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

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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?

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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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!

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?

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!

Torture Banned

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

Does it mean Bush has to step down now?

No history please! We are Mysoreans

My previous post (No history please! We are Indians) set me thinking in the same vein.

I have come across many instances of such callousness in Mysore.

Here is a brief introduction to Mysore for those who are not familiar with it.

Like we Indians boast of a history of 5000+ years, we Mysoreans claim that we are the cultural capital of the state. That was (please note the past tense) because cultured kings ruled Mysore. They encouraged the arts and so the city became home for many great musicians, music composers, dancers and Sanskrit scholars. It is the home for the Mysore University and many other academic and scientific institutions. This obviously led to the city boasting of great scholars, writers and in general intellectuals. Post independence and the ascendance of Bangalore as the state capital Mysore is just a shadow of its former self.

The reasons cited above also gave the city a plethora of buildings, which are unique and beautiful. But all of them are in danger of some sort or the other.

Here is a list of such buildings and the fate they have suffered.

There is a building called the DC’s office, which houses some government offices. It is situated at the apex of a rise and is , approached by an avenue. The building had a unique architectural feature. Unbelievable as it may sound, it had no windows! Now, do not wonder how the people manning the offices inside breathed. It had fullfledged doors, instead windows. So the offices had many entrances. That must be pretty unusual for a building and is worth preserving, you agree?

Not so, for the powers that be. Years ago, the closed the doors with brick and mortar and converted many of the doors into windows in the style of ticket counters in old railway stations. Ruined for ever, the unique architectural feature of a lovely building.

The next one is the Devaraja Market. This market is a century old. It is an extremely colourful place of unofficial international fame. Let me explain that one. I have come across many foreign tourists who were told by their friends not to miss the market when in Mysore. These tourists were as impressed by the market as the friends who told them about it. There are vegetable shops in central courtyard of a rectangular building of nearly a kilometre long, and about hundred metres wide. The building itself has shops that face the outside of the building and other shops that face inside. Apart from the vegetable sellers it has various other shops selling betel leaves (for which Mysore was very famous) flowers and coloured powders that are used for religious purposes and various incenses. The net effect was that it has an aroma that, if bottled, could be an instant hit anywhere! It is exhilaratingly colourful. It could send an impressionist into a frenzy of colour.

The first sacrilege perpetrated on this beautiful building was allowing the Bata shoe shop to come up in its North Eastern corner. This glass and concrete abomination was rammed into the old palatial architecture. The mortar decorations have vanished and at least on that corner of the building, the old building is dead. Sticking out like a sore thumb is not an apt expression. I sore thumb looks definitely better since you can at least still see that it is thumb.

Now that beautiful old building faces a worse threat. Plans are afoot to demolish it. It sounds worse than my worst nightmare. The reason? This year Mysore received unprecedented rains and the roofs of a couple of shops leaked. Out of some 57 or so shops two leaked and the decision has been taken to demolish the building and build a new one in its place.

Good that the people who have come up with this plan are not in the medical profession. The best treatment for a brain tumour is beheading. You know!?

I earnestly hope that better sense will prevail.

Then there is the case of the Mharaja’s college hostel buildings. It is an old tile roofed building. The outer corridors have cast iron railings. It really looked ‘old world’. Then there arose a need to build more hostel rooms. Build they did, modern steel and concrete structure that have not a single curved line anywhere on them in total contrast to the old buildings. It does clash badly. I am sure with a little bit of imagination it was possible to build a modern building that did not clash with the old so badly.

Now to make matters worse, the old building itself has been mutilated. The railings had one disadvantage. If you kept the room doors open, passers by could see into the room. No privacy and I am sure it is necessary to keep the doors open in summer to get some fresh cool air in. The solution? A brick was has been built behind the railing and that does look ugly. I am sure a better solution was available.

There is huge complex of hospitals attached to the Mysore Medical College (The oldest medical college in the state). It has many blocks, all built in the old ‘royal’ architectural style. Then there was a need for a more modern facility with greater bed capacity. So a building did come up. A grey edifice built fully of granite blocks. Again a sore thumb was thrust in among the old imperious buildings.

Many other stately buildings are mutilated by modern annexes. The Maharani’s College, Yuvaraja’s College, Hardwicke High School to name a few.

I am sure that it is still possible to save many other stately buildings if we care.

Do we care?

No history please! We are Indians.

No other people seem to have more history and less concern for it than we Indians.

Relics from the past are strewn all over the place, over the length and breadth of the country. They appear out of nowhere, where you least expect them. Alas, there is no one to care for them.

Some of them are lucky enough to get some attention, if a scene from some movie has been shot near them. The insistent guide will tell you which sequence from what movie was shot there. Let the architect who built the place or the brave lone woman who defended the town with nothing more than a pestle be damned.

We are also the people who are inordinately proud of our history, even when we know nothing about it. All we need to know is that we have a “recorded history of more than 5000 years”. That is a good number. To hell with everything else!

Here is the latest instance of our (un)concern.

The (un)concerned authorities are installing cable cars in Shravanabelagola, the fears of the Archaeological Survey of India notwithstanding. These are not ‘fears’ as in phobias – irrational. ASI fears that the rock on which the monolith, Gomateswara, stands may crack when the hill is drilled to erect the cable car towers. The site, which is essentially a religious place, will become another ‘fun’ place where tourists throng. There is a chance that the site will declared as a world heritage site by UNESCO and that may not happen if cable cars are installed. These genuine fears of the ASI are ignored and the planned installation is on.

Does anyone care? Do the residents of the temple town have a say in the matter at all? What does the Jain community at large feel about this? No one knows.

When we did take note of such matters, we were aghast that the Bamiyan Buddhas in Afghanistan were destroyed by the Taliban.

Are we any better?

Bangalore's traffic - laugh it off

Either riding my bike or driving my car, the unruliness of the traffic in Bangalore sent my tension levels up. Until I decided to laugh at it and joke about it. It made me more observant without getting riled. So here is the result.

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Q: What is the most common disease in Bangalore?
A: RSI - Repetitive Stress Injury. No, not because of computers, but because of honking horns!

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Q: Is the problem really that bad?
A: Just wait near a road hump. Most drivers honk the horn - hoping that the hump will go away.

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Q: What is the most common psychological problem among Bangaloreans?
A: Owners of big cars are confused. They are not sure if they have bought the car or the road.

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When the rest of the world's drivers see danger ahead, they press the clutch pedal, press the brake. A Bangalorean steps on the accelerator and then honks the horn.

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Q: Why do Bangaloreans overtake from the left?
A: Because, the traffic sign boards, where overtaking is prohibited, show a straight arrow being overtaken by a bent one and a slash across them. So, it must be OK to overtake from the right. Right?

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Q: What is the surest indication that traffic sense of Bangaloreans is pathetic.
A: There is a board which says "Red Means Stop"! (Honest! Denizens of Bangalore, go to Anil Kumble Circle and look up, there IS such a board.

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Q: What is the second such indication?
A: Boards have started appearing which say something like "Go only when green".

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Q: How does the traffic in Bangalore prove that there is a 'God up there' and he is pro-Bangalorean.
A: Traffic continues to move after the light has turned red on the one side and the traffic from the road perpendicular to it starts moving even before the light there has turned green. Still, there are no crashes!

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Q: Which city in India has the greatest acrobats?
A: Bangalore of course. Look at all the drivers talking on the mobile, honking the horn, beating the traffic lights, cursing the other motorists, avoiding pot holes, ..........Allll at the same time.

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Q: Why do Bangaloreans drive on the right (which is wrong, in India)?
A: They have taken the description "Silicon Valley of India" too seriously.

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Q: How does a Bangalorean park a car in a no parking zone?
A: Turn the hazard lights on, leave a hapless passenger inside and walk out.

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Q: What are traffic lights in Bangalore meant for?
A: To be followed if there is a policeman nearby.

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Q: If a strange, exception-to-the-rule Bangalorean stops at a traffic light, others behind him stop too. Why?
A: The others conclude that he has spotted a policeman that they themselves have not.

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Q: What is the easiest way of causing traffic accidents in Bangalore?
A: Follow the traffic rules.

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Q: There is a joke that the shortest measurable interval of time is the time between the traffic light turning green and someone behind you honking the horn. Why does this not apply to Bangalore?
A: Because you cannot measure negative time. The honks would have started even before the light turned green. If they ever stopped at all, that is.

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Q: When two denizens of this city meet, what is the most common topic of discussion?
A: Traffic of course

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Typical of the directions you get in this city:

Q: How far is it from here?
A: Five minutes by walk, half an hour by car.

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Old Joke:
Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?
A: It wanted to get to the other side..

Q: Why did the chicken cross back?

A: It is a bloody double crossing chick.

In the new telling:
Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?

A: It wanted to get to the other side.

Q: Why did the chicken cross back?

A: I don't know why, but I know for sure it was not in Bangalore!

Q: But.... How do you know that?

A: Well, if the chick tried it in Bangalore, it would be a dead chick!

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When a famous mountaineer was asked why he wanted to climb Mt. Everest, his answer was succinct - "Because it is there". If you asked a Bangalorean why he honks the horn, perhaps, you will get the same answer.

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Old Joke:
Q: Why did Mallu cross the road?
A: Simbly

In the new telling:
Q: Why did the Bangalorean honk the horn?
A: Simply

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Q: When you see a rare Bangalorean driving or riding on the left side of the road, what can you conclude?
A: That he is going to take a right turn at the next traffic intersection!

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News: There is an unconfirmed rumour (There are no confirmed rumours, are there?) that a Bangalorean is planning to sue the manufacturer of the car called 'Swift' because he bought and it was NOT swift. That is misleading advertisement alright!

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News: Normally car and bike manufacturers publish fuel consumption specs as "under ideal test conditions" or something similar. Since it means nothing to anyone in Bangalore, they are developing a new spec called "under idling conditions". That is all we can do on Bangalore roads - idling - anyway, right?

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