BLOG OF LIONEL ARANHA

HAITUS & RETURN

2010-11-05T20:31:00.004+05:30

Its been too long since I last posted. There are no excuses; I should have found time to post. Many things have happened since I was last here. One, that stands out, is my return to TAPMI.

B Schools are heading for a crisis. My colleagues at the IIMs may not agree; but private B Schools are finding it difficult to survive. Moreover, Business Administration is fast turning out to be just another degree. Will there be a makeover? And when would it happen?

Another worrying factor is the fact that 85% of B School graduates aren't employable - they just do not possess the skills sets for the workplace. I have always maintained that student particpants have to be educated in life skills; as what they take to their workplace is 100% of their personality & probably just over 20% of what they are taught in class. Isn't it time the powers be take stock and suggest changes?

Will be back soon with more. Until then, wish you all a Very Happy Diwali!

ALONG CAME OCTOBER

2009-10-05T08:36:00.003+05:30

Hi,

Its been a while since I last blogged. No particular reason, perhaps I was lazy; lazy to blog. Honestly, I have been more than active on facebook & have just taken a liking to twitter. But from February, when I last blogged, to October, many things of international, national, local & personal importance have taken place. An afro-American is the President in the United States of America, the UPA came back to power in India, the fringe groups have a free run of my hometown & my wife & I have had twins!

Daniel Luke & Lisa Maria arrived, a little ahead of time, on June 18^th 2009. Daniel came out into this beautiful world at 10.46 a.m. (local time) and Lisa a minute later. They are 3 months old now and have become the center of attention ever since they arrived. My wife Ann and I knew that we would be having twins, but we weren’t told their sex. Imagine our joy and surprise when they arrived. We had waited too long for this gift of life!

A baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, bankroll smaller, home happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten, and the future worth living for!

Daniel & Lisa are coming along fine and each day is a new learning experience both for them and us.

On the work front, I have been busy teaching. And this time I had the opportunity to teach Financial Management to starry eyed youngsters at Symbiosis Institute of Business Management, Bangalore. I enjoyed the stint. Some of the students were brilliant, some had to be prodded along & a few lost the script! Life’s tough & it just got tougher for the younger generation with recession and all that follows it. As I write this blog, I am hopeful that the economies of the world will recover and life will be easier in the days to come!

I promise to be back with my blogs; a few are in the pipeline and should be ready for publication soon.

Until then, good bye & take care!

MANGALORE MUSINGS

2009-02-19T18:12:00.004+05:30

(How green was my valley……)

I am sad and frustrated.

I am sad that my hometown, where I was born and bred, has been taken over by lumpen elements, made up of unemployed school dropouts, bus conductors, auto drivers etc., who, among others, are led by a 4th std failed 40 year old man whose fetish is to see young girls wet their pants when he and his ilk threaten them!

I am frustrated that people who talk and write about it fail to understand the situation in its totality and get easily side-tracked by lesser issues.
Just the other day, I read in a respectable newspaper “some young men took law into their own hands and beat up girls at a pub in Mangalore”. Come again, which law was that?

Look, this was a case of molestation, assault & battery, and outraging the modesty of a woman. And most importantly, it was a case of trampling on the liberty of an individual.

The events as they unfolded and narrated to me by a person in the knowhow are as follows:
The pub in question was paying protection money to a bunch of goons who owed allegiance to a certain outfit called Shri Ram Sene. (The allegiance was for the sake of identity and it served as protection from prosecutions) Considering that the membership in the group was steadily increasing; what with the downturn and all that, the leader upped his monthly payment by a whopping 250%. The management of the pub who too were feeling the heat of the downturn refused payment.
That infuriated the leader. So he sent his boys to teach the management a lesson. Knowing full well that on a Saturday afternoon college students and that too girls would be present; the rowdies descended on the place like a committee of vultures. Seeing the girls, who were from well to do families; and knowing full well that they would never be able to get close to any of them otherwise, they cornered them, groped them, pulled their hair, then chased them and beat them up; all this was very well captured and documented by the media who were called to the place on the pretext that illegal activities at the club were being exposed. Someone called the cops, who arrived within 10 minutes (It is alleged that the cops too were being paid protection money) and in the next 10 minutes the first culprit was apprehended. Within the next 2 hours five ruffians were netted and were treated to a wide array of police entertainment.
Then some media person uploaded the videos on to youtube.com. This was seen all over India and the world; and then the national press descended. And the whole issue was hijacked. The founder of the Shri Ram Sene, a certain Pramod Muttalik Desai was made famous overnight. Had he had spent crores of rupees, he wouldn’t have got even a fraction of the publicity that he got from the national press. Since the lumpen elements owed allegiance to the Shri Ram Sene and were identified with Hindutva; the state BJP govt instructed the cops to go slow. A wily lawyer, who is a prominent BJP party- member was sent to defend them. And so began the intimidation of the victims and the witnesses; which ensured that no FIR was filed. So the cops treated the hoodlums with new found respect. That gave the lumpen elements the upper hand. Their bail plea was supported by the public prosecutor too, who is appointed by the state. And so the rowdies are free and the whole nation is divided in its opinion. And pink has become the flavour of the season.

The issue of stifling a constitutional right, nay trampling it, was swept under the carpet and the issue of pub culture took centre stage. Fork tongued politicians harped on the alarming rise of pub culture; but did nothing to revoke the licences of the pubs. We needn’t scratch our heads to see why; around 5000 people, out of a population of 6 lakhs, frequent clubs, pubs and restaurants in Mangalore and it is the concern of the party in power to play to the galleries which can ill afford to visit a pub, while at the same time ensure the liquor revenues keep spilling in. Incidentally it has been reported that the liquor department has been the only revenue department which has not fallen short of its target collections this fiscal year.
A certain Union Minister was vociferous in her opinions and said that Mangalore was being ‘talibanised’. This raised the hackles of the Mayor of Mangalore (and only 14 others) and he filed a case on the Minister. That he has more pressing matters to attend to, including the flawed Self Assessment Property Tax which has been incubating under his incumbency, did not deter him. (Shows how one can be swayed by politics rather than governance.) This prompted her to say that she is ‘amazed and amused’! And so am I together with being disgusted by the likes of him.
Meanwhile, the victims are scarred & scared. Witnesses are stifled. The hooligans with their saffron headbands, scarves and lungis go around intimidating people; now that they enjoy the patronage of a fascist government. A minor girl, victim of of a thrashing by these moral police for being in the company of a boy of another community, committed suicide a few days ago unable to bear the humiliation. Once again her tormentors are roaming free.

I have been sceptical about these elements from 2006. I had, in fact in one of my blogs, clearly stated that ‘the city don’t know what the city is getting’. Uneducated and unemployed youth searching for an identity are always dangerous. And if they are handled by fascist forces, then even God wouldn’t be able to help Mangalore.

I am amazed at the reactions of some of my friends. They seem to have temporarily taken leave of their senses. The girls are now being blamed for being at the pub. The victim is further victimised. Mind you if such of my friends were parents of the victims they would have been singing a different tune.

I am sorely disappointed in the state government and more so in the Chief Minister and the Home Minister. The old adage ‘People who stay in glasshouses should undress in the dark’ is lost on them. The Chief Minister is accused of murdering his wife because she did not approve of his amorous adventures. He had a live-in relationship with a woman then, which he has carried a step further now by making her a minister in his cabinet, and in many public appearances she does give the impression that she is his spouse. The Home Minister, famous for his ‘half-kidnap’ remark when the local MLAs wife left him, has aided and abetted a suspicious death (that of the aforesaid lady, the wife of the MLA).

I shudder to think: What if our youth stop going to pubs; but have live-in relationships instead and knock of protesting wives and then go on to govern us?
As stated earlier, this is election year and also a crucial year for the Indian economy as we are plunging into a crisis of epic proportions.
When I stand in the queue to vote I will ponder:
• I want unifiers, and not those who divide.
• People want offices to work in; there are enough temples where one can pray.
• I want a government that is proactive
• And more importantly a govt that is tough on extremism of all kinds.

If I think that the candidates cannot deliver the above, I will invoke section 49-O of the 'conduct of election rules 1961'which states that If an elector, after his electoral roll number has been duly entered in the register of voters in Form-17A and has put his signature or thumb impression thereon as required under sub-rule (1) of rule 49L, decided not to record his vote, a remark to this effect shall be made against the said entry in Form 17A by the presiding officer and the signature or thumb impression of the elector shall be obtained against such remark.

Not that it matters to the political class........ but perhaps it will matter to you my friend?

Justice Denied?

2008-12-29T22:08:00.003+05:30

It was shocking to say the least. Not that it was uncommon – Girl spurns the overtures of a youth, and he throws acid on her. It was a heinous and a cowardly way of venting anger. This incident happened in Warangal, Andhra Pradesh, two girls were victims of an acid attack. It is a grim battle ahead for these girls. The perpetrators, three young men in their twenties were nabbed on the complaint lodged by the girls & their parents. A few days later all three of them were killed in an ‘encounter’ by the police. Very shocking indeed!
Human rights activists point out that the ‘encounter killings’ were done to cover up for the laxity on the part of the police to take cognizance of a complaint by the one of the girls, Swapnika, and her parents. In October, the main accused had set on fire a scooter belonging to the father of the Swapnika who had spurned him. He did this to terrorise the family. A police complaint was lodged, the police arrested the accused; filed a case of arson under IPC but set him free when he paid a fine of Rs. 110. The victim’s family alleges that bribes were paid to set the accused free. The father had then complained to the higher authorities; but it fell on deaf ears; probably the police did not perceive a threat. Perhaps emboldened by the lack of action on the part of the police, the main accused and his friends threw acid on the girls. When the attack did happen, it must have jolted the police, who it is now alleged, arranged the fatal ‘encounter’ as a cover up.
People applauded and the main accused’s father refused to claim his body for cremation saying that his son deserved the treatment meted to him.
In the past year or so, it is now reported that the Warangal police have ‘neutralised’ at least three other criminal elements.
Two wrongs do not make a right. !
Encounter killings, are common place in police parlance. Criminal elements are eliminated swiftly and many of you will agree that in this manner justice is meted out swiftly!
But worrying issues crop up.
The modus operandi of the ‘encounter killings’ is simple, the arrested person is taken to a desolate place & gunned down in cold blood. Then an elaborate attempt is made to inform the public that the arrested/accused tried to escape and in the process snatched a gun from a police officer, shot at the police, and in retaliatory firing the arrested/accused was killed. Police friendly media then do the reporting with convincing pictures. One of the police party even feigns an injury!
It is now known that in many such killings, the personnel of the police force were paid to carry out the killings; either by rivals or by rich & powerful patrons whose beans would have spilled if the arrested criminal element squealed!
And in some cases, innocents were apprehended, and then ‘killed’; a sure and safe way of murdering a person!
Since these criminal elements are a menace to society & knowing that the prevailing justice system (not the law) may set him free, we tacitly approve of such killings – a sure sign of a society frustrated with its systems.
But instead of applauding, shouldn’t we be protesting?
We should protest against the corruption ridden systems & lethargic procedures that make a mockery of the laws that govern us.
Each one of us has to have recourse to law. If we were to dispense justice through ‘encounter’ killings it would be easy to eliminate people whom we do not like or see eye to eye. All that we have to do is have them arrested and then bribe the police to do the death rites!
We live in a civilised society. However heinous the crime, the justice system should prevail!

P.S. Twenty one-year-old final year engineering student Swapnika died early on Wednesday,31st December 2008, three weeks after suffering an acid attack that left her with 55 per cent fourth degree burns.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH?

2008-12-13T20:01:00.005+05:30

Where were you on the night of 26th November?

I was busy packing my bags. I was leaving for Patna on 27th morning. A friend called to alert me about some ‘gang war’ that was happening at Café Leopold. I switched on the TV and got sucked into the world of terrorism.

In October, I had spent some time in Mumbai, to be precise - South Mumbai. My wife had accompanied me, and we had a great time in that part of Mumbai. Breakfast would be at Café Leopold; and I would wind a long day with a beer at Café Leopold. The promenade in front of the Taj was our walking space in the evening. A bite a Ling’s Pavilion just behind Taj where we were served by Mangalorean waiters, was another place we liked to visit. It came as a shock - a month earlier and who knows; could we have been involved?

Come to think of it, India is a soft target. Everyone, from the petty thief to the sophisticated terrorist knows that our law enforcement agencies work with equipment that dates back to the 1970s and we have a system that is corrupt and abused. The hierarchy in the command chain prevents quick decision making. It was waiting to happen and it did!

The TV anchors and reporters went berserk! There they were like headless chickens, shrill and loud, endlessly repeating the same things over and over again with no real method to their coverage. The young amongst them waxed eloquence minute after minute, thrusting mikes under anybody willing to talk and then analyzing it threadbare. The older amongst them decided to dictate our response -light a candle, hold a vigil & denounce the politicians. All the reporting was only about the Taj & all the time images flashed of only the ‘famous five’ who died. The reporting was so flawed and unfairly biased. Yours truly, indignant & exasperated, sent a message to one of the TV channels which read: Does one have to be famous to be mourned? What about the 56 who perished at the railway station. Why do you pick a theme, thrash it limp, and then forget it?

Politicians were ducking for cover. That breed of rudely insensitive & shamelessly selfish netas was being targeted. Not being trained in the fine art of subtle speech, they were contracting the famous foot-in-the-mouth disease. They are yet to realise that we are masters of our unsaid words and slaves of those we let slip out!

After the furore came the calm. Candle light vigils, speeches, blogs et al are slowly but surely drying up. People are back to where they were. Mumbai looks like a bad dream. Many questions remain unanswered. Prominent among them :
1. Where there just 10 terrorists; 2 to a place?
2. Who helped them?
3. What was the objective of hostages if there was no demand to be met?
4. Who was staying in the room that served as the control room for the terrorists at the Taj?
5. There was an inordinate delay in the response time. Within such time, Taj & Trident could have been blown up. Did the plans of the terrorists backfire?

On 27th I travelled to Patna. This was my first trip. I cannot say if it has improved or not. The improvement or lack of it, according to me depends to a large extent on the people who live there. Patna is a sprawling city where filth & squalor co exist. Poverty is striking. It has scope for improvement and people live in hope.

The taxi driver who took me around was a treasure trove of information. He was quite critical of his fellow Biharis; lamenting that progress was either stifled or postponed by the ruling class. If time permitted he wanted to take me on a tour of the place. I have assured him that on my next visit, I may decide to do just that!

He dropped me off at the airport for my return journey. As I reached for my bags, he said, “Patna is more peaceful than Mumbai”. He paused, probably for effect, and then said “I will pick you up on 15th evening Sir”. He got into his taxi and with a final wave of his hand he drove off. I must have been smiling to myself as I walked into the terminal to await my flight!

ESSENCE OF LIFE, DENIED!

2008-09-16T21:23:00.011+05:30

(This post is written as a response to the large number of messages, calls & SMSs that I have received over the past 3 days enquiring about the fresh round of violence that has gripped Mangalore. The views expressed in this post are made solely for the purpose of finding a way out of this alarming situation that faces all Mangaloreans)

The essence of life is to move forward.

What happened in Mangalore on the morning of September 14th was contrary to the essence of life. We have now moved backwards by, at least, a hundred years.

It all began with a leaflet/booklet* purported to have been published and circulated by a Christian group called ‘New Life’. The ‘New Life’ is a break away group of former Catholics & Protestants. They believe in evangelization and try to lure people to their flock; at times with the power of money. Their main targets are actually Catholics and Protestants themselves. They are of the opinion that belief in Jesus Christ only can bring salvation to mankind.
* The booklet, entitled 'Satya Darshini', was originally written in Telugu & then was translated to Kannada.The accusers haven't produced the copies to the district authorities, nor have they been able to tell the authorities the location where the leaflet has been found.

It is said that the book derided the Hindu Gods.

If this is so, I condemn the booklet in the strongest of terms. Religion is personal and precious to each individual and no one can ridicule, deride or insult any religion.

The Bajrang Dal, which has always maintained that the Christians convert Hindus; and are vehemently opposed to conversions, seized the moment and took law into their own hands. A helpful BJP Government at the helm of administrative affairs in Karnataka encouraged their cause and they proceeded to attack & destroy the ‘New Life’ centers and prayer halls all across Mangalore, Udupi & Chikmagalur Districts on Sunday morning. They beat the people up and destroyed furniture and desecrated the places of worship.

In Mangalore, in addition to the 'New Life' centres, a Catholic convent was also attacked. A gang of 8-10 youth walked into the chapel of the convent and proceeded to smash the altar, desecrate the Blessed Sacrament and break the legs and hands of a statue of a crucified Jesus Christ. This was followed by attacks on other churches in and around Mangalore.

The Catholics of Mangalore took to the streets in protest. What followed was mayhem. The agitated youngsters, unmindful of Section 144, protested on the streets in front of various churches in Mangalore the next day. Mangalore ground to a halt on Monday. A partisan Police force, angry at being stoned & egged on by some members of the Bajrang Dal, systematically quelled the protest of the indignant Catholics by brutal force using lathis, stones and tear gas,(even women & children were not spared) in the process arresting scores of Catholic Youth for violating section 144 of the IPC.

Then a farce was played out before millions of Television Viewers. The Bajrang Dal called a press conference and took the onus for the attacks & warned of more attacks to follow; a jubilant looking Home Minister openly approved the acts of the Bajrang Dal and played down the attacks on the places of worship. The state Bajrang Dal convener, while taking onus for the attacks, openly warned Christians not to resist the atrocities of his men, else more would follow; and he still runs a free man. A partisan Chief Minister visited Mangalore on Monday; shed crocodile tears and promised to repair the places of worship with the tax payer’s money. His ire was directed to people who are engaged in conversions. He skirted the issue of the attacks on places of worship. The minister in charge of the District pretended that he was illiterate – he had not read newspaper reports nor seen the Television coverage of the Bajrang Dal press conference wherein the leader had taken responsibility to the attacks, and denied the hand of the Bajrang Dal in the attacks. So much for democratic governance.

On Tuesday, a delegation of Congress leaders descended on Mangalore and shed copious tears. Every single politician has descended on Mangalore, like vultures actually, looking for someway of extracting mileage from the incident. For the politician, building up support among the people on the basis of good governance is a far more arduous task than carving out electoral bases on the basis of divisive politics.

In response to the protest by Catholics, another outfit called the Sri Ram Sena called for a bundh on Tuesday. An uneasy calm has settled over Mangalore as I write this post. What I had feared most has come alive.

Time and again I have warned my friends that a day will come when Mangalore will observe a bundh every other day; not out of solidarity but out of fear!

It is tragic, to say the least, that a few hundred youth can hold lakhs of people to ransom.

What is happening out here?

One must go down to the underbelly of Mangalore & one goes directly to the root of the problem. The economically backward, be it the Hindus, Muslims or the Christians, have to face up to a problem. Their youth are just not employable. They lack quality education and skills that would have made them employable. So there you have it; a large population of frustrated and unemployed youth.

As Karl Marx once said ‘Religion is the opium of the People’; the last resort of these people is religion. You don’t need special skills to grow into a fanatic. Slowly and surely these youth are proving to be a malaise; refusing to go away.

I have had opportunity to travel to the hinterlands of Mangalore. I have met with these youth groups. They too have dreams, ideas and plans; but there is no one listening. The educational institutions in these places impart superficial education. The youth grow up with an absence of the breadth of knowledge. They haven’t mastered the language of business – English. Their soft skills haven’t been honed. They are languishing; easy prey to wily politicians & religious leaders. Keeping them unemployable helps the cause of these charlatans.

Unless we Mangaloreans come together to sort out these issues, we are doomed. No industrialist would want to set up business in a place which observes frequent bundhs.

It is time for Mangaloreans of every faith to commence a meaningful dialogue on religion. It is important to respect each others religion and understand that only when we co exist in peace can we build prosperity. The youth of Mangalore have to be made employable. And in all these endevours, it is important to keep all selfish politicians at bay.

P.S. On September 19th, at around midnight, the Police, bowing to pressure from all quarters, finally arrested the State Bajrang Dal convener. He has been remanded to judicial custody.
On September 30th, the VHP, bowing to pressure from the BJP, asked the convener to relinquish his post. As if on cue, the state government slapped 7 different cases on the scapegoat!
Meanwhile a chastened State Govt has decided to conduct a judicial probe into the incident.

AUGUST MUSINGS

2008-08-25T21:17:00.001+05:30

Here I am, sitting in my office, wondering what to do next, when I realize that it’s been a while since I posted on my blog.

Indians had a reason to celebrate at the Olympics this time. Three brave and dedicated souls excelled at the games to bring us a few medals. A silent, but sure, start to what I hope will be a sports revolution, and an indication that people are finally willing to look beyond Cricket.

The reaction of the Government was typically knee-jerk! A spate of prizes were announced after the win was recorded. A well coordinated effort would have been to announce prizes to winners in advance, so as to act as an incentive. Or was the Government convinced that its citizens would never win a medal at the games?

The monsoon is receding. It has been erratic this year. When it should have rained, it stayed away. When it did come, it came with a vengeance; floods that caused destruction and took away lives. Roads in my town, Mangalore, are in a pathetic shape; the potholes resemble craters. And as in the past, this time too, it is the same portion of the road that bears the onslaught - year after year. The authorities fill the potholes with stones and mud and people of Mangalore, get a free session of break-dance on these roads. Why don’t they ever learn, year after year? Do we complain? We do! Do we complain enough? Perhaps not. Does anybody listen? None or perhaps they don’t care.

Independence Day has come and gone. White clad politicians, white being the colour of purity, paid respect to the nation and mouthed the same old rhetoric. Some citizens celebrated while others introspected. I belong to the latter category and so I listed out points to ponder. Coming from a small town which is fighting in vain to be a city, I have identified my areas of concern. Firstly, communalism & all that follows it has raised its ugly head and like the many headed hydra refuses to be silenced. Unemployment levels are rising at an even pace; (if only development would record as steady a growth). The quality of education is falling; students are growing up with a near absence of breadth of knowledge; whatever is imparted to them is very superficial. Corruption is rampant and growing exponentially. The schism between the ‘have’ and the ‘have-not’ is expanding. Chaos, disguised as “development”, reigns supreme.

Much like the Samsung advertisement, I ask, Next is what?

A COSTLY SLAP (OR HOW TO LOSE RS. 3 CR IN A JIFFY!)

2008-05-08T17:34:00.003+05:30

Recently, a cricket crazy nation, (and a crazy Board for Control for Cricket in India) went overboard to ‘protect’ a certain member of the BCCI team, Mr. H. Singh, against the ‘tirades’ of certain members of the Australian cricket team. The media was gung ho about the whole thing – they had some ‘stuff’ that they could milk all through the day for weeks to come. The whole country stood by the ‘pious’ Mr. H. Singh, conveniently sweeping all his misdeeds of the past under the carpet so to say, the BCCI going to the extent of threatening to call of its team’s tour of Australia.

A few months prior to these incidents, a certain Mr. S. Shanth, once again a member of the BCCI cricket team was proving to the world, that Indian cricketers are no pushovers. To the cheers of cricket crazy fans (and some rabid commentators) he was teaching the opposition a lesson or two on sledging; where as to moderates such as me, he was just being obnoxious for the sake of being so!

Sledging has been around as long as the game of cricket has been around. The Brits would have treated cricket as a gentleman’s game; but in the subcontinent it was far from it. There have been instances where opposition teams have fought pitched battles with wickets & bats doubling up as arms and ammunitions. Team members have been bludgeoned; some losing their lives – even the umpires have not been spared.

But when it came to these two ‘gentlemen’ we supported them with gusto, (in what I thought were antics.) Anybody who did not do risked being called unpatriotic. (I have tried in vain to explain that ones love, or lack of it, for cricket and the cricketers does not define patriotism).

Then there was a slap - Mr. H Singh’s response to Mr. S Shanth’s local sledging!

Mr. S Shanth wept with the media capturing it and setting it as the numero uno headline of the day for many days to come!

Next day Mr. S Shanth maintained in front of the national media that it was a misplaced handshake, shrugged the whole thing off insisting that it was a personal thing and that Mr. H Singh was like an elder brother & so on. But he took care to mention to his state media that it was not a slap but a slugfest! (I imagine with the raising of eyebrows, lungis too were raised in God’s own country!)

What followed was the brand of comedy only BCCI can dish out. Mr. H Singh found himself poorer by 3 cr for the slap & Mr. S Shanth was given a mild warning. Mr. H Singh is now the villain of the piece. Taking refuge some where in Punjab, the ‘bad boy’ of Indian cricket must be wondering what went wrong?

What went wrong indeed? For this I turned to the cricket aficionado in my office, my very dependable Mr. Lawrence. (If one was to consider me as Bertie Wooster, then Lawrence would be Jeeves!)

In his deep voice I was treated to a threadbare analysis of the incident and its aftermath. The truth is plain and simple – When Mr. H Singh was at ‘it’ in Australia the BCCI and the country stood by him (though everyone who follows the game knows that H Singh can be obnoxious) showing a misplaced solidarity. But when he showed his true colours on home soil, he was abandoned, branded a pariah and banished for sometime – all this for making the BCCI and the mere mortal, die-hard, cricket fans look like fools!

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS.

2008-05-06T21:36:00.002+05:30

It’s been a long while since I last wrote on my blog.

There have been many enquiries on my long silence.

I haven’t been writing for many reasons; prominent among them being:

I just could not bring myself to write – writer’s block or plain fatigue?
I was anxious to finish, furnish and move into my new apartment

Since March 20^th, we have a new address:

402, Shivadeep Residency,
Shivabagh,
Kadri,
Mangalore.

We moved into our new apartment, after a delay of approximately 6 months & we are loving it!

There is a popular saying in Kannada:

‘Maduve maadi nodu,
Mane katti nodu.’

Loosely transalated, it means ‘get married and see, build a house and see’; literally it means that the two tasks are difficult, complicated & frustrating!

It was an experience for my wife and me as we watched with a feeling of helpless ness as all dates & deadlines that we had set were systematically demolished by labourers, carpenters, painters and their ilk.

And I learnt that in the ‘unorganised’ sector of building construction, ‘anything’ is possible.

The labour class in our country has been exploited. But slowly and surely, they are striking back, not by negotiations to improve their lot, but by sulking, absenting from work & bullying the contractor/building in parting with more wages. They are breeding incompetence and bleeding the contractor/builder. Does one deserve the other?

Ultimately it is the user - the apartment/house owner, who suffers with the delay & at times the poor quality of work.

It’s been a month since we moved in. The builder has yet to hand over the building; his gang of incompetent supervisors are scanning the building for defects to rectify & while at it they are taking their own sweet time!

We are still looking forward to having all our friends over for a celebration.

Meanwhile I plod the steps to the builder’s office to enquire as to when he & his ‘gang’ would quit the building so that we could have a celebration with our family and friends.

HIBISCUS - A PHOTO ESSAY

2007-11-12T20:33:00.000+05:30

Hibiscus, or rosemallow, is a large genus of about 200–220 species of flowering plants, native to warm temperate, subtropical and tropical regions throughout the world. The genus includes both annual and perennial herbaceous plants, and woody shrubs and small trees.

The leaves are alternate, simple, and ovate, often with a toothed or lobed margin.

The flowers are large, conspicuous, trumpet-shaped, with five or more petals, ranging from white to pink, red, purple or yellow, and from 4-15 cm broad.

Many species are grown for their showy flowers or used as landscape shrubs.

One species of Hibiscus, known as Kenaf is extensively used in paper making. Another, roselle, is used as a vegetable and to make herbal teas and jams (especially in the Caribbean).

In Latin America, the drink is known as jamaica (drink) and is quite popular. It is made from calyces of the roselle plant.

In Egypt and Sudan, roselle petals make a tea named after the plant, karkade.

The Hibiscus is used as an offering to Goddess Kali and Lord Ganesha in Hindu worship.

Hibiscus, especially white hibiscus is considered to have medicinal properties in the Indian traditional system of medicine, Ayurveda.

The natives of southern India use the Red hibiscus for hair care purposes.

The red flower and leaves, extracts of which can be applied on hair to tackle hair-fall and dandruff on the scalp, is used to make hair protective oils. A simple application involves soaking the leaves and flowers in water and using a wet grinder to make a thick paste, and used as a natural shampoo.

Dried hibiscus is edible, and is often a delicacy in Mexico.

The Hibiscus rosa-sinensis is the national flower of Malaysia.

The ma‘o hau hele is the state flower of Hawai‘i.

The Hibiscus syriacus is the national flower of South Korea.

The Native Hibiscus is a national emblem of the Stolen Generation of indigenous peoples in Australia. Its colour denotes compassion and spiritual healing.

Source: Wikipedia

Flowers: The Greenhouse Nursery, Mannagudda, Mangalore

Photos: Lionel Aranha

Each flower is a soul blossoming out to nature

- Gerard De Nerval (French Poet, Essayist & Transalator)

BEFORE I SAY GOODBYE.......

2007-10-19T07:18:00.000+05:30

A friend, in passing, asked me what I would like to do before I die.
That got me thinking. What is it that I would like to do before I leave this world?

I have always wanted to author a book. After several false starts, I am still pondering my next move; and the priority improves every time the Booker Prize is announced.

I want to get a PhD. Some of my friends are amused and want to know why? If you are into teaching and do not possess a PhD, no matter what, the PHD wallahs consider you a pariah!

I want to see the world; not all of it but some of my favorites. I want to visit Egypt & experience the pyramids, travel to South America and see the ruins of Macha Picchu – to mention a few. I want to travel on the Orient Express; closer home I want to travel on the Darjeeling Toy Train & the Palace on Wheels!

I want to do a 2-day cruise in the Arabian Sea – just of the coastline of Mangalore. (Love to watch what Mangalore looks like from the sea)

This may sound crazy, but I want to meet God and over a cup of tea ask him a few pointed questions. (Let me put it this way – I want to put God in a spot of bother) Equally important for me to meet the Devil too and grill him!

Speaking of tea meetings, I would like to meet the Pope, Bill Gates, Osama Bin Laden, Amitabh Bachchan, Oprah Winfrey & Jerry Seinfeld and speak to them – length of time, not more than 20 minutes!

I would like to make the world a better place to live in. (Can I get rid of the evil politicians? Poverty? Corruption?) I want people to show more compassion. I want to improve the quality of education. I want to touch lives. I want to make a difference.

I want to anchor my own show on Television a la Oprah Winfrey.

I have always tried to make people laugh. I want to continue to do that.

I want to own a small place up in the mountains – a sort of a retreat, to which I can retire when things get out of hand.

I want to make plenty of money and then give it all away. Coffins do not have linings to stuff your money into!

Sounds far fetched? I like exercising my Grey Cells …..

Now that you have read it, get back to whatever you were doing…….

And don’t forget to make your own list!

We live only once!

‘…..And when my work shall be done in this world, O King of kings, alone and speechless shall I stand before thee face to face.’

- Rabindranath Tagore

THE VIGILANTE!

2007-09-24T15:48:00.001+05:30

(The silent crossing over of Democracy to Mobocracy)

On the evening of January 11^th 2005, my bus from Manipal to Mangalore met with a minor accident. Though the bus drivers’ on this road are maniacs, this time around, the driver of the bus in which I was traveling was innocent. It was a funny accident. The bus in front had stopped to pick a passenger - a seasoned fisherwoman. Since its rear warning lights weren’t functioning, the driver of my bus noticed it too late. He braked; but the weight of the bus took it forward and we nudged the bus in front. The seasoned fisherwoman who was taking all precautions to make a grand, albeit slow, entry from the rear door was knocked down. She was petrified and started bawling so loudly that it brought a huge crowd of locals. The passengers of our bus melted in the crowd. I espied the conductor; the pint-sized guy was boarding a bus and scooting. He made a strange gesture to me as he left; more like the manner in which the umpire at the recently introduced 20:20 cricket matches announces a Free Hit!

I was left with the driver. There was one other passenger, an engineering student, who opted to stay back. The youth among the crowd began manhandling the driver. While one caught him by the collar another tried to slap him; the young student and me jumped into the fray and pulled away the driver from the youth. On the background, I could still here the wailing fisherwoman. That was when I blew my top! I shouted at the youth to first help the lady and then come back to sort out the issue. The youth were now confused but one among them, a mean looking guy, was drawling that there was nothing wrong with the lady but the driver need to be taught a lesson. Absurd!

Somehow, we managed to extricate the driver. A flash of a crisp one hundred note to the lady helped her on her feet. She was bruised; we managed to get her on an auto and to the local primary health center. The driver we whisked to the police station. The mean looking guy accompanied us. But at the police station he refused to file any complaint. He simply told me that all he wanted was beat the driver up! He did not believe in any law! I was being introduced to the new league of Indian Justice! The new plainclothes superheroes! The Vigilante! They hunt in packs and do not wait for court trials! Sometimes the mere apian bite of the new breed of ‘sting’ news reporters galvanizes them into action!

Vigilantes have been around for a while now. Even in the days of yore, people who stepped on the wrong side of law were paraded in the streets, either seating backwards on Asses or dragged behind carts. Their faces would have been blackened and the public would stone them or spit on them; publicly shaming them for their alleged offence. This behaviour had the tacit approval of the king. One could say that the comic book heroes Batman, Spiderman & Superman are also vigilantes. They act in the interest of the larger good of the society. Perhaps today’s vigilante feels that they are acting, in the same manner, to protect mankind by fighting for truth and justice.

Many of you would have grimaced when you saw on TV the footage of a man being tied to a motorcycle and dragged on a kaccha road after being brutally beaten by a mob. His offence was that he had stolen a chain from a lady. I am of the opinion that the presence of the TV cameras spurred our plainclothes super heroes to try this crude form of punishment. It was also the TV cameras that captured the rather well rehearsed storming of an apartment by the ‘Bai’ brigade in Mumbai. Once gain it was the TV cameras that beamed us pictures of the molestation of an innocent teacher on the bases of wild allegations.

Today, there seems to be a nexus between the media and the vigilante. One requires the other to enhance their respective cause; the media for better ratings and the vigilante for a two-minute claim to fame.

Is there is a silent crossing over of Democracy to Mobocracy?

"A democracy is nothing more than mob rule, where fifty-one percent of the people may take away the rights of the other forty-nine" - Thomas Jefferson

It looks like Mobocracy is here to stay in our cities. “With people from rural areas migrating to larger towns and cities, the mob culture comes naturally as an add-on” is the comment we hear often. Even men of law fear a mob. From a group of ordinary people going about their daily chores they suddenly transform into a faceless force on a rampage.

One curious twist to the cause of the vigilantes – why is it that they do not target the rich and the powerful, the crooked politician, the corrupt government babus & the so-called God men? Is there a fear factor lurking within them? Is that the reason for bashing up a hapless accused?

One wonders….

THE CREATION OF THE TEACHER

2007-09-05T08:01:00.000+05:30

The Good Lord was creating teachers.

It was His sixth day of ‘overtime’ and He knew that this was a tremendous responsibility as teachers would touch the lives of so many impressionable young children.

An angel appeared to Him and said, “You are taking a long time to figure this one out.”

“Yes,” said the Lord, “but have you read the ‘specs’ on this order?”

Must stand above all students, yet be on their level;
Must be able to do 1001 things not connected with the subject being taught;
Must communicate vital knowledge to all students daily and be right most of the time;
Must have more time for others than for herself/himself;
Must have a smile that can endure through pay cuts, jealous colleagues, problematic children, and worried parents;
Must go on teaching when parents question every move and others are not supportive;
Must have 6 pair of hands.

“Six pair of hands,” said the angel, “that's impossible”

“Well,” said the Lord, “it is not the hands that are the problem. It is the three pairs of eyes that are presenting the most difficulty!”

The angel looked incredulous, “Three pairs of eyes...on a standard model?”

The Lord nodded His head,

“One pair can see a student for what he is and not what others have labeled him as.Another pair of eyes is in the back of the teacher's head to see what should not be seen, but what must be known.The eyes in the front are only to look at the child as he/she 'acts out' in order to reflect, ‘I understand and I still believe in you’, without so much as saying a word to the child.”

“Lord,” said the angel, “this is a very large project and I think you should work on it tomorrow.”

“I can't,” said the Lord, “for I have come very close to creating something much like myself. I have one that comes to work when he/she is sick.... teaches a class of children that do not want to learn....has a special place in his/her heart for children who are not his/her own.....understands the struggles of those who have difficulty....never takes the students for granted...”

The angel looked closely at the model the Lord was creating.
“It is too soft-hearted,” said the angel.

“Yes,” said the Lord, “but also tough, You cannot imagine what this teacher can endure or do, if necessary.”

“Can this teacher think?” asked the angel.

“Not only think,” said the Lord, “but reason and compromise.”

The angel came closer to have a better look at the model and ran his finger over the teacher's cheek.

“Well, Lord,” said the angel, “your job looks fine but there is a leak. I told you that you were putting too much into this model. You cannot imagine the stress that will be placed upon the teacher.”

The Lord moved in closer and lifted the drop of moisture from the teacher's cheek. It shone and glistened in the light.

“It is not a leak,” He said, “It is a tear.”

“A tear? What is that?” asked the angel, “What is a tear for?”

The Lord replied with great thought,

“It is for the joy and pride of seeing a child accomplish even the smallest task.

It is for the loneliness of children who have a hard time fitting in and it is for compassion for the feelings of their parents.

It comes from the pain of not being able to reach some children and the disappointment those children feel in themselves.

It comes often when a teacher has been with a class for a year and must say good-bye to those students and get ready to welcome a new class.”

“My,” said the angel,

“ The tear thing is a great idea...You are a genius!!”

The Lord looked somber,

“I didn't put it there.”

Author Unknown

“Awaken pupil's curiosity.

It is enough to open minds, do not overload them.

Put there just a spark.”

- Anatole France (adapted)

INDIA AT 60

2007-08-14T12:58:00.000+05:30

What is it to be 60 years old? Imagine you were 60 years old you would have been flooded with greetings which would be on the following lines:

Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.

Age is a high price to pay for maturity.

And the gifts that you could possibly get would include among other things – a 60th coffee mug and a walking stick.

Being 60 years is considered auspicious by many; there would a thanksgiving service at the local temple or church and a party would be arranged, were you will be reminded of all the things that you did for the last 60 years via a toast. (And or a power point presentation if you have tech savvy children or nieces/nephews) Rest assured only the good qualities and incidents will be mentioned, the goof ups will only remain in memory.

But when a country turns 60 it tends to be different. I am of the opinion that a country is a sum total of the people that reside in it. Hence, along with lavish praise some criticism, of us, is in order.

Sixty years on, we have an independent judiciary (I refer to the Supreme Court) before which no one is too high, a thriving economy, and an uninhibited blog-sphere where one can agitate for any cause whatsoever, a vibrant media and most importantly India has been a role model for multi-cultural democracy. (Though our elections resemble a carnival and we have an increasingly boisterous parliament). Today, the world looks at India as a super power. Every move that India makes is watched keenly. My friends in the academia world keep telling me that amidst all the squalor, things are looking up! India is rising!

In my earlier post, I had written:

India has an affluent middle class that has grown in just a few years.
We have more millionaires today than ever before.
We also have more poor people than ever before.
We have more street children & more missing young girls than ever before.
We have more rogues, ruffians, riff-raff and dons than ever before.
Eradicated diseases like Tuberculosis and Malaria are returning with a vengeance.
We do not have a single city with enough drinking water.
We do not have a single clean city; all our cities have garbage removal and disposal problems.
Our politicians no longer even pretend respect for the public.
The numbers of criminals who are MLAs have increased.

Well, one can add many more points. But I would like to concentrate on just two:

We are becoming increasingly intolerant.
We are becoming increasingly fundamentalist.

In India we declare that a teacher can be punished for calling a student stupid; but we allow fundamentalists, who declare that they will behead or kill an author, go scot-free. What gives? Where are we heading?

This, to my mind, is a serious lacuna.

It disturbs me. Religion and politics make sound bedfellows. But they also drive the sane to despair. Will we be able to break the nexus and rise above? What will it be when India turns 75?

Spare a thought.

“Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high.......

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake”

– Rabindranath Tagore

FAREWELL.......

2007-08-07T18:37:00.000+05:30

NITESH AGARWAL
1983 - 2007

NEHA SINGH
1984 - 2007

To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die

Last year at around this time, I was teaching a course in Financial Accounting for PGP I at the Indian Institute of Management, Indore. Among my students were Nitesh Agarwal and Neha Singh. Fondly, I referred to Nitesh as 'bitcom' and to Neha as ''lil one'. Nitesh was a vibrant youngster with boundless energy while Neha was prim and proper and a stickler for neatness. I had continued my association with Neha through an occasional call or a chat on the net.

It was with dismay and a deep sense of regret that I received the news of their passing away on Saturday, 4th August 2007. Two young lives were taken away from us. I could not believe it. One of their classmates sent me a scrap, which said "Bit com and 'lil one are no more...." and when another called on my cell to convey the news, it sank in. A tragic incident had snuffed out their lives.

They were both happy people and no one can take that from them. They saw the world as it was and were content to approach it with a practical mind.

They were both too young to have left this world. We may ponder and ask, why? Feeling helpless we cry out; "Why God? Why?" Even as I write this post, my mind cries out the same refrain.

Death comes like a thief, unannounced. Death takes away people whom we love. Perhaps this is the way God works - in mysterious ways. Perhaps there is a need for a Nitesh and a Neha in heaven where they will be happy. Perhaps God has some other plans for them?

As I grope for answers I get this message – This is not a time to grieve their deaths but it is our time to celebrate their life. Don't ever forget these two young people. I don't think they ever wanted people to cry. They would have wanted everyone to be happy. So, at this moment when we have laid our friends to rest, let's all think back and remember how Nitesh and Neha touched our lives. All the memories we have shared with them will forever be cherished and remembered. Nitesh and Neha will forever live in my heart… In our hearts. This is not the moment to shed tears but we should be thankful that we were given a chance to have known these two wonderful people.

For just over a year that we knew them, we reveled in their company. Happiness & laughter has flowed in their presence. Let not grief and tears wash away those sweet memories. There is no doubt in my mind that Nitesh and Neha are watching down on us from heaven right now.

Nitesh and Neha will forever be missed but I know in the right time, I will meet them again. We will all meet Nitesh and Neha again and then there will be happiness and laughter once again.

Adios, sweet friends, till we meet in paradise!

My thoughts go to the parents of Nitesh and Neha. Words alone cannot give them comfort for their loss is immense. I can only convey to them that our thoughts are with them in this hour of terrible tragedy. I can’t help but remember this wonderful poem, entitled ‘Ascension’ by Colleen Corah Hitchcock

And if I go,
while you're still here...
Know that I live on,
vibrating to a different measure
--behind a thin veil you cannot see through.
You will not see me,
so you must have faith.
I wait for the time when we can soar together again,
--both aware of each other.
Until then, live your life to its fullest.
And when you need me,
Just whisper my name in your heart,
...I will be there.

Memories:

Eternal rest grant unto them oh Lord, let perpetual light shine upon them and may they rest in peace, Amen.

Photo courtesy: Shalin Shah & Manas, IIM Indore

BONNIE, A DOG, A LADY

2007-08-06T19:06:00.000+05:30

BONITA
1996 - 2007

It was a pleasant day in November 1996; my wife was on the phone. She sounded excited. Her parents had just brought home a pup. Would I like to come over and see her? I left the office a little early and headed to see the pup.

There she was, a bundle of fur, cuddled in my wife’s arms, peering cautiously at me. She was of the German shepherd – Alsatian breed. I reached out and scratched her head and ears. She licked my hand. The rapport was instant. I christened her Bonita; which in later days was modified to Bonnie.

She was a constant companion to my wife’s parents who reveled in her company. She was an extension of the family; present at all family get together and meetings. I was her masseur. She loved her head being massaged and scratched. It was one of the rituals that she did not miss. My reward was a warm lick on my hand.

Dogs can teach you a lot. And so it was with Bonnie. She taught us:

When loved ones come home, Always run to greet them.
When it's in your best interests, practice obedience.
Let others know when they've invaded your territory.
Take naps and stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Eat with gusto and enthusiasm
Be loyal
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lay under some shade.
When you are happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk
No matter how often you're scolded don't buy into the guilt thing and pout …. run right back and make friends.

Then in the November of 2006, tragedy struck. Ten years to the day that she had invaded our world, my father-in-law succumbed to a massive heart attack. He collapsed in the garden right in front of Bonnie. From that day onwards she wasn’t her self. We could sense that she was grieving. Age too was catching up with her. Her movements had slowed down and her liver was acting up. Frequently she would be listless. The vet wasn’t too optimistic and her condition slowly but surely deteriorated. Patiently but knowingly she bore the anxious ministrations of my mother-in-law. Finally, on Saturday, July 28^th, she could not stand up anymore. Her condition worsened through the day. She knew that her time had come, to leave those she loved. She made her last heroic efforts at trying to stand up, once when my wife entered the gate around noon and once more when I entered a few hours later. It was as if she was waiting to say her last goodbye. Around 5.15p.m. that same evening with my mother-in-law and wife beside her, with one last sigh, she was gone.

She is buried in a corner of the garden under the shade of a tree, which constantly blooms and sheds little pink flowers.

She must be in a happier place as I write this post.

LAGE RAHO JUSTICE KODE

2007-08-04T19:18:00.000+05:30

By now, Mr. Sanjay Dutt, a convict, must be settling down to life in prison; at the same time his battery of Lawyers must be machinating to get him released. An appeal to the Supreme Court would be on the cards.

The verdict pronounced by the Judge of the special court evoked mixed reactions. There were some who said that Mr. Dutt deserved it and there were some who were upset with the verdict. That Mr. Dutt was a film actor of reasonable repute, threw different hues on the case.

Mr. Sanjay Dutt, has made history of a different kind. Born to illustrious parents, much was expected of him. After all, his mother, Nargis, was a popular actress of the Hindi Cinema and his father, the stoic Sunil, was firstly an actor and then a politician. Pressure was surely on Sanjay to perform and perform he did. His initial foray into the film world wasn’t a great success. That, in a way, might have led him to be lost in a haze of drugs and alcohol. The loss of his mother when he was 22 years old must have added to his woes. He was lost. And so at 34 an immature Sanjay got involved with an AK 56 automatic rifle and a pistol, which was to be his nemesis.

In later years he was lucky to don good roles; especially as Munna Bhai. He touched a chord in the heart of the cinema crazy Indian and thereby earned some amount of sympathy from the population. Also, he always maintained that he repented the offence committed. God may forgive; but law punishes and protects – and that is what is important. The law of the land prevails. Law isn’t flexible. Law doesn’t consider your occupation, your social status & your popularity. The fact that crores of rupees are hedged on the acting prowess of Sanjay is lost on Law. It considers all of us as equals and that is the way it should be. Had it been anybody else, instead of Sanjay Dutt, then too the law would have treated him or her in a like manner.

Mind you, if Sanjay was tried in 1993-94 and was sentenced to rigorous imprisonment for 6 years; people would have accepted the verdict. The verdict has come 14 years later. Some of the supporters of Sanjay may have been tiny tots or adolescents in 1993 and would not have been aware of the gravity of the offence that Sanjay committed. Their support stems from the fact that he is their star.

People’s memory being short, Sanjay will be forgotten in a while. He will be released; I make it, in 4 years from now. If the Supreme Court intervenes and releases him, then he would be incarcerated for just a few months.

There is a lesson to be learnt here by every citizen of this country. The Law is supreme. Nobody can be above the law. Sadly, dispensers of justice have forgotten this adage especially when it comes to dealing with our political masters. Dispensers of justice have succumbed to pressure and avarice. It is commendable that the Judge of the designated court has reminded us that nobody is above the law.

OBSERVATIONS......

2007-07-28T14:34:00.001+05:30

For those of you who know me well, saying that I am observant, would be an understatement. And so it was; my antenna was up early this morning as I waited to board a flight at the Bangalore Airport.

I find observing people and the goings on around me more interesting than burying oneself in the free newspapers that are ever present in the airport.

I zeroed in on an old man who was tearing parts of a newspaper. He looked around furtively and continued with his task. Peopled around him, muddled in their own world, did not seem to notice this rather strange behaviour. He finished with one newspaper and commenced with the next. When he found something that interested him, he glanced furtively around and tore that bit. Intrigued I strolled over to where he was sitting. What was he tearing? Imagine my surprise when I noticed that he was tearing sudoku & crossword puzzles from the newspapers and putting them into his pocket. He caught my eye and flushed!

My roving eye took in the youngster listening to his Ipod. The beatified look on his face, the half smile and the nodding of his head indicated that he was listening to his current anthem. A pretty young girl passed him by; there was an exchange of glances. A slow smile formed on his face but it froze as the girl walked on by expressionless.

Somewhere behind me a middle aged lady was taking instructions on her mobile phone as to how to switch it off on the flight. Without looking behind, I was able to make out that she was a novice on using the phone as well as talking on it. Heads were turning as she let loose a torrent of words in a loud nasal twang. She hollered that she could not hear the person on the other end. So natural; when the voice on the other side fades, we tend to raise our own voice.

A family of four was lost. They were probably infrequent fliers. The patriarch was looking for the toilet but was embarrassed to ask anybody around him. He asked his wife and children to be on the look out for one. Just then their flight was announced. There was panic. The patriarch rushed to the nearest airline personnel and with his digit finger raised asked the directions to the toilet. He was directed towards it; and his entourage joined in escorting him to his pit stop.

Disinterested voices announced the arrival and departures of flights. Ground staff went about their task in robotic fashion. People of all shades and hues passed through the boarding gates; some bored others excited. Physically challenged individuals were hauled along in wheel chairs. Babies cried as if in protest. Then it was my turn to board my flight. One glance at the queue and I had my next victim. But was I being watched?

CONVERSATIONS WITH GOD

2007-06-29T20:28:00.000+05:30

‘I sit and talk to God; and He laughs at my plans’

- From the lyrics of the song ‘Feel’ by Robbie Williams

The conversation veered to worry. “Why do people worry?” I asked. There was silence. It was usual; a loud silence followed by a frenetic pace of transfer of ideas. It usually reminded me of the modem.

The wind howled heralding the beginning of another bout of rain. The tall coconut trees swayed as if intoxicated. Leaves and debris stirred to life by the wind danced with no particular rhythm. The angry dark clouds were moving fast to drop their load of water onto Mother Earth. All were having a swell time; except man. He worried.

I sipped from the cup. The aroma of tea and its warmth stoked an ember within. Sighing I reached for keypad. It was time to record the conversation.

Why do people worry?

The transfer of ideas was now taking place. The pace was fast and furious.

People worry because:

They live in the past and place their hope in the future.
They do not see the funny side of life – some of them never!
They never keep themselves busy – instead they worry!
They fail to examine the record – according to the law of averages; what are the chances that the event one is worried about will occur?
They do not do the very best that they can.
They count their troubles – not their blessings!
They do not forget themselves by becoming interested in others.

The rain fell at a steady pace forming rivulets on the road below. The wind was at it again. It howled. There was a deep rumble of thunder. The conversation had ended. A loud silence followed.

“IT’S GREAT TO SHOW PROMISE; IT”S TRAGIC NOT TO FULLFILL IT”

2007-06-22T16:27:00.000+05:30

This morning, as I was walking in a busy part of the city, a classmate, from my school days, accosted me. He looked drawn. His eyes looked tired. After the initial exchange of pleasantries, he asked me if I could find him a job. He was working as a salesman in a cloth shop for a paltry salary & wanted a change. Could I help him? At that point of time I was taken aback. As a student in school, he had shown great promise. He was good at studies, above average in sports and good at dramatics. He had some amount of talent in him. What had brought him to this state?
I promised him help; but I was skeptical. Who would want a 42 year old whose resume showed that he was a salesman in a cloth shop? We bid goodbye and I made by way to my office. I pondered on his plight, made a few phone calls but as expected there were no encouraging replies.
As I write this post, I wonder why this person who showed promise could not fulfill it. One reason some people fall short of their promise is that developing talent is hard work. Talent is useless if it is not wedded to craftsmanship that demands incessant practice and all that it involves: endless repetition, constant self-criticism – and exasperation when performance falls short.
I have always wondered why many of us never become real professionals. The professional in any field must have a kind of contract with himself. The terms of the contract read that he must be absolutely honest with himself. I had come across the following passage in a book I read long ago: Many of us never become real professionals because we think that the pursuit of excellence necessarily includes reaching the topmost rung – and then give up because we can’t reach it.
I am of the opinion that there are various degrees of excellence. The danger does not lie in failing to reach absolute perfection. It lies in giving up the chase.
Ask a lot of yourself, and you may be very pleasantly surprised at how much you receive!

END OF A ROMANCE

2007-06-01T17:36:00.002+05:30

On May 29^th 2007, I received an email, which was on expected lines; my services were not being sought for the academic year 2007-08 at TAPMI. Thus ended a 6-year romance with an institution that, of late, has been floundering. In the last few months it has received two jolts, the first one being the AICTE notification that the approved seats have been scaled down from 140 to 100 and the second one being the withdrawal of Hostel facilities by its provider. These jolts can plunge any institute into chaos. The signs were there; the entire reputed faculty with whom I had rubbed shoulders at TAPMI have resigned and moved on. Today, as TAPMI enters its silver jubilee year, it is a pale shadow of its old self. It had sanctioned student strength of 100 when it had faculty strength of a mere 6 way back in the nineties; today it has a faculty strength of 25 and its approved strength has been scaled down to 100 students. What went wrong? An ex-colleague called me last night & the conversation veered to the survival of an institution that has given fillip to some great minds. I was optimistic. An institution outlives its students and its faculty, I said. But my friend wasn’t convinced. The competition, he said, has overtaken TAPMI. I sincerely hope TAPMI bounces back, when in June 2008 it is supposed to move to its own swank premises; at least for the sake of its Alumni & its present students. I have my fingers crossed!

Meanwhile, I am enjoying a break. The past four years have been hectic; and for the first time in a long while I am actually having some free time. I have not seen the inside of an airplane for a very long time and the last train journey was on April 15^th. Of course, it is too good to last. Come July and I will be packing my bags and moving on……

Memories….

P.S. June 2008 has come and gone. The new campus is taking shape; though it may take some more time to complete. On June 30th 2008 Dr. D. Nagabrahmam retired from service after being at the helm of affairs at TAPMI for the last 15 years. This signals a new beginning at TAPMI in its silver jubilee year. Here is wishing the Institute, its alumni, faculty, staff and students the very best in the year to come.
On 22nd July 2010, I renewed my romance with TAPMI. I am back to teaching PGP I after a hiatus of 3 years. The new campus is neat & classrooms are truly state of the art. Above all, it felt good to be back among some of my old friends!

IDES OF MAY

2007-05-16T08:01:00.000+05:30

The month of May is extremely important in the calendar of a visiting faculty. I have just finished with all the corrections; papers have been returned and grades have been submitted. Now I twiddle my thumbs waiting for the payments to arrive. This is also the month of glorious uncertainties. I do not know where and what I will be teaching for the next academic year. If the institutes that I visited in the last year get to appoint a permanent faculty in my area, then you have to move on. That’s what makes my position pretty vulnerable. Things become clear only towards the end of the month.

Dwelling on the topic of answer papers, there are two aspects that have always drawn my attention:

1. When in doubt, bullshit!

2. Write illegibly, nobody will try reading the drivel!

So it is with some students. Possibly it is the ‘University Syndrome’ that afflicts them. The answers have no connection with the question asked; but since some energy and time is expended the student expects some marks! Then there are some on whom the adage ‘Handwriting speaks of character’, is lost. The scrawl is illegible. With great difficulty one has to wade through the drivel. I haven’t been able to say for sure whether it is done with an ulterior purpose. Mind you, these very same students can write neatly if they want to. I am looking forward to reading a love note in their hand or a letter written to their father asking for more money to spend!

May is also the warmest month of the year if you are living on the west coast of India. It gets very warm and humid; and as the humidity increases it rains to the accompaniment of thunder, lightning and gales. But the next day it tends to be even warmer. Then we have the unscheduled power cuts. The electricity supply tends to be so erratic that a few expletives, in praise of the nerds at the helm of affairs in the electricity department, do escape my lips. And then there are the water shortages. Mangalore was without water for the first 2 days of May.

Then there are the mangoes; the saving grace in an otherwise scorching month.

They come in all shapes, sizes, colors and taste. Got to go now; nice sweet mangoes beckon. Until next time; take care and be good!

LAW IS A ASS?

2007-04-24T16:05:00.000+05:30

The defendant, in Breunig v. American Family Insurance Co., 45 Wisc. 2d 536, 173 N.W.2d 619 (1979), testified that the reason why she struck the plaintiff's truck with her automobile was simply because she knew that God was driving her car, and more importantly, she knew that if she accelerated into the truck, she would be able to fly because Batman is able to fly.

This woman was obviously psychotic. I mean come on, everyone knows Batman can't fly!

Before you wonder as to where I am heading; ponder on the judicial proceedings in this country. I am beginning to feel despondent. You can be driven to becoming "psychotic" particularly if you are a victim.

Take for example the recent hit and run case involving a certain Allister Pereira, you can also follow this link: www.ndtv.com/convergence/ndtv/story.aspx?id=NEWEN20070009486 and read the cold facts of an earlier hit and run case that was loaded with miscarriage of justice.

"In law, the accused has a million ways to escape. But the victim is consigned to the gallows"

"There is a place in our courts for the judge, the accused, the lawyers and witnesses. But there is no seat for the victim though his/her plight remains central to the case."

—Former solicitor general K.T.S. Tulsi

Our legal system favours the accused and not the victim. To enumerate:

The victim and his/her family are not involved in court proceedings, except when summoned as witnesses. (It should be pointed out that this has been the system prevalent in other countries too, but there it is for the victim’s protection.)

The victim is represented by the public prosecutor engaged by the state. The accused can hire lawyers of his/her choice. (Elsewhere public prosecutor’s post is a coveted one and he/she is held accountable. In India there is no accountability of a public prosecutor. He/she gets time-bound promotions not linked to performance)

The victim or his family cannot file an appeal against an unfair verdict. That is the state’s prerogative. The victim’s side can only file a revision petition on grounds of procedural oversight. (This is why the media and the public joined hands in the recent review of the Jessica Lal & Priyadarshini Mattoo cases.)

Rights of the accused, including right to silence, is detailed in law. It is, however, silent about the victim’s rights.

The accused has the right to know the evidence framed by the prosecution. The victim has no access to information from the defence side.

If the accused is influential, he/she can tamper with evidence, compromise investigators, even judges. (It is now a known fact that judges in India are corrupt. There is no procedure under law to censure the judge, though his judgement can be questioned in an appeal, and subsequently censured)

A sitting high court judge has put it rather bluntly: "More than just being helpful to the accused, the system really works for the rich accused." Add to this a less than transparent police, and you have a situation where the guilty in what are apparently open-and-shut cases walk away scot-free.

The criminal system in India is in shambles. Accused are walking free, there is poor collection of evidence and there are innumerable instances of miscarriage of justice – all examples of a deep-rooted malaise in our criminal system. Recent studies show that the conviction rate in Indian courts is one per cent. The accused manage to get away in 99 percent cases.

Does make me wonder – Law is a Ass? … Or perhaps is itself a victim?

HE WHO IS WITHOUT SIN AMONG YOU, LET HIM THROW THE FIRST STONE

2007-04-13T17:09:00.000+05:30

N R Narayana Murthy sparked off a protest for allegedly disrespecting the national anthem; Sachin Tendulkar cutting a tricolour cake has set off another outcry. Is the outrage justified or are we simply protesting too much?
I present below some of the reactions that I found in the newspapers:

“I think we certainly do make a hue and cry about certain issues because we’re overly sensitive about them. And that’s because our priorities are misplaced. We don’t give a damn about global warming, but we make a big noise about something like Sachin Tendulkar cutting a tricolour cake. We’re only bothered about things that are displayed and in our opinion, must be revered. We don’t look at the bigger picture.” MAHESH DATTANI, Theatreperson

“I don’t think we Indians are sensitive at all; it’s the media that makes them out to be that way. In a nation with a hundred crore population, when just a hundred of them protest about an inconsequential matter, why does the media have to make it such a big deal? Are all these silly issues of national consequence? By reporting such petty issues, the media is blowing the issue out of proportion and drawing more attention to them than necessary. There are hundreds of protests being staged around the nation and not all of them do it out of concern. It’s more for mileage than addressing the issue.” GIRISH KASARAVALLI, Filmmaker

“I think as a people we are getting a bit too touchy and intolerant for the wrong reasons. Both Narayana Murthy and Sachin Tendulkar have done exceptionally well representing the country and there’s no need for them to prove anything to anyone. Casting aspersions on a well-known person and raising protests is the easiest way for people to get their three seconds of fame and that’s why most do it. Having said that, I must add that there seems to be some underlying anger in people that they flare up at the smallest of issues.”CHAITANYA HEGDE, Mediaperson

What is my take on this subject?

In the case of N. R. Narayana Murthy, I am of the opinion that he chose a wrong word. He speakes the English language fluently and I am surprised that he used a word like "embarrassment". He should have said that it is "difficult" for them to sing it, perhaps then there would have been no controversy. It is also a fact that a successful person has a fair share of jealous detractors. Mr. Murthy, from what he has accomplished, and by the manner in which he has accomplished it will certainly have more than a fair share. I have a feeling that were we to really delve into it, we might unearth a somewhat different reason for the rather rabid attack on him.

Sachin is a falling hero; and so anything to hasten his fall would be lapped up by the media and then the public. Perhaps if he had cut the same cake after having scored a string of centuries, the scribes would not have bothered about the colour of the cake. His cutting a tri-colour cake would have been put down to an aberration. By the way, no mention is made of the plight of the Indian High Commissioner in whose official residence the cake was cut.

And what about the Karntaka Politicians who wanted Mr. Murthy jailed?

They are greatly disturbed by the "insult" rendered to the National Anthem by Mr. Murthy, but are unfazed by the long queues for water, by the sight of little children helping their mothers collect muddy water from little streams - water not fit to wash your hands in let alone drink, by the severe shortage of electricity, by the disappearing forests in the ghats and by a thousand other problems for which they are paid a salary out of our taxes to solve or at least alleviate.

A story in the Bible runs thus:

The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman taken
in adultery. Having set her in the midst, they told Jesus,
"Teacher, we found this woman in adultery, in the very act. Now
in our law, Moses commanded us to stone such. What then do you say about her?" They said this testing him, that they might have
something to accuse him of.

But Jesus stooped down, and wrote on the ground with his finger.
But when they continued asking him, he looked up and said to
them, "He who is without sin among you, let him throw the first stone at her." Again he stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground.

They, when they heard it, being convicted by their conscience,
went out one by one, beginning from the oldest, even to the last. Jesus was left alone with the woman where she was, in the middle.
Jesus, standing up, saw her and said, "Woman, where are your accusers? Did no one condemn you?"

She said, "No one, Lord."

Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you. Go your way. From now on, sin no more."

Can there be greater patriots than Mr. Narayana Murthy & Mr. Sachin Tendulkar? Few men can do much more for India than they have done. Can they be judged by whether or not one sings the National Anthem or the other cuts a tri-colour cake?

And can there be a greater traitor than a corrupt khadi wearing politican signing the National Anthem with gusto?

WASSUP?

2007-04-06T16:15:00.000+05:30

Cricket

The best comment that I heard on the Indian Cricket Saga:
“Aren’t we trying to make a scapegoat out of Chappell for our non-performing players? If it was any other nation than India then these non-performing players would have been kicked out a long back. In a cricket crazy nation of billion people can we not find another team of performing players?”
I’m not a cricket crazy fan. But having watched the huffing and puffing of our Non Performing ‘Assets’, I have to conclude that these guys, the BCCI included, do not possess any strategy – save the strategy of making money. When I started putting my heart and soul into teaching 17 years ago, a person was beginning to give his heart and soul for Indian cricket. Mind you both of us weren’t doing it for free. I raked in the moolah just as the other person did; albeit he in crores, I a few lakhs. Aspersions have been cast on his commitment and his continuance. I haven’t had that misfortune. I have matured gracefully, and god willing, have many years to go before I decide to retire. Sachin is on his way out. His shelf life is up! The problem is that, he hasn’t realised it. Hence his ravings and rantings to an eager press; while his ‘bete-noir’ – the coach, maintains a dignified silence (Leaks to the press do not qualify for comments!) Wassup?

Inflation

The government is baffled at the way the inflation has been creeping upwards. So drastic measures have been lined up. The CRR rate, a useful weapon in beleaguered times, has been used to suck money from the market. The latest hike sucked in a whopping Rs. 15,500 crores from the market. The spectators called foul and went and bashed up the sensex. There was a ‘Monday Massacre’. Wealth evaporated. A 1% cess has been levied on home loans; so as to discourage people from borrowing and investing in land. The price of land has been sizzling. Look at a II tier city like Mangalore. Good apartments are being sold at Rs.1,850 per square feet, whereas 18 months ago, the rate was just Rs. 1,200 per square feet.
With land prices zooming, farmers have decided to convert their agricultural lands into commercial properties and are selling them at astronomical prices. The new owners are filling these marshy lands thereby destroying the ecology. Hillocks are being flattened and the mud is used to fill fields and ponds. These fields and ponds were crucial for raising ground water levels. Today, they are gone and the ground water table recedes further. Wassup?

A natural swamp being filled up.

The disappearing greenery

Mangalore Warming

Huge climate changes are taking place in Mangalore. Temperatures are up by at least 2 degrees and the humidity is up by 10%. People sweat it out as the Mangalore Electricity Supply Company, MESCOM for short, messes your day with unscheduled power cuts. Water is in short supply. People crane their necks skywards searching for rain bearing clouds. The Nethravathi River which supplies water to Mangalore city is all but dry. The water level in its vented dam may last until May 10^th. After that…..?

The Nethravathi River

Don’t you see a pattern? Don’t you see the lack of planning? Be it cricket, inflation or climate changes, we aren’t planning. We seem to be blinded by money and greed for more money.

MONDAY MUSINGS

2007-03-26T21:55:00.000+05:30

Graduation and The Convocation Day

For me, Graduation is only a concept. In real life, you graduate every day. Graduation is a process that goes on until the last day of your life. If you can grasp that, you'll make a difference. My advice to my students on their graduation day has always been “Life is your college. May you graduate well, and earn some honors!”
Personally I avoid convocations. I do not relish the idea of wearing a gown and sweating it out for the next 3 hours listening to speeches. Convocation day is that day of the academic calendar when the Chairman, Director and the Chief Guest all get a chance to wax eloquence. But if you have served under the same Chairman and Director for many years, then their first speech would be modified in the years to come; sometimes the only modification could be the change in the year. Also, I can’t bear to see my students cry. Year after year students have leaned on my shoulders and cried. It can get embarrassing too.

Sunday Sermons

I hate sermons. I have been a vociferous critic of Sermons at Mass on Sundays. I appreciate a short message of recollection based on the Gospel passage of the day. I hate the preaching; that can go on for as long as 30 minutes - sheer drivel at times. Just yesterday we had this young priest; who at the sermon sang a song in Telugu (to an audience that was trying to figure out the language) and then explained it in English! What a bloody waste of time! The Catholic Church should seriously do a rethink on sermons during mass. It can get worse during a Wedding Mass or a Funeral Mass. The priest overcome with joy, grief or sheer power, can have an acute attack of ‘verbal diarrhea’. A quote from Oliver Goldsmith comes to my mind – “You can preach a better sermon with your life than with your lips”

Have you noticed?

India has an affluent middle class that has grown in just a few years.
We have more millionaires today than ever before.
We also have more poor people than ever before.
We have more street children & more missing young girls than ever before.
We have more rogues, ruffians, riff-raff and dons than ever before.
Eradicated diseases like Tuberculosis and Malaria are returning with a vengeance.
We do not have a single city with enough drinking water.
We do not have a single clean city; all our cities have garbage removal and disposal problems.
Our politicians no longer even pretend respect for the public.
The numbers of criminals who are MLAs have increased.

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

2007-03-22T16:38:00.000+05:30

(A recent incident involving one of my student prompted me to bring the following sequence of events to light.)

There was this quiet boy in my class. He never spoke much. He used to walk with me to school as he stayed close to my house. He was an above average student. I liked him and over the years we had become friends. The year was 1978. I was in the 7^th std. One day, we missed him on our way back from school. As dusk settled down, his mother came to my house accompanied by my friend. I could make out that he was in pain. His face announced that he had cried. I put my hand on his shoulder and he winced in pain. I was unsettled, where could he have gone? His mother quietly removed his shirt and made him show us his back. There were welt marks on his skinny back. He had been beaten with a thin reed, popularly called ‘nagara bethha’. Amidst sobs he told me that the Headmaster had beaten him. He was playing in the sandpit. It was a bit late in the evening to be playing. So the headmaster had walloped him. His eyes pleaded with me. “Tell my mother. She doesn’t believe me”. I turned round and told all present that we had this monster of a Headmaster. He loved beating students; just like that. My mother was sympathetic; but his mother wasn’t. Later we came to know; that night she beat him with a belt. She wasn’t willing to buy his sand pit story.

The year was 2004. I was at IIMK. My mother called me up. She had some disturbing news. The innocent boy, whom I had referred to above, had been arrested by police for drug trafficking. His mug shot, holding a slate, had been posted on all local newspapers.

Ever since that horrible evening in 1978, my friend had changed. From a quiet honest lad, he transformed into a ruffian and by the time we were 17 years old he had turned into a druggie and a drunk. Later on he was to reform. But that was for a short time. One fine day he fell of the precipice into an abyss of misery.

In 1984, we made a startling discovery. The headmaster who had beaten my friend was a homosexual. He took perverse pleasure in beating boys. From headmaster, he was made a warden of a young boys hostel. It was a ‘befitting’ reward for the rogue. His case came to light when a college student accused him of lewd behaviour. Then on he slipped into oblivion. Did I mention that he was a priest?

A homosexual and a mother lacking in trust had transformed a helpless twelve year old lad playing in a sand pit into a druggie, a drunk and finally into an accused in a drug peddling case.

What crime? What punishment?

GREAT EXPECTATIONS!

2007-03-16T22:04:00.000+05:30

(This is a work of fiction. Resemblance of any character to any living person is purely co-incidental. Needless to say, the whole situation is a figment of my imagination)

She was apprehensive. The candidates coming out of the interview seemed stressed. She wondered what was going on inside. Should she accost the next candidate and ask him what was happening? What was the line of questioning that was being followed? Why were the candidates stressed?
Her mind went back to the Group Discussion. She had stepped into the small room and was stunned. There were 20 people for the GD. A middle-aged buxom lady who made her sign her attendance and gave her a badge greeted her. She glanced at the panel. They were three of them. There was a young lady – definitely not a lecturer. She must be an alumnus. She was smiling and whispering to the person on her right who was a rather balding man; with a French beard. He was nodding his head and smiling but all the time his eyes were flitting across the room taking in minute details of the candidates. He made eye contact with her. She held his gaze for a while, then looked away. She felt uncomfortable. He was a Professor for sure, she thought. The third person, of this trio, looked bored. He was younger, seated on the right of the professor. He too is a professor she thought. She wondered; what were the subjects they taught?
She turned to have a look at her rivals on the group discussion round. There were two other girls. They were nervous, she could tell. There were 17 boys. Well, she told herself, as she scanned them just two of them were worth a look-see. The others weren’t what she would term as worthy opponents. The older Professor too was sizing them up with a faint smile on his face. Once again their eyes met. His gaze was piercing and observant. He was sizing up the group. He leaned towards the young girl and whispered in her ear. She looked startled as a gazelle would on hearing a sound. She too gazed at the group and nodded to the Professor. The younger professor stood up and announced the rules of discussion. He droned giving an impression that he was repeating the instructions as a monk would repeat a litany of the saints. The topic was announced - “The relevance of Gandhisim”. She was bored. She glanced around and found to her amusement her ‘rivals’ put down points furiously. She made a few mental notes on what she was going to say; that is, if she got a chance.
The discussion began and as usual it was a shouting match. She was reminded of a fish market. The two girls too pitched in with shrill voices. She heard one of the participants speak in broken English and what he said startled her. He was pointing out that Gandhism was relevant even today. Wasn’t Sonia Gandhi running the Govt? She was stunned. She leaned forward and in a clear distinct voice told the boy “We are talking about Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi here”! There was a momentary silence. She continued, “According to me Gandhism is relevant for all ages, but today, in modern India it has lost its relevance” Her last words were drowned as the other candidates continued their shouting match. She sighed and looked at the panel members. The young lady was keenly trying to follow the gibberish. The older professor looked relaxed as if he had made up his mind. The younger professor was jotting down points furiously. Was this exercise necessary she thought? What was the purpose? The discussion was lost in the din of every participant trying to put in his two penny worth.
She was brought out of her reverie by the buxom lady telling her to get ready for the interview. Her turn came up and she was ushered into the room. Just as she had imagined, the older professor was sitting in the center. He smiled at her. But it was his eyes. They were already reading her. She fended the questions from the younger professor. He was asking her what she was prepared for. She felt comfortable as she waxed eloquence. She was conscious of the older professor’s gaze. She turned to look at him. He was tugging at his beard. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how did your GD go?” he asked. She paused and then murmured “4”. “Why”? He countered. She was about to give him a piece of her mind but held back and said “I could not get in my points”. He looked at her and said “That wasn’t supposed to be your answer. Tell me what’s on your mind”. For a minute she was startled. He could read her mind? She decided to let them have it. She was agitated. How could you put in 20 people and ask them to discuss? Wasn’t it illogical? Didn’t they know that it would be a fish market? Why have the exercises at all? She paused for breath. The young lady on the panel though taken aback could not hide a smile. The young professor was staring at her, his mouth open. But the older professor laughed. “You still managed a relevant point,” he said. “Tell me, list 3 negative points that you have heard of this institute”. She looked straight at him and said “Firstly, the location, secondly, the infrastructure & finally I have been asked not to sign up for food in the mess”. The agitated younger professor was about to say something when the older professor interjected and said “This place has six flights a day from Mumbai, five from Bangalore and International flights from six gulf destinations. There is a 6000 acre SEZ coming up close by which will bring in employment opportunities. And you say there is a location disadvantage? Bricks and mortar don’t teach you anything. If it is a good faculty, you can sit anywhere and study and if the faculty is bad, you can sit anywhere and study. And about the food, let me see what can be done.” He smiled. She felt uncomfortable. The young lady asked her a few pointed questions and then it was all over. She was ushered out of the room.
Had she made the grade? She was deep in thought as she reached for her mobile phone. She better call up home; her mother would be fretting.

THE DREAM (A collaborative Short Story)

2007-03-14T23:26:00.001+05:30

(My collaborator for this short story is Mr. Jayesh Jagasia, a PGP Student at IIMK.
Jayesh was branded insane when he quit his software job to pursue a career in motoring journalism. As a correspondent for CAR India and BIKE India magazines, he led a tough life - road testing some of the best cars in the country and then writing about them. After living the good life for a year - driving fast cars, eating good food and staying out of five-star hotels (all at someone else's expense) - he gave it all up.
Jayesh was branded insane when he quit his motoring journalism job to pursue an MBA at IIMK. The tag has, since, stuck.)

I woke up with a start. The damn electricity department was at it again - unscheduled power cut at a godforsaken hour. It was dark around me and it was humid. Sweat puddles were forming on my stomach waiting to trickle down on to the bed. Flashes of lightning at a distance seemed to play with the shadows in the room. I reached for the torch by my bedside. The beam of the torch fell on the still ceiling fan before I directed it to the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was five minutes past two. I reached for the bottle of water. It was empty. I cursed the electricity department as I heaved myself off the bed, and on bare feet wandered into the kitchen for a drink of water.
The distant roll of thunder accompanied by a sudden waft of cool breeze assured me that the long awaited monsoon was arriving. It was the 6th of June or was it the 7th... who cared? The rain was overdue. I opened the door of the refrigerator and groped for the bottle of water. It was then that the phone rang. It startled me. It was quite an eerie sound at such a very early part of what would be a wet dawn.

Clutching the water bottle I stumbled into the living room. The flashes of lighting were becoming brighter as they guided me to the phone, which was sitting on the desk by the window. I stumbled to the phone and picked it up in the midst of the fourth ring. "Hello". My voice seemed stuck. I cleared my throat. The voice on the other end was muffled. It was that familiar voice that I hated. “Did you do my work you bastard?” he said. Just then there was a discharge of lightning and the phone went dead. I must have muttered something as I dropped the phone on the cradle. The clap of thunder that followed startled me.

I was annoyed; he has the gall to call me at two in the morning and call me a bastard. I wasn’t upset with the name; I have been called worse names in the past. I wondered if he was drunk. The voice was menacing, as it usually was. Not that I was scared, but it annoyed me. Why at two in the morning? He could have called me at a convenient time.

I opened the door of the balcony and stepped out. A mixture of warm air followed by a waft of cool breeze hit me. The first drops of rain fell to the ground. The earth welcomed the first rain with a warm scent of mud. I paused and took a deep breath. Another discharge of lightning streaked in the sky. For an instant it lit up the earth beneath. The clap of thunder that followed was loud and long. I pondered a while longer then stepped in and closed the door of the balcony. The rain was coming at a steady pace bringing a coolness that was much needed.

I took a long swig from the bottle of water and sat down on the bed. I felt a chill or was it my imagination. Lying on the bed I tried to sleep but I couldn’t. The combined effect of the dream and the phone call prevented me from falling into deep slumber. It must have taken a while for me to fall a sleep. The reassuring rhythm of the rain and the coolness that it had imported must have helped. I slept like a log. No dreams, nothing.

The whirr of the ceiling fan woke me up. I shivered in the cool breeze. My eyes fell on the clock. It was ten minutes past seven. I heaved myself from the bed and switched off the fan. The bed looked inviting but the toilet beckoned my swollen bladder…

There were only two calls that had to be heeded at all times. This was one of them. The other was one was the one that had rudely shaken me up last night. That word still rung in my ear. And it stung me hard. What business did the rascal have talking to me like that at that unearthly hour?

Someone up there, meanwhile, seemed to have a swollen bladder too. It was really pouring now - strange for this time of the year. Just as well, though. Yesterday's job hadn't gone off as easily as I had imagined.

My thoughts went back to yesterday's day at work. I had always thought that the fat pig would be nothing more than a cake-walk. It had turned very messy rather too soon. Some fight the pig had put up. The cool breeze brought me back. Bombay being Bombay - nothing had changed from 2005 to 2015 - the almost-instantaneous flooding at Bandra would only help matters. The rain would wash it all away. It would wash away the blood and the fingerprints. Fear would wash away the eyewitnesses. Time would wash away the memory. What would wash away the sin, though?

It was a lazy Sunday morning, and I was sitting in the balcony. My thoughts were a drift, just like those black clouds in the distance…

It had been three years in this profession now. The depression of 2011 still brought back painful memories. It was possibly the most inappropriate time to be doing an MBA. I was, and I couldn't help it. The fact that I was studying at India's best business school didn't help. Multi-crore salaries - the norm only a few years before - had all but evaporated into nothingness. The jobs had dried up, and desperation had set in. Everyone, after all, was doing an MBA only for the money.

Bhai had recruited from campus for the first time that year. When 'Bombay Supari' approached the Career Advancement Cell with the intention of participating in Final Placements, there was shock all around. The desperation drowned out every other feeling pretty soon, however. Bhai picked up seven 'Assignment Officers' that year. I was one of them. It was always going to be a tough life, a dangerous existence - Bhai had warned us. But then, those were desperate times. And desperate times call for desperate measures.

Three of my batchmates were killed in a police encounter within months of joining the 'Company'. With them, one part of me had also died. I stopped fearing death that day.

Bhai's behaviour had stunned me. Everyone could be replaced here, I realised that day. At most times, within minutes. Bhai didn't care about lives. Bhai didn't bother his conscience with the potential that these young men held - the potential that was being clinically destroyed. We were just soldiers in Bhai's pointless war. Nameless & faceless soldiers. Bricks in the wall.

From then on, my relationship with Bhai went downhill. Things had finally come to a stand the day before - just before the last bit of 'work' that Bhai had wanted me to execute in Bandra. Bhai remained obstinate - perhaps it was old age catching up with him. I had no option, but to go with his plan of action. Few people ever had an option when Bhai spoke. The pig had put up a fight. Wouldn't have, had Bhai heard me out for a few minutes.

Bhai would have to be taken care of, were the Company to flourish. Survive, even.

It was still raining; and pretty heavily too now. The rain would have washed away last night's killing. And it would wash away tonight's too. I checked the holster. The Smith & Wesson 0.44 was there all right. It always was. One-two-three-four-five-six. Wouldn't need all of them - but in the three years in the profession, if there was one thing that I had learnt, it was that one can never be too sure.

Bhai was alone in his room, as I had expected. He turned around at the sound of my footsteps. I pulled out the 0.44, took aim, and…

…I woke up with a start. The electricity department was at it again - unscheduled power cut at a Godforsaken hour. It was dark around me and it was humid. Sweat puddles were forming on my stomach waiting to trickle down on to the bed.

RADIO GA GA.....

2007-02-24T20:56:00.000+05:30

‘I think the primary function of radio is that people want company’

- Elise Nordling The Future of Radio, SXSW 2006

Its 8.30 p.m. on a Saturday evening and I am sitting at home with my laptop typing this post. Keeping me company is the World Space receiver/radio. Music pours out of the speakers taking me back in time….

I have always been an aficionado of the radio. When I was a tiny tot, we had a big radio at home. It was a valve radio, and hence its performance improved as the valves heated up. It also had a magic eye that would light up once you managed to get an excellent reception, which sadly, was very rare.

My favorite station was Radio Ceylon, subsequently Christened Sri Lanka Broadcasting Corporation & then as Sri Lanka Radio. Radio Ceylon is the oldest radio station in South Asia being set up in 1923. I particularly remember listening to ‘Binaca Geetmala’ & to that inimitable voice of Mr. Ameen Sayani coming floating on the airwaves on every Wednesday evening. (Binaca Geetmala was a highly popular weekly radio countdown show of top film songs from Indian Cinema listened to by millions of Hindi music lovers, that was broadcast on Radio Ceylon from 1952 to 1988. It was the first radio countdown show of Indian film songs, and has been quoted as being the most popular radio program in India during its run.) During my teenage years, it was fashionable to send in requests to Radio Ceylon’s daily morning show – a radio programme, replete with RJ, English Songs, requests and dedications.

Then we had the BBC; the British Old Lady, that brought in news that our own Akashvani (All India Radio) hesitated in announcing. (Mrs. Indira Gandhi’s death was broadcast at 12 noon by BBC and at 6.00 in the evening by All India Radio). BBC would also satiate our thrist for cricket commentary, whenever India toured England. In fact India’s triumph at the Cricket World Cup 1983, was heard on the airwaves brought to us by BBC. Dwelling on the subject of Cricket Commentary, we tuned into The Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC) during England’s Ashes tour. And, it was on the airwaves of ABC that I heard for the first time Micheal Jackson’s ‘Billie Jean’ and Men At Work’s ‘Down Under’. Mind you, all this was prior to the digital era. So one would have to fiddle with the tuning knob to stay connected to the station!

Our own Akashvani or All India Radio (AIR) kept us company through thick and thin. I remember listening to the 6.10 p.m. five-minute Sanskrit news, when we were in school – it was done on the instructions of our Sanskrit master who wanted us to familiarize ourselves with one of the politest language on earth. (AIR covers 99.37% of India's populace, broadcasting from 225 centres around the country with a total of 384 channels and transmits in 24 different languages and dialects).

In the 1990’s I hosted a programme entitled ‘Music of my Choice’, a programme of light western music, on the airwaves of the Mangalore Station of All India Radio. It was an experience. The programme would be broadcast on alternate Saturdays and it wasn’t live. Recording would be done on a Wednesday. I would proceed to the studios of AIR in the morning, say at 10 a.m. My work would begin in the Music Library. There I would go through a reasonably good collection of Vinyl records, select a few, proceed to one of the unoccupied studios and play the selected songs. There was a two fold purpose of playing them; firstly to be sure that the records were in working condition & secondly to make a note of the time taken with the help of a stopwatch. After the songs were selected, I would prepare a few lines for each song as an introduction. Next, I would proceed to the recording studio and have my voice-over recorded on a spool tape. Having finished with the voice-over, I would hand over the tape, the list of songs and the selected records to the programme director. On Saturday, I would tune in to the station and at 6.15 p.m. and my voice would come floating on the speakers. It was a strange thrill!

But on one fine day, the AIR presenter goofed up. She played my voice-over alright, but the songs were in reverse order. People, who did not know that this wasn’t live, called me up asking what went wrong. Next day at church, I was being given strange looks. That was that! I did not go back.

In 2001, I purchased a World Space receiver. People around me were skeptical when I extolled its advantages. There were many ‘doubting Thomas’s’ amongst my friends. Gradually, they too wanted a set. Today, family and friends enjoy the convenience of World Space!

Radio is moving forward at a great pace. There is the internet radio & just today I was reading an article on how one could create a programme that could be podcast.

We have come a long way……..

Dwelling on the topic of Internet radio, I must share with you a very pleasant experience that I will cherish for a long time to come.

Out at the Indian Institute of Management, a dedicated trio gets together on a day of the week and run K–dio, short for Campus Radio of IIMK. It is the brainchild of Deepak Oram, a PGP I student. The idea for K-dio was born, I am told, over endless plates of maggi noodles and milkshakes out at the night canteen of IIMK. The first show went on air in January 2007. The RJs are Jayesh Jagasia and Nisha Surendran. There's never a dull moment with Jayesh around, a witty wise-cracker, as is apparent from his popularity on k-dio. Delivered in a low baritone voice and dead seriousness, Jayesh packs quite a punch in his PJs. Nisha Surendran is his ever dependable sidekick on K-Dio. She has impressed everyone with her wit, humor and amazing comic timing on air. Both are PGP I students. There is never a dull moment as I was soon to discover.

The K-dio logo

On February 17th, I had finished a course on Business Laws. (I was to leave the IIMK campus on February 18th.) At around 7.30 p.m., I had a call from Deepak, who invited me to be the guest on that night’s K-dio broadcast. I was intrigued and excited too. I readily agreed. Deepak told me that the programme would be live and would begin at midnight, and he would pick me up from my room at 11.45 p.m.

And so it was that at a few minutes after midnight, the internet campus radio K-dio went on air and for the first time there was a Professor as a guest. What followed was 2 hours of magic. I was interviewed, albeit hesitantly at first. Jayesh and Nisha conducted phone-ins, played requests and updated everyone on what activities were slated for the next day. It was a wonderful experience. K-dio reached a peak of 79 listeners in the wee hours of the morning. (I was told that this was a record of sorts, as the previous peak was 76 listeners)

RJs Jayesh & Nisha

Speaking to the trio after the show, Deepak remarked “We are yet to tap the full potential of K-dio, and a lot of ideas are flooding in from all quarters.” Jayesh, in his inimitable style said “One thing though is for sure - batches may come and go, but K-dio is here to stay!” Nisha chimed in “It's Live! It's exciting!”

As I walked back to my room, my mind replayed the words of a song that JJ had played just a few minutes back….

I'd sit alone and watch your light
My only friend through teenage nights
And everything I had to know
I heard it on my radio
Radio

- From the song ‘Radio Ga Ga’ by Queen.

MUSINGS…..ABOARD A TRAIN

2007-02-19T21:20:00.000+05:30

For once, the train is on time. I have a first class ticket. That means I have some space for myself. I take out my Creative Zen Nx; select Richard Clayderman as the artist for the journey. Soft strains of ‘Medley of Four Seasons’ filters through the earphones. I take out my camera; can’t afford to miss the picturesque journey from Calicut to Mangalore. The train sidles out of Calicut with a minimum of fuss. Soon it picks up speed and a kaleidoscope of the Kerala countryside unfolds outside the window. The rocking motion, the gentle piano notes and the rushing scenery make me muse…..

Crossing Elattur Station at top speed

The placement season is on at most B Schools. Preliminary news filtering in is that the students are having a field day. The pay packets are increasing. My thoughts turn to my colleagues teaching at the B Schools. With a monthly salary (basic) that fetches a Professor Rs.18,400-22,400, an Associate Professor Rs.15,000-20,400 and an Assistant Professor Rs.12,000-18,000 with a measly Rs. 500 increment for Professors in alternate years, it is hardly a wonder that IIMs should have a dearth of quality teachers. Teachers’ salary , mainly in the US and EU, are at least 20 to 25 times more than that of IIM teachers annually. An average IIM graduate is being offered a much better salary than the one drawn by the IIM Director. Wonder how long will this go on?

The Road Bridge across River Korapuzha, Elattur

Backward minds cannot take a country forward. ‘Parzania’, the film about Gujarat riots, is not being shown in Gujarat. No, not because it is banned, just that Mr. Babu Bhajrangi, whose writ runs in Gujarat, decided that it should not be shown. Who is this guy? He is the principal accused in the 2002 Naroda Patiya slaughter, (the greatest single atrocity of those days) during the Godhra carnage. His favourite pastime nowadays is to beat young couples found enjoying each other’s company in college campuses or public parks. Mind you, he has hundreds of thousands of people who look upon him as a hero.

Have you heard of the Pattali Makkal Katchi in Tamil Nadu? This is a front floated to ‘restore Tamil pride’. Newspaper reports say that this outfit wants students and youths not to be seen on the streets after 8 p.m. They want cinema theatres to have only two shows a day. They want women to know that ‘equality is not drinking and smoking like men’. A trained 300 – strong ‘Army of Black Shirts’ will keep vigil across the State and will enforce the strictures. And, of course, they have declared that ‘people of other states would not be allowed to exploit Tamils’. Sounds familiar?

The Black Shirts would have the support of the ULFA and the Shiva Sena. ULFA is ‘persuading’ people from Bihar to leave Assam. Meanwhile a film, purportedly made with the blessings of the Sena, called ‘Amchi Mumbai’ which shows why people of other states should leave Mumbai has not found favour with the censor board. When the Cauvery issue became turbulent, cable operators in Karnataka switched off Tamil channels. Wither my country?

A view of the Vadakara River

This time around, the valentine’s day has been less violent than usual. Of course, some couples were chased for the benefit of TV cameras. A western custom has become deeply involved with the Indian Diaspora, going by the sale of Valentine cards and trinkets; all this due to the concerted effort of our so called patriots.

I can’t but recall the ban of the film version of ‘Da Vinci Code’ in Tamil Nadu, Punjab, Goa and some other states. It was a play for Christian votes. But not one country where Christianity is the dominant religion banned the movie. That makes me muse:

‘Jesus Christ will not be hurt by a movie & Indian Culture will not diminish because couples hold hands, or for that matter mooch, in a public park’.

On a bend...and at top speed!

Meanwhile, the war in Iraq doesn't seem like ending. If it was in Mr. Bush’s hands, he would have started a war with Iran and North Korea; not necessarily in that order. Meanwhile, the pro-American media, runs daily doses of how the allied troops are winning the hearts of the Iraqi’s. Can’t imagine how? They are confined to heavily fortified barracks – behind blast walls and razor wires. There, while air conditioners hum, the ‘boys’ watch beamed soap-operas and have roast meals. When they are on patrol, they are secure behind armour with a heavy machine gun trained on the civilian population. Winning hearts of the common Iraqi indeed!

View of Bekal Fort from a speeding train

The rhythmic motion of the train lulls me to sleep. I have slept for a mere 3 hours in the night. (More like it was the morning of Sunday.) We are on time, by the time I wake up, at Kasargod. Forty minutes later the train drops me off at Mangalore. The enthusiastic porter carries my luggage and runs towards the entrance after crossing an overbridge. At the entrance, he places my bags on the floor. I offer the customary Rs. 20. He asks for a further Rs. 10. I look at him quizzically. He smiles and mutters that prices are rising. I hand him a 10 rupee note. Probably the government will take my cue and increase the salary of my colleagues?

MY SECRET LIFE!

2007-02-12T16:54:00.000+05:30

The Circle of Contemplation, IIM Kozhikode

I was at my critical best, watching a pretty starlet being interviewed on TV. The line of questioning was the same as in innumerable interviews that you get to see on the ‘idiot box’. I must have gotten under the skin of my friend, who remarked ‘Lets see you questioning in a different manner’! That got me thinking. What could be different?
Therefore, I put my grey cells to use and came up with the following line of questioning. Just to make it that much more interesting, I have answered the questions posed.
I drive/ride: I love to ride my scooter. It’s the best way to get about; given the present circumstances of clogged roads. I also like to walk. Busy schedules, sometimes, keep me from doing it. People have been walking for years. You see more as well when you walk.
If I have the time to myself: I like going to the mountains. Trees and mountains can teach you what books cannot. Nature fascinates me. I would love to pitch tent on the banks of a stream and spend sometime there. Unsavory mosquitoes, creepy crawlies and snakes pose a problem though!
You wouldn’t know it but I am no good at: Patience. I am absolutely impatient. The trinity of my mother, my sister and my wife will vouch for that.
Comfort eating: Soup and a sandwich
When I was a child I wanted to be: Progressively I changed my ambition – Auto Driver, Bus Driver, Teacher, Priest, Loco Driver, Pilot, Cricketer, Author …..endless. But looking back, guess I still want to be a locomotive driver. I continue to be fascinated by trains!
I wish I’d never worn: I cross- dressed once to surprise a pretty girl. Guess I scared her. Don’t blame her; imagine seeing a girl with a moustache & very hairy legs!
My favourite building: St. Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City - an architectural delight; but if one goes by intrigue, the ruins of Belur & Halebeedu in Hassan District of Karnataka State. What prompted the rulers to erect these buildings in an out-of-the-way place? What happened to the builders?
It’s not fashionable but I like: Avoiding big fat Indian/Mangalorean weddings. They embarass me no end - particularly the toast and the bridal march & the crowds. I wish each time I could attend a wedding with just fifty people as guests!
The shop I can’t walk past: Crossword, Sorab Hall, Pune. I like to browse the book collection and the music ollection. I can spend hours together lost in the wonderful world of fiction & music. The best invention ever: Tablets (medicine). Can’t imagine what we would have done without them.
These would have been my 10 questions to any famous personality or for that matter to anybody. It would open up a treasure trove of information. Most importantly, it would keep the conversation going for hours together.
What about you? Will you answer my 10 questions?

GAMES PEOPLE PLAY

2007-02-06T10:48:00.000+05:30

‘Games people play,

You take it or you leave it.

Things that they say, Just don't make it right!

If I'm telling you the truth right now, Do you believe it?

Games people play in the middle of the night’

- From the song ‘Where do we go from here’ by The Alan Parsons Project

The Dal Lake

Have you heard the names H. R. Parihar, Bahadur Ram & Farooq Ahmad Guddu? Most likely you haven’t. These three gentlemen, and many more that will come to light in the coming days, will haunt us in the coming years. What have they done? Read on….
On February 17th 2006, the Indian forces claimed to have shot dead an unidentified terrorist in Kashmir. According to the army, it recovered a Kalashnikov rifle, ammunition and a pistol on the body.
On October 5th 2006, the army claimed that it had it had killed a Karachi (Pakistan) based terrorist by the code name Abu Zahid in an ambush, somewhere in Kashmir. An assault rifle and a wireless set were recovered, it claimed.
In the first week of February 2006, a certain Mr. Nasir Ahmed Deka, a hawker of cheap perfume, on the kerb-sides of Srinagar went missing. He was last seen carrying a briefcase in which he used to store his cheap perfume. His family filed a missing person complaint. What was his connection to the above mentioned incidents? Except that on February 2nd 2007 when Police investigators exhumed the grave of the so called terrorist killed on February 17th 2006, they exhumed the body of Mr. Deka. (Going by the clothes on the decayed body, local residents identified the body to be that of Mr. Deka. A bottle of perfume was also discovered on Mr. Deka’s body after it was exhumed!). The briefcase Mr. Deka used to store the cheap perfume was recovered in raids on the home of assistant sub-inspector Farooq Ahmad Guddu. Was Mr. Deka a terrorist?
The exhumation of the grave of Abu Zahid yielded a body that has since been identified as that of Mr. Shaukat Khan, a cleric reported missing from Srinagar.
Then there are Ali Mohammed Padroo and Mr. Ghulam Nabi Wani; as in other cases, claimed to have been killed as unidentified terrorists.
These shocking truths have come to light following months of internal investigation into the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Abdul Rehman Padder, a resident of Srinagar and a carpenter by profession. A Special Investigation team of the Jammu & Kashmir Police later established that Mr. Padder’s killing was part of a series of murders carried out to make the perpetrators eligible for rewards and promotions.
This has been Jammu and Kashmir’s worst kept secret. Now there is official admission that innocents do get killed and branded as terrorists in the state. An internal investigation of the J&K police has implicated members of the state police and the army in a series of murders carried out to gain rewards and promotions. There have been other cases of atrocities against Kashmiri civilians by the security forces. For example, 12 army personnel, including a commanding colonel are facing proceedings for murdering four labourers in April 2004, and passing them off as terrorists.
The Jammu & Kashmir Police have so far arrested Mr. Guddu & two men from the ranks. Mr. H. R. Parihar & Mr. Bahadur Ram, Superintendent and Deputy of the area coming under investigations, have been removed from active service pending investigation. However the army has yet to make public what action it intends to take.
The editorial in the Times of India Edition of February 5, 2007, says ‘Terror begets terror, irrespective of the political context. J&K has been a police state since insurgency began in 1989. People of the state have been victims of mindless violence, on the part of both militants and security forces, since then. Forces of the state have contributed in large measure to the people’s misery. The political class has failed to enforce the moral and legal authority of the state and abdicated the ground in favour of security forces. The police, paramilitary forces and the army have had a free run in the state. This has not secured anybody’s life, as casualty figures of civilians and security personnel for the past 15 years would reveal. The spiral of violence has spawned a parallel economy that has been exploited by state and non-state actors. Rewards and incentives announced by the state for killing terrorists have fattened this economy. Such incentives have promoted a culture of officially sanctioned bounty killings. The discovery of fake encounters and FIRs is a wake-up call to the state to realise the horror that has been unleashed on the people.’
It is incidents such as the ones I have mentioned above that make the young people of the valley heed the call of jihad. All talk of peace is then systematically massacred. Terrorists from the valley roam the country in search of targets. So next time there is a terrorist attack quite near your place of work you know that you have, among others, Parihar, Ram, Ahmad & their ilk to thank for too!

BIGOTRY & TRUTH!

2007-02-02T16:10:00.000+05:30

Gujarat is one of

India

’s most advanced States in terms of conventional development parameters. But there is something deeply wrong in Gujarat. A film duly cleared by the Central Board of Film Certification for public exhibition is not being shown there because the movie hall owners are sacred of incurring the wrath of fundamentalists. If you recall, this is the second such instance. The first film, Fanaa was not screened to punish Aamir Khan for the support the actor provided to those being displaced by the Narmada dam. The second film, Parzania is the true story of a young Parsi boy, Azhar Mody.

On February 28, 2002, he sought refuge along with his family in the house of Ehsan Jafri, a former Member of Parliament, at a housing society in Ahmedabad. Jafri was murdered along with about 60 other members of his community that evening, despite making repeated calls to the police for help. Not so well known is the fate that befell the Mody family.

As the communal killers attacked the Jafri residence, Azhar got separated from his mother and sister and has not been seen since. He was 13, at the time. Parzania is the gut-wrenching story of this boy, and also the story of close to 2,000 people who were killed or went missing in the terror that consumed Gujarat under the stewardship of a particular Chief Minister. Five years later, his regime shows neither remorse nor respect for the rule of law – which is a good part of the reason why cinema owners in Gujarat are terrified of showing Parzania.

There are those who will argue that Parzania is ‘biased’ and does not present ‘both sides’ of the story; they may even contend it is ‘inflammatory’. Ever since the Supreme Court’s 1989 decision in the Ore Oru Gramathil case, it is settled law that the yardstick for determining whether a film is inflammatory or not is the perception of an ordinary person “with common sense and prudence and not that of an out of the ordinary or hypersensitive” person. Hypersensitive individuals are free not to see the film – or to criticize it using democratic means. But to allow threats by bigoted goons to block the exhibition of a film that has won the necessary certification is to defy the Constitution and law. There is another fundamental principle at stake here. Gujarat underwent a terrible trauma in which the communal killers not only targeted and victimized an entire section of the State’s population but also turned hundreds of thousands of ordinary people into silent bystanders or even accessories. It is these mute witnesses of genocidal evil who need to see Parzania. Only if the truth is brought out into the open can reconciliation take place in a polarized society.

***

Rahul Dholakia, the director of the movie is disappointed that his directorial venture Parzania, set against the backdrop of the 2002 Godhra riots, is not finding any takers in Gujarat. Rahul says that there may be some political undertones in his film, but it’s a human interest story at the end of the day. Rahul has not given up hope. He is confident that the film will reach Gujarat for sure. A local rights group called Drishti has started an online campaign, requesting the screening of Parzania in Gujarat. A lot of people have already signed the petition. The Mody family has also come forward making the same plea, so that they can find their lost son. Hopefully, these petitions will yield results soon. Parzania stars Naseeruddin Shah, Sarika and Raj Zutshi in lead roles. The film has been doing rounds in festivals world over and saw a mass release in India on Jan 26, 2007. It has opened at Adlabs Cinema, and I intend to see it soon!

Adapted from:

1. THE HINDU , 2^nd February 2007

2. Rediff.com

SAINT ABROAD, AND A DEVIL AT HOME! Part 2

2007-01-31T17:38:00.000+05:30

Ms. Shilpa Shetty has won! She is richer by Rs.3,60,00,000 ( a conservative estimate); and has a whole new world of opportunities opening for her. And ‘racism’ continues in UK, Europe and the world, glorious India included. Just that the victims don’t earn millions like Ms. Shetty did. Kudos to Ms. Shetty. She did India ‘proud’. My friend snorted, when told that Ms. Shetty had won, ‘For that kind of money, people can call me what they want’!

Let me narrate to you my experiences abroad…..
The year is 2001. I am stopped at the passport control at Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport. The genial Dutch gentleman finds it difficult to fathom that I am an Indian. He shakes his head in disbelief. How, in God’s name, can LIONEL GERARD JULIUS ARANHA, a Roman Catholic be traveling on an Indian Passport? He looks at me bewildered and says ‘You must be a Jamaican’! I grin. He tugs at his walrus mustache. Mutters in Dutch; calls over his colleagues for a look-see at a unique Indian. I am given the look over by four of his friends. All shake their heads; and wave me through after firm handshakes and a pat on my back. Should my brown self have taken affront?

The Canals of Amsterdam

On a train in from Milan to Chivasso (a town, 20 minutes out of Turin), I approach an Indian gentleman for help in finding a particular place. I spread out the map and speak in English and Hindi. He gives me a curt ‘malum nahin’ and moves away. A Pakistani, observing the mini-drama volunteers to help. He even helps us with our luggage when we reach Chivasso. An Italian lady too joins in helping us. Discrimination ???

The Leaning Tower of Pisa

In Rome we are stopped by Sri Lankans who quite excitedly mistake us for their compatriots. But when my cousin, a Mangalorean priest, stops to say ‘Hello’ to a group of Indian Nuns, they take off as if they have seen a ghost! Maybe they were shy? I can't remember if my cousin was wearing his collar.

St. Peter's Basilica, Vatican

In Amsterdam, I am the target of the ire of a bus driver for eating a sandwich on the bus; but he does not say a word to the American who was also eating a snack. What did Indians before me do, for me to deserve this? The American does not tip the driver; I do!

On a KLM flight bound out of Rome, my wife and I are the only brown skinned human beings and I am occupying the emergency exit. The airhostess is clearly apprehensive. She kneels in the aisle and explains to me the nuances of the use of the emergency door. Her speech is slow, deliberate and with a lot of expression; her long eye lashes flutter as if in amusement. No, she wasn’t flirting. She was being cautious. (Whereas on the other side of the aisle she has been businesslike and did not waste much time in explaining; and she did not kneel). After the explanations, she asks very slowly “What would you do in case of Emergency?” I am at my eloquent best; I go through the whole drill. Then she asks me “After you open the door, what do you do?” I look at her incredulously and say, “ I will be the first one out!” It catches her off guard. She gurgles with laughter. Next thing I know, I am treated like Royalty. Bottles of Chianti (wine) and a double helping of shrimps follow.

The Colosseum, Rome

Was I lucky? Maybe I was, because I know many haven’t received the same treatment I did. Some have been beaten up and on rare occasions, there have been tragic deaths. Racism is an attitude specific to each human being, we are all intolerant in varying degrees to varied situations, how else can you explain the attitude of the Indian tourist abroad who after surreptitiously sizing you up, decides that you come from a different state, and moves away?

***

An item in today’s newspaper carries a new sobriquet for Ms. Shetty; ‘she is the icon for victims of racism’. What’s happening? What may I ask the media, did she specifically do as a "victim of racism" to be elevated to the rank of an "icon"?

THE COMPLAINT (A short story)

2007-01-23T18:07:00.000+05:30

(This short story is based on an incident that took place many years ago. My endeavour to provide the narrative in story form is to make it that much more readable.)

He was apprehensive. He looked at his image in the window pane. His hand reached out to adjust his hair. His ‘Khaki’ shirt and shorts had made way for a white mundu and a blue shirt. He had tucked a red handkerchief under his collar to prevent his sweat from staining it. Cheap plastic chapels adorned his gnarled feet. Thaniya had come dressed in his best for the occasion. His wife had been upset. She had seen him dressed this way only when he went for weddings and funerals. He had convinced her that he was going to the school. It was the day of the enquiry; he had reminded her.

The enquiry officer would arrive any moment now. Should he withdraw the complaint? The Headmaster hadn’t been too happy about the complaint. But what would his friends – the Gardener and the Attender say? After all it was they who had prodded him to lodge a complaint. In fact, Seena, the attender had drafted the complaint. Thaniya had just put down his initials after Seena had read and explained the complaint. Enough is enough they had said. The high-caste master could not treat him, Thaniya, as scum. After all he was a human being. The government referred to him and his ilk as ‘God’s People’. He had heard that an ill clad man, whose portrait adorned the wall in the Headmaster’s room, had coined the word. Who was this person, he wondered?

Now, the moment of reckoning was on his head. How would the enquiry officer treat the matter? He had heard that people had been sent to jail for the offence he had alleged in his complaint. Would the master go to jail? He couldn’t help but chuckle. This was fun. He, a mere ‘scavenger’ in a private aided school, would decide whether the ‘high-caste’ master would spend some time in jail!
He espied the Enquiry Officer making his way down the corridor to the Headmaster’s room. The department had sent someone young. He had a bag slung over his shoulder. His face cracked into a smile when he spotted Thaniya. He seemed to know him. He even patted Thaniya on the back and proceeded into the Headmaster’s cabin.
****
The ‘high-caste’ master was sent for by the headmaster. Seena, the attender, escorted him. The master looked very nervous. He looked drawn. Ever since Thaniya had lodged the complaint, that was nearly a month ago, the master had looked ill. Just the other day, Seena had brought news that the master had ‘dibitis’. He was urinating sugar, Seena had said. Strange illness, Thaniya felt. That was how his drunkard father had died. Too much drinking caused it; he was told. How could the master, who never touched alcohol, get it? He had argued with Seena. But Pedru, the gardener told him that he had heard the Headmaster say that something called ‘tress’ also caused it. They had wondered what this ‘tress’ was all about.
The master was inside the room for close to half an hour. He could hear voices. The gentle murmur from the enquiry officer, the shrill voice of the master followed by the booming voice of the headmaster, not in that order though. The master left the room. His face was ashen. For a second, Thaniya was uncomfortable.
****
It was Thaniya’s turn. He stepped into the room but hesitated at the door. He should have left his chappals outside. Tch! How very forgetful! What would the headmaster say? The enquiry officer was sitting in the Headmaster’s chair. He beckoned Thaniya and motioned him to sit. Thaniya had sat down only once in front of the Headmaster’s chair; that was when he had gone to invite the Headmaster for his wedding. He shook his head and murmured that he was better off standing. The enquiry officer then read his complaint. He struggled with the Kannada. Probably it was Seena’s writing. Thaniya made a mental note to tell Seena about it. The enquiry officer looked at Thaniya and asked him whether he was comfortable with Kannada. Thaniya was gratified. He spoke clearly that he would like the proceedings to be in Tulu. It was after all his mother tongue.
The enquiry officer smiled and switched over to Tulu. He spoke with a Christian accent. He seemed amiable. He asked the Headmaster to arrange for some tea and asked Thaniya to narrate his version of what had happened that fateful day. Thaniya began his narrative. Seena and Pedru had told him to start from the beginning; after all he had to make his case very strong!
****
It had been a Saturday. Thaniya was looking forward to a restful weekend. A peg of arrack in the evening and then a game of cock fight was what he was looking forward to. He had swept the corridors and classrooms. Just as he was proceeding to clean the latrines, he had spotted the ‘high-caste’ master beckoning him. He had dropped his broom, last time he had been scolded by the man for holding a broom while speaking to him. The master was agitated. He was holding on to his belt. He ordered Thaniya to pick the buckle of his belt which had inadvertently fallen into the urinal, and then clean it and bring it to the staffroom. Thaniya had refused point blank. An argument had ensued and that was when the master in a fit of anger had said “You and your ilk are only fit to do scavenging!” He, Thaniya, had gone to the headmaster’s cabin and told the Headmaster. The headmaster had looked bewildered. He hadn’t handled this ‘buckle-in-urinal’ complaint earlier. He had asked Thaniya not to make it a major issue. After all it was a simple matter. (Thaniya, had left the Headmaster’s room, walked down to the office and asked the office manager leave for the day. Quietly he had slid from the scene. That, he felt was a masterstroke. Else he would have to do the Headmaster’s bidding; and probably treat the matter as closed. The headmaster had helped him with some money to build an additional room to his ramshackle house and therefore, he felt obligated to the pious man.) It had later transpired that Pedru had retrieved the buckle with the aid of a stick and had handed it over to the rightful owner.
On Monday morning, he had conspired with Pedru; who led him to Seena. It was then that the complaint was drafted and sent to the department. The Headmaster and some of the teachers had requested him not to do it. But Thaniya had been adamant. For effect, Thaniya said that he had wanted to go straight to the police station and have the master arrested. The Headmaster and the enquiry officer were both watching Thaniya intently. He felt elated. He wished Pedru and Seena were around to listen to the narrative.
Just then the tea arrived. The enquiry officer took a cup in his hand and asked Thaniya to continue. Thaniya drew himself to full height; he had seen his cousin Duma who was a policeman do that, and then continued his narrative.
He had not liked the master from day one, he said. Always addressing him in the singular; though he, Thaniya, was 25 years older than him. Poking fun at him now and then. He had made several comments on his being squint. He had not heard the comments though; they had been reported to him. He had friends in the staff, you see. They were nice to him.
And most importantly – The master had refused to eat the sweets that he had brought when his son had passed the SSLC exam after 3 attempts. Then there was the case of the master not drinking water from the jug that he had filled. This, he said, made him feel unclean. All this, he said, had made him erupt like a cracker. And the master had wanted him to pick the buckle from the urinal! No way! He, Thaniya, had 33 years of blemishless work record under many Headmasters. He may have cleaned latrines, but he had never picked a buckle from the urinal, never! He paused for effect.
The enquiry officer sighed and then asked Thaniya if the incident in front of the latrine was witnessed by anybody. The headmaster turned to look at Thaniya. Thaniya said “No!” Was the enquiry officer implying that he was lying? Thaniya was losing patience. With a straight face he said, ‘God was the witness’.
The enquiry officer looked at Thaniya sharply and said “God also forgives! What about you Thaniya? Can you not forgive? Look at the man. He has developed diabetes. Do you know he has a mentally retarded daughter? What do you get from putting him behind bars for commenting on your caste? I know it was wrong, but you are older than him, don’t you think you should understand all this?”
Thaniya was taken aback. He hadn’t known about the daughter. That was news to him. Had God already punished the man? Then why should he a mere mortal punish him further; or did God want him to punish him further? Thaniya was confused. What should he do? He wished his friends were with him. But then again, did the enquiry officer know of his problems? He stayed in a ramshackle hovel. The empty field at the back of his house was his toilet; which he shared with his community members. He and his community members were still being treated like lepers. The government helped. But it looked like it helped only those who already had plenty. Look at that crook Buba. He had joined the government service as an attender. Today he had moved out of the locality, built a huge house, and his children were studying to be doctors. He, Buba, had shamelessly boasted, over a peg of arrack, that he took bribes. All that Thaniya had done was sold a few beedis to the students of 10th Std. He was censured. And Thaniya’s children, less said about them, the better.
He looked at the enquiry officer and said in a loud voice “No”! The enquiry officer sighed, the Headmaster made a clucking noise. “Then you must produce a witness” said the enquiry officer. Thaniya was agitated. “You mean to say he said he did not say all this?” he said. “Then why had the Headmaster requested me to withdraw the complaint? Why did the other teachers ask forgiveness on his behalf?” And then with great aplomb he said “Do you take me for a fool?” That was great dialogue, he felt.
It was the turn of the enquiry officer to be confused. He got up, picked his bag and murmured about making a report. Quietly he shook hands with the Headmaster, offered a vacant smile to Thaniya and went out of the room. Thaniya followed him outside. He did not want to be alone with the Headmaster.
****
That night, Thaniya did not sleep well. The face of the master, the enquiry officer and the headmaster kept coming back in dream after dream. He got up and went out in the open. Lighting a beedi, he looked up at the sky. He was tired of it all; tired of everything. Should he withdraw the complaint? What would his friends say? He pondered for a long while, then turned in and slept.
****
The next morning, Thaniya walked into the Headmaster’s room startling him. The Headmaster asked Thaniya sharply, “What do you want?” Thaniya bowed down and looking at the floor said “I withdraw the complaint.” The Headmaster took some time to recover. But looking relieved, removed his spectacles and polishing them said “I assure you he won’t trouble you again. I will call the enquiry officer and inform him. You may have to sign a statement”. Thaniya turned to go. Just then the Headmaster said “Thaniya, what made you change your mind?” Thaniya paused, looked at the Headmaster and said “Let sleeping dogs lie”. He walked out tears streaming from his eyes, head erect, proud that he, a mere mortal, had forgiven.

SAINT ABROAD, AND A DEVIL AT HOME!

2007-01-21T08:25:00.000+05:30

As I write this post, a strange ‘drama’ is unfolding on TV screens around the UK and India. The actresses are, not necessarily in any order of preference;
Ms. Shilpa Shetty – a wannabee Ms. Aishwarya Rai, who will go any length to boost a sagging career. Known to wear clothing that makes me wonder – did the tailor take erroneous measurements or was the cloth insufficient? Mind you, she is pretty!
Ms. Jade Goody – a dental nurse. General knowledge isn’t her forte; she though Rio De Janeiro was a footballer!
Ms. Danielle Lloyd – dethroned Miss Great Britain. Supposed to have had an affair with the judge of the contest; hence dethroned – a case of undue influence.
Ms. Jo O’Meara – a former singer in a pop band SClub7. It is reported her solo career did not quite take off.
All of the above mentioned ladies are locked in a battle on a reality TV show called ‘Big Brother’. If I am to believe the tabloids, they are all being paid to appear on this show.
The show is simple – after watching their 'antics', viewers vote to have to have them exit the show. My surmise is that the one who remains, wins the show.
It would have been just another show – but for the bullying of Ms. Shetty by the other contestants; particularly Ms. Goody and to a certain extent Ms. Lloyd. Viewers complained – nearly 36,000 complaints were lodged against the bad treatment, with perceived racial over-tones, meted out to Ms. Shetty.
Breaking News, Flash News, Big Fights, Headline, Page 3, Editorials, Letters to Editors, emails, sms, blogs et al have been written and rewritten on the alleged ‘Racial Slur’ on this reality TV show, in the land of our ex-rulers. It has had every Indian worth his/her salt up in arms. Issueless politicians of both countries have pitched in their two paise worth. The matter has been discussed at breakfast, lunch and dinner; in houses, restaurants, trains, buses, planes, airports, cars and God knows where else. Indians in India & abroad, (including a dude in a ship anchored of the coast of Iceland) have felt insulted. In one voice they have bashed the obnoxious behaviour of Ms. Shetty’s mates on the show - Jade Goody & Danielle Lloyd.
Everybody, including the Brits, have had huge sympathy for Ms. Shetty. Ms. Shetty, meanwhile, has achieved stardom of a different kind, Danielle has lost lucarative modeling assignments, Carphone Warehouse – the main sponsor, has pulled out the sponsorship for the show & Channel 4 – the broadcaster, is left holding fort. Indian Tourism Department has placed an ‘Incredible India’ advertisement in a London Tabloid – in which Ms. Goody and her ilk are invited to explore our mysterious nation!
Latest news coming in say that Goody and Lloyd have made up to Shilpa – hugs and tears all around and all appears to be fine……
And finally today, Ms. Jane Goody has been voted out by the viewers.

I am amazed.

Aren’t we carrying this a bit too far? Ms. Shilpa Shetty is not representing India. She is in the show for money and fame – possibly an overseas acting assignment to follow.
People who have traveled abroad, and Great Britain, in particular will tell you that ‘Racism’ exists. There have been countless number of Indians who may have been the target of Racism – has a voice been raised? Forget the shores of a foreign land. What about India?
As a kid, I wished I was born with a fair complexion. My complexion was the butt of jokes for some absolutely, abjectly, miserable cretins; particularly in school. I had a master who once called me ‘kariya’, in Kannada, in class – that’s like calling someone ‘nigger’ in USA. I was helpless – 'red' with indignation; but I couldn’t do a farthing’s fart. In the initial years this was a nightmare – but as I grew up I felt okay. I could not change the colour of my skin. I guess this continues even today. People do not change. Mind you my tormentors were Indians, in India. Then what the hell are we crying hoarse about Racism in some other country?
Aren’t we a brood of Hypocrites? Have we not divided our country, firstly, into North and South? Up North don’t we deal rather contemptuously with people from South? Aren’t the people of South less friendly towards ‘Northies’? The people of the North East are still referred to as ‘chinese’! They haven’t been made to feel Indian. Down south we have our own share of queerness with ‘Mallu’, ‘Tams’, ‘Andis’ et all.
Get in too deep…… and we have Hindus pitted against Muslims. And don’t we have the famous Caste System – that some of us are proud of. Doesn’t the Government tacitly divide us into ‘Reserved’ and ‘General’? Don’t we discriminate the Girl Child? Women?

I am amazed!

And we have the audacity to slam the kinds of Goody and Lloyd!

Saint abroad, and a Devil at Home!

PURSUE ACHIEVABLE GOALS

2007-01-14T10:29:00.000+05:30

Fourteen days of 2007 have passed us by. It is time to take stock of the resolutions that we made on December 31^st 2006. I don’t know about you, but I have in the past few years managed to stick to some resolutions at least. For example, last year I gave up the odd cigarette that I used to smoke in the company of friends. I thought that was quite an achievement.

Many of us make the usual resolutions and promptly break them in the first week of January. A census conducted shows the following as the ten most common resolutions made for the New Year:

Lose weight, Stop smoking, Stick to a budget, Save more money, Find a better job, Become more organised, Exercise more, Be patient at work/with others , Eat better & Become a better person.

This year I have made a few 'achievable' resolutions:

I have decided to reduce my travel – Past two years have been pretty hectic
I have decided to dedicate some time for a sport – I used to play a lot of shuttle badminton; and have decided to resume playing once again
Lose a few inches from around my waist
Learn ballroom dancing – My wife is longing to learn; and I have decided to help her out
Continue posting in my blog, at least once a month
Continue work on my novel – at least put in 25 pages of quality writing
Put together my mother’s collection of hand written recipes in a book-form.

I have commenced work on all fronts. After a fortnight, I feel confident that I will be able to achieve some of these resolutions. That’s because I have put down that which can be achieved. Are you doing the same? Are you pursuing achievable goals?

Last week an old acquaintance visited me at my office. He was going through a phase; not being able to achieve his goals. That’s when I remembered the above picture. I pulled it out of my archives and blew it up on my PC screen and invited his attention to it. He pondered for a while, stared at me, blinked twice and murmured ‘nice picture’. Knowing him, I knew his mind was ticking. That evening he called me to say that he wanted the picture. I have forwarded it to him.

It does not matter whether they are New Year resolutions or goals that you would like to score during your lifetime – Pursue Achievable Goals!

"Let's only have goals we can go after" - Bono (U2)

A MATTER OF LANGUAGE

2006-12-29T07:19:00.000+05:30

On a train bound for Calicut

It was a warm day by Mangalore standards. I was happy to get inside the cool confines of the AC coach. I was on my way to Calicut, and was taking the 12.15 train from Mangalore. Placing my bags on the floor, I surveyed the scene. A portly Malyalee gentleman, dressed in an expensive white ‘mundu’ and a white shirt, his hair well oiled and neatly combed, a faint trace of ‘gulf’ perfume around him, was to be my traveling companion. He gave me a toothy half-smile. As I settled down, he spoke to me in Malayalam. I replied in English, that I do not speak the language. He smiled and decided not to disturb me and continued reading his ‘Malyala Manorama’.
The railways were commemorating the ‘vigilance week’. Posters had festooned the walls of the railway station. This is the week wherein your ticket gets to be seen more than once by different Travelling Ticket Examiners (TTE).
And so it was; I made myself comfortable, pulled out the latest edition of Reader’s Digest from my bag and immersed myself in one of those feel good articles. There were a good 10 minutes for the train to depart, when we were subjected to the first of many checks. A uniformed TTE, came in asked for our tickets, had a look at them, made some surreptitious tick marks on the ticket and moved on. A little while later another TTE walked in and the routine was repeated. I was cool about it, as I had experienced this farce, many a times. But I did notice my traveling companion getting a little flustered. He grumbled, of course in Malayalam. I could not comprehend a word of what he said.
The train pulled out at 12.15 sharp. As it crossed the points and made its way to the main track, a plain clothes TTE appeared. He was a short gentleman and looked mean. His demeanor was boorish. He demanded to see the ticket. I routinely reached into my pocket and gave it to him. He too did the tick marks as his predecessors had done before him & returned the ticket. It was the turn of my traveling companion next. He was hot under the collar as he stood up. He towered over the TTE and with a booming voice said something in Malayalam; which to me sounded like he was asking for some identification. The short tempered TTE shouted even louder and pulled out his identification card. Thoroughly chastened, my traveling companion, handed over the ticket.
After the TTE left, the malyalee gentleman adjusted his mundu; by tucking in further the edges into the waistband. Just as he was sitting down I caught his eye. He smiled sheepishly and said, with that tangy malayalee accent, ‘ I don’t show mine to strangers’. I smiled and mumbled, ‘same here’.

The train had picked up speed.

THE NOTE

2006-12-07T22:02:00.000+05:30

On a Sunday morning, it is customary for me to attend the 8.00 a.m. mass at the lovely St. Aloysius College Chapel in Mangalore. My family, and I have frequented this chapel for the last 30 years or so. I was an altar boy in this chapel from class VI to X. Nowadays I am in charge of the offertory collections. (These are collections in monetary form from the congregation) I arrange to have it collected and then place the offerings in an alms box and lock it. The Procurator of the college will open it later and count the offerings. An announcement is made on the next Sunday of the collections made on the previous Sunday. This system has been followed so as to avoid tempting the sacristan (the chapel caretaker) to dip in.

The St. Aloysius College Chapel

(Altar View)

So it was on one Sunday, last year, that I was emptying the collections into the alms box, that I spotted this scrap of paper. I picked it up, placed it aside and proceeded to lock the box. I almost forgot the piece of paper; the priest who had said mass attracted my attention to it. It was folded lengthwise, I carefully opened it. It was a note; written in a plain but legible handwriting and in perfect English. I began reading it and watching my facial expression the Reverend asked me ‘What is it’? I looked up and read the note aloud:

Dear Lord Jesus,

I am really very sorry for the crime of robbery which I have done. I know that I have put me & my parents to shame. I am really very sorry Lord for the pain that I have given you and my parents. I promise you lord never I will rob others money or other valuable things or ordinary things. I will leave smoking and drinking whisky, rum etc which I did without the knowledge of my parents. I humbly ask forgiveness lord, please forgive me and don’t let my parents know about this. I will be a good boy and work for your glory. I will be obedient to you & my parents. Please lord don’t allow to spread the rumour that I robbed the cell. Even my friends name should not come. Please lord. This I ask in your loving name. Amen.

There was silence in the sacristy. I looked at the Padre. He seemed to be startled. Giving me a side glance he said ‘Naïve boy. It must be a student. Let’s go’ and with a booming ‘good morning!’ to old Mrs. Pinto, he was off.

I took the note and slipped it into my pocket and moved on.

The St. Aloysius College Chapel

(Rear View)

That night I read the note again. Questions began forming in my mind. I carefully folded the note and put it in my bag among some papers. It has remained there, until yesterday. I was cleaning my bag and stumbled on this note and once again the questions flooded my mind.

Who was the author of the note? Considering his innocence, a high school student perhaps, probably in the VIII std. or so? What was it that made him write this note? Was he naïve, as the padre observed? Why did he put the note in the offertory collection? Did he think that by doing so, all his acts would be forgiven? What made him think that this note would be read, or for that matter, ignored? Where is he today? Is he well on his way to becoming a Charles Sobhraj or…..a Mahatma Gandhi? Has he made the transition?

Has God forgiven him?

I am preserving the note. When we meet next, please ask to see the note. Maybe what I am carrying in my bag could well be a piece of History!

Visit the St. Aloysius College Chapel @ http://www.staloysius.ac.in/campus/chapel/

QUE SERA SERA, WHAT WILL BE, WILL BE.

2006-12-04T20:07:00.000+05:30

It was a Saturday in December, way back in 1982. Or was it 1983? Never mind. It was 3.30 in the evening. I was sipping a cup of tea & getting ready for a game of cricket in the cemetery. (Well not in the cemetery to be exact, but in the bye lane adjoining the cemetery.) Smells of Christmas goodies wafted from the kitchen. My Mother, ably assisted by my sister was frying ‘kalkals’ (a Christmas delicacy in these parts.) I finished my tea and with the usual biding of goodbye, took up my cricket bat and ran up to my friend’s house. He was ready and waiting. We collected the rest of the cricketing gear and made our way to the cemetery. (You see we had to cross the cemetery to get to the bye lane)

Just then we espied the grave-digger coming towards us. He was a gaunt old man; a friendly soul, whom we had helped in the past – either to dig the grave or to fill it in after the burial. He was drenched in sweat. His torso was covered by a thin film of red mud. He must have been digging a grave. He cleared his throat, spat out the phlegm and scratching his legs, said ‘There is a funeral’. He paused for effect and then said ‘Of a beggar’. I waited. The old man continued; ‘The priest has asked you’ll to attend and help in the burial’. He paused; his roomy eyes looked at us. My friend sighed. ‘There goes our game of cricket’. ‘Who is this beggar’ I asked. The old man shrugged. ‘Dunno’ he said. ‘He was found dead in the bus- stand near the church. Seems he has no relatives. He was wearing a cross. The Muncipality has requested the vicar to bury him here’. I nodded. We fell silent as we followed the old man into the cemetery. We couldn’t play today, as the cortege would have to come in through the bye lane. The other members of our motley bunch arrived one by one; enthusiastically – expecting a great game of cricket. The news of the impeding funeral dampened the spirit. Some grumbled and left, some hung around.

A few minutes later an ambulance came up the lane. It stopped near the gate of the cemetery. A driver got out. ‘Come and help, you fellows’, he hollered. The old man stirred, threw down his beedi and motioned us to follow. The ambulance door opened. We peeked in. There in a white coffin lay the skeletal like remains of a an old man. It was difficult to tell his age. His white hair was fluffy – they must have washed it. They had dressed him in some borrowed clothes. We lifted the coffin. The odour of formaldehyde or formalin wafted out of the coffin. We made a slow progress to the grave; there were four of us and the old man. The grave was in a corner of the cemetery. It looked like they wanted to hide the grave. A clandestine act – a beggar among elite; shut away from public glare? The driver followed with the lid of the coffin. Just then, the priest appeared on his mo-bike. He was a pompous man. I had a feeling he did not like us one bit. He had warned us not to frequent the cemetery. He had complained to our parents. Yet, at this moment, he looked friendly; even throwing us a half-smile. He began the customary prayers. In the corner of my eye I saw the driver beating a retreat. The rickety ambulance neighed and coughed as it spurted to life and then with a final blare of the horn, the driver drove off. It drowned the words of the priest’s intonations.

When the priest had belted the final hymn – a solo performance, with the old man humming a few lines in between, we closed the coffin. With the help of ropes, which act as pulleys, we lowered the coffin into the grave. Before we could pull out the ropes, the priest heaved a pile of mud into the grave with the help of a spade. It fell with a thud on the coffin. We too followed with fistfuls of mud. With a swift murmuring of what sounded like ‘Thank you’, the priest took off. We heard his mo-bike start and the sound of the bike faded into the distance. It was quiet once again, except for the sound of the old man shoveling mud into the grave. We hung around for sometime, collected our cricketing gear and then made our way back home. It was getting dark. A cool evening breeze had begun to blow gently. Did I feel a shiver?

That night I lay awake for a long time. Did the man we buried have no relatives? What about friends? He had looked to be in his 70s; but looks can be deceptive – perhaps he had aged prematurely. Did he not have any ambition? Where was he from? He must have been a bubbly baby many summers ago? What went wrong? Did he attend school? Had be fallen in love? Did someone somewhere love him – at least for a moment? Did he have a wife? What about children? Had his mother not sung lullabies for him? What about his father? Had he not held him in his arms with dreams in his eyes? What the hell had happened? I slept a disturbed sleep. Images of a gaunt man, sleeping in a coffin, came floating through the sleep……..

‘When I was just a little boy
I asked my mother, what will I be
Will I be handsome, will I be rich
Here's what she said to me.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.’

(Adapted:
Originally Sung by Doris Day
in the Movie The Man Who Knew Too Much)

THE GRAVEYARD SHIFT

2006-12-01T22:39:00.000+05:30

For well over 25 years, I had resided next to a cemetery. I am told that we moved in next door to the cemetery when I was 2 years old. I moved out 27 years later. In my early childhood, I was mortally scared of the place. But as I grew up, the fear gave way to respect. And today I can say I did learn some unforgettable lessons in that desolate place.

When fear gave way to a sense of macabre curiosity, the cemetery became a favourite haunt for me and my two friends. Attending funerals and observing the ritual of burying the dead became a pastime. There were many instances that left an indelible mark on us. One such incident took place in the early 70s. There was this funeral of a 36 year old lady. When the time came to close the coffin the children clasped the lid of the coffin and refused to allow the pall bearers to do their job. The relatives had a tough time consoling them and taking them away. Suddenly, my friend, standing next to me started bawling; a few eyebrows were raised & he too was whisked away. (We had a tough time extricating him from the clutches of the doting relatives) The congregation was moved to tears. It was, to this day, the most tearful funeral that I have attended. I cried too….

The next day, the children came to the grave with flowers. They came day after day. Days became months, and months transformed into years. I observed that the visits of the children became scarce and then one day the visits just stopped.

The years went by. We continued our sojourns in the cemetery. Then one day, in the 80s, 1983 or so, a car drew up to the cemetery gate. The occupants of the car, 3 young girls, got out of the car. They were carrying a bouquet of flowers. My friends and I had reached that golden age when anything in skirts would draw immediate attention. So it was that we gawked at them. They seemed lost. They were searching for a grave. I recognised them as the children at that funeral. I attracted their attention and motioned them over towards an unkept grave. My friends helped me clear the undergrowth. There beneath the wild grass and creepers lay the grave of their mother!

We walked away. There was silence. I looked over my shoulder. The girls had placed the bouquet of flowers on the grave and were gingerly making their way back towards the car. It looked as if they were making a quiet getaway. One of my friends, the same guy who had bawled at the funeral, muttered ‘What’s this life!’

M’mries,
Like the corners of my mind
Misty water-color memories
Of the way we were
Scattered pictures,
Of the smiles we left behind
Smiles we gave to one another
For the way we were
Can it be that it was all so simple then?
Or has time re-written every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me, would we? Could we?
M’mries, may be beautiful and yet
What’s too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget
So its the laughter
We will remember
Whenever we remember...
The way we were...
The way we were...

(From the movie THE WAY WE WERE)

A SANDWICH, ORKUT & ME

2006-10-28T08:03:00.000+05:30

If you ever happen to visit the cute 'lil canteen at TAPMI, ask for a sandwich; not any sandwich, but a PARVESH SANDWICH!

Legend has it that one hot afternoon in July of 2005, when the rain was playing truant, the gods appeared to Chef Gopi and taught him how to make the sandwich. Of course, the gods used a medium for the instruction - none other than Parvesh Debuka. He was then in PGP 1. And that's why the sandwich is called Parvesh Sandwich. A mouthful, the name I mean. And so, the girls, prominent being Pavan and Rashmi shortened it to 'Purvee Sandwich'. Indeed I have caught Parvesh or Purvee blush furiously in the initial stages. Now, he does not respond to anything but Purrveeeee....

When the matter was narrated to me in the Finance class, I too rushed to the canteen and tasted the new item on the menu. It tasted; well different. Not like your run of the mill sandwich. It was ambrosia. (Come on..... I ain’t exaggerating) Had a talk with the Chef and Purvee. It was then that I threw a challenge to Purvee - Why not start something? A sandwich chain, maybe. In fact I promised Rs. 10,000 as my contribution to the start up. The whole class was a witness to my offer!

Today, Purrvee is in PGP 2. Chef Gopi has since shifted to the night canteen but not before passing on the technique to the next chef in line. I am not yet poorer by Rs. 10,000.

There are many of you who, after a MBA joined or will join a secure job environment. (I am not against it – I want to ignite minds, hence) Not many think of breaking the monotony; think of being an entrepreneur. Think of being your own boss. Think of innovating and applying what your were/are taught in the confines of your classrooms. Rashmi once wrote to me saying ‘we do so many things everyday without realizing that it actually gives some one an idea or a thought that can change our future’!

In August 2006, 14th August to be precise, I was introduced to Orkut by Purvee and Rashmi. To this day, that is 74 days later; I have 254 friends and 7458 visits to my profile of which 101 visited yesterday. What a powerful tool!

Since I began understanding the nuances of Orkut, I have become restless. Can't I and my 254 friends, their friends and friends of their friends.... start something? Anything worthwhile? Come on......! Put on your thinking caps and lets begin.....! Lets all feel restless....!

Write to me.... Lets do something....anything....other than scrapping each other!

Parvesh, are you reading my blog?

We did start the fire
It has started burning
Since our world started turning
We did start the fire
We did light it
And we are not going to fight it...

(With due apologies to Mr. Billy Joel)

THE CITY DON'T KNOW WHAT THE CITY IS GETTING!

2006-10-22T23:22:00.000+05:30

Come to think of it, 'Mangalore is a Glorified Village'!

I was chastised for this statement way back in 2003. I was addressing members at the local Rotary Club. The alacrity with which some of the old (as in age) members moved surprised me, they went for my jugular. They were hurt. I was shouted out. Ridiculed. Mangalore was the most happening city. I had chuckled saying 'THE CITY DON'T KNOW WHAT THE CITY IS GETTING!. My stand was vindicated when riots broke out 15 days ago, taking the city by surprise and leaving Mangaloreans shell shocked. I wasn't surprised, I was expecting it. We had been sitting on 'explosives' for the past few years and smoking our 'beedis'! One wandering ember and 'Ka-boom'!

Media has been giving a fair doze of what did and what did not happen on those 5 fateful days. Now, that hardly matters. What matters is how to prevent it from happening again...and again...

Here is my take on the subject. The main players in this riot were, not necessarily in that order, politicians, leaders, police and the rioters. I have observed the politicians closely. They are opportunists. More about them in another blog! Majority of the Police Force pay respects to the ruling politicians. They have no morals or scruples. I have often referred to them as uniformed 'Veerappans'. Of course, I know of Policemen who are honest; but they are a miniscule minority. Out here, I am more interested in the rioters. These, I believe,are the stars of any riot! Ignore the fact that they have affiliations to various organisations religious or political. Concentrate on the age group. They are in the age group of 15 - 30 years. WASSUP? 15-21 should be in educational institutions; 21 - 30 should be working; raking in the moolah for the family hearth. The vast majority are from the surrounding 'ghettos' of the city - erstwhile villages now brought under the jurisdiction of the City Corporation, not necessarily poverty stricken.

Mangalore 'boasts' of educational institutions. Post 1980, Mangalore has seen a proliferation of educational institutions: the routine Engineering Colleges; Medical Colleges; Hotel Management Colleges, Physio Therapy Colleges, Nursing Institutes; even Fashion Technology and a few B Schools. All run as business establishments - except maybe some Engineering and Medical Colleges. Majority run by people of dubious credibility. Admissions are based on 'donations'. Education is passe. Students are subdued by 100% attendance, threat of rustication and the usual 'fundas' that are employed to stifle even a whimper of protest. Mangalorean students aren't normally encouraged. 'Outsiders' swarm the place paying 'through their nose'. Many are from K-land. There are also the 'Chaak Chaar Bra' from Manipur. The 'Maja ma Che' from G-land.... all in all a potpourri of cultural diversity. WHERE DO THE YOUTH OF MANGALORE GO?

We Mangaloreans are careful with our money. (Bah.... my friend, D. Nair,calls us stingy!) Hence we established banks. Of course we also made tiles (from dies stolen from the German Missionaries), we owned estates (some of us were supervisors under British Owners - when they moved out we took over as owners), we have our cashew nut processing factories (we do undercover processing of the fruit too - in Goa the brew is called fenny; out here 'country'). A few of us run buses that have a very 'good strike rate' of killing and maiming the 'aam janata'; managed by drivers who will make Mr. M. Schumacher have a permanent drop jaw! (He races on a track - these blokes do it on dirt tracks; what with all our roads having developed lunar craters.....) Have I covered all enterprises? There are a handful enterprises set up by corporate bodies - but they do not need these under educated youth.... even as attenders. Can you believe if I told you that there is a severe shortage of barbers in Mangalore. Jobs that are being done by youth from Mysore, Mandya etc. No Mangalorean youth comes forward even to be a coiffeur! Not many employment opportunities for the youth. WHERE DO THESE YOUTH OF MANGALORE GO?

So there you are. Ill-educated youth; proficient in Tulu and profanities. Well fed by doting mothers. (I have not yet come across any youth looking anorexic)Dressed like film heroes. No good, hitched around refugees in their own land. Easily disturbed by sentiments - and if those sentiments are religious, so much better. Putty in the hands of scheming politicians. Some of them well on their way of becoming juvenile scamsters. Each one of them with plenty of time on hand to do nothing productive. WHERE ARE WE HEADING? WILL NOT RIOTS OCCUR AGAIN?
AND THE CITY DON'T KNOW WHAT THE CITY IS GETTING!

Riders on a storm
Riders on a storm
Into this City were born
Into this world were thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out on loan
Riders on a storm

Theres a killer on the road
His brain is squirmin like a toad
Take a long holiday
Leave Mangalore today
If ya give this man a ride
Sweet memory will die
Killer on the road!

(with due apologies to 'the doors'....)

THE YEARS GONE BY

2006-10-17T23:24:00.000+05:30

I hit upon this brilliant idea, that I too should write. I felt that sudden urge to make it big; Booker Prize, New York Best Sellers List, Money, Fame and a Rendevouz with Simi Grewal.
At the breakfast table, one rainy morning, I said to my wife Ann, 'I'm going to write'! I was immediately checked for signs of fever - I had been delirious with a temperature of 104 degrees when I was down with Malaria. Hence the quick check up!

I also hit upon the title - BTW Dude! (By the way dude! - for those of you who have come in late). The audience was definitely identified as the typical 20 something with a 'BTW' attitude. But then I wondered....How could a forty plus 'dude' communicate with 20 something 'dudes'. Easier said than done? Just that - when my target audience was on a breast milk diet, I was graduating from College! Tough!

I was introduced to Orkut. Was sucked in. And have got deeply entrenched there. By popular demand I am continuing - as the Schumacher of Orkut. Then came suggestions that my 'gems'should appear in a web-log or Blog! Took advice from my 'usual suspects'; the friends on Orkut. Unanimously I was goaded to write a blog. That's why I am writing this blog! BTW Dude has been dammed!

I just finished 16 years of teaching on October 2nd 2006. How did I fare in these 16 years? I took stock. Sat back and did some thinking. Concluded that I had done a reasonably good job. You can't please all. But, most importantly, I had pleased myself! I am one happy 'dude', particularly when I see my students doing well in life!

I attended the Annual Homecoming of TAPMI, Manipal. I spent quality time with students of the 2004-06 batch. I had first met them, a motley bunch of curious youngsters, on June 16th 2004. They were putty in my hands. I tried pushing through some 'fundas of life' alongwith the staple diet of Financial Accounting and Financial Management. In the process, I spent nearly 80 hours of my life, with them, inside the confines of the class; and God Alone Knows, many more in the canteen. I attended their convocation, the first one that I had attended, and a few did cry on my shoulder when the time came to part. It was at that time that I wondered - What will become of them? I fretted; like a parent would.

Time went by. And I met them at the homecoming. I was surprised. This time I met, a disciplined bouquet of determined young men and women. In the course of the day, the opium of truth hit me. I had stagnated, they had moved ahead in life. That night I slept, contended. They, a 'motley bunch of curious youngsters' were already on their way. My chest swelled with pride and I slept the sleep of God's.

Do teachers all over have the same feeling? I wonder! Haven't been able to communicate this thought to many amongst my colleagues.

What was the reaction of these young people when they met me? I did not ask. One of them had hauled a shirt for me, all the way from Kolkata. Why me? I was overwhelmed! Could I take it as a reaction?

Every day of these last 16 years, I too have been taught. Lessons by young people. By my colleagues. By friends. Subjects too diverse to mention. I have matured too as wine would if permitted. I have learnt to be a co-student. I have concluded that students are my clients; just as they are clients of the institute to which they have come.

I raise a toast, not to myself, but to all the people who I have come in contact in the last 16 years. They who left an impression on me. May their tribe increase and prosper! Amen!