Tuesday, October 31, 2006

JoGaLoNg


I jog in Lal Bagh – in Bangalore. I live a kilometre away from one of its gates. Perfect distance for a warm up walk and as soon as I enter the gate I start jogging. Perfect.

I run on the trail that goes around park, most of the distance next to the wall, inside the park, that goes around it. I think it is about 3.3 kms. It is a great trail. Within that distance, there are different 'climates'. Some parts are far more humid than the rest. One stretch skirts the lake and is more open. A part of the humid stretch is perfumed with eucalyptus. I feel elated when I enter that stretch. Any serious jogger who jogs for enjoyment must do this at least once.

Even if you are not lucky enough to live close by, you should put in the extra effort to run on this trail. You will not regret it.

Last week, I had been to Mysore and I walked (I walk and jog on alternate days. It was my 'walk day' when I was there. Next time, I will make sure that it is my 'jog day') on the trail around the Kukkarahalli lake. It is a different experience altogether! I recommend this very highly. Even if you live in Bangalore (and enjoy jogging in a 'good' place), Thou shalt not miss this one!

The great thing about this track is that it is almost perfectly flat! The bund runs in a straight line and then you descend a few meters to go on the track that goes around the lake. Waterfowl and many different species of small birds provide you music. If you are the kind who runs with headphones, be kind to yourself and dispense with them just this once. You will not regret it.

Some who know me as a "chronic Mysorean" (almost terminal) may think that they have to take my words, on this matter, with a pinch of salt. This once, you have no need for the pinch of salt.

When I lived in Mysore – (for 40 years or so) – this track was not ‘developed’. Most of the time, I am wary of 'development'. I happily make an exception this time.

Happy joGgIn'!

PS (I added the map of my run courtesy Google Map! My guesses about distances turned out to be pretty good 'guesstimates'. The tail of the mouse is 1.1 km and the body of the mouse is 3.3 km. So, my walk is 5.5 km. My run, during which I repeat a part of the mouse, is 2 km more than that, i.e. 7.5 kms. [Click on the image to get a bigger view])

Monday, October 30, 2006

Please

"Movies" below is my first attempt at fiction - a short story.

So, please do say something good about it.

Bernard Shaw was given some stories to read. The young author asked Shaw for his opinion with, "Should I put more fire into my stories, Mr. Shaw?"

"No, my dear man, vice sersa", said Shaw.

If you are like Shaw, don't tell me that! ;--)

F-1 and Indians

I had a flash of insight!

Now I know why Indians don’t make F-1 drivers.

No Indian can ever drive a car without a horn!

Monday, September 04, 2006

Talking to a Ghost

Hey! You look younger! When did you dye?

Do I look dead to you?

No no! When did you dye your hair?

Ah!

Come Again?

My friend's mother was at the gate of her house with her dog - a Labrador Retriever. A couple of young men passing by enquired: "Is that a "Lab" aunty?"

She said: "No, it is a residence". She thought that the young men were enquiring if the house she was in front of was a pathological laboratory!

So much for short forms.

Astrological Irony

A few months ago, there was a conference of astrologers in a place called H N Kalakshetra. The irony is that H Narasimhaiah, after whom the auditorium is named, fought all his life against superstition, astrology inclusive. He once famously said that even a watch that is not working will show the correct time twice a day. That was his counter argument for the argument that astrological predictions come true - sometimes .

When I saw the banner declaring this incongruous confluence of HN and astrology I had a wish.

How lovely it will be to read the headline in a paper: "Astrologers conference postponed due to unforeseen circumstances". Wow! Lovely

Thursday, August 31, 2006

Of Darshini Hanuman and Security Ganapaty

I am an atheist.

Hanuman and Ganapaty are my favourite gods.

Contradiction? None at all. I was born in an Indian Hindu family and that is sufficient to be on such familiar terms with the innumerable gods – and have a few favourites among them. The fact that I was raised as an atheist has no influence on this.

Because of all this, when these or any other gods are treated callously I feel ANGRY.

There is a famous Anjaneya temple in a small village called Muttatti. A colleague wanted to know where the place is. I wondered why he was so interested. The answer was “because he gives whatever you ask for very fast”. That got my goat alright. It sounded like a description of the famous Darshini phenomenon of Bangalore. These are fast food restaurants, called “something-or-the-other Darshini” that serve South Indian fast food. You pay, get a coupon, present it at the serving counter and, Hey Presto!, the food appears in front of you. You stand at a solar plexus high table, eat the stuff and get out.

Ask the Hanuman and he gives it to you very fast. Very nice and convenient. Thank you.

We should not do this to him.

Now, to the Security Guard Ganapaty; There is a superstition that the house at the junction of three roads, at a T – junction, facing the vertical arm of the T directly, is inauspicious. They even go cheap on the market. So, the owner builds a niche in the compound wall and installs an idol of Ganesha there. To assuage his guilt at having reduced Ganesha to that status or whatever, he makes it a well lit, ornate niche too. The lovable God in the form of the idol is too tempting a target for a thief or miscreant. So he gets incarcerated behind a sturdy steel door and padlock. He has to sit there and watch over the house of the man who jailed him. Earlier he was Maha Ganapaty, Shakti Ganapaty, Vidya Ganapaty but poor lovable Ganapaty is now Guard Ganapaty. Alas.

We should not do this to him.

When I told these thoughts to some friends, they tell me that there is even a Visa Venkateswara too! God forbid! (Fat chance of course). In the age of super specialities even gods have gone super special. This lord of the seven hills residing in some temple specialises in getting you the much coveted and hard to come by US visa. They tell me that another colleague applied for a visa, did not get in the first attempt, prayed to this Visa Venkateswara (and offered him some incentive, I guess) and promptly got the visa.

We should not do this to him.

We Hindus treat our gods very callously ourselves but let anyone else do or say anything that is remotely disrespectful to them, we are up in arms. Not we really but the self appointed guardians of Hinduism - against all comers.

So much so that the mighty Ganga with the power to wash away the sins of all sinning mortals is herself subjected to the humiliation of being cleansed because Musharaff visited her banks.

We should not do this to her.

It makes me mighty angry.

I dread to see the day ‘we’ take it upon ourselves to purify the all-consuming Agni (Fire god for the unknowing) for some misdemeanour by sprinkling holy water on him!

This shouldn’t happen to a god*.


* (With due apologies to James Herriot who wrote “This Shouldn’t Happen to a Vet”)

Friday, August 25, 2006

Mr. or Mrs. or Ms. or

What do you do when you have to write a mail and you do not know if the person is a man or a woman? Years ago someone innovative solved the problem by addressing my friend as "Dear Gentle Person". Hmmm... very innovative.

The related problem about the marital status of a lady (female in modern parlance) was solved long ago with Ms. Male chauvinism got a, deserved, beating there.

Companies declare their unbiased employment policy with "An equal opportunity employer M/F/H" - for Male/ Female/Handicapped (Hermaphrodite - a wag once said) - even in their product advertisements.

Now put all this together and how do you address a person whose sex is not known to you?

Dear Hs. Xyzwcu? Hs. standing for Homo Sapien Sapien? Or should it be Hss. ? Sounds more like a specimen of the species Naja Naja.

Or, should it be Hb. Xyzwcu? Hb. Standing for the less academic “human being”?

Not bad!

Dear Hb. Anil Jagalur....

Yes please?

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Bismillah Khan

Bismillah Khan

So, an era comes to an end. A cliché but no one can complain, I think, in this case.

So much has been said about him that I wonder if I can say anything at all, let alone something new. I will say two things; one I read and one that I saw.

Someone asked the maestro why he played small tunes and did not even mind if All India Radio used his pieces as “bridge music” – the music played in the few minutes between programmes. The gentle soul said something like “why should I mind? Who am I to complain if my music reaches a few more people this way? If it gives a few moments of peace and happiness to some man why should I deny it?” Sounds unreal. But those who have known him, even through the legends about him, will know that this is true.

About 15 years ago he played in Mysore under the aegis of SPIC-MACAY in an engineering college – SJCE. He stopped in the middle of a glorious rendering of a raga (Maru Behag? I do not remember) and asked the young spellbound audience – what religion is this?

The lec-dem was held in an auditorium that was decorated with wood-inlayed panels of the symbols of many religions of the world. And he told the confused audience "Music has no religion. We make an issue of religion. But music must unite us all. We have to live peacefully – people of all the religions", he said and continued to play the divine music as very few can and on the Shehnai as only he could.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Everyday Excellence

I read an article by Rohit Brijnath about the everyday enormity of what sportsmen do. He describes what a Brett Lee ball can do to one of us non-cricketers if we do the foolhardy act of facing it. He also describes how he once faced Ramesh Krishnan and Paes and before his brain had reacted, let alone his body, the ball had passed him!

Krishnan was so 'slow' that McEnroe claimed that he fell asleep waiting for his serve to reach him.

This reminded me of my high school experience. Mysore, August 1969. The Mysore Tennis Club's inauguration and there was a tournament. We schoolboys gate crashed and were standing behind the service line to watch the matches. There were 'big' names of Indian tennis laying there. We were repeatedly requested by the chair umpire to move away so that the players could have more space. We did not budge. The matches continued.

Then came a stylish (read long haired and wearing short shorts) player, not very tall. We did not know him. He was Shashi Menon. Studying in the US and being coached there. If there were rankings in those days he did not figure in the list, perhaps. His serve was so fast that we saw the throw, the swing of the racket and then only heard the thwack behind us on the bamboo matting! We scampered away for dear life.

What the umpire’s repeated pleas could not do, one serve did. Unforgettable. Confirms what Rohit wrote.

........ Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani

Two famous (great?) Indians. Both live outside India. Both travel a lot. They have been doing it for years. One is an artist and the other a scientist. It would be convenient for both to have 'western' passports. Both retain their Indian passports.

The reason they do so are so different, perhaps, defined by their chosen fields. One feels that his Indian-ness defines him. The other says that it is because he wants to criticise India – in a constructive way. He wants to participate in the debate and feels that if he does not retain his passport he loses his right to do so. The reasons are as different as their fields. To make an artificial distinction, one's decision is from the heart and the other the head.

They are Zubin Mehta and Amartya Sen. (Economics is a science too, even though an inexact one. Of course, with Quantum Theory even the exact science of Physics became inexact, a long time ago.)

Kudos - to both of them! May their tribe increase!

The other side of the coin

There was a news item: The number of new mobile connections in India crosses a million. Did it say a million? Not too sure. Assume that it is a million.

Sometimes our minds go off on tangents.

In this case I wondered what it meant in other terms.

It meant:

A million cardboard boxes (how many trees would that mean?)
A million instruction manuals (in a dozen languages) that would never be read (in even one language)
A million plastic covers that would be thrown away, unfortunately, never to rot
A Million conversations a day more (Not bad by itself but many of them would add more chaos to the already chaotic traffic?)

I must be feeling particularly pessimistic today

Monday, August 07, 2006

Celebrate




Please see my post Bhagat Singh is Dead.

We the people shall celebrate the anniverseries of these momentous events, which occur in 2007. What the governments seem to be ignoring, we shall celebrate in our own way.

Please copy the image above and put it in your own blog, along with this request.

Acknowledgements: My son, Maitreya, took a lot of trouble and made this banner.

Thanks!

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

One More painting



Here is another painting of mine.

For those who might be interested in the details:

Mysore - Lingambudhi Kere
The Hills in the background are Chamundi Hills
The tree is a rain tree

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Superstitions?

When something negative happens, we talk about it. It catches our attention and everyone else’s. We talk about it. When things go right no one talks about it.

This phenomenon makes superstitions grow. If someone makes a wild prediction and it comes true all those who heard it, talk about it. If it does not, no one talks about it.

We form opinions based on such phenomenon. We do not consider many of our own opinions to be superstitions but they often are. Some such ‘superstitions’ are: “all auto drivers are cheats” or “the police are heartless” or “government officials are inefficient and don’t take initiatives”, and many others.

Here are some of my experiences that contradict these superstitions.

Auto drivers:

About twelve years ago, when my sons were still very young, my wife and I took them out in the evening. We came back home in an auto. After the auto was paid off and had left we realised that we had left one of our handbags in the auto. My wife was very upset. The bag did not have anything of great value but a loss always upsets. For whatever it was worth, I went and complained to the police. The officer did not think that there was a need to register a complaint as I admitted that it was my mistake. (As a sidelight, the officer was none other than Shakeel Ahmed, who was later ambushed and killed by the dreaded Veerappan.)

I returned home and told my wife that I felt that the auto driver would come back and return the bag. She asked me how I knew but I refused to reveal it. I was disappointed that that night the auto did not come back. However, early the next morning, the auto came and stopped in front of my house and out came the driver holding our “given up as a lost case” bag. I was so happy! Not because the return of the prodigal bag but of the auto driver who was contrary to the superstition.

His explanation was: He had a couple of more fares after us the previous night. After that he went home and parked the auto. When he was cleaning the auto that morning he found the bag in the back of the passenger seat. He recalled that we were the only ones with children in our arms and deduced that the bag must belong to us and promptly came home to restore it.

When I tried to give him some money, he refused. I had to convince him that I was not paying him for his good deed but just for the cost of the drive from his home to mine and back. Only then did he accept the ‘fare’.

Now, how did I ‘know’ that he would come back? I had observed the previous evening that there was an inscription on the back of the driver’s seat, which declared: “half fare for pregnant women on their way to the hospital for delivery and for very old and feeble people”. It does not take a genius to hope that he would be back, would it?

Once an auto driver did not have change for a hundred when the meter read 55 and he was ready to forego the 5 and gave me a 50! Once a meter showed 67, whereas the normal fare for the same trip was around 55. When I mentioned it to the driver he quickly said, if you do this trip regularly, give me just 55. I will have my meter checked!

The police story:

I once received a notice from the traffic police. My offence? Carrying two on the pillion of my scooter. It was obviously wrong, as I have never ever done that in my life.

So, I went to the police station and found the officer in charge was a sub-inspector (SI). He looked as if he did not know any English. So I spoke to him in chaste Kannada, hoping that I would not put him off by talking to him in English, and told him my side story. He listened carefully and thought for a moment and said, in impeccable English let me add, “I see. I am ready to take your story at its face value. But, once the complaint has been registered and the notice has been sent to you, I am powerless. The only officer allowed to withdraw it is a deputy commissioner (DCP). You could meet him, if you want”.

I was deflated but decided to meet DCP. In fact it would have been easier and cheaper for me to pay the fine and be done with it. Something in me refused. So for the next few days, I went to the DCP’s office in the evenings, after work, but never found him there. He was always busy on his rounds - after working hours.

I decided to go and meet the SI and tell him of my plight. When I did go there, to my luck, the DCP was there. As per police protocol the DCP was sitting in the SI’s chair. I decided to wait patiently. However the DCP saw me and asked the SI who I was and what I was doing there. He apprised the DCP of my story. Then the DCP called me inside, offered me a seat and listened to my story. He too told me that he believed me but wondered if it was right to let me off without any further proof.

Then I revealed my trump card.

What had happened was that on one of my visits to the police station, the SI was away and the constable with whom I made enquiries tried to dismiss me. “What do you mean – ‘I did not do it’? It was I who booked you, look here.” He showed me his notebook. It showed my vehicle number and in brackets ‘Yezdi motorbike’ – triple riding. I had not said anything to him then.

I told the DCP, “If you assure me that you will not take action on anyone I will give you the proof”. With an amused smile he agreed. Then I told him about the constable, his notebook and the entry therein. And then I showed him my Bajaj Super scooter parked in front of the police station. He immediately let me go.

He said, “OK, I will write on the notice that you have been warned and let off”. I protested that since I had not erred it would be unfair. He was very indulgent and said “Alright. You don’t know what I am writing on this. OK? You can go”!

That was the end of the matter and I had had a long interaction with the police and each one of them had behaved in an exemplary fashion.

The Bank Manager:

Recently I had to pay some fees at what is known as the treasury branch of the State Bank of Mysore. As I expected that there would be many people at the bank for this very purpose, I went there an hour earlier than the banking time. Apparently many others had had the same idea and there was already a queue of about ten people. Within fifteen minutes the queue had swelled to more than fifty.

The manager of the bank arrived and saw the crowd. He immediately swung into action and organised three counters to be opened and with some colleagues who had come in early, arranged for the fees to be collected and receipts issued. He manned one of the counters himself. He was not very familiar with this operation but learnt it from one of the juniors and the queue almost disappeared by the time the bank’s official opening time approached.

The Electricity Bill

Due to some errors by me and thorough goof up by the electricity provider, I had to resolve some issues with them concerning my bills. I went to their office at 9:30 in the morning only to learn that it opened only at 10:30. As I was leaving, the manager walked in. Looking at my crestfallen face, asked me what I wanted. I asked him if it was OK to take his time when the office was not even officially open. He told me that he always came to the office as early as possible so that he could help people solve their problems before they went to work!

He proceeded to listen to all I had to tell him, agreed with me that the department had goofed up and asked me to return in a few days, for him to sort out the problems. When I returned after a few days, I found that he had been as good as his word and had left instructions as to how to resolve the issue and my problem was solved without further ado.

A very refreshing experience, to say the least!

What do all these stories mean? Many things to many people, I am sure. One thing it does mean to me is that we need not look at the world with jaundiced eyes. It does not mean that we should look at the world with rose tinted glasses either. Keep your mind and eye open. They work best that way, like a parachute, to borrow a phrase!

Monday, June 26, 2006

Black and Beautiful


My childhood hero, in the sixties, was a medical student from the Mysore Medical College. He was a consummate athlete, strong and handsome. He won every event he competed in, during the annual Dasara sports competitions. Or at least that is what I felt. He played football and perhaps played all positions himself except the goalkeeper’s. He had a dazzling smile and when he flashed it his brilliant white teeth sparkled. He did not play cricket and I did not even like cricket anyway. His name was Olufemi Akande. He was Nigerian. He was black. Very black.

Then as time went on there were other heroes, people who fascinated me and many of them were black.

Patrice Lumumba, for instance. I do not know much about him except that there was an international peace university in his name atop Lenin Hill and that he was assassinated by Moise Tshombe. Childish memories but, but they definitely caught my imagination. Tshombe was a man I loved to hate.

Arthur Ashe, the quintessential gentleman in a gentleman’s game. How can one forget the description that appeared in The Hindu about the match between him and Connors which Ashe won in style. “Ashe played the matador to Connors’ bull to perfection. A cut here a, nick there and he bled him to death.” I heard the running commentary on the radio and was thrilled. Recently, I saw the match on the TV and it was all that and more.

Then there was Sidney Poitier. I devoured his movies. “Guess Who is Coming to Dinner”, “To Sir, With Love”, “The Last Man”, “They call me Mr. Tibbs”…… He is perhaps the handsomest man I have ever seen.

Then there is Nelson Mandela, a most extraordinary man. Einstein’s comment about Gandhi applies, to some degree at least, to this living legend. “Generations to come will scarce believe that such a man as this walked this earth in flesh and blood.”

Before him was, of course, Martin Luther King Jr. So promising a life, cut short by an assassin’s bullets. But in the brief time he was around he effected a change in this world that many are reluctant to accept.

Then there was a model featured on the cover of the magazine Span (published by the USIS). Beverly Johnson. Undoubtedly one of the most beautiful faces I have ever seen.

There were others too, Paul Robeson the singer, Washington Carver the botanist, Booker T Washington the educator, Muhammed Ali (“floats like a butterfly but stings like a bee” and “I ain’t got nothing against the Vietcong” and more importantly a conscientious abstainer from the Vietnam war), Wilt Chamberlain (called Wilt the stilt!), Pele, Viv Richards (and practically the whole WI cricket team) Karim Abdul-Jabbar, Angela Davis. Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald,

And in more recent times Jordan, Magic Johnson, Eddy Murphy, Florence Fishbourn (Morpheus of Matrix), Naomi Campbell, Denzel Washington….

I have always wondered if I was fascinated by all these people because they were black or in spite of their blackness? Suffice to say that it added some colour to it? I do believe that all these people have achieved something and quite often something great and have shown great character. Their achievements are inspiring. They have done what they have done overcoming what could have been a drawback – their colour.

I have always been impressed by the fact that the greatest of Indian epic heroes turned Gods, Rama and Krishna were dark skinned. (Alas! Calendar artists have painted them blue! Quite often a very sick blue!) So, Indian aesthetics, apparently, found black beautiful. These two were not great and handsome ‘in spite of being dark’, they were handsome because they were black.

One of my favourite movie sequences is from the movie “Gods must be crazy”. The protagonist, an African tribesman, comes across a Caucasian woman for the first time in his life. He stares her with such great pity. (Consummate acting) He wonders, “Why have the Gods been so unkind to her? Hair like cobwebs (a platinum blonde, straight hair) and skin so devoid of colour!”

Almost all of the people in the above list look good to me, even those who were not in the looks business.

And then there was Fair and Lovely. And now there is Fair and Handsome. I just do not understand it.

In a lighter vein (not by colour of course), whatever happened to the dark and handsome heroes concept popularised by Mills and Boone and their ilk anyway?

What has colour got to do with good looks? Beats me.

Look at the picture and decide.

A stray incident I once witnessed: An ‘black’ African came to a petrol bunk in Mysore and asked for some petrol, in Kannada. As the customer left, the petrol bunk assistant said to another “Did you see? The blackie speaks Kannada!” (“nODdyEnlaa? kariya kannaDdall_maataadtavne?”). The interesting thing was that the petrol bunk assistant was darker than the ‘blackie’!

Why did I write all this? Because, this is one of my pet peeves. I have seen dark and good looking and good people having a complex about their colour. I have seen them waste money and time trying to acquire a lighter skin and looking, somehow, a little silly in the bargain. If they had put in the same effort in developing their character, they would have been better people, happier and as a consequence, even looked good, I am sure.

Look at the name of my blog. Safet(y)valve. I had to get this out of my system.

Friday, June 16, 2006

Football Envy

I read an article 'Football Envy at the UN' by Kofi Annan, in The Hindu, originally published in The Guardian.

Touching, to say the least.

Here is a man who is in such close proximity to the world's problems. He knows how difficult it is to mobilise, organise and motivate people to solve them, get the required funds, draw the attention of all those who can make a difference....

.......and he sees that Football achieves all that - apparently without effort! Alas only for football.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

An Ex-Coward's Art




Here are two of my paintings.

I never painted till late into my life. It all changed thanks to a chance encounter.

I owe it to one Theobaldo Bertello, an Italian working for a German company, who I met on business. Being his host in Mysore, I took him to the nearby forest reserves Bandipur on a holiday. I was discussing art with him and he asked me if I painted. I said no. He asked me why? I gave him some vague answers. He poked me in the chest near the heart with his index finger and told me "You are a coward, that is why you do not paint. You are afraid of what people say if it is not good. Who cares man, if you want to paint you paint. To hell with what the world thinks about it!"

That led to my seriously trying to paint.

My wife, who bought me different kinds of art materials to experiment with and even presented me with an easel, supported me in my pursuit. Left alone, I would never have bought one. It made a huge difference to my paintings.

I still love it when people say that one of my paintings is good. While painting, I still think of what a viewer might say. It no longer matters though. But, if there are errors, if my skill is not good enough, so be it. It is MY painting. The act of painting leaves me exhausted, but exhilarated. Everything else is a bonus. I even enjoy cleaning the brushes after painting. (I read detailed instructions about how to do that even before I met Theobaldo. It remained with me and came in handy when I did start painting)

I am writing this to thank Theobaldo and in his honour and with the fervent hope that his message reaches many more 'cowards' and makes them do what they have always wanted to do but never worked up the courage to do it.
I was about to post this when it occurred to me that a certain other Theo helped a painter to pursue his calling and the rest, as they say, is history!!!!

Bhagat Singh is Dead

It looks as if the powers that be in India have achieved what the colonial rulers failed to do. The British rulers tried to kill the spirit of Bhagat Singh and his comrades and failed. They only killed them. We have killed the memory of this heroic bunch of men.

This year is the 75th anniversary of the martyrdom of Bhagat Singh and his comrades. It has passed almost unnoticed. No official functions to mark the occasion. No commemorative postage stamp, no portrait or statue to honour them and remember with gratitude the ‘supreme sacrifice’ of a band of young men committed to the cause of freedom.

Another occasion is close at hand and plans don’t seem to be afoot to celebrate that either. Next year is the 150th anniversary of the First War of Indian Independence. We were taught about it in the terms in which the British colonial historians referred to it – the Sepoy Mutiny. (sipaayi dange in Kannada, the language in which I had my school education). The name itself tried to trivialise the great uprising that resulted from a spontaneous upsurge of nationalist and anti colonial feelings. Since it had its origins in the colonial army, it was easy for them to refer to it as a mutiny, a mere a matter of discipline and quell it.

Wonder why this neglect of these historic occasions and their anniversaries? Is the revolutionary spirit passé? Is the idea of people thinking and who might be inspired by these events and stand up to authority too subversive for the people who hold power and who they hold it for?

This neglect and relegation of these heroes and the heroic events sound all the more intriguing since not too long ago the self styled nationalist forces tried to usurp the legacy of Bhagat Singh and hijack his memory by highlighting his nationalism and down playing his revolutionary and humanist ideology. They tried to portray him as a hot-blooded nationalist, long on action and short on ideology, and use his memory for their own designs. But then, there were people who revered the memory of this heroic young man and samples of his writings surfaced which made his sympathy for the working classes and the fact that his ideology was based solidly on these sympathies became crystal clear. Thus the kidnap attempt failed!

I have to give credit where it is due. These thoughts were triggered when I heard of a recent talk given on this subject and a gist of it.

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Approval for Greenpeace action

I feel very strongly about Clemenceau and admire the actions of Greenpeace.

Sometimes, I get uneasy with the feeling that their actions are a little too strong. I keep questioning myself about it.

However, I read a newspaper report that the Shiv Sena (or was it the Bajrang Dal? Oh, what is in a name, after all? It stinks anyway - with due apologies to The Bard) staged a protest against Greenpeace in this regard.

I was at peace.

Not much can be wring with Greenpeace and their actions if these rabble rousers are against them.

What?

L’Affaire Clemenceau


Most days, reading the morning papers is not a pleasant experience. It was not so some time ago. There appeared to be some hope. The reason was that one of the highest bodies in the country had recommended that the decommissioned French naval ship Clemenceau should not be allowed to enter India. That was very encouraging and heartening.

The behaviour of France has been deplorable. The trail of lies and obfuscations that have accompanied the ship is a shame on any country. Its pressure on the Egyptian government to let it pass through Suez Canal is mean high handedness. The estimate of the amount of asbestos still left on the ship has varied from 50 tonnes to a thousand tonnes. The attempt by France to block a move to get an independent assessment of the amount of asbestos is, in itself, a give away that it has something to hide.

Is this the same France with which we associate names such as, to name very few, Voltaire, Rousseau, Romaine Rolland? Is it the same country that gifted the statue of Liberty to the US? (Let us not think too much about how ironical it is, just now.) Why does it want to give such a gift as the Clemenceau to India now? Is this the same France, which represented a sane voice against the designs of the US in Iraq?

Alang is far away from Paris. The workers who break that ship are nameless and faceless and may soon become lifeless too due to the duplicity of the French government does not touch it.

What about India and Guajarat? The concerned minister in Gujarat claims that the asbestos presents no danger and the workers at Alang know how to handle it and all precautions would be taken. (“Are you serious?” as a Mc Enroe was wont to ask!) Obviously, the concern is for the few crores it brings to Gujarat and not the health of the workers who would be exposed to the ills of asbestos. He is, mind you, a representative of a party whose platform is national pride. How washing the dirty and poisonous toilet of France and risking the health and life of Indian workers contributes to national pride is beyond me.

The positives in this episode are that Greenpeace has taken the cudgels against France. Egypt did make a futile attempt to stop the ship. The committee formed by the Supreme Court did recommend that Clemenceau should not be allowed into India. Greenpeace in India too is striving to pressurise the government to block the ship. It is good to see that activists such as Swami Agnivesh and Nafisa Joseph have joined the protest.

Every one of us must add our voice to the protest and make it a big enough chorus so that we are heard. Alas, the voice of reason is soft. But enough soft voices together will, I hope, be heard.
Do something within your power to make things happen! Join the signature campaign started by the Greenpeace in India. Do something!

Sunday, February 05, 2006

Coincidence

This is quite an amazing coincidence. Please see my post – “Breeding Ground for Violence?”

I saw a report in a Kannada daily that Justice Venkatachaliah commented in anguish that all of us would have to become Naxalites if corruption continues like this!!!

If a powerful man like the respected judge, who has worked tirelessly against corruption, is so anguished as to comment like this, you can imagine the helpless rage of the downtrodden. Still, neither the anguished cry of the judge nor my post is a call for Naxalism. It should serve as a warning to the powers that be to take heed. Unfortunately, the powers that be are all preoccupied with “to be in power”. Do they have the time or will to do anything about this?

Saturday, January 14, 2006

Wordplay

Why do the words attraction and attractive have action and active in them! Inactive persons beware!!

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Ever notice that the letter 'o' accurs with monotonous regularity in the word monotonous?

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Doesn't the word succinct express the idea of succinctness succinctly?

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I am sure you never looked up 'self explanatory' in a dictionary. It was self explanatory. Wasn't it?

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Thursday, January 12, 2006

Any Comments?

Newspaper Report: Waseem Jaffer selected to the Indian cricket team.
Comment the next day, in the same paper: This is appeasement of the minorities.

Newspaper Report: Kaif dropped.
Comment from the same source: . . . . . . .
. . . . . .
Ah! The silence is deafening!

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Breeding Ground for Violence?

My son was admitted to a hospital and needed treatment for a long time. I stayed with him and looked after him.

While there, I observed many other patients and their families. I also experienced their trials and tribulations.

There was this forest officer who had undergone neurosurgery and was recovering. His wife and son went to all kinds of trouble to bring him back to life and normalcy. Their hope, concern for the patient and the hardship they underwent smilingly were touching.

One of the problems they had was of course money, as the surgery and the months long stay in the hospital had taken their toll on their resources. They had spent a lot of money and were trying to get it reimbursed from the government, as they were eligible to. With the help of friends and the colleagues of the patient they moved the papers and finally it reached a stage where the district surgeon had to sign it so that the money could be reimbursed.

What happened next is unimaginable. The wife of the sick man travelled overnight by bus and met the district surgeon. The district surgeon demanded 20,000 rupees to sign the papers. When the lady pleaded with him not to demand that money his reaction was “when you are getting so much money from the government, can’t you part with even this much?” What sort of a sick mind can do that is beyond me.

Years ago, at the height of the Naxal movement in Kerala, during the seventies, there was the following incident. A woman was in labour and her relatives approached the local government doctor in the middle of the night for help. The doctor refused to budge till he was given a huge sum of money. My memory says 5,000 Rupees but I am not ready to bet on it. In any case, the relatives went around trying to collect some money and in the mean time the lady died and the baby was stillborn.

The next day, the Naxals walked into the village, caught hold of the doctor, tried him in public, found him guilty, hanged him to a tree and disappeared into the forests.

Now, was the doctor murdered or was he executed? Was what the Naxals did right or wrong? If there is a Naxal movement today in various parts of the country, is that a disease or is it the symptom of the disease society at large is suffering from. What punishment does the district surgeon of the present case deserve?

Now, let me make it clear. I abhor violence. All violence. No ifs and buts. I also believe that violence does not cure violence. “An eye for an eye…..” and all that. See the results of the “peaceful” war in Iraq that was supposed to bring democracy and peace to the whole region?

That said, whose is a greater violence - the doctor’s or that of the Naxals who killed him? The Naxals may truly believe, however wrongly, that they are ridding society of a pest that will eventually reduce violence in the world. Is it not the same reason that governments proffer when they assume the right to execute convicted murderers?

The admonition of the Supreme Court of India that the death penalty be used only in the “rarest of rare cases” does nothing to the fact that the state reserves its right to kill. But that stipulation is thrown to the winds when the Naxals are hunted in encounters, fake or otherwise.

The government, that does nothing about the doctor or even actively protects him and his misdeeds, is out to hunt the Naxals. Eliminate the symptom and not the disease?

How many people who saw the Tamil movie ‘Indian’ subconsciously sympathised with the protagonist who kills (executing?) the corrupt officials?

The answer my friend……………

Murder Most Foul

There is a poem by Kuvempu(*1). The poet dreams that he is dead. He is looking around to find his final resting place. He finds many boards in all languages pointing towards heaven. Suddenly he comes across a board in Kannada(*2), pointing towards hell.

Being a great lover of Kannada, he decides that if a board in Kannada points towards hell, it cannot be a bad place to be in, after all. Whatever the poet’s intentions were, I tried to figure out a reason for the board only in Kannada pointing towards hell. It finally occurred to me. Nobody murders his or her own mother tongue like we Kannadigas do. That is matricide of sorts. So we deserve to be in hell. Don’t we?

There was this Kannadiga gentleman in Bangalore, who had a guest from England. He had arranged to take this guest around and show him the sights. The day before the proposed trip, his boss called up and said that there was an emergency and he had to be at the factory the next day. The host decided to ask a friend to take his place and escort the guest. When he explained the situation to the friend, the visitor commented that he understood all that he had said and that there seemed to be a lot of English in Kannada!

The explanation must have run something like this, with the words in Italics being in English and the rest in Kannada. Hey, I had told you last week that I have a guest from England. I had planned to take him and show him Bangalore. I had made all arrangements. I have booked a taxi. But, Just now, my boss phoned me and said that there is an emergency at the factory and I should go there immediately and that my leave is cancelled. So could you please accompany my guest and show him Bangalore.
That should give you an idea of the number of English words used.

Let us take a look at some advertisements. “simpallaagi cellular aagiri” (Go cellular – simply) exhorts one. “Simply talk maadi” (Just talk) exhorts another. “Simply hellige hogi”(Just go to hell!), I feel like telling them.

There was one that beat them all. "Drishtiyonde saaladu, beleyoo bennu bidadu"! I had to struggle for hours to decipher that one. Translated literally, it means, “Sight alone is not enough. The price too, does not stop following you”. I like puzzles. So I persevered and it dawned on me, eventually. It is a translation, atrocious translation needless to say, of something like “Looks alone are not enough. The price won’t let go too.”

Transplanting English words like time, urgent, rice and salt into Kannada sentences is unpardonable. There is no need to look for Kannada words for car and bus. But asking for a spoonu (*3) of saltu is unpardonable.

As far as I know, we are the only people among whom you find many who are proud to say that they do not know Kannada. Tell a Kannadiga that his English is bad and he will be terribly insulted. Tell him his Kannada is bad, you will find a man achieving the impossible. Looking embarrassed and proud at the same time!

Ah! If you do not like this post, don’t bother asking me to go to hell. As a Kannadiga I perhaps will, eventually.

Notes for non-kannadigas:

1. Kuvempu: Poet laureate of Kannada, a Jnanapeeth award winner. Full name is K V Puttappa, and the Initials, written in Kannada would be Ku. Vem. Pu. Which became his pen name.
2. Kannada – the language of the state of Karnataka, and a person who hails from this state is called a Kannadiga
3. To Kannadise an English word, just add a u at the end. (To Telugufy it, add oo ;--) That is a different story and is perhaps grist for another post.)

Your Unbiased Opinion Please!

I am sure someone has asked you for your unbiased opinion, at some time or the other. Whenever someone asks me for my opinion, with this proviso, I have feel amused but go right ahead and give my best, biased opinion on the matter.

Can anyone really give an unbiased opinion at all? Is it not an oxymoron? If one can really have an unbiased opinion, then the one asking for it may himself or herself generate that opinion.

All of us would like to believe that we are capable of thinking rationally and come to an unbiased opinion on a subject. In fact, we all have different biases. We prefer to call it a different viewpoint. As the cliché goes, our opinions are based on “where we come from” – not the geographical location, of course, but our “backgrounds”. An unbiased opinion is thus an oxymoron.

Now, is it really good to have an unbiased opinion, if it was possible at all? Gandhi exhorted us to ask the question “what does this do to the poorest of the poor of this country?” and then decide whether we should do a certain thing or not. In other words, he has exhorted us to have a bias towards the “poorest of the poor”. As is our wont, we have put Gandhi (or his image) on a pedestal and trashed his “rule of thumb” for taking decisions.

If we did apply his rule of thumb, would all those projects (always towards progress and development, mind you!) that displace thousands of poor people ever take off? Narmada Damn…… Oooooops, dam for instance. Have you ever heard of thousands of people from the upper echelons of society being displaced in the name of development? Something smells fishy. It actually stinks, does it not?

So if we can’t have an unbiased opinion, what do we do? The trick is to have the right bias. What does it mean to the poorest of the poor of the country is a right bias.

Or does it sound like a left bias?

Monday, January 02, 2006

A Better Superstition?


There is this column in a national newspaper where you can seek advice on your personal problems. There was this businessman who had recently built a house. Soon after moving in to his new home, he started having problems. His son fell ill. He himself started having financial difficulties in his business.

Apart from seeking medical help for his son, he sought the help of a Tantrik (a black magician, a voodoo man). The Tantrik gave him an amulet to be tied to the son's arm. It did not help. Now he had sought the help of this advice column.

Advice was forthcoming, but with a preamble. It berated the man in no uncertain terms. How could a an educated man fall prey to superstitions and seek the help of a Tantrik? He should have known better! This was the general vein of the preamble.

Then the advice was dished out generously. Block the present door of the kitchen in your new house and provide a new door facing a different direction. Close that window off, open up another elsewhere. Many more such alterations to the house were suggested. All this was to make the new house conform to the "Ancient Indian science" of Vaastu. These alterations are supposed to ward off tevileil eye, not allow the ill winds to enter the house, dissuade Yama, the god of death from entering the house and many other benefits.

Apparently the person who gave all the advice believes that his brand of superstition is superior to that of the Tantrik.

Also, the poor advice seeker will be considerably poorer, making all the alterations suggested.

To make matters more interesting, the advice seeker had the same name as a famous Malayalam matinee idol!

Sunday, January 01, 2006

Torture Banned

"Bush signs US law banning torture" - news item.

Does it mean Bush has to step down now?