Casus belli

 

Potbellies grow and stay forever, the realisation dawns on you rather late. Initially you tend to ignore it, thinking it is just an irritant and will simply disappear by itself. This rotund growth which surreptitiously appeared and decided to hang on despite my best efforts to shake it off. The long brisk walks and exercises graduated to Yogic asanas which left my torso quite contorted but could not make even a dent in the belly which seemed to be relishing these activities and mocking my efforts. I was also consoling myself, I am in my 50s now, a little bit of fat around the waist adds grace and so on. Then came the acceptance, more so, since right from the time I was a kid, my mother was always concerned about my skinny appearance and encouraged me to eat well. This motherly affection which is centred on the stomach is a universal phenomena across the length and breadth of the country and knows no caste, religion, region culture or language barriers. A legacy which we all can be justifiably proud of, that at least there is unanimity in one key aspect of our lives, so whether we have a Uniform Civil Code or not we have a Uniform Feeding Code for Mother India.

 Old habits die hard ... one always yearned for the flat stomach which one was justifiably proud of, after all in uniform, this protrusion was always frowned upon and rightly so. The only saving grace was, my weight continued to be in the permissible 10 percent underweight from the prescribed weight for my age and height. The Body Mass Index (BMI) was perfect just 22.5. 

Over the last four decades and more that I have been in uniform, which includes nine years stint in RIMC, NDA and IMA, I have stretched my limbs to the extreme limit, so have most others of my ilk, but I dare say that I happen to be amongst the chosen ones, having broken more number of bones, torn more ligaments and gone under the surgeon’s scalpel on a number of occasions. Most of the time due to my own exuberance and stupidity(Carry on Doctors (https://senseinthenonsense.blogspot.com/search?q=carry+on+doctors). I always believed in getting on the field rather than sticking to the drab gym, till this pandemic hit us and the Delhi pollution left me with no choice but to explore this option. A captive gym with a trainer to boot, what more can one ask for?

Lo and behold, I started off on my gym regimen under the watchful eyes of the trainer hoping to firstly address all my nagging pains in the knees, ankles, shoulders etc with adequate muscles to support these rather fragile joints, before Osteoporosis sets in.

Cometh the hour cometh the man… so here I was Arnold Schwarzenegger wannabe on my way towards six packs. In the academies we never kept an account of the number of packs, the only packs we recall were the Pack 08 or the Chindit Pack (The Chindits, known officially as the Long Range Penetration Groups, were special-operations units of the British and Indian armies which saw action in 1943–1944 during the Burma Campaign of World War II- Wikipedia). We had the double , triple or on a rare occasion even a four/five packs Bajri( Construction sand) Order(filled) or RRCO (Riding rig Chindit Order), but these had nothing to do with the abs.

soldier in chindit order

I was greeted by these perfectly chiselled hunks from Haryana who had each of their muscles in their perfect shape, as though these Adonises were modelling for an Anatomy class for the medical school.  I was advised a quick rehab for the creaking joints to set course for more strenuous exercises ahead. Here I presumed I would be like Sly Stallone with "Eye of the Tiger" playing in the background or may be the desi "Tu Bhag Milkha!" , but the Haryana connection naturally was more inclined to "Kaisi dhakad" and "Dangal dangal". Reconciled to the wrestling akhada(arena) beats even the TV played only WWF further reminding you of the path ahead. 

But then I am what I am, so here too I stretched it to the point when the joints simply refused to entertain or even indulge me, I was reminded of Munna Bhai in that Sanjay Dutt movie “Munna Bhai MBBS” when he mentions that he was not even aware there are 206 types of bones which can be broken. All the muscles and ligaments about whose existence I was blissfully ignorant suddenly erupted and made their presence felt. The pain though was well worth the effort, I was feeling more energetic and raring to get back on the Squash/Tennis courts, which I was missing badly. But the casus belli the "belly" proved to be a tough customer like the Delhi Belly, refusing to yield an inch. I haven't thrown in the towel as yet.....may be the belly will gradually!

 

Ripped Jeans

 

Ripped jeans have tripped the honourable CM of UK, Uttarakhand. But obvious, it couldn't have been United Kingdom as they apparently do not have any qualms about genes forget about jeans. The genes are playing truant with Harry meeting his Sally (Meg...han) or may be it is more like "Harry met Sejal" after all with blue blooded prince ending up with the mixed race American. Anyway getting back to the original culprit, that pair of jeans which raised this storm in the knee cap in the first place.

Jeans have nothing to do with traditions, in fact jeans made their presence felt as the attire for typical blue collar workers, coarse, rough and tough. “If we were to use a human term to describe a textile we might say that denim is an honest fabric - substantial, forthright, and unpretentious,” as quoted in American Fabrics a magazine in US in the 60s.  Then somehow the bourgeois got wind of this piece of clothing and converted it to haute couture (high fashion).

 So the ripped ones pass the test with flying colours, ‘honesty’ in the fabric is a given with no sleight of hand here, as some of our desi shopkeepers are known to be expert in hiding the flaws in the materials for sale, with the flaws carefully camouflaged and subsequent denial and “Blame it on the “customeRio” types. Forthright is actually an understatement here, these are simple ‘ in your face’  and with absolutely no pretensions whatsoever. So just take a peek on the images of two of the finest specimens of this designer wear ……..

Somewhere down the line these tatters became a fashion statement, the beggars in India can now have their own line of prêt a porter (ready to wear) and can proudly boast of their high end attire while serenading on their daily promenades on the streets ‘walking the ramp’ rather than ‘street walking’.

Frankly to most of the people in and around our generation, this fashion statement is beyond our imagination, while we may not mind ogling at the exposed anatomy but as an attire worthy of being shown off….well well! I will of course refrain from  commenting on the knees, ankles or any other part of the anatomy, won’t like to be in the shoes of Mr Rawat.

Now taking a look at the etymology of ‘ripped’, the Mirriam Webster describes ripped as a slang “To be stoned or high out of ones mind by the means or weed/ To look very muscular and built/ To take information off a portable device. Usually a CD.”  The ripping of info is out of context here, as far as the other two are concerned I will leave it to the readers to decide if the definition fits the bill or rips it….. The jeans in question have been ripped threadbare in any case!

TOOL KITS

Tool kits are distraught they have traditionally been the prized possession of the proletariat, Karl Marx and Lenin up there in heaven are watching over the goings on shocked out of their wits. The hammer and sickle of Comrade Mao are witnessing how suddenly the media is going hammer and tongs and sullying their good honest name and associating it with the
anti nationals. They have always stayed true to their conscience and believe they have helped the cause of nation building with their implements and the sweat and blood of the artisans who have used them and built this beautiful world, fed the people and finally even while they were laid to rest.
 This tool kit which has no physical tools whatsoever and is actually just a couple of lines of code put together by these white collar nerds on their keyboards with the PCs and laptops, have managed to create something so obnoxious with not even a ‘with your permission’. This is highly embarrassing and even downright shameful.

Hammers of the world have decided to go on a strike, no not their usual strikes on the anvil but as in ‘tools down’. In solidarity even screw driver has taken umbrage and left all the screws in the lurch, even the bar tenders have stopped mixing screw drivers in empathy. The spanner is genuinely upset that it was his calling to put the spanner in the works, but now these Gretas and Dishas have taken on this mantle. What has the world come to?

Hack saws and chisels are languishing in the carpenter’s bag as even ‘hacking’ these days is associated with these cyber warriors, gradually chiseling away at their domain. In fact domain has already been usurped by the good for nothing DNS (domain name system) which at one time was supposed to be job of the tool kit of an ENT surgeon’s scalpel correcting the ‘Deviated Nasal Septum’.

Plumbers and masons have wrenched their fists in sheer desperation, files were already quite upset at sharing their names with the infamous bureaucratic files which have traditionally been the nemesis of all honest working class gentry. As if that was not enough, even Bill Gates and his ilk have created files of their own which do not smoothen anything but instead give a crooked back to most of the youngsters who remain hunched in front of their screens.

The emergence of this tool kit is the last nail in the coffin of the carpenter’s tool kit. It is now time to call a spade a spade, enough is enough, if these misguided youths want to axe something they must pick axe their own feet. Obviously all this does not auger well, but even all the washers can’t wash away their sins.

The spirit level has demanded a level playing field, after all the sh*t which has been flying around ever since this kit was unearthed, it has asked for renaming it 'stool kit'! Probably more apt. 

Left Handed Compliment

 

The “glorious uncertainties of Cricket”, is how the victory of the underdogs, normally described in Cricket parlance. Indian Cricket team seems to have discovered quite a few tricks over the years and have more often than not turned the tables on their more fancied opponents. We did it in West Indies 50 years ago, when a diminutive Sunny Gavaskar led the charge and humbled the mighty West Indians in their backyard with a stupendous 774 runs in just four tests with a double hundred against the likes of Sir Garfield Sobers, Rohan Kanhai…. They carried the form to England and trumped them too same summer. But somethings are too good to last and 1974 Indian tour of England was a disaster, with India being bundled out for a paltry 42, subjected to a humiliating 3-0 whitewash. 46 years later, Down under, dismissed for 36, we were all reminded of our miserable performance in Lords years ago. In fact there was a popular what’s app forward, that Sunny Gavaskar took 60 overs to score 36 runs in the First ODI World Cup, Yuvi took 6 balls to score those many in the 2007 ODI World Cup and Indian team managed it collectively in Adelaide in 2020.

Rising from the ashes, the Indian Cricket Team just proved all the Cricket pundits wrong and left them with eggs on their faces at Gabba! Guess what... it is the Left handers who have clinched it for us. Left handed batsmen enjoy a special status in Cricket, actually Left handed people by and large are supposed to be more talented, be it art, sports or in general. Actually to be honest I am a little prejudiced being a Left handed batsman myself, not that I have been much of a cricketer just school level. But in India of the 70s and 80s every kid was a cricketer at some level or the other while most of us were restricted to the typical Gully Cricket with balls varying from Tennis balls to rubber ones and at times even make shift cloth balls. Some of you may be amused or rather wondering what this cloth ball is all about ...well the strips of waste clothes, typically worn out vests, socks were bundled together and stuffed into a cloth bag with a round shape, it worked especially when these balls just did not hurt anyone nor did it cost a packet.

Gully Cricket did not have any need for stumps at any of the ends, no pads or guards and there were no stipulations regarding the number of minimum players, even two were a quorum! Funnily, although I am a right handed person, I started to bat Left handed. I have often wondered whether it was deliberate or just one of those things. Actually in early seventies, Salim Durrani an all-rounder who was a Left handed batsman was known for his swashbuckling batting, despatching the ball into the stands on demand. Then there was Alvin Kalicharan a stylish West Indian Left handed batsman who personified elegance and class, so may be to emulate them I batted with left or may be just to be the odd one out, you know, to be different, stand out from the crowd. I wonder how many of you recall, the catch phrase of “Maggi Hot & Sweet Ketchup” ad which featured Pankaj Kapur and Javed Jaffri, where Pankaj Kapur used to answer Javed Jaffri’s query about how this sauce different from any other, with just “It’s different!”.

Be that as it may, my Left handed batting did provide me with an opportunity to represent my teams as an Opening Batsman just to keep the opponents in a perpetual quandary with the left right batting combination. As viewers would recall Sachin and Saurav Ganguly proved to be ideal foil as openers in One Day International Cricket matches. So no left handed compliments for the lefties, who have been proven match winners over the years. This feat has again been demonstrated in ample measure by young and talented Rishabh Pant in Gabba and again in Motera; more recently by Axar Patel the left arm off break bowler who simply wrecked the English side at Motera Stadium in Ahmedabad. While the right handed ones can plod on and even seek refuge behind Sachin but the the Lefties were always the more stylish batsmen for every Sachin there was a Brian Lara. The walls would be right handed but it is the Yuvis, Pants and Sauravs who have regaled us with their flourish with the willows. May their tribe grow and entertain us ever more…

Belan...tine Day!!

 Happy Valentines! Or should I say 'Belan ..tines', in India there are many who get their phonetics mixed up, with "V" being pronounced as "B" or "S" being pronounced as "SH" or vice versa. Valentine for the Eastern UP Bihar and even some parts of Bengal becomes Belantine, which I dare say is probably more appropriate in our part of the world. After all the  "Domestic power does flow from the belan", to paraphrase Mao's "Power flowing from the barrel of the gun". Are you at a loss as to what is the connection, well the 'Belan' is the Roller pin which dishes out the Chapatis or Indian breads. Traditionally Belans were used or at least depicted as used for putting the harried husbands in their place. So naturally one who wields the belan rules the roost! Most of us much married guys would rather sing paeans to the Belan rather than to that Valentine which transformed into this all powerful person.  

 The advent of Valentine in India came about with the liberalisation  which started to unfold in the 90s with the emergence of a nouveau middle class which did not comprise the Babus alone, but also young professionals employed with these multinationals. Since their employers were Westerners, the philosophy and thinking also started to undergo metamorphosis and soon the Archies and Hallmarks made their foray into this exotic land. I wonder, how many of you would recall the quality of greeting cards in India in the pre 91 era, I do, as we all received birthday and Diwali greetings while we were in RIMC Dehradun, staying in a boarding. The cards  almost always comprised beautiful roses with may be a Cake added more as an afterthought and for Diwali the Earthen lamps 'Diyas' or an occasional candle. Archies and Hallmarks recognised the potential of this untapped market and suddenly in every nook and corner in the metros, these Galleries mushroomed with accompanied media blitzkrieg in the form of print and electronic advertisements. Naturally the youth swooned, not to be left out and just lapped it up.  It surely was no coincidence nor was it a sudden realisation of the finer nuances of Indian feminine beauty that "Miss Worlds" and "Miss Universes" started appearing on the global beauty pageants with the frequency of the IPL sixers. The cosmetics industry had woken up to this untapped market and lo and behold......

Valentines being an alien concept does not necessarily mean love itself is alien in our land. There are many who would go on about our age old tradition of Love and  this being the land of Kamasutra and our temple architecture depicting love in all its forms and there would be many who would blame it on the British for the Victorian prudence to have got us so  mixed up in our values and traditions. Vasant Panchami or the fifth day of the Lunar calendar in the month of Magh which normally falls in the month of February is also dedicated to the sacrifice of the Lord Kama or Kamdev as he undertook the suicidal mission of attempting to disturb Lord Shiva while he was in deep meditation thus inviting Lord Shiva's wrath and ended up being reduced to ashes by the third eye of the Adiyogi. All for a good cause.....the cause of Love!

  Be that, as it may, I am not sure how many of us are actually aware of the ancient festival of "Bhagoriya" celebrated by the Bhil tribals in Western Madhya Pradesh, a festival to celebrate just this "Love". Bhagoriya coincides with Holi and the youth come adorned in their Sunday best with the boys wielding their bows and archers intoxicated with the Spring festive spirit as also spirits which are freshly distilled from the Mahua (Madhuca logifolia) flowers (local produce). Love is literally in the air. The petite dusky damsels are attired in their colourful skirts,  decked up in silver ornaments, bangles, necklaces of beautiful beads and are naturally so attractive! The young couples dance  in gay abandon and then the boys apply 'Gulal' (red powder colour used extensively during Holi festival) on the foreheads of their chosen beloved to declare their love and then elope.....with the tacit approval of the parents. The finer details of the matrimony which follows are left to be tied up between the two sets of parents, which by the way is a reverse dowry where the groom's side has to shed some cattle to the bride's side and also host the villagers. 

Call it what you want but a festival to celebrate love is always welcome. I wonder whether in todays India these festivals and traditions are an anachronism or are they still relevant?

"Fold your Seats"

 

 

"Someone taught me how to dance last night,What a mover he was!

And someone taught me how to do it rightWhat a groover he was!” 

  Tina Charles would croon, and we would swoon, no not because of the lyrics or the beats of the song per se, it was because, we were seated in the auditorium in NDA Khadakwasla with our seats folded, trying to balance our precious derriere on the edge of the seat. Even before a movie commenced we were enjoying the edge of the seat thrills, irrespective of the genre of the movie. In NDA, movie shows in the auditorium were an experience which had to be lived through to be understood. Although we had all been watching movies since the time we made our presence felt in this world, at first in our mother’s lap, as with no TV, social media and hardly any places to hang out, parents would invariably troop into a movie hall for an evening out. For me the real movie experience though commenced with “Haathi Mere Saathi”, Rajesh Khanna starrer Chinappa Devar film which had an elephant in the pivotal role apart from super star Rajesh Khanna and Tanuja. Supposedly a movie for children, as there were elephants playing football and performing all kinds of circus tricks, although it was a typical potboiler with an evil KN Singh shooting down the elephant and Rajesh Khanna avenging his murder.

Getting back to the NDA movie experience, Wednesdays were English movies and Saturday/Sunday Hindi movies, as that was the only source of entertainment, most of the cadets would be there, despite the hardships and the side effects. Dressed in our Muftis, we would march in squads (four or six cadets in a square or rectangle form) to the auditorium, knowing fully well what lay in store for us. Daredevilry was inculcated right here, with Cadet Sergeants, Battalion Cadet Adjutant/Academy Cadet Adjutant on the prowl and Drill instructors waiting in ambush…..we still dared. No wonder, in later years, the young commissioned officers faced the terrorists and the Pakis so nonchalantly. Having entered the auditorium, it was the same Tina Charles songs which would play ad nauseum, I am sure she was not aware that her songs were the rage in NDA. She may have come and performed live for us, if she were informed…may be. I always wondered that, was it because they did not have cassettes of any other songs or someone was excessively fond of Tina Charles. Anyway, the movie would finally commence and provide some respite for us, when we could seat ourselves more comfortably, seats restored, till it was interval, when the edge of the seat thrills would be back revisiting. Finally, once the movie ended, it was time for the sprint of our lives, but in perfect synchronisation which even synchronised swimmers would find difficult to emulate. Back in our squads of four or six, we were expected to take off for a “hell march” with our steps in synch and matching our strides from the auditorium to the Cadets Mess for our dinner.  The adversaries were all lined up located strategically to spring an ambush, were we to relax a wee bit in this sprint. The relaxation may not actually be there, but if the powers that be thought the effort was subpar then, the degree of difficulty would multiply, with a trip down to Khandwa Gate, which was just about a km added, sometimes the run would graduate to more meaningful exercises with moving on the haunches for some distance to improve our reflexes. Sometimes the sprinters would attempt a Bhaag Milkha Bhaag, by trying to outrun the sergeants or the Drill instructors, the odds though were heavily against succeeding, but that challenge itself was worth it. If you made it, you were a hero, if you got caught, well…just too bad! Finally, may be after about half an hour or so, we would land up at the Cadets Mess. Well, actually the whole exercise served as a perfect appetiser, for the meal which was gorged down hungrily.

 In NDA Wing Ghorpuri, it was “Saat saheliyan khadi khadi…” from Vidhaata Sanju baba starrer which was the only song which regaled us. As we were right in the middle of Pune, the movies were compulsory. The authorities felt we would surely jump the walls and proceed to MG road enact our own movies rather than watch these stupid potboilers. Some smart ones amongst did manage to do just that, but most of us were the average Joe types. Trainees and recruits were never supposed to be idle, as ‘Idle mind is a devil’s workshop’. We joined the Wing in the month of July, with Monsoons at its epitome; the open air auditorium was infested with gigantic mosquitoes, waiting in the wings and the rain capes provided them just the right vent to sneak in. We were issued the World War II DMP (Dimethyl Phthalate) oil, which was supposed to be mosquito repellent, unfortunately these pests had started to enjoy the aroma as they just went about relishing their favourite drink. Our rain capes, again WW II vintage, apart from increasing the weight did nothing to protect us from the torrential rains; rain water found its way through the arm cuts and through the opening for the neck and drenched us thoroughly. To top it all we had to suffer some of the most horrid boring movies.

At RIMC Dehradun, we got to watch 16 mm movies on the projector which was installed in the Bhagat Hall, then known as Convocation Hall. A fatso arrived in his car with the projector and the movie reels, generally we watched Laurel Hardy series of films, but occasionally we were shown some Westerns like, “My Name is Nobody” or even Hitchcock’s “Frenzy”. In senior terms we were permitted to go to Indian Military Academy to watch movies in Khetrapal auditorium. The only hitch was that 200 of us were packed into two Shaktimans (3 Ton lorry) like sardines and were almost suffocated by the time we reached IMA. But the movies were fun, as the auditorium was much better than our make-shift arrangement, where we had benches for seating. Moreover, we would march out just as the movies got over, we could overhear the Cadet Appointments getting on with the “fold your seats” routine…little realising…we too were destined to end up here itself on these very “folded seats” in due course.

Netaji

 Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose - the name strikes a chord of patriotism which lies buried deep in our sub-conscious somewhere. For our generation and those preceding ours, who were brought up on the staple diet of 26th January and 15th August brand of patriotic fervour he was always an icon, a legend but an enigmatic one. We were simply over awed by his sheer audacity at all levels starting from spurning the ICS to challenging Mahatma Gandhi himself by contesting and winning the Congress presidentship and then relinquishing it. His daring escape from Kolkata house arrest to Kabul is simply unbelievable and part of folklore. If that was not all, his vision in raising the INA and actually leading them in the war effort to rid the nation of the yoke of centuries of colonial rule will catapult him way ahead of his contemporaries in freedom struggle. Mind you that was an era when we had the leaders of the stature of Gandhiji himself Pt Nehru, Sardar Patel, Maulana Azad, Babu Rajendra Prasad,Rajaji each one a luminary in his own right not to forget Bhagat Singh, Azad and countless others who have been venerated by generations of grateful and not so grateful Indians.

But truly apart from Gandhiji it was only Netaji who not only charted a different course but had a following which rivalled that of the Mahatma himself. So much so that even Gandhiji had to literally force him to part ways as his leadership itself was threatened after the loss of his protégé in that landmark election in 1937. Naturally the aura around the man continued to grow even after his mysterious disappearance in the air crash as we were led to believe.

The moot question which Indians asked themselves was "what if Netaji was alive today". In other words they have been convinced all these years that had he been alive, the course of our nation would have been different and definitely better. We Indians have always been idol worshippers and towards this end, we invent gods even when there wasn't one at hand. There are a number of examples in the recent past where mere mortals have been venerated as gods, the host of Godmen past and present and even  Mrs Indira Gandhi in her hey days post 1971 or the PM Modiji fall in the same category. Netaji Bose was that kindle of hope for the masses, he was obviously God like in his demeanour and his persona oozed with a confidence which was rare in a colonised nation. 

He realised rather early, the limitations of the satyagraha model of freedom movement and was prepared to guide the destiny of the nation in his own revolutionary manner. Obviously the power struggle within the Congress Party ensued as the leadership was uncomfortable with a parallel power centre emerging, who had the charisma and aura to motivate and awaken the masses who were still in their slumber. Had he not been eased out of the Congress then, the course of history would have been different, there is no doubt about that. His subsequent forays with the Nazi and fascist regimes were obviously not inspired by their ideology but merely to get them to assist him in driving the British out. He did not kowtow to them but interacted with them as an equal convinced of the justness of the cause.

Netaji was not stuck in any groove, as is evident by his actions in raising the INA and subsequent assault on the British India. While he was inspired by the Socialist ideology, which was true every leader those days, after all, what do you expect from an impoverished colonised nation. Obviously, having been subjected to humiliation, exploitation and deprivation by the Britishers who represented the Capitalist Right and were at its forefront, Indian political leadership had to lean towards the Left. But the remarkable quality of Netaji was his intelligence, understanding the psyche of Indians and his quest for solutions which imbued him with that rare flexibility of mind, where only the cause mattered and the means were secondary. Although it would be a conjecture, but he would definitely have undertaken a course correction much earlier rather than drive us to our doom. 

Most importantly he was the alternative which the nation yearned for, a void which remains unfilled for all these years.