Celebrating Vasanta in Bengaluru

End of winter heralded by the trees bursting out with flowers.

Dry air, chapped lips, scaly skin. . . .

Suddenly feeling more human because there is moisture in the air.

Celebrating the arrival of Vasanta with pictures from Jayanagar 1st and 4th blocks.

Einstein and Religion - II

Sometime ago I wrote Einstein and Religion.

I then said, the English version is coming....

Here it is!

On Womens Day. . .

In my continuing efforts to improve my German language compreshension, I keep reading articles from Der Spiegel, on line. Some times, I print them so that I can mull over it with a dictionary.

When I printed this article a week ago or so, I had forgotten about the significance of today. Today, I thought that it was appropriate to write something on the article is about.

The title of the article is "A conscious cliche".

It goes on to say that more the scientists and researchers dig to find out the mental and intellectual differences between the sexes, more do the differences fade and the similarities show up.

One scientist found that there were differences between men and women in a fifth of the 124 activities researched. Most of those differences stemmed from physical differences (Larger muscle mass among males) rather than cerebral or mental or intellectual differences.

It goes on to explain that most of the perceived differences are due to social expectations and upbringing and such things. Many of the social expectations turn out to be self fulfilling prophecies.

This, hopefully, will be widespread knowledge soon and help women all over the world and over all strata realise their true potential.

I also read an article that said that India has one of the most powerful womens movements in the world. This must make the Indian wome proud and invigorate them.

It is good to end this small piece with a joke.

If women want equality with men, they are not ambitious enough.

Murphy's Law - Corollary

Murphy's Law, as applied to blogging:

However carefully you edit your post, you detect an error as soon as you post it.

Miracle

I received an SMS. ‘It’ asked me to recite a couple of lines softly that stated that I believed in a certain saint. Further it asked me to forward that SMS to eleven others. If I did so, I would see a miracle by night. For a change it did not threaten with dire consequences if I did not forward it.

Since the sender is a dear friend of mine, I called him up and told him that I was not sending the SMS further. He being what he is, a dear old friend, understood.

Then I told him that if all the recipients of the original forwarded it and the subsequent eleven also further down without a break, the only miracles that would be seen were at the cash registers of the mobile telephone operators and that I was not interested in creating miracles for them. I did not want to send them “laughing all the way to the bank.”

The reason for not naming the saint in this post is that I have a lot of respect for him as a man. Humane. If the SMS had said that if I did not forward it, something unspeakable would happen, it would not have made sense. I am glad. The saint was the farthest a man could be from malevolence.

The Mystery of Palmistry

I was a very thin teenager. Perhaps, “painfully thin”.

I had gone to Bangalore to attend a wedding. After the wedding I visited an aunt of mine. Her husband dabbled in palmistry. He casually ordered me (he was that type of a man) to show him my hand and I meekly thrust my hand out. He brought a powerful lens and studied my hand.

After some time, he asked me, “Do you suffer from constipation?” I was impressed. I did suffer from it frequently. I nodded apologetically. As if it was my fault.

He growled, I will teach you an exercise and if you do them regularly, (the heavy emphasis was on the ‘if’, mind you) “it” will go. He taught me sit-ups.

I surprised myself. I did do them regularly.

I was very bookish. I was so bookish that my father had to drive me out of the house, in the evenings. (Oh, I am ever so grateful to him). Now, I developed some interest in my own body and learnt a few more exercises. Push-ups, pull-ups and many other free hand stuff. As coincidence would have it, “Science Today” published an article called the “daily dozen” which taught a dozen exercises to keep one reasonably fit. I started doing them all except the one with the bar bells. I did not have one.

After a few months I went to my tailor to get some new shirts stitched. He enquired, “The last measurements?” I said, “No! New ones!”, proudly. I can imagine him suppressing a smirk as he took out his measuring tape. He took the chest measurement and gawped. He checked his tape to see if he was holding it right. He was. He rummaged through his drawer of his cutting table, fished out his note book and located my earlier measurements. There was a 4 inch difference, in the chest measurements. (Tailors did use inches in Metric India then)

“Ye kyaa baa! Kyaa hogaya there ko” he started off in his “chaste” Mysore Urdu, forgetting that I did not speak or understand that language. I could still divine the gist of it. The wonder in his eyes spoke for him. I had a semblance of a masculine figure now in comparison to my, perhaps, 28-24-30 figure earlier.

Well, a little later I went to Bangalore again and my uncle promptly accosted me and asked me, “how are you and how is your constipation?”. It was then that I realised that I had not had an incident of that in the intervening year or so. I was amazed. (We do tend to take our good health or fortune for granted and crib when we lose it) I told him that I had not had it for a year. He looked me head to toe with a satisfied smile. He was genuinely happy and proud. He was in deed fond of me.

I have often wondered how he knew I was prone to constipation. Was he so ‘good’ a palmist?

I do not think so. He was, in fact, a body builder in his younger days. My father had actually seen him pull a car with a rope as exercise! I had seen him bend fairly formidable looking iron rods with his hands in his workshop. His understanding of the human body must have told him of my state as soon as he saw my palms. It used to be clammy, pale and had red spots.

Then on, I have never suffered that particular ailment again.

After all, it was my fault that I had constipation. I was not taking care of my own self!

So much for the power of palmistry . . .

Sphice of Life

There was this hoarding of Spice Jet Airlines, at the junction of Residency Road and M G Road near Mayo Hall. Perhaps, driven by the fear of incurring the wrath of the self-styled defenders of Kannada the hoarding had the name in Kannada too. It was as shown in the lower line in the picture above. Transliterated, it would be Sphice or Sfice. The line at the top shows the correct way of writing it.

I wrote to the marketing department of the company pointing out the error. I also asked them if the advertising agency's bills had been paid. I also wondered if the bill would have been paid if the same mistake had been made in the English version. I received no answer.

The self-styled defenders of Kannada blacken boards and hoardings in English but never boards which have bad or wrong Kannada. What a pity.

With no Comments

Karma and DNA

I read the obituary of Maharshi Mahesh Yogi with great interest. I too learnt TM popularised by him, in the seventies. I have practiced TM, off and on, and have benefited from it. That would be grist for the mill for another post.

What is of interest at the moment is the report that says "as told to Anubha Sawhney Joshi" by Deepak Chopra, about the passing away of the Maharshi.

It describes the incident of Deepak Chopra giving his blood to the Maharshi. Very interesting! The Maharshi at first refused to accept blood from Deepak Chopra because he did not want Chopra's Karma to flow into him. When Deepak Chopra convinced him that red blood corpuscles do not carry DNA, the Maharshi acceepted the blood.

So we carry our Karma in our DNA! That is news to me and am sure so is it to the thousands of people who work in the field of genetics.

What a load of rubbish!

Pranab and his Award

Padma Vibhushan Pranab Mukherjee said that there should be no room for controversy about is getting that award.

He is absolutley right. No room for controversy. It is WRONG that he was given the award.

To see the contrast, see the conduct of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad here.

Another similar story is that of the First Bharat Ratna awardee Sir M Vishweshwarayya. When the cabinet decided to honour him with that award, no one wanted to inform him! Because of his reputation as a man who did not mince words.

Prime Minister Nehru himself wrote to him and requested him to accept the award. True to form Sir M V wrote back sayaing that he did not want to accept that award if it curtailed his freedom in anyway to criticise Nehru's government if the need arose. Nehru, equally gracefully wrote back that it was for such upstanding ways of his that he was being given that award. It was only then that Sir. M V accepted the award.

Alas, unbelievable, in these days of "moral pygmies"

Measles?

I saw hoardings all over Bangalore proclaiming as above. It says Amma in Bangalore.

When I saw it the first time, I could see just the top part of the hoarding. My immediate reaction was one of consternation. Was there an epidemic of smallpox in Bangalore? Or was it chickenpox or measles? There is already gastroeneritis - cholera. Now this?

Then the bottom part of the hoarding became visible. It was announcing the presence a religious/spiritual person, popularly known as Amma.

Even though amma means mother and I call my mother amma, seen as a banner headline, it could mean what I first thought!

Uffff...

Einstein and Religion

Einstein is once supposed to have said something like, "Religion without science is blind, science without religion is lame". This is often quoted to say something like "See? Even Einstein said that religion is important. Most do not realise that Einstein had his own definition of religion, which was quite different from what most people usually take it to be.

Here is the original article: "Religion and Science" - New York Times Magazine, November 9, 1930

Here is an article in Kannada on the subject by my father, J R Lakshmana Rao, published in the January 25, 2008 edition of Prajavani.

The same article English, is coming soon. . . Here it is!

For your reading pleasure. . . .

Bombay?

There was this Englishman friend of mine, Peter, who visited Mysore frequently. He had fun by going to an autorickshaw and asking the driver "Bombay?". The drivers would melt, fidget and grin. Then he would pat the driver on the shoulder and tell him where he really wanted to go.

One day he met his match.

There was this autowallah, sitting in the drivers seat, with his legs crossed, reading a news paper. Peter goes and asks him: "Bombay?"

The driver unhurriedly uncrosses his legs as he folds his paper, with his eyes still on the job of folding the paper and says calmly, "Yes, Five Thousand Rupees". You should have seen Peter's face!

He recovered, guffawed and shook the driver by the hand and said, "OK, OK, for now, Saraswathipuram will do"!

Auto Wisdom

Autorickshaws in Bangalore are painted on their backs with names of the owners' children, names of movies, "Hi - somebody-or-the-other" and sometime some aphorism. Some of them gross, some are hilarious, some are even wise.

I love looking for them. Here is a gem that I saw today. For those who can not read the Kannada script, here is the transliteration as per the Baraha translitration aplication:

aaDu muTTad soppilla . .
aaTo nuggada galliyilla

It declares with pride that "there is no leaf that a goat does not eat (a famous proverb in Kannada) . . There is no alley that an auto does not elbow its way into!"

That is definitely pride in his work I admire it.

Note on "The Sensation"

My story The Sensation elicited many responses, in person.

In the years gone by, many self styled astrologers and palmists have tried to tell me my future. The common things that they said were that I would never step out of India and that my "Education" was complete and that I would never even acquire another certificate, let alone a degree.

I have been abroad several times and did get an M Tech (Reliability Engineering) from IIT Kharagpur.

So much for the power of these "arts"

Sign of the Times

The most irritating aspect of traffic in India is the incessant honking. I have a host of sticker ideas about it, which I have never executed, though.

I saw a great one the other day on the rear mudguard of a bike: "Honk, If you are an idiot"

I want to put up, "Honk away, I am deaf anyway!"

Dyspixia

At work, I belong to a group of people who read and analyse patent documents. Whenever I see a patent on the screen, the first thing I notice is the drawing on the first page. I identify the document from the picture. Quite often, if I come across the same document at a later date, I recognize it from its picture.

I found at least one colleague to whom the picture does not make any sense. She reads only the words - the title, abstract - on the first page. She says that she does not even register the picture. What a difference! I asked a few other colleagues and they confirmed that they too look at the picture first.

To describe her state or method or inability to "read" a picture, I invented a word - dyspixia - similar to dyslexia.

Before writing this post I put the word into Google and found one site! You put any gobbledygook and you find a hit?

God and the Gregorian calendar

I was listening to a charlatan on a popular Kannada TV Channel this morning. He was telling his audience that the dates of 8, 17 and 28 of the months, whose digits add up to 8 are inauspicious.


What Bunkum, I thought, when he claimed that “all natural disaster or calamities” occur on those days. He even said that the break up of the Reliance Industries was because it was incorporated on the 26th of some month. He also said that unhappy marriages, divorces are the results of weddings that took place on those days.


I did a small test. I looked for a list of natural disasters on Google. I opened the first one that came up and found that out of the ten listed, the numbers of only one added up to 8 – the Chernobyl disaster. The REMANING NINE DID NOT. Of course, this was a listing based on some yardstick chosen by the compiler of the list. But still it should have at least had more than one, don’t you think?


I looked for other lists and MOST of them did not meet this specification.


I wondered:


Why does god/fate follow the Gregorian calendar? Why not any of the innumerable other calendars available and followed for religious purposes? For example: the lunar calendar of some Hindus, the solar calendars of other Hindus, or the Islamic or Jewish or Chinese calendars? Does it mean that the Judeo-Christian god is the true god, perhaps?


Which was a bad day in the days before the Gregorian calendar came to be accepted as the universal calendar? The number of days was changed sometime in the calendars history. What happened to in those days. If disasters then too occurred on such days, did god /fate change to the new calendar along with humans?

When it is 26th here, elsewhere on the globe, it is still 25th or it is already 27th in some other places. Which is the correct date then?


India became a republic on 26, January. Does it qualify as a natural disaster or a political disaster or what?


India lost the Boxing Day test (starting on 26 Dec, 2007). National disaster? But Australia won. What?

Gut Feeling

Some researchers used an unusual (and controversial) method of predicting the impact of human activities on the environment. What he did was to interview scores of scientists in the concerned field, and out of it, for their predictions. The overwhelming opinion was that the impact is visible and unless contained will be disastrous in future.
However, one scientist gave a very guarded answer based on what he already knew and refused to go any further. The interviewer asked him what his ‘gut feeling’ (Bauchgefühl) was.
The scientist’s answer must be carved in stone and displayed in a prominent place, in all academic institutions.
His answer was:
All my life, I have trained myself to think with my head, based on facts. I refuse to start thinking with my guts now.
I have to admit that this is a free translation of what I read in German and that my German is not all that great. Still the message was unmistakable in its clarity and definiteness.
Kudos!

Drink, Don’t drive?

"Make love, not war” was the slogan of the flower power generation.

Now Bangalore seems to have a similar slogan. Drink, Don’t drive. At least that is what many hoardings in Kannada seem to do. They exhort you, “Madya pAna mADi, vAhana chalAyisabeDi”

Or, is my punctuation all wrong?

The Eigth Note

There was an article in The Hindu based on an interview with Ustad Amjad Ali Khan. It has a reference to a discussion on science, technology and music. The Ustad goes on to say that “It [science] simply lacks the human touch. Despite the innovations and mechanisation, science has not been able to push the envelope and discover new musical note,” Very true, did you say? Big deal, nor has Philosophy for instance. Nor has Sociology.

For that matter, even music itself has not created a new note!!!

Let alone a new note, compared to the already existing ragas, hardly any new ragas have been created. You talk about that to a musician and he is likely to say, “A life time is not enough to explore the possibilities of a handful of Ragas. Where is the need for new ones?” Ditto notes. See the Ustad’s own opinion on the subject.

The point is that some people feel threatened by science or technology. They want to take pot shots at science and/or technology without any provocation. This seems to be such a case. Those taken unawares, do believe the Ustad’s statement, I am sure, without asking further questions. This is akin to a hunter shooting a sleeping tiger. Even in that despicable so-called-sport there is are traditions and conventions that govern what is honourable!

Make no mistake. I am a great lover of music – all music. If it makes any difference, I have even played the Tambura (Tanpura) for the Ustad, for his concert in the Mysore Palace a couple of decades ago.

Timeless India?

Two pictures: One dated 1908 and the other, 2007. The latter, of course, is by an artist, inter alia, friend of mine - Jayanth Lakshman. He bemoans that things do not change in India even after a 100 years. I know a few souls who would be happy that it does not. I leave it to you.

Feral animals

A dear friend of mine, wrote this as a part of his mail. I told him that he should blog this. In this matter, at least, he is lazier than I. So here I am, putting it on my blog.

***************

Feral animals

Domesticated dogs have few functions to perform in their lives. Done well, they are appreciated and well taken care of by their masters. They obey and have this irresistible urge to please the master. They do it well until they grow in unmanageable number and turn feral. In Indian cities we find feral horses, donkeys and dogs in packs. Their pack behavior is different. Once removed from the need to be obedient and good they turn their attention to the basic need like existence, power in the pack and procreation.

For example once dogs form feral packs they behave differently to the Tommy, Caesar and Rocky we know of and turn to beings we no longer recognize as man’s best friend.

The pack usually consists of one Alpha Male, breeding females, few young and juvenile males and some older ones. They usually pick a territory and stick within. The pack members behave with each other with guarded respect until the season arrives. This is the time the Alpha wants to retain dominance fearing being usurped by a new comer. All of them vie for status of high order in the pack. They bicker, whine, bark and bite each other creating havoc. This is followed by constant urination to mark the territory and this activity is concentrated on the main land mark of the territory. It is very interesting to note the power shown by barking, fang exposure, rising of the tail and hair on the neck and back. Sometimes when the Alpha is busy showing off his power in the pack one unsuspecting juvenile finds a chance for him to copulate with the female. Hell gets loose. The males of the pack just go berserk and they all try to teach the smart young one a lesson. Barking, biting and utter terror become the order of the hour and suddenly one finds new blood being introduced by an unsuspecting juvenile when the Alpha and the rest bickered.

Do I hear someone say that this is kinda akin to what was happening inside and out of Vidhana Soudha in Bangalore since a few weeks?

Come on, I was only kidding.

****************

Is he really?

Super Power

I received a clever SMS. It read, “Kalam’s dream of our country becoming a superpower in 2020 has come true. We are the superpower in Twenty20”.

Clever, very clever.

I watched and enjoyed the tense end too. It was fun. When the last Pak wicket fell I whooped too. I drove out at 10:30 towards MG road to watch the celebrations. Got stuck (struck or ‘stuck up’ as most of us say!) in a traffic jam. The euphoria on display was and is unbelievable.

It is the fashion of the (political) day to demand the resignation of a minister, if not the whole ministry, in case of a misdemeanour – real or imaginary. So, I decided to join the bandwagon too when I saw the reports on the ‘victory’ parade of our ‘conquering heroes’ in which tens of thousands of people in Mumbai participated .

I hereby demand (ahem!) the resignation of the minister in charge of human resources. The fact that there are tens of thousands of people, in our most business-like city, have no better business is proof enough of his and his ministries failure?

BBC vs CNN

You might as well take note. This is one of the rare occasions when I admit something in favour of CNN vis a vis BBC.

Protests in our neighbouring country against the cruel, cynical military junta are in the news. CNN refers to the country as Myanmar and BBC insists on calling it Burma!!

(Post?) Colonial hangover?

‘Life’ Is What We Do Between Mobile Conversations?

One of my favourite (and perhaps a dangerous one at that) pastimes while on the road is to observe drivers and riders use their mobile phones. It invariably reminds me of the cartoon showing a tourist guide pointing to a statue of a ten handed god or goddess to a ‘phoren’ tourist and saying, “multitasking - it was invented in India”.

My favourite memory in this genre is that of a scooterist, with a young boy standing between his legs, a slightly older (taller) daughter between him and his corpulent wife on the pillion, she herself carrying a 3 year old child in her arms, driving through the busy St. Mark’s Road (Bangalore) at ‘peak hour’. A daunting exercise in itself, until you add carrying on a conversation on his mobile phone stuck between his tilted head and an awkwardly raised shoulder. Wow! Some courage!!

The line between courage and foolhardiness is a thin one indeed.

But the inspiration for this mini-post is what I saw today. A man toying with middle age, playing street cricket on one of the side streets near my house – with a mobile stuck between his head and left shoulder, waiting for a circa ten year old to deliver the ball. Alas I did not have a camera and my sketching is not good enough to present you a visual.

Good god!

I got the following pictures through e-mail. I was requested by the sender to forward the mail to everyone in my address book. Amazingly, it did not threaten me with dire consequences if I did not. That was a pleasant change from the norm - for such mails.

When I had read through the mail and seen the distressing pictures, I decided to do something better. I decided to post them on my blog, with this introduction. I am sure the original photographer would not mind. I thank him!

‘Better’ if only many more people see it than would read my mails. More importantly, none on my mailing list is likely to be one of the organisers of a Ganesha pandal. Hopefully, one of the visitors to my blog will actually read (“see the pictures”) the blog and influence the organisers into installing a smaller Ganesha and an unpainted one!

Unfortunately, I do not have pictures of the identical consequences of the Bangali Pooja. I am sure the Bangalis will draw the right parallels.

God in his own image

The picture above is the welcome arch for this years celebrations.

The first line has the name of the goddess chapalamma dEvi

and the second one plEgamma dEvi

Come summer many small temples prepare for special celebrations.

Many of these temples are of minor gods and goddesses or bhootas or devvas or daivas. Many of them represent local deities and are said to have specific powers. Whereas gods do not harm you even if you do not offer prayers to them or propitiate them in any manner, many of these minor gods are said to harm you if you do not treat them ”properly” periodically.

Many of these minor goddesses are said to unleash an epidemic of some dreaded disease if not propitiated. That is why perhaps, these local festivals always take place around summer when these epidemics are rampant. Perhaps, they were more so in the past than now.

In any case, there are deities that carry the names of the diseases they have in their power to unleash. These goddesses are referred to as ammas – mothers. At the same time, some of these diseases themselves are called amma. Measles and chickenpox are two examples. Smallpox, which is a ‘more virulent – “bigger” – version’ (I do not know if the pathogens that cause these are in any way related or even similar, but the symptoms definitely are. With smallpox, it could even be fatal whereas chickenpox rarely is) of chicken pox is called doDDa amma, doDDa being “bigger”.

These Ammas, which are said to have power over a particular disease, are known by those names too. daDaara (rashes/measles) Amma, doDDa amma (smallpox) and so on.

But now, we have Plague Amma (Kannadised as plEgu ammanavaru) too. Many do not believe this when I tell them that there is a plEgu amma’s temple. I being an atheist, all that I say about gods is suspect. However, there is in fact a temple of the plague amma in NR Colony in Bangalore. This summer I found one, hardly a kilometre from where I live – in Jayanagar 1st block, Bangalore. This post was triggered by the elaborate arrangements being made this year for the celebrations.

Does the fact that the word plague itself is used in plEgu amma mean that plague is a disease that is new to India? (relatively speaking, that is. 400 years ago, in this context is new. We apparently do not have a kannada name for plague and hence the usage of the ‘English’ word before amma?)

If it is so, what was this amma doing before Plague came to India and where? No idea.

Even though some religions claim that god created man in his own image, perhaps Ludwig Feuerbach was right when he said that man created god in his own image. If you are a theist, you may say that man gave his own image to god, so that he is more comprehensible. Why are most of these minor deities in charge of epidemics feminine Gods? As far as I know there are no appas (fathers) for any diseases.

Any ideas?

Lost Forever . . . .

People are happy that roads are getting better – wider, smoother and well laid out. We can’t resist the temptation of flaunting our new office complexes and tech parks to anyone who is interested. I myself work in a posh office but am ill at ease in it.

Look at the pictures above. Lovely place, is it not? To get to this place, travel towards Tumkur, from Bangalore, NH4. At Nelamangala, another road intersects the highway. Turn left here. This road goes to Taavarekere, I think. This road is pretty bad right now. If you travel about ten kilometres along this road, you will see this beautiful place to your left.

Get off your vehicle and explore the hillock. Climb the rocks. Explore the small cave.

Do all this as soon as you can or before the hillock disappears, forever.

Pictures never lie they used to say. That was before trick photography and computers. Now most photographs may be lying.

My photographs do not lie. They conceal. They conceal the harsh, bitter reality that to the left of the picture, outside the frame, is a quarry. Like a cancer it has already eaten into this lovely hillock. It will continue its inexorable gnawing and soon this hillock will be no more.

Many cancers are no longer as dreaded as they used to be. There is hope.

But for this hillock, there is no hope. This cancer called population explosion, greed, glitz and glamour, . . . . .

Sentinels from a Bygone Era

Have you seen such structures around your city? Of course, not if you are living in Bangalore, a city that seems to be running away from its yesterday towards an uncertain and unknowable tomorrow.

You see them near towns and villages all over Karnataka. They may be found elsewhere too, but I have not seen any.

Guess what they are?

They are stands on which, a weary villager carrying a head load of his wares to sell could unload it for a while - without assistance.

With hardly anyone to use them, these simple public conveniences are waiting to be pushed to the dustbin of history by the next road-widening project?

Whither Feminism? or Wither Feminism?

The Indian cricket team lost a game to Bangladesh. Then it went on to lose a game to Sri Lanka. In between they won a game against another team from another country - Bermuda? Bahamas? Barbados? So the Indian cricket team did not earn the right to participate in the next round of the cricket world cup -a “World Cup” consisting of teams from a dozen (or is it two?) or so countries where cricket is played at all. (A football world cup is a real World Cup since football is played in practically every country!)

Not a tragedy. I minor piece of news. But one newspaper called the first loss, “Disaster Strikes India”. Oh, get real!

Then there were protests or incidents across India. Protests against what? Whom? That was a bit of a tragedy. It only shows the immaturity of some people, apparently jobless or at least senseless – hopefully temporary. What is worse is that some newspapers and some TV channels made it the “main course” in what they dished out whereas what they “dished out” hardly deserved to be even hors d'oeuvre.

One of the newspapers showed a picture of some women (girls?) protesters from (Lucknow or was it Kanpur, really does not matter confirmed later to be Patna) ‘heaping insults’ on an extremely talented and apparently committed Indian cricketer Sachin Tendulkar, definitely past his youth and perhaps prime too. The form of protest? A poster of his, blackened in places and the girls are (posing for the benefit of the press photographers, obviously) making the Sachin in that poster wear bangles – a classic, abominable Indian method of insulting a man.

That is a tragedy.

Does it mean that those who wear bangles – women – are … what? Useless? Incapable? Weak? Unskilled? Unable to win? Or what? Why do these women have such a negative opinion of themselves?

Where is Feminism in India going? Whither Feminism? Or is it Feminism withered?

Self respecting women should protest against those women and also against the paper that published it, I think.

Shortcuts

Listen to any cricket talk and you hear the same phrases again and again. Whether it is the commentator or the winning captain or the man of the match.

It feels good to be “among the runs”. The pitch was “doing a bit”. “The boys”, it is always the boys. We needed “a partnership”. We have to “stick to the basics”. Go out and play my (his) natural game. I “concentrate on line and length”. The ball was “coming on to the bat” nicely. He was going through “a bad patch”. All he needs is one good innings. No footwork. Head not steady.

The list is quite long.

This gives me an idea. The ICC should publish a numbered list of such phrases. The post match interviewer would then ask his questions in numbers. The interviewee would reply in numbers too.

The players, tired after a hard struggle, would surely welcome this shortcut.

The newspapers will translate these numbers into words since you can’t expect all of us to have a copy of the ICC handbook.

We can even envisage a day when the newspapers will claim that so-and-so said such-and-such and that so-and-so will claim that he was misquoted or quoted out of context. He actually said fifteen and the journalist mistook it to be fifty. Or that a particularly inefficient journalist was in fact referring to an earlier edition of the handbook where as the interviewee was referring to the later edition.

Howzzat?

Not Quite Cricket

The cricket world cup is on and things connected with it look more and more bizarre. The cricket itself is normal but what happens off it is surreal. Yes, “Minnows” Bangladesh and Ireland defeating India and Pakistan is normal. Remember? “The glorious uncertainties of the game?”

India loses to Bangladesh and the effigies of the players are burnt and their houses attacked, even if it is ‘under construction’ like Dhoni’s.

Shift the scene. Anand wins a tournament and will be rated number one when the world standings are announced on the first of April. “Anand who?” did I hear?

If you heard that too, you have proved my point.

Can we find a reason or reasons or the public frenzy about India’s loss to Bangladesh and the violence that followed it? Part of the blame, perhaps the greater part of the blame goes to the media - both print and electronic. “Disaster strikes India”, proclaims one headline. Oh! Really?

The interminable and innumerable panel discussions on TV keep repeating themselves with inanities like “We are sports crazy nation”. Is that so? How many world champions have you produced? One. Exactly. And he answers to the name of Vishwanathan Anand. If he goes shopping in Bangalore, perhaps he will not be recognised. (Madras, ayyo, I mean Chennai, may be a different story. Being a ‘local’ international hero he is sure to be mobbed.)

The other point is about the word crazy. If we are, indeed, “crazy” about sports we should at least tone it down and not repeat it endlessly and reinforce it. Shouldn’t we?

There was this advertisement for matrimonial agency on the TV. It starts with Sports = Cricket. Do you agree? Hope not. But that is how ‘India’ acts. When I jog in the morning, I do not know the results of the previous night’s cricket match in which India had featured. I start my jog before the day’s newspapers are delivered. But I get the news as I jog because all the other walkers, joggers and the park bench occupants are talking of this. Age and sex no bar. The last time around I heard an old lady tell her fellow walker, “We should not have played thaaat badly”. I knew that “India had lost”. I mean the Indian cricket team had lost!

(I appreciate the old lady’s commitment to her morning walk though. She had apparently watched the match late into the night and had the conviction or will, not to miss her daily walk. Great!)

Now the latest thing on one channel is a tarot card reader! The Media is now strengthening pure superstition apart from whipping up frenzy about cricket. The tarot card reader is a master (or mistress) of obfuscation. She proclaimed earlier on that India might have a difficult day against Bangladesh. She of course did not say how difficult. Difficult enough to lose? She would not commit herself, would she? And the gullible (and incidentally pretty) hostess tells the tarot card reader that she was in fact right! Gimme a break!

Now you can understand the frenzy. Passion without reason.

Now before the match against another ‘minnow’ (who might make mincemeat of the Indian cricket team on the cricket field) the tarot card reader says that it is time for India to stop brooding over the last loss and concentrate on the next match. You do not need tarot cards say that, do you. The tarot card reader seems to know more about cricket than Mandira Bedi.

So my crystal ball says that (;--) ) for the next series Mandira would be dropped and this card reader would be on the panel!

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])

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!

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

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”)

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?

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.

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

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!

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?