The occasional blog, reloaded

As always, the lazy dog in me has ensured I don’t blog regularly. And so, this blog of mine follows a familiar pattern, my take on some recent and some not so recent happenings around the world.

To begin with, the court’s verdict on the Bhopal gas tragedy. As a dispassionate onlooker, I was really amused at the mudslinging that ensued between the political who-and-who after the verdict on how the head honcho of Union Carbide was allowed to leave the country and the rest of the related stuff. To me, India has time and again shown the world that it has the utmost potential of being a soft state, for whatever reasons, and this was just another episode. But as an Indian, I am aghast I could type the previous sentence without flinching. When a catastrophe of dimensions far beyond any industrial disaster in the history of mankind in terms of affected people takes place and all that the victims get is fraud, false promises and a judicial decision as weak as the Argentinean defense at South Africa 2010, something is really rotten somewhere. India as a state needs to take a cold hard look at itself, if possible with a dash of contempt and shame, and come up with a really tough statement some way or the other. There is really no point comparing the US stance against BP versus that of Union Carbide, as that would be like complaining about the sun rising in the east. The Kandahars and the Bhopals and the Mumbais are piling up on our existence, and it is really high time something changed.

Next up on my palate is the Football World Cup 2010. The atmosphere was really colourful, but the football was really colourless, except a few streaks of colour. The sad plight of teams like France, Italy, England and Argentina was certainly a letdown, and rubbing salt on the wounds were the crazy Jabulani, the oh-so-few goals, the underperforming giants like Ronaldo & Torres (it would be wrong to call Rooney a giant, any which way) and, of course, the ear-splitting vuvuzelas. To me the lesser names were the real heroes of this tournament, namely the teams like New Zealand, Ghana & Uruguay and players like Paston (the Kiwi goalie), Tsorvas (the Greek goalie), Neuer (the German goalie), Mueller & Ozil (no intro required), Gyan, Suarez and many others. (Yes, I have a little something for goalkeepers!) And Spain, they moulded the apple-a-day saying to suit them: a goal a match keeps everybody away.

Next up is the fateful Jnaneswari disaster and the CRPF massacre (and the ensuing massacres). A lot of analysis has been done on the issue of tackling the Maoists. Sweeping that aside, I would tend to agree with analysts like the legendary KPS Gill (and many other defense analysts) who stress on understanding the adversary better rather than charging at them blindly like raging bulls made of cotton. Instead of pushing in more and more CRPF cadres into battlefields to gain “area-dominance” and then calling for the Army and Navy when these cadres are butchered, is a wrong approach. It is being stressed that the trick is in training the CRPF adequately and properly in jungle warfare and guerilla tactics so that they don’t end up being lambs to the slaughter against the better-trained and well-entrenched Maoist cadres. The collateral damage that an Army or Air Force operation will cause could be extremely counter-productive.

Another very interesting piece of news which I came across could be good food for thought. While we beat our breasts with pride for our superior armed forces, a very alarming situation exists when we look at the field of procurement of defense equipment. And no, I am not just talking about the Bofors and the rotten politics. The problem is with the system itself. Defense procurement in India is a curious case of conflict where the buyer and the seller are the same. Very limited private partnership is allowed in this field, and the vendors are chosen by a board that includes high officials of the armed forces. So here you have a situation where orders for equipment, urgently needed by the armed forces, are being placed to selected vendors, who are already running woefully late on previous orders, by the armed forces themselves (as they have representation on the approving boards). The case of the Indian aircraft carrier to replace the Viraat is a classic example, if not the only one. For a country which is surrounded by hounds waiting to pounce, this is seriously disturbing.

That’s about it for the moment. Do get back to me with comments…

The brotherhodd of Anjj

It may not be not in the same league as the “Coffee House culture”, but its almost as colourful, stimulating and free-wheeling. And if course, there are the customary rounds of steaming beverages and wandering smoke rings. Life at IIT wouldn’t have been the same without the Anjj brotherhood!!

It all started with the search for a place that served good “North Indian style” chaai, which for dummies is tea with extra sugar and milk and served in thick walled glass tumblers. (No regionalism involved here, its just a lifestyle choice!) The vending machine fare at Gurunath, for all the eye-candy charm of the place, wasn’t good enough and Tifany’s was OK but too far-off from the hostel zone. (Proximity was an issue because chaai for the lot of us was like antivirus software updates – regular editions were required for smooth functioning of our systems.) It was then that these outlets outside Krishna gate were discovered. The tumblers were in place, and the tea was definitely acceptable. The fact that you could light up in these places was a big plus. (The “electricity-powered” lighters that these places sported were unlike any I had seen anywhere before.) This initiated the trips to these chaai stalls, which soon settled into a regular, rarely disturbed pattern – after breakfast, after lunch, in the evening, after dinner, near midnight and any time in between whenever deemed necessary. Sipping tea, coffee or “Boost” and sitting on circular stools of moulded plastic or on the cemented steps of the shops, the tea-lovers club would have lively, boisterous and unbridled discussions on truly “arbit” topics – sometimes sensible, sometimes utterly insane. Politicians were abused, World Cup soccer history was revisited, professors were cursed (and their daughters blessed!), the Tata-Corus deal was analyzed, the future of renewable energy was pondered upon, the origins of prevalent expletives were unearthed, Himesh Reshammiya was consigned to ashes, the mating-cycle of the monkey was discussed, menus of extrapolated marriages hotly contested … you basically get the idea. As more and more chaai stalls were identified and sampled, they were given unique code names by the brotherhood – the one with the best tea (and the most frequented) was chaai anna (its officially called the Balan tea stall), the one adjacent to the Krishna gate was gate anna, the one which served special ginger-cardamom tea was SPL anna, the one opposite to a doctor’s clinic was doctor anna, and the late night vendor who operated from 10pm – 6am to cater to the TCS nightstaff was TCS anna. In due course of time, the tea-zone acquired a personal sense of belonging for the regulars (who called themselves the Anjj gang), and occasional visitors were deemed as guests and treated to free tea as a mark of courtesy. Standing at the fag end of my end of my IITM days, I realize that the chaai phenomenon has almost become a physical part of me which cannot be separated from me without a certain amount of pain.

Of course, apart from the regular goings-on of the tea-zone there were always some quirky happenings that add spice to the story. There was the case when one of us accidentally broke a tumbler and prepared for a tirade from the tea-stall owner. To our surprise, the man calmly walked upto us, flashed an open palm at us, mouthed the words “anjj rupa” and started cleaning away the shards of glass. We had no idea what that meant, until a Tamil-speaking guy explained that “anjj rupa (meaning five rupees)” was the penalty we had to pay for destroying the tumbler. That was that. This incident was the genesis of the name the tea-regulars acquired later on – the Anjj gang. Then there was this dogess (“bitch” really has very negative connotations in our mind) which grew fond of us when we fed her with biscuits every time we came for chaai. She would wriggle with joy whenever she spotted us coming, and would accompany us till the hostel gates every single night. Then there was the day one of us narrowly missed being drenched by a dash of water, splashed by a resident who was traumatized by the ruckus we created while we had tea. And of course, there was the regular haggling with the guards at the Krishna gate when we went to have our midnight tea at about 11:45pm. Eventually the guards realized we were harmless desperados and ceased accosting us. These, and many other moments, are endearing tea-moments of a lifetime.

A lifetime of ecstacy

Whichever way I look at it, i got more here than I had bargained for. Be it academics, friends, extra-curriculars, love, hate, fun .... the works. This video has come from somewhere in my heart (not sure if it's the bottom) and, in many ways, reflects the true story of my stint at IIT Madras. The amount of mileage we have clocked up as s class despite differences is truly something to cherish. At a personal level, of course, I have made some really good friends. I have also learnt a good deal about life and its meanderings, through pleasant and not-so-pleasant episodes. Hope you enjoy the video ...

Bill, Bigelow & Backpack

Symbolism and allegory is indeed a potent tool to add layers, colours and texture to issues and discussions. It can be fantastically bang-on or damningly misleading and lot depends on the intelligence of both the formulator and interpreter of the idea. No my friends, this is not my learning from the hugely successful Dan Brown genre, though it indeed was involved in the genesis. Instead, what I am referring to here is much closer to real and “de-crypted” life. A three pronged rambling – read on …

The first two observations are linked at their source, but fan out thereafter. The first and most important, at least for me as an Indian, is the 108^th Constitutional Amendment, better known as the Women’s Reservation Bill. After millennia of prejudice, amidst shameful hooliganism and against ruling anarchy, the Indian woman has made a small but joyous step towards hope. Before you lash out at me with your sabres, let me clarify that “small” here is a downright relative expression. The acceptance (though still very provisional, for Lok Sabha MPs would still surely use every rule in the book to save their seats which are set to go to women if the Bill is passed) of a formidable right to decision making in the world’s largest democracy still plagued by patriarchal and feudal bias is in itself a gigantic and unprecedented step forward for women. It’s indeed tempting to tend towards symbolism considering the fact that the present ruling party, the opposition, the Lok Sabha and the Indian state all have women in pivotal positions presently. Sorry to sound like a cynic, but the acid test would really be if and after the 108 comes into force. How the empowered woman community wields and uses its power is where the real essence of the issue lies. When you look at the fact that a party like Trinamool Congress, led by a woman, did not think it was correct to evict MPs who belittled the office of the Rajya Sabha speaker, you’d start to see what I’m trying to say. Politics today, at least in India, is starkly discordant with public welfare and farsighted policy making and has instead turned into a combined game of monopoly, trapeze and poker. On the road, in the fields and at home, the Indian woman is still fighting for identity, equity and dignity. I sincerely hope that the 33% does not get sucked into the black hole of materialistic and virtue-less politics but uses the power to really make a difference in the life of the Indian women and set her free. The government lost out the symbolically fantastic opportunity of getting the bill passed on International Women’s day, let’s hope the Indian state doesn’t take the symbolism too seriously.

Now, it’s time for the red carpet. The famed “Battle of the Ex-es” at this year’s Oscars ended in the Oscar for the best Director going to a woman for the first time in Oscar history. The Dan Brown-esque media again linked this with the International Women’s day. First things first, “The Hurt Locker” is indeed a raw and scathing look into the horror, rigour and monotony of pointless and protracted war. A columnist has remarked that the “sweaty, sour and defeatedly masculine tang seeping out of every frame” in the movie could only have been captured so shrewdly by a woman. Something about such remarks rings a bell somewhere in me. Why is the woman – angle looked at with such scrutiny in such situations? Around the world, with all the talk of progressive humanity, gender-bias still is a menacingly strong undercurrent. To me, underlining the fact that a female director deserves extra credit for making it the Oscar winning list, and similar such statements, have roots in a deep-seated patriarchal conviction. I definitely need more minds to develop this line of thought.

Finally, a musing on something entirely different. As a part of the process of watching the Oscar nominated movies, I came across George Clooney’s “Up in the air”. I thought the film has used a very different technique to look at the importance of social security in human life, which is refreshing. Riding on the concept of a backpack, used as a symbol of the materialistic and social commitments that ride on the shoulders of a human, the film very subtly underlines the beauty, importance and criticality of not cocooning yourself from the world in a bid to stay away from responsibilities and commitments. It was a nice breezy movie, and without any over-the-moon dialogues or situations, drove home a point effectively. I wonder why Bollywood doesn’t get “inspired” by this genre ….

My music and me ...

Of righteousness & resentment ...

The time of the call had already given me the message. Over the phone, my mother’s grief - stricken voice confirmed what I had already figured, “Daadu aar nei re …. (Grandpa is no more, son)”. For several moments, my entire sensibility was numbed. There was veritable poetic justice in how the end came.

 Throughout his life, daadu had personified and exemplified the concept of principled and dignified living. Hit by the cruelty of the Bengal partition, his family had been reduced from an affluent household to a struggling unit. As attempts were made to start living again, circumstances crowned daadu, still just a student, as the prime bread-earner of the family. He did not bat an eyelid. He joined the Indian army, and by the time he retired as a Subedaar Major (the seniormost rank for a non-commissioned officer in the army), he had seen action in WWII and in 1962 & 1965. The army had turned a resolute human into a lifelong fighter. All this while, he had been responsible for raising his 3 younger brothers and 1 younger sister, apart from running a huge joint family. Stretched by finances, he made every penny count but never let the household feel deprived in any way. He lived a Spartan, indeed a deprived life, but never evaded responsibility. As the army pension proved insufficient, daadu painstakingly learnt basic accounting studying Batliboi books all by himself, and got a job at a office at Fort William, Calcutta. Step by step, bit by bit, he moved forward in life and ensured his siblings received respectable education and started families of their own. Bolstered by the unquestioned support of his devoted wife, he worked hard to instill a framework of values, discipline and sensibilities into the household he was responsible for. The magnanimity of his character was a striking part of his existence. Throughout his life, he interacted with everybody around him with the same set of values. He cared for everybody's well-being and if anybody was erring in his actions and philosophy, according to him, he did not think twice before raising a flag. This attitude earned him numerous admirers but also earned him the wrath of people who thought they deserved biased behavior by dint of being his relatives, superiors and the like. As the household he had painstakingly built brick by brick started to disintegrate under pressure of self-centredness, narrow-mindedness and wanton greed, he did all he could to stem the rot. He even curbed his instinct to call a spade a spade and refrained from speaking his mind if that could avoid needless confrontations. He lived a life of dignity, discipline, courage and unwavering determination and never bowed before anybody, not even death. The man, who at 82 years of age could arm wrestle and decently built youth into submission, died a swift, almost painless death at the Army Command Hospital in Kolkata. He was known at the hospital not by name, but as the distinguished World War veteran and was given a treatment that moistened eyes not with pain but with pride. His loss was a blow I have never been able to tide over.

When I look up to his life and try to imbibe his values, I realize I am seriously incompetent in trying to follow in his footsteps. I have struggled to develop his magnanimity and maturity in handling adversities. I judge with my heart most of the times and that has landed me into trouble. My mind has been held to ransom on several occasions when I’ve encountered the darkness of human character – all the more painful when they are your near and dear ones. I have seen people sway in intoxicated materialistic stupor.  I have seen people operating with inexplicable double standards for personal gains. I have seen people ignore sentiments and feelings and get sold on unbridled showmanship. On the other end of the spectrum, I have also seen the restraint and maturity that has to be exhibited to manage the complex fabric of human relations. I have often given in to my short temper and, as a result, created even more complexities. We, maybe justifiably, rely too much on keeping our social fabric free of stains and strains, which we are taught is the true achievement of human endeavor. I saw daadu relentlessly strive to do that, and now see my parents doing the same. This has often meant reconciling to unacceptable conduct by relatives and seemingly unpardonable behavior by friends and others in society. I am seriously pained and aggrieved when I see this state of affairs, but somehow have been unable to break the shackles of deep-rooted convictions. I hope to develop the traits that people like daadu stand for and be a worthy individual. So, help me God ….

Musings ...

It has been an awefully long time since I last blogged, and for the life of me, I cannot come up with a proper explanation for this. Anyway, I finally found enough inspiration and drive to blog again, and I hope you enjoy this effort. As usual, there are multiple issues I have commented on here, in no particular order, but they are all subjects that attracted me unusually and significantly.

A lot of stuff has been happening lately that is worth mentioning here, but about which I wouldn’t elaborate. Michael Schumacher returned to F1 to pair up with old pal Ross Brawn, a celebrated tiger found his territory ravaged completely, a Nobel peace prize winner pushed thousands of troops to fight in a heavily protracted theatre of war, the Ferozshah Kotla pitch again was in the news for the wrong reasons (Last time, the ruckus was followed by Kumble’s 10-wicket haul. Let’s hope for something similar this time around too…, though it doesn’t take away the ignominy and embarrassment.), and a grossly inaccurate movie & a hopeless sham of a conference marked the global “awareness” about the fate of Mother Earth

But I have some other things I’d like to talk about. I watched two Hindi movies in two days which had, for a change, a soul of their own and had a warm feeling about them. The first, strictly in chronological order, was Rocket Singh – Salesman of the Year. A no-frills movie about a young man who strives to carve out a niche for himself by superimposing his ideals and sensibilities on an ethically-flawed cut-throat business environment, has a distinct message for the contemporary global environment. Backed by a highly sensible story by the impressive Shimit Amin, and excellent performances by Ranbir Kapoor (the believable & likeable Rocket Singh), Manish Choudhary (the arrogant and stop-at-nothing Suri), Naveen Kaushik (with his trendy sideburns & street-smart sharpness), Gauhar Khan (the intelligent “customer relations executive”) and D. Santosh (the porn-loving Hyderabadi maintenance guy), and others like Prem Chopra and Mukesh Bhatt, the movie is as much a statement in-sync with the times as it is an ode to integrity and ethics. Though set in Mumbai, the film has a distinct Delhi feel, and that is not because the protagonist is a “Joker Sardaar”. The message of the movie is very much in line with emerging business sensibility that emphasizes relentless customer focus and people management. A nice watch…

The second movie, 3 Idiots, is another masterpiece from Rajkumar Hirani’s stable. Notwithstanding the mud-slinging that is going on regarding the credits of the movie, the film has its own charm and beauty. It has significant similarities with Munnabhai – the wonder treatment of patients, the face - offs between the protagonist and the principal, the “is baar ka paper main set karunga” situations, the South Indian stuck at the second position on merit lists and yes, the same healthy sweet heart-warming feel. The trio from RDB, teamed up with the Munnabhai stable, has done it once again, aided by others like the adorably irritating Omi Vaidya as Chatur and the sweetly restrained Kareena as Pia. Yes, the plot has its implausibility and yes, the movie may be interpreted by some as glorifying indiscipline, but I liked the movie solely because of its treatment and its after-taste.

Shifting tracks, next on my agenda is a disturbing trend that is slowly pervading the field of journalism. It is the phenomenon of yellow journalism and its more criminal variant which is nowadays being termed as the “paid news syndrome”. This refers to the condition where powerful entities are buying media space and obscuring unbiased news by projecting engineered information. In an age where customer is fashionably projected to be the king, this corporatization of the media is in effect tantamount to making the customer is just a meek bystander, indeed a slave of the money-wielding powers. Recently, it was highlighted how a series of “articles” (they were nowhere labeled as “advertisements”) extolling the virtues of the then Maharashtra CM candidate Ashok Chavan adorned huge centrespreads of various dailies across Maharashtra (including the largest circulated daily in Maharashtra) during the election campaign. All the pieces appearing on a certain day had almost identical wordings in all the dailies. While Mr.Chavan has declared that he only spent a total of Rs.5,379/- for advertising in the print media, the pieces, if “paid” by Mr. Chavan, must have cost him crores of rupees. (A contesting candidate cannot spend more than 10lacs of rupees for electoral candidature promotion.) This, at once, points to 2 malices – apart from the prospect of “paid news” being published, this also points to a clear breach of electoral norms. The Times Group runs a service called Medianet Online whose official focus is “to augment print media with other media vehicles to provide a complete end-to-end PR solution to customers.” But a look at the website would reveal that the site has immense potential for yellow journalism and creation of paid-news. Indeed, journalists from prominent media mastheads have been arrested accepting bribes from parties for posting laundered information on various modes of mass media. The villainous prospects of news laundering were also covered, albeit immaturely, in the movie Mission Istanbul. Additionally, the mushrooming of news channels in the recent times is both a cause and an effect of news – corporatization and yellow journalism. All this creates an alarming setting where the media, lured by financial distractions, is increasingly losing its righteousness, its allegiance to the ethics of news coverage and is fast becoming the world’s most elaborate soap serial.

Finally, I focus on the recent initiative jointly launched by the Times Group from India and the Jung Group from Pakistan called “Aman ki Asha” or the Hope for Peace. The initiative aims at fostering a climate of mutual trust and friendship between the ill-fated step twins, India and Pakistan. The initiative, as worded by the editors, aims at initiating a people-to-people contact, hoping sincerely that a significant success in this endeavor would force the respective governments to engage in more meaningful and forcefully reconciliatory dialogue. Aman ki Asha, a commendable concept in itself, correctly identifies that the common awaam on both the sides of the border is willful of a mutually peaceful milieu in the region. But it is a little naïve to hope that a people-to-people contact would lead up to a government level bonhomie. This is neglecting political and strategic machinations and foolishly hoping for a resolution. It is well-known that the common people never wanted the partition, they never wanted the wars, they never wanted Kargil, and they enjoy Lata Mangeshkar and Euphoria as much as they adore Abida Parveen and Strings. But state diplomacy and political will has its roots somewhere else, and these roots are too strong and well-developed to be uprooted by a friendly “public” environment. Thus, I fear “aman ki asha”, for all its well-meaning charm, may end up just being a good beginning.

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