premises. We were also lucky to have got the opportunity to visit the Havelock Island and the near virgin Radha Beach. Oh for those serene surroundings, the clear waters and naturally we bathed in those supernatural environs, where nature has bestowed its very best. Some of us, of course went scouting about, as there were many firangs there too, but then pot bellied torsos were obviously not HOT enough, and they continued idling away in their two pieces oblivious of our fun n frolic. A friend discovered a kewda flower, which has a heavenly aroma and another one decided to test the waters literally swimming almost to the high seas, the others were content with the shallow waters, playing almost like little children with the waves trying to ride them. The only active volcano of India is at Barren Island , I can bet most of us would not know this, but we were fortunate as we not only know this fact but also got to overfly the same. The volcano was belching out smoke and the molten lava was clearly visible, thanks to digital cameras we all got our slice of this sight, a once in a lifetime opportunity! A visit was also organised to Carnic, the IAF base which suffered maximum damage during the Tsunami. In fact the exploits of the station commander and the pilots of this base have become part of folklore. With his lungi when he received the AOC in C, he became the first person anywhere in the world to have the privilege of receiving a visiting dignitary in that unique attire. But hats off to them at their untiring efforts to bring succour to the islanders at the cost of their own safety and comfort. One of the pilots had no knowledge of his own family members but he continued his sorties in the best traditions of the services. Two days are hardly adequate for and island archipelago and naturally we missed out on quite a few places, the corals for one and may be trip to the native “jarawa” inhabited island. If I say it was a memorable trip, it would be an understatement. This trip has been etched deep in our memories and shall be cherished forever.

UNQUOTABLE QUOTES OF OUR POLITICIANS

“Ram was a bad husband!”, “Rahul Gandhi is like a groom’s mount”, “Kejriwal’s expose’ are like those of Rakhi Sawant, both lack substance”, these are some unquotable quotes of our worthy politicians. I have just picked up the latest gems, of course there are even more priceless ones which have been uttered by these so called leaders. I have often wondered, as to why does the media give these worthless mutterings so much of coverage. Is it just to stoke a controversy to remain in circulation, as these sound bites are the only means by which some of these men remain in news, or is it because we are so stupidly sensitive that we take an offence where at best it is an individual’s opinion, which he/ she is entitled to. We are at a liberty to just ignore them, as most of them don’t even merit any attention at all. There are major issues of concern which media refuses to take to their logical conclusion, but are content following these banal accusations and the brouhaha which follows. Our politicians of course suffer from the foot in the mouth disease since long and there are many instances, which we all are aware, but then selective amnesia and the so called, “quote out of context”, or simply the “twist in the statements” is adequate to get them off the hook. We know the libel laws in this country are as good as nonexistent and one can get away with any nonsense and this acts as an insurance. We are an argumentative race, that is widely acknowledged and to that extent, our scientists, artists and even bureaucrats are not far behind. Girish Karnad was in the news recently for having run down Sir Vidia first and then committed the sacrilege of criticising the highly revered Gurudev Ravindranath Tagore’s capabilities as a playwright. Mind you he had words of praise for his poetry though and may be that is why there is no fatwa on his head as yet, else Didi, by now would have launched a massive agitation supported by the bhadralok. Whether Ram was a good or bad husband is a matter of an individual’s perception and in a nation where we are aware that religious sensitivities are always on a short fuse, one ought to be cautious and follow the adage “discretion is the better part of valour”. But these provocateurs would lose their relevance if they exercise this caution and it is obviously on purpose. One would love to ask him whether he is prepared to be an agnostic in a political outfit which swears by this mythological hero. The political discourse has touched the nadir with comparisons with mosquitoes and their breeds, we wonder whether we will ever get the benefit of an intellectually stimulating debate?

VISIT TO THE DENTIST

A visit to the dentists’ is a dreaded affair for most, naturally so, like death and taxes the third certainty of life is the dentists’ chair. I have often wondered whether the electric chair would be as dreadful, may be less, because you do it just once as against the dentists’ where you are doomed to suffer ‘death through thousand cuts’. The pain itself is just one part of the problem, the agony commences with the culprit tooth giving first signals, which we try and ignore for as long as we can, little realising the inevitability of the event. Finally when we can no longer eat a morsel without crying out in pain, we drag ourselves to the executioner, hoping for a miracle. The looks of the waiting patients narrates the same anguish and resigned to their fate demeanour, obviously highly demoralising and de-motivating and one is tempted to scoot. It is the tooth which ties you down to await your turn for this torture chamber. While awaiting your turn, your life flashes before you, how as a child your mother tried so hard to instil good dental hygiene practises and how you managed to hoodwink her, alas, if only you had paid heed to those words of wisdom. But that was not to be! Toothpaste was too sweet to be wasted on the teeth and was naturally sucked away. Later in life the common refrain was ‘tigers don’t ever brush their teeth’ so why should you? O God save me this last time, from now on Brush, floss.......... and every other precaution will be taken. These resolves are oft repeated like those of addicts who quit smoking every day, so forgotten the moment the ache subsides and we get back to our bad old ways.. 

 The earliest memories of tooth care are of the advertisements, first the radio and then on cinema. Binaca geetmala was the standard fair every Wednesday, the Top 10 Hindi songs of the week, with Amin Sayani as the host of the show, Radio jockey of yester years. In fact Binaca had another sales gimmick to entice the kids, they used to have a miniature toy animal in the tooth paste packet, a hit with the kids. Then Vicco Vajradanti couple biting into the proverbial apple and the grand pa breaking a walnut with his strong and intact original teeth. My mother was a stickler, like most mothers are, she would not let me touch the glass of milk till I had brushed my teeth, even at the cost of antagonising my grandparents. She was of course wiser, having had her molars removed at an early age. I was a brat and would naturally throw a fit and look at my granny to come to my rescue, but to no avail. I was unceremoniously dumped in front of the wash basin with a tooth brush in hand for the dreadful ritual. A quick google revealed that there are almost 300 odd books in English alone trying to convince the kids into believing in the myth of good dentists. It is a takeoff from the ‘Tooth Fairy’ days when gullible kids were made to believe that the fairies were well meaning and their visits were never empty handed. We never entertained the fairies though because our milk teeth gave way to the permanent ones after we joined the school. Toothpaste in school was to put to many innovative uses, for sticking of posters, the nightly adventures where the tubes were utilised for nurturing our artistic talents on unsuspecting sleeping beauties, painting their faces. Thankfully this activity was restricted to end of term or mid-term periods. The teeth were subjected to greater torture and pain during boxing practises and the eventual bouts, when we ended up losing a few. 

So I landed up at the jawsmiths’ or should we call him a tooth yanker, more appropriate (!); a few days back, thought it was routine, some food particle stuck needed to be removed, but the dentist had other ideas, first, he knocked on it so hard that it almost got uprooted and then asked me to get an x-ray done, which itself was a painful exercise with a tube poking at you from an angle and the x-ray film pressed between your teeth. Now I was totally at the mercy of the dentist, having diagnosed a cavity, he went on to drill and scratch and with a suction tube inserted into the open mouth, no respite to even spit out and close the mouth for a second. I was convinced that mere open mouth with tongs inserted for couple of hours will qualify as fourth degree torture(!) “My curse upon your venom'd stang, That shoots my tortur'd gums alang, An' thro' my lug gies mony a twang, Wi' gnawing vengeance, Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, Like racking engines!” So aptly summed up by Robert Burns. Yet another troubled soul went on to create “Aunty Toothache”, deciding to address the devil as an aunt, hoping that would somehow soothe the pain.“Aunty Toothache” by Hans Christian Andersen is a parable about friendship and art. In the story, teeth serve as symbols of friendship, and losing a tooth foreshadows the death of a friend. 

Tooth pain accompanies, and is compared with, the pain of attempting to produce art. The story of tooth is the story of life and honestly it would give ‘Life of Pi’ a run for its money if there was a story on its life too. Teeth are preserved for posterity, we know Budhha’s teeth at least are, according to Sri Lankan legends, when the Lord Buddha died in BC 543, his body was cremated in a sandalwood pyre at Kusinagara in India and his left canine tooth was retrieved from the funeral pyre. Even I preserved the molars for a while, hoping that someday, that piece of my anatomy would also be exalted as a “relic”, till I realised I was after all a mere mortal. 

But to get back to the dentist, the Chinese had a way with dentistry as a science. In good old days, they were the ones who would relieve you of your tooth aches, extract them and even provide dentures. In India the goldsmiths were popular and the teeth were a measure of prosperity, with the glint of the canines reflecting whether it was a gold or silver tooth. I wish though we could invoke the bible and avenge our loss, “And if any mischief follow, then thou shalt give life for life, Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot. Burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe. -Bible (Old Testament) Exodus 21:23^4.

UN PEACE KEEPING IN COTE D'IVOIRE

                                

 Every time that I glanced at the ribbons of an officer and noticed that he had the UN ribbon(s), I admit I was green with envy and felt that this was one opportunity which had passed me by. The reasons were obvious, apart from greenbacks, which make you financially sound; it was almost like the proverbial “psc”, which everyone wants adorned in his service profile. A UN assignment was yet another indication that the officer has “made it” in service parlance. Of course we all gave the oft repeated reasons for wanting to be part of this rich experience, working in an international environment, interacting with officers from other advanced and developing countries, meet enemies (!) and friends! But well all that is bullshit; the real reason is “A Few Dollars More” naturally. So after a rather hectic and taxing assignment as AQMG in a Division HQ in High Altitude Area, when I received the call for interview for the UN assignment, to say that I was overjoyed would be an understatement, it was a dream come true, an event which I had waited for quite desperately. So although it meant separation from the family for another year, absolutely no cribs! That is how life is when it suits you, it doesn’t matter, had I been posted to a field area from there I would have cribbed like mad, after all “cribbing is our birthright”. So to cut the long story short I was successful in the interview and lo and behold I was waiting having finished the formalities in a jiffy despite the intolerable heat and humidity of Delhi. It was then we were told that we have to await the “PTA” the travel authorization from the UN, merely getting selected for the mission is not adequate, and there were many stalwarts who had been waiting their turn for as long as three-four months. This was a real dampener and the soaring spirits were replaced by nagging doubts. There were stories of officers having returned from the airport even. The worst fear was how would I face everyone and how do I explain all these uncertainties to people back home, they would feel I was fibbing and there must be some other reason obviously. So the next few days were rather tense waiting with baited breath for the “PTA”. Well I was destined to be there in Cote d’Ivoire (Ivory Coast for us Anglophones). So on 06 Aug set foot on the African soil and to tell you the truth I felt as though I was Mahatma Gandhi reincarnate, that is may be this is my “karma bhumi” and may be my hour of glory has just arrived and may be we can really bring peace to this war ravaged country. Naiveté naturally, the first shocks came in when the first twenty days were spent twiddling our thumbs, seeing the staff and the officers working (?), I felt as though we were back home and this was just another Govt department, where everyone had all the time in the world except when it came for actual work. The whole atmosphere was so relaxed and the guilt that one felt at earning our MSA (mission subsistence allowance) without actually working for it was quickly put to rest by the veterans, well this is how the “Casque Blue (UN in local parlance)” work, so no sweat, learn to take it easy, relax… Finally it was time to move on for actual deployment with the Military Observer Team at Ferkessedougou, a town in the Northern Part of the country under the control of the rebels. There were the natural apprehensions, Abidjan the capital was hardly what one had expected in Africa, it was like an island in this morass called Africa, untouched, life seemed to just normal like any other metro in the world, so it will be the real African experience now. But confident that these issues will get resolved by themselves when we get on with the actual job. But what was the job like, we were told in a rather grandiose manner that “we were the eyes and ears of the Force Commander”, it was only later we realised that no one is actually interested in what we do really. More about that later. 

On 23 Aug I went on board the UN flight to take me to Bouake, the second largest town of Ivory Coast, where my team members were to receive me and drive me onto Ferke later. The flight was uneventful except that the pilots seemed to be a little lost and were actually trying to identify the Yammousoukro airport, it was supposed to be the capital of the country. On arrival at Bouake the team members were present to pick me up. The first taste of real Africa awaited me literally, for lunch we decided to go to a local restaurant, well the place did not really inspire my confidence but I did not have a choice. First the waiter (?) came with a bucket with water and some detergent and we were expected to wash our hands in the same bucket, I managed to mutter under my breath that my hands were clean, rather than participate in the en masse washing of hands in the same bucket (may be there are no wash basins here!).Then the more difficult question was posed as to what would I eat and bravely I said anything except beef or pork would be ok with me. They said the menu of the day was “AGOOTI”,which was supposed to be bush meat, but much against my character of being adventurous in gastronomic activities I decided to be cautious and was relieved to see the dish appearing a little later in the plates of my friends (it looked like a large rat!). I stuck to chicken, always a safe bet anywhere. After the meal after what seemed like a lifetime we arrived at Ferke where the Team members were waiting for us. They seemed to be ok, here I will confess to another apprehension which I nursed while I was at Abidjan, the photographs of the team members were displayed in the office and the Ferke team seemed to be straight from the “Internationally Most Wanted”, each one looking more ferocious than the other. I was not sure as to how would I be able to relate to these people who did not understand much of English either. But having met them I felt may be I will be able to establish a rapport with them in due course of time. 

During the next six months I realized they were the finest officers to have as Military Observers in the team. The better looking were the ones who were shammers par excellence. It came as a shock that the team had actually yet to commence patrolling in the AOR, the excuse was that they had no fuel. So first thing was to get the patrols to commence in right earnestness. Now the problem was that except for the two bilingual officers the others were just passengers. The bilingual ones were also handicapped as their English was barely passable and therefore one wasn’t sure as to what we were trying to convey was actually being done. The problem got compounded when some of the locals did not understand French also and one of the locals became an interpreter for that as well. So the chain was something like this I would speak in English, which would be translated in French, which would further be translated in the local dialect and ditto for the response. In this long chain, God only knows what we managed to communicate, or were we like two deaf people talking ? But our visits did achieve some purpose firstly, the presence of UN was felt by the locals, secondly, we started to understand the psyche of the locals, the rebels, the politicians, and the NGOs. 

After a while the villagers eagerly awaited the patrols as we actually managed to get a few projects for development approved and going. We also managed to convey some of the local problems to the local administration and they in their limited capacity and capability tried to help. We worked from our residence itself as that was the de-facto office also, one computer, one satellite phone and we were expected to remain in touch with the FHQ at Abidjan, a Herculean task, as most of the time we were out of the network. So after a lot of running around we managed to get things sorted out, telephones, fax, more computers and last but not the least a good office accommodation as well. But by the time all this came about it was time to bid “adios” to Ferke. At Ferke life was peaceful except during the crisis in Nov which was precipitated by Govt forces when they launched air attacks on the Rebel towns of Korhogo and Bouake. Ferke was next in line, but fortunately for us, the LICORNE (the French Forces in Cote d’Ivoire) decided to step in and destroyed the Ivorian Air Force. My luck seemed to have finally run out, when I received my posting orders for “The Wild West”, a town named DUEKOUE, which in local parlance meant “Sleeping Elephant”. But, the town was anything but “sleeping”, in fact after Abidjan, it was the politically most active and violent town. An extract form my diary would probably explain my premonitions better, “Duekoue “The sleeping elephant”, well the town is really a sleepy looking typical African town, the people seem to be in a timeless warp permanently, not concerned about the events around. Life simply goes on with Nightclubs blaring music (cacophony?), the hustle and bustle at the market place is the same. But the population displays a different type of fatigued, resigned to their fate kind of emotion, as though they have no hope really. That is unsettling and worrying as I am sure this will result in the simmering discontent finding a vent, which will be highly destructive and consume everything in its wake. But this place is a political hotbed, gun-toting militias fuelling the deep inter-ethnic divide and the brutal violence can make even the toughest men winch.” Thankfully, since this was the oldest Observer Team site, it was more organized administratively. The first crisis erupted immediately on my arrival there, a sudden spate in killings of innocent civilians in the “Confidence Zone”, the buffer zone manned by the UN troops. The “Zone of Confidence” was actually quite the opposite literally, “Zone of No Confidence”, would have been a very appropriate nomenclature for it. This spurt in killings resulted in calling for a strike by local transport union, which infuriated the “Young Patriots”, the local goons, who retaliated violently targeting the rival community personnel. Déjà vu, did you say, yes so what, this is an everyday happening in our part of the world also. 

There were occasions when unarmed we “Blue Helmets” would face a very hostile crowd trying to reason out with their leaders. The brutality which a human being is capable of inflicting upon his fellow beings is ghastly to say the least. Over the next few days, one got used to witnessing this vicious gory cycle of violence, where charred bodies of innocent infants also did not deter these goons. So the next six months were spent literally trying to act as an honest peace-broker between the belligerents, and we acquitted ourselves well, as the Force Commander, Maj Gen Abdoulaye Fall singled out the Team for its outstanding contribution in the cause for peacekeeping. The days were tough, challenging no doubt but, there was a sense of fulfilment, a job done with utmost sincerity , despite provocations we managed to retain our sense of reason and in the bargain made friends with the locals as well. This was further amplified by a grand send off not only by the team members but also by the local administration and fellow UN civilian staff and foreign contingents. So ended this rather unusual period in my life, and yes the greenbacks were no longer relevant, I was definitely richer in experience, probably more evolved personally. Professionally I think the biggest plus was refining the art of man-management, handling a team of 14 officers from all over the globe speaking four-five different languages, but working as a very homogeneous unit despite their heterogeneity.

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!!!