31 December, 2008
End of yet another disastrous year. The last time I had such a fearful year was 2005. Before that it was 2002. 1999 before that. Makes me wonder about the frequency. 3 years – that’s the gap. So if I were to forecast my destiny, the next hit is to come in 2011. I don’t know how it is going to hit me – but I have an idea as to how will it leave me. Alive, but penniless. So my focus in between would be making some money. And if it continues like this, you know, two year of trying to make some money only to get washed away in the third year, I wonder how retirement is going to be.
I read about tribes of Afghanistan and wonder how tough life is for them. I read about the Kurdish freedom fighters and marvel at their inhuman ability to sustain a regime like that of Saddam. I read about Israel and her ever hostile neighbors, about Taliban dominated social Pakistan and their Government’s political callousness; and I think about life’s unjust nature, about imbalances in our world and people. But back home, to me and my family, 99, 02, 05 and 08 has made me realize that liberalization and shopping malls notwithstanding, we are only marginally better.
The world and time provide us with cushions. Life, money, fame and power – in that order, from inside to outside. For the zillions like me and my family, the final layers of the cocoon are non-existent. We don’t have power, and we are nameless and faceless. The only thing that we can muster, summoning all our faculties, is some money – to help us ward off the existential threat. Like the way I have been doing – salting away for a bad patch and fighting the patch with reserves. I am sure people like us have cycles (calculated or not), with varying amount of time lag. The difference between me thus, and the unknown refugee somewhere in Afghanistan about whom I read only in books? He doesn’t have money. That makes me better than him by a single point. And during a particularly bad year like 2008? No difference at all. Sentiments of the same fraternity – moneyless, nameless and impotent. One life, that’s common, binding two living entities by an unseen bond that stretches across hundreds of miles.
So here is my hope for 2009. I don’t have the luxury of a wish-list, I have but one hope. I hope I can earn some money in 2009 and continue doing so in 2010, because 2011 is going to be bad again. My one point difference that existed between myself and that nameless refugee in Middle East needs to get back to its respective place. Equality among mankind looks good only in textbooks. But I am not wishing my current counterpart bad luck for 2009, for I’d like to believe that I am decent, educated and socially aware like most of you. I am only hoping for myself. I think he is doing the same for himself.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Surviving these Hard Times
A few days ago a dear and favorite writer of mine wrote a Sunday editorial. It was about the current recession. The crux of it was ‘no one knows what happened no matter what the self proclaimed analysts say’. I found myself in fair compliance with the moral, like I usually find myself, whenever this gentleman writes. But there are certain extremely basic facts that one ought to know – if for nothing, at least for the need to survive through the time.
The bad times started with the sub prime crisis triggered in US of A. Greedy US people took so much of credit, that they threw the entire global financial system upside down. US got punched; Europe got jabbed – and Jack and Jill came crashing down. The self proclaimed analysts blew hot, crying ‘Crisis!’ They then blew cold saying don’t worry; they will put Humpty-Dumpty together again. We, all the King’s horses and men are watching. There is nothing much to do now.
In India whatever we are witnessing is the tip of the iceberg. The United Alliance of Astrologers and Analysts say that bad times are going to last till Mar 2009. But people across crucial places fear worse. One of my ex-colleague, a Vice President with an international bank says that the crest of the crunch is yet to come. In his opinion, for the whole of the iceberg to show, it is going to take another two years, and for the whole crisis to subside, it can well be three, maybe four years. For the time now, only housing loans are visible. Left are the credit card and the myriad mix of other loans. A stock market don opines that with the current withdrawal of money from our market by FII (an amount that runs into few hundred crores everyday) – it is bad, with a capital B. According to him, for the market to revive it’ll be a minimum of three years. So this whole story of India Shining is gone. Because India was ‘shining’ courtesy foreign investments, and now the investors are all deadwoods.
There is another, perhaps an equally important thing that we need to be aware of – that of our involvement in the crisis. Yes, we just can’t put the entire blame on the economists and business policy makers and get out. Of course there is no ‘getting out’ now, but that’s not the point. The point is, mass involvement. Have you seen a building on fire? Or read about it, or watched it on TV? What happens most of the time is that the stampede that follows kills more than the fire does. You know, people panic – they react. This reaction is crucial and it is based on human emotions. That’s been our contribution to this crisis. We are scared and we are taking our money out. And that has compounded the catastrophe.
The market has crashed and to some extent all of us are responsible. This state is here to stay for sometime, before it revives painfully slowly, reaches a zenith and lunges towards rock-bottom again. It’s a cycle, integral to the economy. Since we can’t control emotions, there is nothing that we can do to change this kind of a cycle. So finally, here are a few survival tips for the Great Indian Middle Class to see them through the hard times – something that we all should be aware of without choice:
Sell (dump, maybe) your car, buy a two wheeler. They come cheap and they run cheap too. Europeans cycle to office wearing formals and all. With the winters setting in, even we can think of the same. Forget going to the bar; call three other friends at home and open that sad looking bottle of Indian liquor. Peanuts are fattening snacks, try salt and onion with your drink – they taste good. Have dal-rice for breakfast and dinner; carry dal-rice to office for lunch – boredom of taste buds are not life threatening. Outings should comprise of assembling all family members and going for a jog in the local park – it’s economical, does a world of good to your health, and cleanses your Bollywood-overdosed mind. Let those stocks lie low – think of the world without stock market – you can watch Ramayana on TV, to help you concentrate along those lines. Don’t read business papers – they can not promise you good times, they can promise you a heart attack instead. This Dhanteras is all about will power; to stay away from jewelry shops – test yourselves. If you have a job, try to work really hard – and leave the rest to your karma. If you are jobless like most of us nowadays are, then keep looking for one; you can even think of starting afresh. And if you feel humiliated, remember that globally there are millions like you who are doing the same.
Hope to see you all at a better place and a better time.
The bad times started with the sub prime crisis triggered in US of A. Greedy US people took so much of credit, that they threw the entire global financial system upside down. US got punched; Europe got jabbed – and Jack and Jill came crashing down. The self proclaimed analysts blew hot, crying ‘Crisis!’ They then blew cold saying don’t worry; they will put Humpty-Dumpty together again. We, all the King’s horses and men are watching. There is nothing much to do now.
In India whatever we are witnessing is the tip of the iceberg. The United Alliance of Astrologers and Analysts say that bad times are going to last till Mar 2009. But people across crucial places fear worse. One of my ex-colleague, a Vice President with an international bank says that the crest of the crunch is yet to come. In his opinion, for the whole of the iceberg to show, it is going to take another two years, and for the whole crisis to subside, it can well be three, maybe four years. For the time now, only housing loans are visible. Left are the credit card and the myriad mix of other loans. A stock market don opines that with the current withdrawal of money from our market by FII (an amount that runs into few hundred crores everyday) – it is bad, with a capital B. According to him, for the market to revive it’ll be a minimum of three years. So this whole story of India Shining is gone. Because India was ‘shining’ courtesy foreign investments, and now the investors are all deadwoods.
There is another, perhaps an equally important thing that we need to be aware of – that of our involvement in the crisis. Yes, we just can’t put the entire blame on the economists and business policy makers and get out. Of course there is no ‘getting out’ now, but that’s not the point. The point is, mass involvement. Have you seen a building on fire? Or read about it, or watched it on TV? What happens most of the time is that the stampede that follows kills more than the fire does. You know, people panic – they react. This reaction is crucial and it is based on human emotions. That’s been our contribution to this crisis. We are scared and we are taking our money out. And that has compounded the catastrophe.
The market has crashed and to some extent all of us are responsible. This state is here to stay for sometime, before it revives painfully slowly, reaches a zenith and lunges towards rock-bottom again. It’s a cycle, integral to the economy. Since we can’t control emotions, there is nothing that we can do to change this kind of a cycle. So finally, here are a few survival tips for the Great Indian Middle Class to see them through the hard times – something that we all should be aware of without choice:
Sell (dump, maybe) your car, buy a two wheeler. They come cheap and they run cheap too. Europeans cycle to office wearing formals and all. With the winters setting in, even we can think of the same. Forget going to the bar; call three other friends at home and open that sad looking bottle of Indian liquor. Peanuts are fattening snacks, try salt and onion with your drink – they taste good. Have dal-rice for breakfast and dinner; carry dal-rice to office for lunch – boredom of taste buds are not life threatening. Outings should comprise of assembling all family members and going for a jog in the local park – it’s economical, does a world of good to your health, and cleanses your Bollywood-overdosed mind. Let those stocks lie low – think of the world without stock market – you can watch Ramayana on TV, to help you concentrate along those lines. Don’t read business papers – they can not promise you good times, they can promise you a heart attack instead. This Dhanteras is all about will power; to stay away from jewelry shops – test yourselves. If you have a job, try to work really hard – and leave the rest to your karma. If you are jobless like most of us nowadays are, then keep looking for one; you can even think of starting afresh. And if you feel humiliated, remember that globally there are millions like you who are doing the same.
Hope to see you all at a better place and a better time.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
The Devil n the Sea
Lehman Bros collapsed. The entire market did not exactly crash after that, but in a life and time marked by general socio-economic ill health of our world, it served an important reference point – a milestone. Petroleum prices playing hide and seek with the hapless politicians; Middle East sitting on a ticking time bomb; terrorists across the world riddling democracy with suicide attacks; Barack Obama’s controversial middle name; the only Anglo-Saxon Christian presidential solace for the most powerful country in the world a reflection of typical Yankee ignorance notwithstanding; India had little or no reasons to worry. Or so we were told. We even had a feeling of insulation, though lukewarm. But blame Lehman Brothers.
Nearly all from investment crashed - the bankers with their banks. I heard some added a variant, the thought of jumping out of their high rise windows; don’t know if they managed that. Jokes apart, in discussion now are apparently the best brains of our world – the whiz-kids of Harvard, Wharton, MIT and the IIMs. Whisked off their campus with the promise of a life not envied only probably by the Sultan of Brunei, these people are supposed to be the beacons of mother earth. IQ above 160, they are the walking talking encyclopedias of economics, commerce, business, IT, and all of the rest. Equipped with their knowledge they are generally expected to propel humanity to unprecedented heights of planetary achievement. They are the smartest things among living beings and…
Look what they have done to the market.
Back home, Dalal Street and her run to 21000 points seems like India winning Prudential Cup sometimes long ago. Post Lehman milestone, suddenly the ghosts in the closet have got out. The industries are buckling, and pink slips are flying all around. The smart talking Relationship Managers of the Banks and Asset Management Companies are considering it unfashionable nowadays to open their mouth. The silence is so impatient that the uneducated politicians bickering about coming elections are sounding rather intelligent; and the morale is so low that minds are under the threat of getting blown away by a weak whiff of air. Pundits on TV, who make a living out of post-mortem, have found out a new name – Global Financial Tsunami.
Yesterday North East Bangla, a local TV channel came to interview me. Of all industries, they chose Aviation. I had a huge flex board somewhere in our office that read about unparalleled opportunities coming up for the industry by 2010; facts endorsed by Ministry of Civil Aviation and a few others. There were lot of statistics about the phenomenal growth in terms of employers, employees, aircrafts and blah blah blah… all in hundreds and thousands, and some even in lakhs – sadly I do not remember the statistics now because some smart Alec had the board removed when petroleum crisis hit the news channels. Though I tried to answer the interviewer to the best of my abilities, the red board haunted me. The stale news of Jet, Kingfisher and Indian Airlines stepped down as a new worm hatched inside my head.
Eighty years ago (history says that), bad times had fallen upon the planet. It is called the Great Depression. A lot of us were not born then. But lot of those who were there, must have observed the phenomena have passed the knowledge on to the right places. There are lots of case studies I am sure. During the first few days of witnessing the second depression (if I may name it so) through TV or newspapers, I had wondered what exactly did the business management guys learn from such earlier cases. Aren’t they supposed to learn from the past? I mean they teach you this moral at home, you don’t need to visit even the main gates of any IIM for this.
Life was usual for my middle class being. But as the days passed by, I kept noticing a slight change in the market temperature. The business house representatives and the opinion builders, with political backup, were earnest to their desperate best to placate the nervousness of the mass. Many of them were even traveling to the extent of dubbing the bad news as ‘base-less rumors’ etc. as I kept wondering why would someone lie so blatantly even when nations were at stake. One doesn’t quell fear factor by wiping the whole truth off the table.
It was then I realized that these guys know the basics. They are intelligent to the level of geniuses. And such a primary moral of ‘learn from your past’ is no rocket science either. Basics are amply clear where they should be; and it is not they who don’t know facts - it is we who don’t understand the veracity. The reality is that, the effects of assimilation of any moral lies in application, and the business think tanks of modern day apply lessons learnt to enhance the profit factor of organizations.
Where intelligentsia is supposed to shoulder the onus of steering the rest of us to a palpable direction of prosperity, they get remarkably ravenous in the course of walking-talking-looking-living important, of flaunting lifestyle and wealth. Perception management and lies, both covert and overt step in. Cover stories cook up. Dialogues flow and opinion gets created. That is where the huge red boards get set up in offices, across magazines, everywhere outdoors, and inside the common man’s mind. We are optimistic. We buy such pictures for the hope of a better future, place our lives in their hands and trust them with that. And we expect them to place theirs in our hands and trust us. We thus invest – money, time, honor, resource, life and even off-springs.
The brand ambassadors however don’t subscribe to such sentiments. Their focus remains on earning profit to ensure their convertibles and condos; the upkeep of the private yachts and islands of their lords and masters, at the cost of the rest of our planet. A common man seldom realizes his sheer bad luck. That within feasible limits, he and his types are the only ones available to them. The tragedy that there are no outer planets that houses creatures interested to do business with these opportunists.
From space and sentiments, if we come back to earth and decide to get real, then let us try these few questions. “Trade Secret” is an old term. But look here. Whose trade? Who all are involved? Whose money is contributing to the profit mechanics? What is the secret after all? And why is it a secret in the first place when nearly the entire world is involved in investments? The jargons that fly all over the TV screen tells us that this is not some petty story of an obsolete craftsman, that he’d have his skill secret from the village folks.
So. Is it a secret managed especially for voyeuristic reasons? The fact that the economy owners love to watch us ‘perform’ our senseless antics as they climax with the thought of how evolved they are. While we squirrel away small amounts from one to the other corner and wonder what next, they sit high and mighty and take pride in acting gods. Reminds me of the dialogue of Deewar – ‘Mere paas Maa hai!’ In effect, I have my little secret which you don’t have, and bro let this thought haunt you for the rest of your life, when you sit and ponder how deprived you are. At least Vijay was not a voyeur.
And now? Market down, money gone. I am sure that the gods of modern day business realize that they maybe voyeurs, but they are not very intelligent. Where greed dominates the mind, there is little to learn and little to feel proud of. And even though there is plenty to hide, depressions like these dig out lot of dirt. Nice and dark humor.
Coming back to us – the junta is always stranded for the want of a better future. We have two sides accompanying our being. At one side we have an evangelist, a certain Mr. Feel-Good, as per modern day terminology. At the other, we have a deep blue sea that doesn’t look like Park Hotel swimming pool on a lazy Sunday morning. Issue is the evangelist doesn’t let us look that side. They drown us with stocks and bonds and economics talk. They knock us out with retail and IT and telecom revolution. They overwhelm us with greed, that green shade in our eyes as we rally to pick up the latest gadget or swipe our cards for the biggest diamond. It is contagious.
If the lifestyle angels around our first shoulder are distractive, then the view over the other is menacing. The sea is deep, it is bad and, unlike the smart looking brand ambassadors, it looks bad too. If one cares to concentrate that is. It is called the Real World. There is a transition that Liberal Democracy is going through. Terrorism is getting legitimized. At places in the world, they are running governments and nations. We live with the fact that tomorrow we might have neighbors with terrorist governments. Religions in conflict, land in conflict, and politics in conflict – the mix is more potent than a lot of mixtures that you have known so far. There are full scale wars around almost all continents even at 2008 – as you and I boast of the elevated human intelligence behind the latest gaming series or the pen, which also doubles up as a virtual computer.
At home, we are witnessing bomb threats every week. The politicians’ psyche haven’t shifted an iota from where it was sixty years ago. They too are ruled by high greed and low competency. State governments and oppositions are at loggerheads over power-play. The basic canon of a government of/for/by the people is passé. It is more a Middle East style state of Monarchial affair where the people are of/for/by the government. Religious tolerance is at an all time low. Appreciation of language and culture is like a zombie from the past that no one notices. Environmentally, the fossil fuel, which arrived to its current productive state post a million year metamorphosis, has been near finished by us in a little over hundred years. Global warming is the order of the day. Rain forests are nearly out. Glaciers are following behind. Whatever resources we have at our disposal, have all been dug up from underneath. This is the only earth we have, and we have raped her quite religiously. But the businessmen of today, with their industrial and techno-delights have so strong a presence in our mind that at best, we don’t know that such a forcible violation has happened; at worst, we don’t care about any rape or its victim.
Knowledge is relatively simple. One opens oneself and knowledge pours in. But how simple it is to develop the right outlook? All the years that we have enjoyed our stay at mother earth, what has been our center of attention? Environmental Awareness? No. it has been wealth accumulation at any cost. We laugh or we cry when we get rich or poor. Like we all are crying now, for the money that we lost. Tomorrow we will laugh again, because some smart talking devil will resurrect the giant wealth spinning machine and our ‘world’ will be nice and shiny again.
Before long, it’ll be too late in the day - time is running out. Would you want to focus on some cause that’s far away from the latest LCD TV or the next stock market Bull Run? Would you want to turn the next page of this planet on a cooler, better note? Or would you rather leave no page worth turning?
For once, would you focus less on the devil and acknowledge the deep blue sea?
Nearly all from investment crashed - the bankers with their banks. I heard some added a variant, the thought of jumping out of their high rise windows; don’t know if they managed that. Jokes apart, in discussion now are apparently the best brains of our world – the whiz-kids of Harvard, Wharton, MIT and the IIMs. Whisked off their campus with the promise of a life not envied only probably by the Sultan of Brunei, these people are supposed to be the beacons of mother earth. IQ above 160, they are the walking talking encyclopedias of economics, commerce, business, IT, and all of the rest. Equipped with their knowledge they are generally expected to propel humanity to unprecedented heights of planetary achievement. They are the smartest things among living beings and…
Look what they have done to the market.
Back home, Dalal Street and her run to 21000 points seems like India winning Prudential Cup sometimes long ago. Post Lehman milestone, suddenly the ghosts in the closet have got out. The industries are buckling, and pink slips are flying all around. The smart talking Relationship Managers of the Banks and Asset Management Companies are considering it unfashionable nowadays to open their mouth. The silence is so impatient that the uneducated politicians bickering about coming elections are sounding rather intelligent; and the morale is so low that minds are under the threat of getting blown away by a weak whiff of air. Pundits on TV, who make a living out of post-mortem, have found out a new name – Global Financial Tsunami.
Yesterday North East Bangla, a local TV channel came to interview me. Of all industries, they chose Aviation. I had a huge flex board somewhere in our office that read about unparalleled opportunities coming up for the industry by 2010; facts endorsed by Ministry of Civil Aviation and a few others. There were lot of statistics about the phenomenal growth in terms of employers, employees, aircrafts and blah blah blah… all in hundreds and thousands, and some even in lakhs – sadly I do not remember the statistics now because some smart Alec had the board removed when petroleum crisis hit the news channels. Though I tried to answer the interviewer to the best of my abilities, the red board haunted me. The stale news of Jet, Kingfisher and Indian Airlines stepped down as a new worm hatched inside my head.
Eighty years ago (history says that), bad times had fallen upon the planet. It is called the Great Depression. A lot of us were not born then. But lot of those who were there, must have observed the phenomena have passed the knowledge on to the right places. There are lots of case studies I am sure. During the first few days of witnessing the second depression (if I may name it so) through TV or newspapers, I had wondered what exactly did the business management guys learn from such earlier cases. Aren’t they supposed to learn from the past? I mean they teach you this moral at home, you don’t need to visit even the main gates of any IIM for this.
Life was usual for my middle class being. But as the days passed by, I kept noticing a slight change in the market temperature. The business house representatives and the opinion builders, with political backup, were earnest to their desperate best to placate the nervousness of the mass. Many of them were even traveling to the extent of dubbing the bad news as ‘base-less rumors’ etc. as I kept wondering why would someone lie so blatantly even when nations were at stake. One doesn’t quell fear factor by wiping the whole truth off the table.
It was then I realized that these guys know the basics. They are intelligent to the level of geniuses. And such a primary moral of ‘learn from your past’ is no rocket science either. Basics are amply clear where they should be; and it is not they who don’t know facts - it is we who don’t understand the veracity. The reality is that, the effects of assimilation of any moral lies in application, and the business think tanks of modern day apply lessons learnt to enhance the profit factor of organizations.
Where intelligentsia is supposed to shoulder the onus of steering the rest of us to a palpable direction of prosperity, they get remarkably ravenous in the course of walking-talking-looking-living important, of flaunting lifestyle and wealth. Perception management and lies, both covert and overt step in. Cover stories cook up. Dialogues flow and opinion gets created. That is where the huge red boards get set up in offices, across magazines, everywhere outdoors, and inside the common man’s mind. We are optimistic. We buy such pictures for the hope of a better future, place our lives in their hands and trust them with that. And we expect them to place theirs in our hands and trust us. We thus invest – money, time, honor, resource, life and even off-springs.
The brand ambassadors however don’t subscribe to such sentiments. Their focus remains on earning profit to ensure their convertibles and condos; the upkeep of the private yachts and islands of their lords and masters, at the cost of the rest of our planet. A common man seldom realizes his sheer bad luck. That within feasible limits, he and his types are the only ones available to them. The tragedy that there are no outer planets that houses creatures interested to do business with these opportunists.
From space and sentiments, if we come back to earth and decide to get real, then let us try these few questions. “Trade Secret” is an old term. But look here. Whose trade? Who all are involved? Whose money is contributing to the profit mechanics? What is the secret after all? And why is it a secret in the first place when nearly the entire world is involved in investments? The jargons that fly all over the TV screen tells us that this is not some petty story of an obsolete craftsman, that he’d have his skill secret from the village folks.
So. Is it a secret managed especially for voyeuristic reasons? The fact that the economy owners love to watch us ‘perform’ our senseless antics as they climax with the thought of how evolved they are. While we squirrel away small amounts from one to the other corner and wonder what next, they sit high and mighty and take pride in acting gods. Reminds me of the dialogue of Deewar – ‘Mere paas Maa hai!’ In effect, I have my little secret which you don’t have, and bro let this thought haunt you for the rest of your life, when you sit and ponder how deprived you are. At least Vijay was not a voyeur.
And now? Market down, money gone. I am sure that the gods of modern day business realize that they maybe voyeurs, but they are not very intelligent. Where greed dominates the mind, there is little to learn and little to feel proud of. And even though there is plenty to hide, depressions like these dig out lot of dirt. Nice and dark humor.
Coming back to us – the junta is always stranded for the want of a better future. We have two sides accompanying our being. At one side we have an evangelist, a certain Mr. Feel-Good, as per modern day terminology. At the other, we have a deep blue sea that doesn’t look like Park Hotel swimming pool on a lazy Sunday morning. Issue is the evangelist doesn’t let us look that side. They drown us with stocks and bonds and economics talk. They knock us out with retail and IT and telecom revolution. They overwhelm us with greed, that green shade in our eyes as we rally to pick up the latest gadget or swipe our cards for the biggest diamond. It is contagious.
If the lifestyle angels around our first shoulder are distractive, then the view over the other is menacing. The sea is deep, it is bad and, unlike the smart looking brand ambassadors, it looks bad too. If one cares to concentrate that is. It is called the Real World. There is a transition that Liberal Democracy is going through. Terrorism is getting legitimized. At places in the world, they are running governments and nations. We live with the fact that tomorrow we might have neighbors with terrorist governments. Religions in conflict, land in conflict, and politics in conflict – the mix is more potent than a lot of mixtures that you have known so far. There are full scale wars around almost all continents even at 2008 – as you and I boast of the elevated human intelligence behind the latest gaming series or the pen, which also doubles up as a virtual computer.
At home, we are witnessing bomb threats every week. The politicians’ psyche haven’t shifted an iota from where it was sixty years ago. They too are ruled by high greed and low competency. State governments and oppositions are at loggerheads over power-play. The basic canon of a government of/for/by the people is passé. It is more a Middle East style state of Monarchial affair where the people are of/for/by the government. Religious tolerance is at an all time low. Appreciation of language and culture is like a zombie from the past that no one notices. Environmentally, the fossil fuel, which arrived to its current productive state post a million year metamorphosis, has been near finished by us in a little over hundred years. Global warming is the order of the day. Rain forests are nearly out. Glaciers are following behind. Whatever resources we have at our disposal, have all been dug up from underneath. This is the only earth we have, and we have raped her quite religiously. But the businessmen of today, with their industrial and techno-delights have so strong a presence in our mind that at best, we don’t know that such a forcible violation has happened; at worst, we don’t care about any rape or its victim.
Knowledge is relatively simple. One opens oneself and knowledge pours in. But how simple it is to develop the right outlook? All the years that we have enjoyed our stay at mother earth, what has been our center of attention? Environmental Awareness? No. it has been wealth accumulation at any cost. We laugh or we cry when we get rich or poor. Like we all are crying now, for the money that we lost. Tomorrow we will laugh again, because some smart talking devil will resurrect the giant wealth spinning machine and our ‘world’ will be nice and shiny again.
Before long, it’ll be too late in the day - time is running out. Would you want to focus on some cause that’s far away from the latest LCD TV or the next stock market Bull Run? Would you want to turn the next page of this planet on a cooler, better note? Or would you rather leave no page worth turning?
For once, would you focus less on the devil and acknowledge the deep blue sea?
Saturday, August 23, 2008
The Paradise Lost
I went to Kashmir with my parents when I was a kid studying in Standard V. I would not say that it was a once in a lifetime visit, because I was too dumb to register too many things. Sketchy pictures that made me promise myself to revisit this place as a grown-up are Lidder River, Gulmarg greens, and Shalimar Garden. But soon after that, to most of our ill luck, trouble brewed in the valley and the place nearly shutdown for tourists. A few brave-hearts would go nonetheless, and mostly face dire consequences. Armed forces, both official and unofficial inherited the stretch. They started a series of small skirmishes in between them to prove their respective points. Caught in between all of these, the paradise, which was otherwise home to saffron, dry fruits, apple, shawls and tourists, became the romping ground for extremist militancy and international politics. I liked the place, like so many millions of others – so I was naturally worried. Nowadays, my half-empty-glass mind is passing me hints, which makes me feel that this battle of inheritance is probably getting over. It’s a mixed feeling, to speak out loud.
We had Kashmiri Shawl vendors who used to inhabit the small time lodges of Durgapur during the winters. They would hire hand-pulled rickshaws for the full season and roam around the entire town selling their goodies. I understood two things from this group, a) they loved their valley and b) they hated the rest of India. Discussing current affairs was never my Dad’s forte – so it used to be a one sided complaining bout, whenever GN Shafi, our shawl vendor would come to our quarter with his shawl bundle. Complains against the government, complains against the tourists, complains against the customers – it used to be a complete package.
Coming back to our tour – when in Kashmir, our agent Anandaloke Tourist used to take us for sight seeing – the regulation ones. Among other things, what I had marked then was that the residents were remarkably indifferent to us. They were least bothered whether you bought anything from them or not. Our tour conductor Mr. Mishra’s observations were that foreign tourists, mostly Americans had spoilt them beyond restoration. Dollars were better appreciated even then. Naturally a couple of Indians more or less didn’t bother the locals much. Though this was entirely his opinion, the attitude of the residents did nothing to alter that; it was so blatant that even a ten year kid like me could understand.
During our sightseeing we had visited a few apple orchards, among other things. One particular incident left a bitter taste in my mouth. It was one of the orchards, I don’t remember the name of the place, but most probably it was in and around Srinagar. For a group of tourists from Damodar Valley, there was nothing like green apple laden trees of Srinagar or Anantnag. The crowd had gone berserk, and that was promptly capitalized by the money minded caretakers. In no unclear terms, we were instructed that the cost of clicking pictures with an apple tree as your background was five rupees. To touch an apple while poising was ten rupees! At 1982, that was a big amount – an entire fifteen days conducted-tour to Delhi, Kashmir and Haridwar had cost us four hundred rupees per head. A pack of ten Picture Post cards cost one rupee in Chandni Chowk, Dehi. But the caretakers were adamant about their pound of flesh. And by default, the adventurous few among us decided to touch. One thing made way for other; touch led to temptation (Adam and Eve?) and one guy snapped an apple away, put it inside his pocket and went to lookout for the caretakers – he wanted to know the price of that. In response to his enterprise, three caretakers teamed up and beat him good enough to open his face across two places, before the rest of us rushed to wrestle our wretched hero from them. All along, they kept hollering ‘tourist log sab chor hai!’ as much as their lungs would permit. We had to return their precious little green vice to them and had to flee.
Much later in life, married and all, a visit to Shantiniketan during the famous Poush Mela brought the same attitude back from my memories. There were three of them – shawl vendors. I and my wife were looking for a few nice shawls and maybe a bit of a chit chat while at it. Chit led to chat and that led to a download of an incredible amount of venom- old wine in new bottle, from the ‘oppressed citizenry’ of modern India. My wife, naturally smarter than me, slipped away – she had finished her purchase, while I was left stranded in one of the hundred temporary shacks somewhere in Tagore’s dream land, as I listened to the matchless saga of how the Govt. of India was responsible for every murder, every rape, illiteracy, flood, cold wave, draught etc; at the cost of an otherwise fine winter afternoon. The trio could have started a new religion.
There are two chief components to a tourist attraction. The natural geography is one. The second thing is its people and their output in terms of hospitality, culture, outlook and tolerance. The more culturally tolerant the locals are, the more tourist-friendly a place usually is. But Kashmir has remained different throughout. I fathom that they take a whole lot of pride in being ‘different’. Probably the government of India also thought them to be different. That’s why Article 370, that’s why billions of rupees of grant, that’s why special privileges… the list is typically Indian – tall dark and handsome. Now if I ask a simple question – Against what returns? We probably would not have an answer, any answer.
Most of us know Kashmir history by now. Let us not repeat it. But how about a round of face off? Think, why are we so hell bent on Kashmir? If it is for tourism, the answer is, tourism is doomed and would remain so. The valley people have so much of a deep rooted resentment against the rest of the country, it should surprise one and all as to how the govt. managed to achieve and maintain a peaceful status quo in the first place; how they managed to conduct a couple of elections that were accepted as free and fair, in the second. If it is for the spectacular landscape, the answer is even Himachal, Uttarakhand and Sikkim have stunning landscapes- they need a bit of brushing up. Something that is quite achievable. We don’t need a Kashmir to add significance to our GDP or economy. Then what is it that makes one and all shout about it? The probable single word answer is ego. The interference of Pakistan, which at best is a third rated nation, in the affairs of Kashmir, and the apparent love affair between them and the people of the valley has made us incorrigibly egoistic. If Kashmir goes, we lose out to Pakistan – that’s the sum total of the psychology of a majority of Indians.
But practically, over the years, Kashmir valley has been nothing but an obligation (to put it mildly) on our score sheet. We are poorer by the loss of lots of precious lives, money, resource, time and peace of mind just to ensure that that half occupied fraction of land stays within the political map of India. Out of the three parts, i.e. the valley of Kashmir, the plains of Jammu and hi altitude Ladakh, the later two have anyway decided that they would keep their priorities secured by insuring their future with the sub-continent. As far as the valley is concerned, half of it is ‘Azad’ anyway. Since the separatists feel that it is going to do them a world of good by going their counterpart’s way – my honest opinion is, so be it. Let us rather get a finger amputated than wait for it to malign the entire arm. If that makes you think of a possible precedence for other prospective separatist states, understand that Kashmir valley is different as usual. This is the only place in the whole nation where separatists enjoy and boast of civil and political support. They probably have Pakistani support too. There have been tensions across other states, but none have been sustained for more than a few years – a decade at most. Kashmir has managed to dominate the landscape of turbulence for sixty years. This kind of a situation sounds pretty deep rooted. And such a deep root suggests public sympathy – my samples put aside, look at the current status.
Think about Pakistan and the relation that it shares with USA. Grants, aids, defense and scientific supports, friendly immigration rules – pardon my English, it has been “no give; only take”. Kashmir has been our Pakistan. It has been a sordid history of take and take. All we expected was tourism – they have slaughtered that dutifully. Like USA, if we want something in return, Kashmir screams its jugular out, like Pakistan does. And India, like an old man married to a sexy young girl keeps overlooking and forgiving every darned fault of the valley.
So let Kashmir fall. I would really love to watch the fate of the newly independent valley. They have three choices as of now: a) stay with India – which definitely tops their hate list; b) get their ‘azadi’ – which is a chartbuster and which won’t probably last for more than a week, because that would trigger the third option; which is c) get annexed by Pakistan. If the third is an eventuality, probably that would do some social good to the new state. Given the way the valley inhabitants are, they would love to live life Pakistan (read Taliban) ishtyle. They would find the culture, outlook, political and social arrangements rather conducive, because that’s what they aspire for. But should option c happen, it would be without the billions from the Govt. of India.
At our end, we would sit for a while and feel terrible. A piece of land so dreamt of and glorified. A lot of us would cry their hearts out. I would probably be one of them. But as I watch Headlines Today, I see valley people wave Pakistan flags as they trample and burn the Tricolor – I guess there is but one way. If a few hectares of temporary land allotment can bring out so much of abhorrence, let them dwindle. Beauty can go and kiss oblivion. We will rebuild our borders and save some lives – of people who swear for the nation.
And if at least three of the potentially promising states of the rest of India benefit from those grants, 2009/10 would be the year(s) to look forward to.
We had Kashmiri Shawl vendors who used to inhabit the small time lodges of Durgapur during the winters. They would hire hand-pulled rickshaws for the full season and roam around the entire town selling their goodies. I understood two things from this group, a) they loved their valley and b) they hated the rest of India. Discussing current affairs was never my Dad’s forte – so it used to be a one sided complaining bout, whenever GN Shafi, our shawl vendor would come to our quarter with his shawl bundle. Complains against the government, complains against the tourists, complains against the customers – it used to be a complete package.
Coming back to our tour – when in Kashmir, our agent Anandaloke Tourist used to take us for sight seeing – the regulation ones. Among other things, what I had marked then was that the residents were remarkably indifferent to us. They were least bothered whether you bought anything from them or not. Our tour conductor Mr. Mishra’s observations were that foreign tourists, mostly Americans had spoilt them beyond restoration. Dollars were better appreciated even then. Naturally a couple of Indians more or less didn’t bother the locals much. Though this was entirely his opinion, the attitude of the residents did nothing to alter that; it was so blatant that even a ten year kid like me could understand.
During our sightseeing we had visited a few apple orchards, among other things. One particular incident left a bitter taste in my mouth. It was one of the orchards, I don’t remember the name of the place, but most probably it was in and around Srinagar. For a group of tourists from Damodar Valley, there was nothing like green apple laden trees of Srinagar or Anantnag. The crowd had gone berserk, and that was promptly capitalized by the money minded caretakers. In no unclear terms, we were instructed that the cost of clicking pictures with an apple tree as your background was five rupees. To touch an apple while poising was ten rupees! At 1982, that was a big amount – an entire fifteen days conducted-tour to Delhi, Kashmir and Haridwar had cost us four hundred rupees per head. A pack of ten Picture Post cards cost one rupee in Chandni Chowk, Dehi. But the caretakers were adamant about their pound of flesh. And by default, the adventurous few among us decided to touch. One thing made way for other; touch led to temptation (Adam and Eve?) and one guy snapped an apple away, put it inside his pocket and went to lookout for the caretakers – he wanted to know the price of that. In response to his enterprise, three caretakers teamed up and beat him good enough to open his face across two places, before the rest of us rushed to wrestle our wretched hero from them. All along, they kept hollering ‘tourist log sab chor hai!’ as much as their lungs would permit. We had to return their precious little green vice to them and had to flee.
Much later in life, married and all, a visit to Shantiniketan during the famous Poush Mela brought the same attitude back from my memories. There were three of them – shawl vendors. I and my wife were looking for a few nice shawls and maybe a bit of a chit chat while at it. Chit led to chat and that led to a download of an incredible amount of venom- old wine in new bottle, from the ‘oppressed citizenry’ of modern India. My wife, naturally smarter than me, slipped away – she had finished her purchase, while I was left stranded in one of the hundred temporary shacks somewhere in Tagore’s dream land, as I listened to the matchless saga of how the Govt. of India was responsible for every murder, every rape, illiteracy, flood, cold wave, draught etc; at the cost of an otherwise fine winter afternoon. The trio could have started a new religion.
There are two chief components to a tourist attraction. The natural geography is one. The second thing is its people and their output in terms of hospitality, culture, outlook and tolerance. The more culturally tolerant the locals are, the more tourist-friendly a place usually is. But Kashmir has remained different throughout. I fathom that they take a whole lot of pride in being ‘different’. Probably the government of India also thought them to be different. That’s why Article 370, that’s why billions of rupees of grant, that’s why special privileges… the list is typically Indian – tall dark and handsome. Now if I ask a simple question – Against what returns? We probably would not have an answer, any answer.
Most of us know Kashmir history by now. Let us not repeat it. But how about a round of face off? Think, why are we so hell bent on Kashmir? If it is for tourism, the answer is, tourism is doomed and would remain so. The valley people have so much of a deep rooted resentment against the rest of the country, it should surprise one and all as to how the govt. managed to achieve and maintain a peaceful status quo in the first place; how they managed to conduct a couple of elections that were accepted as free and fair, in the second. If it is for the spectacular landscape, the answer is even Himachal, Uttarakhand and Sikkim have stunning landscapes- they need a bit of brushing up. Something that is quite achievable. We don’t need a Kashmir to add significance to our GDP or economy. Then what is it that makes one and all shout about it? The probable single word answer is ego. The interference of Pakistan, which at best is a third rated nation, in the affairs of Kashmir, and the apparent love affair between them and the people of the valley has made us incorrigibly egoistic. If Kashmir goes, we lose out to Pakistan – that’s the sum total of the psychology of a majority of Indians.
But practically, over the years, Kashmir valley has been nothing but an obligation (to put it mildly) on our score sheet. We are poorer by the loss of lots of precious lives, money, resource, time and peace of mind just to ensure that that half occupied fraction of land stays within the political map of India. Out of the three parts, i.e. the valley of Kashmir, the plains of Jammu and hi altitude Ladakh, the later two have anyway decided that they would keep their priorities secured by insuring their future with the sub-continent. As far as the valley is concerned, half of it is ‘Azad’ anyway. Since the separatists feel that it is going to do them a world of good by going their counterpart’s way – my honest opinion is, so be it. Let us rather get a finger amputated than wait for it to malign the entire arm. If that makes you think of a possible precedence for other prospective separatist states, understand that Kashmir valley is different as usual. This is the only place in the whole nation where separatists enjoy and boast of civil and political support. They probably have Pakistani support too. There have been tensions across other states, but none have been sustained for more than a few years – a decade at most. Kashmir has managed to dominate the landscape of turbulence for sixty years. This kind of a situation sounds pretty deep rooted. And such a deep root suggests public sympathy – my samples put aside, look at the current status.
Think about Pakistan and the relation that it shares with USA. Grants, aids, defense and scientific supports, friendly immigration rules – pardon my English, it has been “no give; only take”. Kashmir has been our Pakistan. It has been a sordid history of take and take. All we expected was tourism – they have slaughtered that dutifully. Like USA, if we want something in return, Kashmir screams its jugular out, like Pakistan does. And India, like an old man married to a sexy young girl keeps overlooking and forgiving every darned fault of the valley.
So let Kashmir fall. I would really love to watch the fate of the newly independent valley. They have three choices as of now: a) stay with India – which definitely tops their hate list; b) get their ‘azadi’ – which is a chartbuster and which won’t probably last for more than a week, because that would trigger the third option; which is c) get annexed by Pakistan. If the third is an eventuality, probably that would do some social good to the new state. Given the way the valley inhabitants are, they would love to live life Pakistan (read Taliban) ishtyle. They would find the culture, outlook, political and social arrangements rather conducive, because that’s what they aspire for. But should option c happen, it would be without the billions from the Govt. of India.
At our end, we would sit for a while and feel terrible. A piece of land so dreamt of and glorified. A lot of us would cry their hearts out. I would probably be one of them. But as I watch Headlines Today, I see valley people wave Pakistan flags as they trample and burn the Tricolor – I guess there is but one way. If a few hectares of temporary land allotment can bring out so much of abhorrence, let them dwindle. Beauty can go and kiss oblivion. We will rebuild our borders and save some lives – of people who swear for the nation.
And if at least three of the potentially promising states of the rest of India benefit from those grants, 2009/10 would be the year(s) to look forward to.
Monday, August 18, 2008
The Great Indian Musical Chair
Isn’t it fun? Now look, UPA government, after months of sleeping on a Bill suddenly get so patriotic that they decide to act on the same. Throughout the whole of the second half of 2007 till a few weeks ago, they sat on the Agreement Bill and dampened it with the resultant heat and moisture generated. Reason? Left Front kept threatening to pull the chair from under their rear and our friendly ‘aam admi’ chums did not want to slip out of their Parliament Chairs so soon. Not at least before completing the full term.
Left Front had a few concessions to arm twist from the government as long as they were running in the ‘mili jhuli jhula’ called UPA. So they carried on with the West Bengal carnage they rechristened SEZ, pulled out a stunt of a single-day Muslim rebellion (they badly wanted to paint it as ‘revolution’) to shoo Taslima Nasreen out of the state, so on and so forth. Friendly UPA didn’t do much other than twiddling their big toes. Chair matters, after all.
Now Left front has decided that evidently they have had enough of the pie and its time they migrated to greener pastures. So they have made their stance comprehensible on the Nuclear Agreement. Much in the lines of the famous American Idol (you may want to add an ‘i’ after the ‘d’, and replace the ‘l’ with a ‘t’) called George Bush, they have made it clear to the govt. that ‘you are either with us, or you are selling the nation’. Intelligentsia opinion and UPA image builders have managed to get the govt. to grudgingly agree to go ahead with the judgment on the wall, at the cost of blatant ness displayed to keep their rear glued to the ruling chair. Dr Manmohan Singh has thought ‘so be it’ – and that has started cascading a series of events that probably lacks precedent in modern Indian history.
So the UPA said a ‘yes’ to the bill. Naturally Left pulled out. That made the resultant UPA a probable short of majority in the Lok Sabha. So they took to the main road begging for support from any party that was not hundred and eighty degrees opposite. Qualification stood at hundred and seventy nine degrees.
All these years, the obscured SP honcho Amar Singh, who had found nirvana in the company of Amitabh Bacchhan (read Aishwariya Rai), suddenly came under a different spotlight. The same man, who was so far playing a major role in Bollywood functions and other you-know-what activities, unexpectedly found a place back in the national news channels. Why? Because he is a stalwart of SP, the party that has managed to keep UPA’s rear glued to the chairs of Lok Sabha (I am keeping aside the ‘cash for votes’ scandal – nothing has been proven so far), post the over hyped trust vote.
And at what costs? Well, UPA has to screw Mayawati’s happiness somehow or other. Why? Because she screwed SP’s happiness not so long ago in Uttar Pradesh. I don’t know whether UPA is ready to do the needful or not, but I know that when Left front wanted and eventually screwed the happiness of thousands in Singur or Nandigram, UPA acceded. Mayawati is an individual after all. This is an agreeable proposition in Indian Politics – normally speaking.
The unwritten law here is everyone has to take sides. Fresh out of UPA, Left couldn’t possibly remain a vagabond in national level politics for long, so seeing Mayawati’s ‘plight’, they have come to her rescue. Thus they have added the necessary number weight to her already intimidating frame and are encouraging a now-fortified-Mayawati to gun for the PMO. Currently Left Front is practicing the ‘anti’ govt. stunt, so that bit of endeavor becomes almost religious. And I am also told that there is no religion for Communists.
The way things are, don’t be surprised, if in near future Amitabh Bacchhan, taking advantage of his pal Amar Singh’s recent promotion, tries to get even with SRK. After The Marriage of the decade and Ash’s ‘manglik’ entry into the family, things have not been good with them (much to the relief of Salman Khan and Vivek Oberoi), to say the least. Their films have flopped in Box Office, the directors or producers have been ridiculed in national award functions, the once upon a time Crown Prince of Bollywood has taken to acting as a guide in cell-phone ads; and to add insult to that, that nutty SRK has continuously picked his and friend Amar’s trip, taken his mantle of King of Bollywood, his shows like KBC, and even his brand ambassadorship with ICICI Bank away. Quite naturally, if AB (senior or junior) decides to whitewash SRK, now that they are suddenly important again, I would say it is perfectly normal.
In fact it would be a misdemeanor, considering the fact that the jails around the country emptied their cells on streets a few weeks ago. All the criminal Dicks got out, to be persuaded by Tom or Harry to vote here or there. These jailbirds are our country’s elected MLA’s after all and their country needed their services – to prevent the costs of another election; that’s anyway going to happen in a few months’ time.
Amidst all of these, the bald old Speaker of Lok Sabha - Somnath Chatterjee, who enjoys Lalu Prasad Yadav’s translation attempts during lazy afternoons in Lok Sabha, and who is otherwise an active member of Left Front, suddenly decided, to hell with party and all – he was not going to move out of the chair of the Speaker. Following the Left pullout, he had Front leaders across all probable level call him up and ask him to behave, but he did not look left; or right or anywhere other than the chair. Guess he realized that he was close to his retirement age, so nothing else mattered. Even at the cost of termination of a forty plus years’ association with his Party. Apparently someone has shown some guts, though the intent is not very clear, and the age is too much on the wrong side. But then again, if Rahul Gandhi at his age is considered ‘young’, Mr. Chatterjee has probably just ‘matured’.
As I write all this, Rediff News says “Nobody can stop me from becoming the PM – Mayawati.” So forget ‘Brand India’, forget double digit inflation, recession or shut downs – its time to take sidelines to enjoy the game. Welcome to the Great Indian Musical Chair :o)
Left Front had a few concessions to arm twist from the government as long as they were running in the ‘mili jhuli jhula’ called UPA. So they carried on with the West Bengal carnage they rechristened SEZ, pulled out a stunt of a single-day Muslim rebellion (they badly wanted to paint it as ‘revolution’) to shoo Taslima Nasreen out of the state, so on and so forth. Friendly UPA didn’t do much other than twiddling their big toes. Chair matters, after all.
Now Left front has decided that evidently they have had enough of the pie and its time they migrated to greener pastures. So they have made their stance comprehensible on the Nuclear Agreement. Much in the lines of the famous American Idol (you may want to add an ‘i’ after the ‘d’, and replace the ‘l’ with a ‘t’) called George Bush, they have made it clear to the govt. that ‘you are either with us, or you are selling the nation’. Intelligentsia opinion and UPA image builders have managed to get the govt. to grudgingly agree to go ahead with the judgment on the wall, at the cost of blatant ness displayed to keep their rear glued to the ruling chair. Dr Manmohan Singh has thought ‘so be it’ – and that has started cascading a series of events that probably lacks precedent in modern Indian history.
So the UPA said a ‘yes’ to the bill. Naturally Left pulled out. That made the resultant UPA a probable short of majority in the Lok Sabha. So they took to the main road begging for support from any party that was not hundred and eighty degrees opposite. Qualification stood at hundred and seventy nine degrees.
All these years, the obscured SP honcho Amar Singh, who had found nirvana in the company of Amitabh Bacchhan (read Aishwariya Rai), suddenly came under a different spotlight. The same man, who was so far playing a major role in Bollywood functions and other you-know-what activities, unexpectedly found a place back in the national news channels. Why? Because he is a stalwart of SP, the party that has managed to keep UPA’s rear glued to the chairs of Lok Sabha (I am keeping aside the ‘cash for votes’ scandal – nothing has been proven so far), post the over hyped trust vote.
And at what costs? Well, UPA has to screw Mayawati’s happiness somehow or other. Why? Because she screwed SP’s happiness not so long ago in Uttar Pradesh. I don’t know whether UPA is ready to do the needful or not, but I know that when Left front wanted and eventually screwed the happiness of thousands in Singur or Nandigram, UPA acceded. Mayawati is an individual after all. This is an agreeable proposition in Indian Politics – normally speaking.
The unwritten law here is everyone has to take sides. Fresh out of UPA, Left couldn’t possibly remain a vagabond in national level politics for long, so seeing Mayawati’s ‘plight’, they have come to her rescue. Thus they have added the necessary number weight to her already intimidating frame and are encouraging a now-fortified-Mayawati to gun for the PMO. Currently Left Front is practicing the ‘anti’ govt. stunt, so that bit of endeavor becomes almost religious. And I am also told that there is no religion for Communists.
The way things are, don’t be surprised, if in near future Amitabh Bacchhan, taking advantage of his pal Amar Singh’s recent promotion, tries to get even with SRK. After The Marriage of the decade and Ash’s ‘manglik’ entry into the family, things have not been good with them (much to the relief of Salman Khan and Vivek Oberoi), to say the least. Their films have flopped in Box Office, the directors or producers have been ridiculed in national award functions, the once upon a time Crown Prince of Bollywood has taken to acting as a guide in cell-phone ads; and to add insult to that, that nutty SRK has continuously picked his and friend Amar’s trip, taken his mantle of King of Bollywood, his shows like KBC, and even his brand ambassadorship with ICICI Bank away. Quite naturally, if AB (senior or junior) decides to whitewash SRK, now that they are suddenly important again, I would say it is perfectly normal.
In fact it would be a misdemeanor, considering the fact that the jails around the country emptied their cells on streets a few weeks ago. All the criminal Dicks got out, to be persuaded by Tom or Harry to vote here or there. These jailbirds are our country’s elected MLA’s after all and their country needed their services – to prevent the costs of another election; that’s anyway going to happen in a few months’ time.
Amidst all of these, the bald old Speaker of Lok Sabha - Somnath Chatterjee, who enjoys Lalu Prasad Yadav’s translation attempts during lazy afternoons in Lok Sabha, and who is otherwise an active member of Left Front, suddenly decided, to hell with party and all – he was not going to move out of the chair of the Speaker. Following the Left pullout, he had Front leaders across all probable level call him up and ask him to behave, but he did not look left; or right or anywhere other than the chair. Guess he realized that he was close to his retirement age, so nothing else mattered. Even at the cost of termination of a forty plus years’ association with his Party. Apparently someone has shown some guts, though the intent is not very clear, and the age is too much on the wrong side. But then again, if Rahul Gandhi at his age is considered ‘young’, Mr. Chatterjee has probably just ‘matured’.
As I write all this, Rediff News says “Nobody can stop me from becoming the PM – Mayawati.” So forget ‘Brand India’, forget double digit inflation, recession or shut downs – its time to take sidelines to enjoy the game. Welcome to the Great Indian Musical Chair :o)
The fun of being Manmohan Singh
I think I won’t be the first person to figure out the essence behind Being Dr Manmohan Singh. For anyone interested in patterns like the way I am, the gentleman would present an interesting profile. And one doesn’t have to delve deep, because it is certainly not going to be hi-profile Holy Grail hunt like Da Vinci Code. Despite the fact that it is no end to end match, an opening observation would bring the fact under light that, the gentleman’s reflection through his deeds, matches the crux of the elite dominated oldest political party of our country. Pretty neatly.
See, our current captain is fiercely qualified for anyone’s peace of mind. You name a qualification – he almost has it. You name the toughest of exams – he has topped most of them. You name a Premier College – chances are he’s been there. Books, journals, research papers… his resume is near endless. For someone who’s never heard of him before, a look at his candidature can be an intimidating experience. The CV would threaten to engulf him, even in its neuter state, pitying the observer’s mortality.
Now get out of his CV and take a matter-of-fact look at the man. This whole mumbo-jumbo of an impressive resume vanishes somewhere. I don’t know what comes to your mind, but I think of a goldfish – swimming round and round, but getting nowhere. Soothes your eyes, so they say. Or, maybe a pendulum – Tick tock tick tock… and life goes on. Personality-less, voice-less and opinion-less. Completion of thesis papers needs two of the above virtues, at least. I don’t know how he has managed that part.
He has headed Reserve Bank, been a Finance Minister and is now a Prime Minister – and hasn’t left a constructive mark anywhere. Inconspicuous? Good you realized that.
As far as his first two professional milestones are concerned, the Reserve Bank of India doesn’t have very many testimonials reserved to its credit; neither has India been well financially, ever. Moving over to the victorious, much hyped, highly decorated UPA government – you know how they have performed so far. Recession and inflation put aside, they are so damn scared of losing their ruling status in Parliament that they sit on a bill for months, take no decision about it; and all the same cry hoarse in public about the fact that they don’t want to leave office. Pretty blatant of them. The level of their work-image is so pathetic that intelligentsia around the world gets tired of passing voluntary hints, both subtle and strong, about signing the treaty and thus contributing at least once for the country – but they don’t sign. They don’t move either. And highly qualified and educated Manmohan is the appointed head of this lead-footed government.
Visualize the man again. Old small and gray all over, near lost in the humdrum of Congress stalwarts of the Pilots, the Khursheeds, the Scindhias and the Tytlers; and pushing hard for some personal OTS. Not that The Families want to overshadow him; it is just that they are accustomed to being too imposing. You can not blame them. At their level, they have to be intimidating. Running the nation is sweaty, nasty and thankless stuff. As the pioneer entrants to The Hall of Fame of National Shirks, the party members have munificently flashed the winning combo of intimidation, designer white and holier-than-thou attitude. Pity they did not get that one patented. Now every Tom Dick and Harry is copying that.
And Dr Singh? When fate puts someone beside the likes of Sonia and Rahul – legit heirs to the high and mighty Nehru Dynasty, that someone, even if he is the PM probably muses about the chorus of the remix version of the track ‘Living next door to Alice’ sometimes. It goes – Who the f@%# is Alice?!
Who is Manmohan anyway?
Pretty symmetrical, especially considering India govt.’s status in UN or elsewhere internationally.
Summarize, shall I? Truckload of hi-fi qualifications, much like heavyweight glamour quotient of the party; loads of experience across a wide cross-section of positions of national and international importance, like the proclaimed work experience legacy of Congressmen; impressive acoustics and visibility, and all questionable if mapped against a particular background – ‘results’. We either show results, or we provide reasons for not showing them. Manmohan is a reason, so is his elite party of champion shirkers, with full potential and empty kinetics – I think it is a fairly easy pattern for starters.
Put aside the illiterate Indians, it seems that educated Indians also don’t bother much about such practical shortcomings. That is why I get a mail with a subject line that says ‘ Be Proud of your PM ’. The body of the mail contains the bio data of Dr Manmohan Singh. Issue was I couldn’t see how his qualification has helped my nation. So I thought, am I critically picking and choosing the bad things?
I found nothing else even afterwards, so I chose to pick up the pattern.
See, our current captain is fiercely qualified for anyone’s peace of mind. You name a qualification – he almost has it. You name the toughest of exams – he has topped most of them. You name a Premier College – chances are he’s been there. Books, journals, research papers… his resume is near endless. For someone who’s never heard of him before, a look at his candidature can be an intimidating experience. The CV would threaten to engulf him, even in its neuter state, pitying the observer’s mortality.
Now get out of his CV and take a matter-of-fact look at the man. This whole mumbo-jumbo of an impressive resume vanishes somewhere. I don’t know what comes to your mind, but I think of a goldfish – swimming round and round, but getting nowhere. Soothes your eyes, so they say. Or, maybe a pendulum – Tick tock tick tock… and life goes on. Personality-less, voice-less and opinion-less. Completion of thesis papers needs two of the above virtues, at least. I don’t know how he has managed that part.
He has headed Reserve Bank, been a Finance Minister and is now a Prime Minister – and hasn’t left a constructive mark anywhere. Inconspicuous? Good you realized that.
As far as his first two professional milestones are concerned, the Reserve Bank of India doesn’t have very many testimonials reserved to its credit; neither has India been well financially, ever. Moving over to the victorious, much hyped, highly decorated UPA government – you know how they have performed so far. Recession and inflation put aside, they are so damn scared of losing their ruling status in Parliament that they sit on a bill for months, take no decision about it; and all the same cry hoarse in public about the fact that they don’t want to leave office. Pretty blatant of them. The level of their work-image is so pathetic that intelligentsia around the world gets tired of passing voluntary hints, both subtle and strong, about signing the treaty and thus contributing at least once for the country – but they don’t sign. They don’t move either. And highly qualified and educated Manmohan is the appointed head of this lead-footed government.
Visualize the man again. Old small and gray all over, near lost in the humdrum of Congress stalwarts of the Pilots, the Khursheeds, the Scindhias and the Tytlers; and pushing hard for some personal OTS. Not that The Families want to overshadow him; it is just that they are accustomed to being too imposing. You can not blame them. At their level, they have to be intimidating. Running the nation is sweaty, nasty and thankless stuff. As the pioneer entrants to The Hall of Fame of National Shirks, the party members have munificently flashed the winning combo of intimidation, designer white and holier-than-thou attitude. Pity they did not get that one patented. Now every Tom Dick and Harry is copying that.
And Dr Singh? When fate puts someone beside the likes of Sonia and Rahul – legit heirs to the high and mighty Nehru Dynasty, that someone, even if he is the PM probably muses about the chorus of the remix version of the track ‘Living next door to Alice’ sometimes. It goes – Who the f@%# is Alice?!
Who is Manmohan anyway?
Pretty symmetrical, especially considering India govt.’s status in UN or elsewhere internationally.
Summarize, shall I? Truckload of hi-fi qualifications, much like heavyweight glamour quotient of the party; loads of experience across a wide cross-section of positions of national and international importance, like the proclaimed work experience legacy of Congressmen; impressive acoustics and visibility, and all questionable if mapped against a particular background – ‘results’. We either show results, or we provide reasons for not showing them. Manmohan is a reason, so is his elite party of champion shirkers, with full potential and empty kinetics – I think it is a fairly easy pattern for starters.
Put aside the illiterate Indians, it seems that educated Indians also don’t bother much about such practical shortcomings. That is why I get a mail with a subject line that says ‘ Be Proud of your PM ’. The body of the mail contains the bio data of Dr Manmohan Singh. Issue was I couldn’t see how his qualification has helped my nation. So I thought, am I critically picking and choosing the bad things?
I found nothing else even afterwards, so I chose to pick up the pattern.
In Monologue with Myself
After a year of rudimentary tiff with the vital elements of Delhi, which comprises of the temperature, the volatility and the social life, I have come back to Calcutta. The cabbies here are willing to take me wherever till whatever distance. They don’t deny me of my civil right to ride their vehicle meant for transportation (as long as I have the money to pay), which is so unlike Delhi. And they are a laconic lot compared to their cousins from Uttar Pradesh who dominate the auto-drivers’ landscape in Delhi. They don’t stuff up a perfect stranger like me, with political views, connections and network chats.
It’s raining here in Calcutta, and whenever it doesn’t, it is cool enough for a thin layer of mist to spread itself all over. That takes care of people like me, whose spirits rise when there is no sun during the May-Sept slot. And though the towels here don’t bake so easily like they do in Delhi, I have learnt not to get into a depression mode concerning a few wet linens.
The fruits look unimpressive but they taste better than their up-market and expensive counterparts that gild the local Delhi markets. And though I am missing the hip-hop wannabes everywhere I travel locally, I can not say that their absence poises a vital threat to my visual abilities – I think its time to order for a pair of glasses anyway.
I have come back to the land where the windshields are made up of normal colorless glass, where people don’t push their dead weights on their car horns to express their innate desires, where the latest breed of automobile don’t rule hearts and conversations – but most of all and away from automobile models, I have come back to a land where people take a daily bath, keep their nails clean, and flush (or splash water from a nearby bucket) after using a commode.
Our housing families are pretty relieved to see us. So are the shop-owners of Lake Market. The other day two of them had scolded my wife for her near year-long disappearance. My wife says that she likes it this way. I can not disagree with her, especially when I think of our dear friends in Delhi. There are two of them. If you tried calling one up, he would never answer – our capital city is also the corporate hub of the country after all. Well, almost. Except for useless souls like us, people keep busy. So we would get a no-reply. Then he would call up after few days and accuse us about not keeping in touch, promise to finalize a meeting on a later date, and disappear religiously, with his prototypical no-reply cell-phone. A routine, almost every month.
The other gentleman would brave the initial inertia to call us to his house – and that would materialize. The rest of the evening would be spent sitting in front of him watching him slowly polish a big bottle of booze, enduring worn down pirated DVDs of perfect trashes like Snakes in the Train (yes Train, not Plane – and that’s even worse), or waiting for dinner. Then we would saunter off to his bedroom and sleep either on the floor or on the bed. The house had two bedrooms but he would insist that we chatted till we dropped. For a friendless someone like him, we would be forced to consider the appeal. Still, this gentleman was the best friend we had. At least we were in constant touch – probably because of the years that he’d spent in Bombay and London, far away from the capital.
Life promises to become more predictable now. So that when aunty next door asks the anonymous school boy ‘how was it?’, I can be rest assured that she is asking about his examination papers and not about some of the latest flicks like ‘Tashn’ or ‘Lovestory2050’. No more surprises. My cell number is the same that it used to be one and half years ago. The feeling is that of comfort. I don’t mind that one bit – after all everyone grows old.
It’s raining here in Calcutta, and whenever it doesn’t, it is cool enough for a thin layer of mist to spread itself all over. That takes care of people like me, whose spirits rise when there is no sun during the May-Sept slot. And though the towels here don’t bake so easily like they do in Delhi, I have learnt not to get into a depression mode concerning a few wet linens.
The fruits look unimpressive but they taste better than their up-market and expensive counterparts that gild the local Delhi markets. And though I am missing the hip-hop wannabes everywhere I travel locally, I can not say that their absence poises a vital threat to my visual abilities – I think its time to order for a pair of glasses anyway.
I have come back to the land where the windshields are made up of normal colorless glass, where people don’t push their dead weights on their car horns to express their innate desires, where the latest breed of automobile don’t rule hearts and conversations – but most of all and away from automobile models, I have come back to a land where people take a daily bath, keep their nails clean, and flush (or splash water from a nearby bucket) after using a commode.
Our housing families are pretty relieved to see us. So are the shop-owners of Lake Market. The other day two of them had scolded my wife for her near year-long disappearance. My wife says that she likes it this way. I can not disagree with her, especially when I think of our dear friends in Delhi. There are two of them. If you tried calling one up, he would never answer – our capital city is also the corporate hub of the country after all. Well, almost. Except for useless souls like us, people keep busy. So we would get a no-reply. Then he would call up after few days and accuse us about not keeping in touch, promise to finalize a meeting on a later date, and disappear religiously, with his prototypical no-reply cell-phone. A routine, almost every month.
The other gentleman would brave the initial inertia to call us to his house – and that would materialize. The rest of the evening would be spent sitting in front of him watching him slowly polish a big bottle of booze, enduring worn down pirated DVDs of perfect trashes like Snakes in the Train (yes Train, not Plane – and that’s even worse), or waiting for dinner. Then we would saunter off to his bedroom and sleep either on the floor or on the bed. The house had two bedrooms but he would insist that we chatted till we dropped. For a friendless someone like him, we would be forced to consider the appeal. Still, this gentleman was the best friend we had. At least we were in constant touch – probably because of the years that he’d spent in Bombay and London, far away from the capital.
Life promises to become more predictable now. So that when aunty next door asks the anonymous school boy ‘how was it?’, I can be rest assured that she is asking about his examination papers and not about some of the latest flicks like ‘Tashn’ or ‘Lovestory2050’. No more surprises. My cell number is the same that it used to be one and half years ago. The feeling is that of comfort. I don’t mind that one bit – after all everyone grows old.
Friday, May 30, 2008
The Great Indian Comedy
Got this mail from a friend:
An Old Story:
The Ant works hard in the withering heat all summer building its house and laying up supplies for the winter. The Grasshopper thinks the Ant is a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away. Come winter, the Ant is warm and well fed. The Grasshopper has no food or shelter so he dies out in the cold.
The Indian Version:
The Ant works hard in the withering heat all summer building its house and laying up supplies for the winter. The Grasshopper thinks the Ant's a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away. Come winter, the shivering Grasshopper calls a press conference and demands to know why the Ant should be allowed to be warm and well fed while others are cold and starving.
NDTV, BBC, CNN show up to provide pictures of the shivering Grasshopper next to a video of the Ant in his comfortable home with a table filled with food. The World is stunned by the sharp contrast. How can this be that this poor Grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?
Arundhati Roy stages a demonstration in front of the Ant's house.
Medha Patkar goes on a fast along with other Grasshoppers demanding that Grasshoppers be relocated to warmer climates during winter.
Amnesty International and Koffi Annan criticize the Indian Government for not upholding the fundamental rights of the Grasshopper.
The Internet is flooded with online petitions seeking support to the Grasshopper (many promising Heaven and Everlasting Peace for prompt support as against the wrath of God for non-compliance).
Opposition MPs stage a walkout. Left parties call for 'Bandh' in West Bengal and Kerala demanding a Judicial Enquiry.
CPM in Kerala immediately passes a law preventing Ants from working hard in the heat so as to bring about equality of poverty among Ants and Grasshoppers.
Lalu Prasad allocates one free coach to Grasshoppers on all Indian Railway Trains, aptly named as the 'Grasshopper Rath'.
Arjun Singh makes 'Special Reservation ' for Grasshoppers in Educational Institutions & in Government Services.
The Ant is unable to cope with the Resesrvation and has nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes; so his home is confiscated by the Government and handed over to the Grasshopper in a ceremony covered by NDTV.
Arundhati Roy calls it ' A Triumph of Justice'.
Lalu calls it 'Socialistic Justice '.
CPM calls it the ' Revolutionary Resurgence of the Downtrodden '
Koffi Annan invites the Grasshopper to address the UN General Assembly.
Congress takes the credit for always caring about the AAM Grasshopeer.
Many years later...
The Ant has since migrated to the US and set up a multi-billion dollar company in Silicon Valley...
100s of Grasshoppers still die of starvation despite reservation somewhere in India.
AND...
As a result of losing lot of hard working Ants and feeding the grasshoppers, India is still a developing country.
An Old Story:
The Ant works hard in the withering heat all summer building its house and laying up supplies for the winter. The Grasshopper thinks the Ant is a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away. Come winter, the Ant is warm and well fed. The Grasshopper has no food or shelter so he dies out in the cold.
The Indian Version:
The Ant works hard in the withering heat all summer building its house and laying up supplies for the winter. The Grasshopper thinks the Ant's a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away. Come winter, the shivering Grasshopper calls a press conference and demands to know why the Ant should be allowed to be warm and well fed while others are cold and starving.
NDTV, BBC, CNN show up to provide pictures of the shivering Grasshopper next to a video of the Ant in his comfortable home with a table filled with food. The World is stunned by the sharp contrast. How can this be that this poor Grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?
Arundhati Roy stages a demonstration in front of the Ant's house.
Medha Patkar goes on a fast along with other Grasshoppers demanding that Grasshoppers be relocated to warmer climates during winter.
Amnesty International and Koffi Annan criticize the Indian Government for not upholding the fundamental rights of the Grasshopper.
The Internet is flooded with online petitions seeking support to the Grasshopper (many promising Heaven and Everlasting Peace for prompt support as against the wrath of God for non-compliance).
Opposition MPs stage a walkout. Left parties call for 'Bandh' in West Bengal and Kerala demanding a Judicial Enquiry.
CPM in Kerala immediately passes a law preventing Ants from working hard in the heat so as to bring about equality of poverty among Ants and Grasshoppers.
Lalu Prasad allocates one free coach to Grasshoppers on all Indian Railway Trains, aptly named as the 'Grasshopper Rath'.
Arjun Singh makes 'Special Reservation ' for Grasshoppers in Educational Institutions & in Government Services.
The Ant is unable to cope with the Resesrvation and has nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes; so his home is confiscated by the Government and handed over to the Grasshopper in a ceremony covered by NDTV.
Arundhati Roy calls it ' A Triumph of Justice'.
Lalu calls it 'Socialistic Justice '.
CPM calls it the ' Revolutionary Resurgence of the Downtrodden '
Koffi Annan invites the Grasshopper to address the UN General Assembly.
Congress takes the credit for always caring about the AAM Grasshopeer.
Many years later...
The Ant has since migrated to the US and set up a multi-billion dollar company in Silicon Valley...
100s of Grasshoppers still die of starvation despite reservation somewhere in India.
AND...
As a result of losing lot of hard working Ants and feeding the grasshoppers, India is still a developing country.
Friday, May 9, 2008
The Irritating Indian Expressions
1. Anti-incumbency factor – used by self proclaimed analysts when they want to say, ‘we don’t understand these bloody illiterate voters’
2. Alternative cinema – people who use words like ‘metaphor’ and chase prospective producers away, eventually find some petty cash and make low budget films on ‘issues’ – where during siesta time on Doordarshan, they show some Oriya speaking people squatting and boiling water.
3. Indomitable spirit – of Mumbai especially and now other blast affected areas like Varanasi; it’s the habit of people taking the trains and other public transport to work just the day after the flood or the blast. The phrase is used by people who don’t take these public transports.
4. Indian culture – used chiefly by yuppies, who have not read enough to know that other countries too, have culture. This expression is almost always invoked to address the modernity of women.
5. “I am in search of my identity” – a ritualistic quote of creative people when they have just become famous. Also the result of a couple of whiskeys on a wannabe. This phrase is usually delivered from the other end of the alimentary canal.
6. Woman on top – usually found everywhere; and yes, it is followed by two exclamation marks.
7. “Off the record” – I maybe lying.
8. Land of Kamasutra – reference to India. Through this expression, writers and critics argue that since one man, centuries ago, recorded the various positions in which elastic couples can make love, this country was once inherently liberal. It is interchangeable with ‘Land of Khajuraho’
9. Paradigm Shift – an expression used by MBA grads and Amway distributors when they want to say that they do not know what they are talking about. It is often accompanied by ‘synergy’ and ‘leverage’.
10. “Rekha is an Enigma” – Don’t know what it means.
Other FUPs (Frequently Used Phrases)
Abhi-Ash / Big B / SRK / Breaking News / Just chill / Everything is Maya (god knows who is she) / Gimme a missed call / Gandhigiri / Gen X / Indian heritage / IT boom / Foreign Coach / Cricket is a religion / Masterblaster / Cool! / Secularism / Sporting Wicket / Tinseltown / We are not a nation of snake charmers / Southern Siren / Homely girl / Evergreen Hero / Anti communal forces / Ancient Indians knew the distance between Sun and… blah blah blah.
2. Alternative cinema – people who use words like ‘metaphor’ and chase prospective producers away, eventually find some petty cash and make low budget films on ‘issues’ – where during siesta time on Doordarshan, they show some Oriya speaking people squatting and boiling water.
3. Indomitable spirit – of Mumbai especially and now other blast affected areas like Varanasi; it’s the habit of people taking the trains and other public transport to work just the day after the flood or the blast. The phrase is used by people who don’t take these public transports.
4. Indian culture – used chiefly by yuppies, who have not read enough to know that other countries too, have culture. This expression is almost always invoked to address the modernity of women.
5. “I am in search of my identity” – a ritualistic quote of creative people when they have just become famous. Also the result of a couple of whiskeys on a wannabe. This phrase is usually delivered from the other end of the alimentary canal.
6. Woman on top – usually found everywhere; and yes, it is followed by two exclamation marks.
7. “Off the record” – I maybe lying.
8. Land of Kamasutra – reference to India. Through this expression, writers and critics argue that since one man, centuries ago, recorded the various positions in which elastic couples can make love, this country was once inherently liberal. It is interchangeable with ‘Land of Khajuraho’
9. Paradigm Shift – an expression used by MBA grads and Amway distributors when they want to say that they do not know what they are talking about. It is often accompanied by ‘synergy’ and ‘leverage’.
10. “Rekha is an Enigma” – Don’t know what it means.
Other FUPs (Frequently Used Phrases)
Abhi-Ash / Big B / SRK / Breaking News / Just chill / Everything is Maya (god knows who is she) / Gimme a missed call / Gandhigiri / Gen X / Indian heritage / IT boom / Foreign Coach / Cricket is a religion / Masterblaster / Cool! / Secularism / Sporting Wicket / Tinseltown / We are not a nation of snake charmers / Southern Siren / Homely girl / Evergreen Hero / Anti communal forces / Ancient Indians knew the distance between Sun and… blah blah blah.
Thesis on Bongs
Overview:
There are three types of Bengalis that I know. Probashi or Expatriate Bengalis, a fairly large and diverse group about which I won’t write this time; Bengalis who are from the rest of West Bengal – I am one of them; and the icing on the cake – Bengalis from Calcutta. This group is incorrectly known as Bongs, as they are merely a subset. However, this is the only group which matters. Gokhale told of them, long years back, 'What Bengal thinks today, India thinks tomorrow.' To which Rene Descartes responded, 'I think (today), therefore I am (Bengali).'
Physical Description:
The Bong has a large head, glasses, glistening hair and darkish skin. Older Bongs develop an ample stomach to balance their large heads. This happens by the age of 30. They smell of Keo Karpin hair oil. The average life expectancy is 65 years. What is even more impressive is what they do in those years. Outside Calcutta, regardless of weather, sex or age, Bongs can be seen in Monkey Caps. This is a must-have accessory as well as a sign to recognize other Bongs. The Bongling can often be recognized in either over-sized or under-sized school uniforms. The Bong mother's second biggest fear (See diet for the biggest one) is 'porer bochor o lomba hoye gele abar notun skirt kinte hobe!!' or 'Next year, if you grow taller, we'll again have to buy a new skirt!!' Thus, the school uniform is selected to last at least three years. Thus the uniform sits as conspicuously on the Bongling as the plumage of a macaw.
Early Years:
While most Bongs are born with innate talents in singing or dancing or painting or film-making or cooking or embroidery; and their creative talents start getting honed even before they start speaking. Frequent meets are organized between infants and their successful ancestors and other relatives. MA degrees, preferably from Ox-Cam, at least from Presidency or JOO (Jadavpur Univ) are displayed over the cots. The infant is exposed to the best of Bengali thought – Marx, Bentham, Kalidas, Tolstoy, Chekhov, even Hemmingway. This increases the sizes of their heads and the height of their ambitions. Similar examples, though rare, can be found in European tradition as well, like in the case of Mozart. In India, however, Bongs have the sole preserve on such activity during infancy. Soon, when they grow up a little, their characters are honed in the best of schools. Here, I am not referring to the St Paul’s, South Points, La Marts, Don Boscos and all. They are important in the nurture a Bong child goes through. What is even more important are the schools the Bong child passes through before school and after school. Many a Bong child wakes up at five o'clock in the morning to attend swimming classes. After one hour of swimming, he attends tennis coaching before rushing off to one of the South Points, LaMarts etc. mentioned above. School finishes by two or so, from where he scoots along to Singing/ Guitar/ Piano/ Tabla/ Dance Classes, then tuition (for at least three of all five subjects). He rounds off the day with coaching on either Debating or Quiz. Many a Bong mother will carry the child along through this day, feeling equally energized. This behavior is again not restricted to Bongs. It also seen within kangaroos in Australia who rush along from one clump to another bush.
Growing up:
Soon the Bong attains adolescence, doesn't find friends of his age (since everyone is competing for the Nobel/ Booker/ Oscar) and finds intimacy in conversation in his/her parents and poems of Pablo Neruda. When school ends, they move on to the good colleges – Cambridge, Presidency, Xavier's, IIT Kharagpur. The intellectuals (among intellectuals) move straight to JOO (Jadavpur Univ). However, in recent years, Dilli (Stephen's obviously) is becoming the preferred destination for some escapists. In colleges, they decorate their rooms with books or portraits of Kobi-Guru (Tagore). On the opposite wall, men would have posters of Che, Castro and Pele, while women would have Julio Iglesias and Claudio Cannigia, thus expressing solidarity with Latin American culture. All of them share equal interest in the Bong-Rock (Miles, LRB, Bhumi, Chondrobindu, Cactus, James Da… and of course the classic anti-establishments in Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple and DOORS).
Later Years:
Bongs mature early. Critics have said that they grow old early, but that is nothing but old hat. Years of toil and TS Eliot would obviously bestow wisdom. The reason they look older is because the sole purpose of a Bong's life is to win the Nobel, Booker, Pulitzer, or the Oscars (and in recent years, Captaincy of the Indian team). With great responsibility comes great age. Add to it the chlorine in the swimming pools and you know why Bongs grey prematurely. As far as their mission in life is concerned, they have been very successful at it. Majority Indian Nobel Prize winner has been Bong. So have the Oscar Awardees. And most successful Cricket Captains. A clear majority of Indo-Anglian writers. And Bipasha Basu! Once Bongs have kids though, their mission on life changes. The only raision de'etre for them is making sure that their progeny achieves the heights that they could (or couldn't). Hence, they are mostly found outside of schools, colleges and tuition classes.
Diet:
Diet is as important as Robindro Shongeet. There's nothing that a Bong can't eat. However, they prefer protein over other food groups. The largest source of protein for them is fish, then meat, and then mishti (sweets) made from milk. More than fish itself, it is the knowledge of fish which is coveted and enjoyed. Carbohydrates are tolerated if they are fried in oil or if it is accompaniment to fish. Luchis (somewhat like a Puri), Telebhajas (pakoras) and Phuchkas (Paani Puri) are the favored sources of carbohydrates. The Bongling though invariably always has Farex, Lactogen and Waterbury’s Compound. As far as the most important meal of the day is concerned, please do note that what dieticians have been saying in the last few years, Bongs have known for centuries. Breakphast/tiphhin is an occasion where the entire family comes together, to watch the office-going Bong male and school-bound Bonglings eat. The Bong woman's biggest fear is 'Shokale bhaat-dal-mach bhaaja na kheye beriye galo' – 'In the morning, he went out without eating rice, dal and fish fry.' To round off the calories, Dal is often accompanied by aaloo bhaate, aaloo bhaja, potol bhaaja and various other heartily fried stuff. Not for the faint-hearted.
Mating and procreation:
A few Bongs end up being in relationships, which lead to love marriage. This is sometimes shown in movies and song. However, most do not have any such social malignancy and end up marrying the woman of their mother's dreams or men of their father's choosing. This results in mixing the right genes for the next cycle of Bongs. Love marriage, by far is seldom. It sometimes results is tragedy, like marrying into another country (most often, the rest of India). Hence, it is avoided, wherever possible.
Social Life:
Adda, robindro shongeet and cha... Repeat.Do note that the young Bong doesn't have a social life (at least not till he wins the Nobel or gets a Government job). Mosaic para-r rock for the outbound lot, and cha and carram for the homesick; and viola! You have the winning combination in Bong social life. You would of course bump into an intellectually rich Bong mix in Coffee shops, but that’s dealt under Habitat.
Outdoor Passion:
Phootball. Period. The Bongs have had an illustrious history of achievement in football. Every Para (neighborhood) has stories of when they won the World Cup at the expense of the next one. The last time it happened in my parent's Para was in 1986, when Argentina won in Mexico. Diego Maradona, who looks Bhodrolok (gentleman) enough, give or take a few ounces of coke, scored famously using his hand – a skill which he learnt in Kolkata. Over the last few years, Brajeel has been gladdening the hearts of many Zicos and Falcaos and Dungas who were born in Kolkata around 1980s. The only team which is not Bong is Germany as they play with more efficiency and no creativity, which thus is not amenable to adda. Do not ask of a Bong doing anything on the phootball field as then the Bong will keep you occupied about Jakarta, 1962. Chuni Goswami je ball tule dilo PK ke. Match-er aagei bolechilo, 'Ekta Ball debo. Daam kore maarish. Gol hobe'. Chuni Goswami put a football up for PK (Banerjee). He told him before the match itself, 'I will give you one ball. Hit it with a bang. Goal will happen.' Obviously, it is also the crowning moment of Indian phootball.
Habitat:
While you may find a Bong in other places (like occasionally in movie halls), the best time to observe a Bong is in his natural habitat - the best of colleges, the best of schools, the best of coffee houses, and the best of tourist locations. It is here that he will tell you about Balzac while she will recite poetry with gay abandon. To mix in with the Bong, apply Keo Karpin hair oil to your hair and carry a jhola (jute side-bag). Hopefully, they won't notice your small head. Do not worry about not knowing the language. You can pass off as a Probashi Bangali (expat).
Famous Bongs in Literature, Film and Art; apart from the now overflowing Bollywood: Everywhere you care to look.
Closing Word:
Being Bong at the end of the day is a state of mind. Or, a case of being discovered by them.
There are three types of Bengalis that I know. Probashi or Expatriate Bengalis, a fairly large and diverse group about which I won’t write this time; Bengalis who are from the rest of West Bengal – I am one of them; and the icing on the cake – Bengalis from Calcutta. This group is incorrectly known as Bongs, as they are merely a subset. However, this is the only group which matters. Gokhale told of them, long years back, 'What Bengal thinks today, India thinks tomorrow.' To which Rene Descartes responded, 'I think (today), therefore I am (Bengali).'
Physical Description:
The Bong has a large head, glasses, glistening hair and darkish skin. Older Bongs develop an ample stomach to balance their large heads. This happens by the age of 30. They smell of Keo Karpin hair oil. The average life expectancy is 65 years. What is even more impressive is what they do in those years. Outside Calcutta, regardless of weather, sex or age, Bongs can be seen in Monkey Caps. This is a must-have accessory as well as a sign to recognize other Bongs. The Bongling can often be recognized in either over-sized or under-sized school uniforms. The Bong mother's second biggest fear (See diet for the biggest one) is 'porer bochor o lomba hoye gele abar notun skirt kinte hobe!!' or 'Next year, if you grow taller, we'll again have to buy a new skirt!!' Thus, the school uniform is selected to last at least three years. Thus the uniform sits as conspicuously on the Bongling as the plumage of a macaw.
Early Years:
While most Bongs are born with innate talents in singing or dancing or painting or film-making or cooking or embroidery; and their creative talents start getting honed even before they start speaking. Frequent meets are organized between infants and their successful ancestors and other relatives. MA degrees, preferably from Ox-Cam, at least from Presidency or JOO (Jadavpur Univ) are displayed over the cots. The infant is exposed to the best of Bengali thought – Marx, Bentham, Kalidas, Tolstoy, Chekhov, even Hemmingway. This increases the sizes of their heads and the height of their ambitions. Similar examples, though rare, can be found in European tradition as well, like in the case of Mozart. In India, however, Bongs have the sole preserve on such activity during infancy. Soon, when they grow up a little, their characters are honed in the best of schools. Here, I am not referring to the St Paul’s, South Points, La Marts, Don Boscos and all. They are important in the nurture a Bong child goes through. What is even more important are the schools the Bong child passes through before school and after school. Many a Bong child wakes up at five o'clock in the morning to attend swimming classes. After one hour of swimming, he attends tennis coaching before rushing off to one of the South Points, LaMarts etc. mentioned above. School finishes by two or so, from where he scoots along to Singing/ Guitar/ Piano/ Tabla/ Dance Classes, then tuition (for at least three of all five subjects). He rounds off the day with coaching on either Debating or Quiz. Many a Bong mother will carry the child along through this day, feeling equally energized. This behavior is again not restricted to Bongs. It also seen within kangaroos in Australia who rush along from one clump to another bush.
Growing up:
Soon the Bong attains adolescence, doesn't find friends of his age (since everyone is competing for the Nobel/ Booker/ Oscar) and finds intimacy in conversation in his/her parents and poems of Pablo Neruda. When school ends, they move on to the good colleges – Cambridge, Presidency, Xavier's, IIT Kharagpur. The intellectuals (among intellectuals) move straight to JOO (Jadavpur Univ). However, in recent years, Dilli (Stephen's obviously) is becoming the preferred destination for some escapists. In colleges, they decorate their rooms with books or portraits of Kobi-Guru (Tagore). On the opposite wall, men would have posters of Che, Castro and Pele, while women would have Julio Iglesias and Claudio Cannigia, thus expressing solidarity with Latin American culture. All of them share equal interest in the Bong-Rock (Miles, LRB, Bhumi, Chondrobindu, Cactus, James Da… and of course the classic anti-establishments in Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple and DOORS).
Later Years:
Bongs mature early. Critics have said that they grow old early, but that is nothing but old hat. Years of toil and TS Eliot would obviously bestow wisdom. The reason they look older is because the sole purpose of a Bong's life is to win the Nobel, Booker, Pulitzer, or the Oscars (and in recent years, Captaincy of the Indian team). With great responsibility comes great age. Add to it the chlorine in the swimming pools and you know why Bongs grey prematurely. As far as their mission in life is concerned, they have been very successful at it. Majority Indian Nobel Prize winner has been Bong. So have the Oscar Awardees. And most successful Cricket Captains. A clear majority of Indo-Anglian writers. And Bipasha Basu! Once Bongs have kids though, their mission on life changes. The only raision de'etre for them is making sure that their progeny achieves the heights that they could (or couldn't). Hence, they are mostly found outside of schools, colleges and tuition classes.
Diet:
Diet is as important as Robindro Shongeet. There's nothing that a Bong can't eat. However, they prefer protein over other food groups. The largest source of protein for them is fish, then meat, and then mishti (sweets) made from milk. More than fish itself, it is the knowledge of fish which is coveted and enjoyed. Carbohydrates are tolerated if they are fried in oil or if it is accompaniment to fish. Luchis (somewhat like a Puri), Telebhajas (pakoras) and Phuchkas (Paani Puri) are the favored sources of carbohydrates. The Bongling though invariably always has Farex, Lactogen and Waterbury’s Compound. As far as the most important meal of the day is concerned, please do note that what dieticians have been saying in the last few years, Bongs have known for centuries. Breakphast/tiphhin is an occasion where the entire family comes together, to watch the office-going Bong male and school-bound Bonglings eat. The Bong woman's biggest fear is 'Shokale bhaat-dal-mach bhaaja na kheye beriye galo' – 'In the morning, he went out without eating rice, dal and fish fry.' To round off the calories, Dal is often accompanied by aaloo bhaate, aaloo bhaja, potol bhaaja and various other heartily fried stuff. Not for the faint-hearted.
Mating and procreation:
A few Bongs end up being in relationships, which lead to love marriage. This is sometimes shown in movies and song. However, most do not have any such social malignancy and end up marrying the woman of their mother's dreams or men of their father's choosing. This results in mixing the right genes for the next cycle of Bongs. Love marriage, by far is seldom. It sometimes results is tragedy, like marrying into another country (most often, the rest of India). Hence, it is avoided, wherever possible.
Social Life:
Adda, robindro shongeet and cha... Repeat.Do note that the young Bong doesn't have a social life (at least not till he wins the Nobel or gets a Government job). Mosaic para-r rock for the outbound lot, and cha and carram for the homesick; and viola! You have the winning combination in Bong social life. You would of course bump into an intellectually rich Bong mix in Coffee shops, but that’s dealt under Habitat.
Outdoor Passion:
Phootball. Period. The Bongs have had an illustrious history of achievement in football. Every Para (neighborhood) has stories of when they won the World Cup at the expense of the next one. The last time it happened in my parent's Para was in 1986, when Argentina won in Mexico. Diego Maradona, who looks Bhodrolok (gentleman) enough, give or take a few ounces of coke, scored famously using his hand – a skill which he learnt in Kolkata. Over the last few years, Brajeel has been gladdening the hearts of many Zicos and Falcaos and Dungas who were born in Kolkata around 1980s. The only team which is not Bong is Germany as they play with more efficiency and no creativity, which thus is not amenable to adda. Do not ask of a Bong doing anything on the phootball field as then the Bong will keep you occupied about Jakarta, 1962. Chuni Goswami je ball tule dilo PK ke. Match-er aagei bolechilo, 'Ekta Ball debo. Daam kore maarish. Gol hobe'. Chuni Goswami put a football up for PK (Banerjee). He told him before the match itself, 'I will give you one ball. Hit it with a bang. Goal will happen.' Obviously, it is also the crowning moment of Indian phootball.
Habitat:
While you may find a Bong in other places (like occasionally in movie halls), the best time to observe a Bong is in his natural habitat - the best of colleges, the best of schools, the best of coffee houses, and the best of tourist locations. It is here that he will tell you about Balzac while she will recite poetry with gay abandon. To mix in with the Bong, apply Keo Karpin hair oil to your hair and carry a jhola (jute side-bag). Hopefully, they won't notice your small head. Do not worry about not knowing the language. You can pass off as a Probashi Bangali (expat).
Famous Bongs in Literature, Film and Art; apart from the now overflowing Bollywood: Everywhere you care to look.
Closing Word:
Being Bong at the end of the day is a state of mind. Or, a case of being discovered by them.
The Dilemma in Bengal
There is a subtle crisis that we face in West Bengal, though not many of us are aware of it. A never ending saga of Left front rule that no amount of television mega-soap can tarnish, has splashed three colors deliberately across the landscape, along with the all pervasive red.
The villages of our State follow a strict rule of swearing loyalty to either the Left Front, or the opposition; and while the former is based out of rules that would remind one of the Jurassic age, the later is based out of the philosophy that whatever Left Front stands for, is criminally wrong. For the people of the land, this is not a very healthy line of thought to base one’s existence out of, but, there is zero awareness. The rural people remain poorly educated, with basic knowledge of their mother tongue, so no amount of news and views reaches them barring the vernacular, politically aligned newspaper – which are hell bent on proving the greatness of their respective party banner.
As a result, nothing has changed much from the time when, I as a kid would romp around in my native village somewhere in Burdwan. One would still find a couple of community tube-well pumps for drinking water, there has been no addition over the years; one and a half party offices (one for Left Front and half for the opposition); and a bus stand. The additions over the past two decades are in the shape of a few electric poles that carries wires meant to provide electricity, but there are week long power-cuts; and a few bumps (road-breakers), each a phoenix, rising about ten inches from the cracked and bleeding road, for high speed buses to slow down for locals to get on or off. In terms of accomplishments, one man still tops the list. He cleared the WBCS Exams some fifty years ago – he still is the only man to have done so from that village. The current generation continues to be an apt reflection of those people that lived there a hundred years ago, and whatever I have seen during my travels to other parts of Bengal, villages across the rest of the map are no different. Rural ignorance has been an intended and manipulated situation on the part of Left Front strategy – and that’s one color.
Under such circumstances, one normally tends to turn to the urban people for some positive energy. But sixty years has failed to generate a single urban spot on the map of Bengal. Calcutta it was, Calcutta it still is – and we have the Union Jack to thank for that. Durgapur, Haldia, Asansol, Kharagpur, Malda and Siliguri, promising dark-horses at different points in time in history, remain waiting in anticipation even today, like the bride-to-be, whose prospective groom never turned up.
Was this also manipulated? Probably yes. The resultant generation that has sprouted from all these places is intellectually confused. Needless to say, Calcutta has over the years become remarkably indifferent. Key Bengalis have become tourists to their hometown, from far off Europe or America. The homogenous attitude of people across all of these urban or sub-urban areas is – We Don’t Bother. That’s the second color.
But there is a third and even deadlier hue, that, when gets to become a permanent color, can be the mother of all Singurs and Nandigrams put together. The fact that there is no worthwhile political opposition in the State. First, (and now seems) some million year ago there was Left Front – young, intellectually inclined, progressive and promising; to sum up – political hot-shots. But then they took over as rulers, and no one took over their erstwhile seat. Though it is not that the seat has been lying vacant ever since. For some time, the defeated Congress(I) made lot of usual noises as they settled down on the opposition seat. Gradually they realized that there’s more money in playing at a national level. As a result, they calmed down, save those mandatory blah-blah-ing every now and then as the rightful state opposition. The intellectual quotient of Left died two unique deaths. It died on the side of the opposition, because of the void created by the Leftists moving out from there. It then died within the Leftists, because they became the rulers.
Today, we have a mass of people that call themselves “the only solution to Left Front’s ‘hegemony’”. They have a vision that is confined only to thwarting the existing government. Nothing beyond. They are ridiculously leaderless, despite a leader; are agenda-less, barring dissident practices; and meaningless, despite lot of airtime and acoustic support. Their antics (yes, I call them so) remain desperately reactive in nature. Having been in the political map of the State for more than ten years now, they are yet to come up with a single proactive approach to an issue – detailed and defined down to the last parameter, something that is fool-proof and smells of focus on solution rather than pointing fingers at other party’s inefficiency. I am sure there are lots of issues lurking around every corner one cares to turn to. But the recorded approach to such issues has been the hackneyed ‘get us to power’ stance. An ad-campaign trying to say that they have an incredible pool of talent and stamina within to turn things upside down the moment their team assumes the mantle. I don’t know what amount of intellect the opposition of today has. But I have read Mr. Carl Sagan say, ‘extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence’. I know that the junta of West Bengal is yet to experience such evidence to the claims made.
It is not a thought to denounce the word ‘opposition’ in whatever forms it exist today, for it would be denouncing democracy; and I am not an anti-democracy character. It is also not a thought to denounce the opposition of today. At least they are there, trying to put their point across to the humungous and well-oiled machinery called Left Front, despite serious limitations. They are still holding ground when the likes of Congress (I) and BJP have literally fled from Bengal. Its just that I am a common man, who is not totally indifferent about the state of affairs, questioning the fact that why haven’t I ever seen the opposition leadership take up even a miniscule of a crisis, walk up to a TV channel, get some slot and present an analytic, fact and figure approach to solve the issue, abstaining from using the age-old phrase ‘bring us to power’ subtly or bluntly? Why is it that the ruling party gets away with Neanderthal ideas of how to run a state, something that has been questioned, criticized and crushed the world over? Why does it not get questioned here – why do we have to be so ‘different’ from the world? Why does everyone in the opposition assume that the vote bank, the rural mass is ignorant? Why does everyone overrule the fact that there might be some intelligence there, still? One might hit a goldmine there, but why doesn’t anyone try? What about a collective effort towards building the mental health of the people? Arming them with required knowledge and skills? Loosening the vice a bit, and going to the elections confident on the judgment of the voters afterwards? I am questioning the age-old, dilapidated, carton damaged and post-expiry date mentality of our political leaders – of old and young ones alike.
This color is disturbing and, if this state of the mighty oppositions continues for some more time, then it would be downright scary for all of us. We need to be scared that tomorrow, the once upon a time ‘culture’ capital of India, a place that was known to breed people with points-of-view, will be completely brainless. Scared, that no matter whichever government runs the State, the people will be shuttle-cork between stone-age ideologies and antic artists. In the whole bargain, we would all would grow old, but never really grow up.
It’s the moral duty of any socially active political opposition to try to bring about a change, and, the current opposition party in West Bengal can bring about a change in the existing mindset of the people. Why they have failed miserably so far is, because they are still based out of identical mentality that the Left front was some centuries(almost) ago, when they wanted to topple the Congress regime. That stance of impulsive, often violent opposition that was a characteristic of young and restless brains became synonymous to young Leftists, led by the likes of a highly intelligent Jyoti Basu. This doesn’t apply to the current opposition because the intelligence or credibility factor just does not exist among its leadership. The top leader of the opposition has had national portfolios on platters and she has kept resigning and has kept coming back home (probably homesickness, even I suffer from it), while someone as extremely controversial as Laloo Prasad Yadav has taken up one such leftover mess of hers and has converted that into an extremely profitable venture for the Govt. of India.
Going back to the impulsive and hot-headed variety of approach; this approach has become worn out, redundant, worthless ever since – probably the reason why Mr. Buddhadev Bhattacharaya is trying to re-adjust the Left Front’s brand image. It is sad that the opposition intelligence doesn’t appreciate that. In effect, they are just a different reflection of the Left front of yesteryears, operating out of the same political parameter that they operated out of, and giving the Politburo enough reasons to guffaw. In reality, an image never takes on the real figure. It wouldn’t be called an image then.
The mass maybe ignorant, but they possess sufficient instincts to comprehend that the 70s landed them up in today’s state. If this is to continue forever (for the underlying attitude of the leader and opposition are so similar), there is little point in risking their future, resources, and precious lives of near and dear ones, in trying to bring about a change. So to them, with the exception of a handful of fanatics, this whole chase fails to assume an appropriate dimension.
If the State has to grow up and not just grow older (aren’t we old enough already?), then the oppositions need to get worthier. How about taking a stock of the core attitude that underlines their party values and behavior? A realization of sorts that there is an urgent need to migrate from their existing set of attitude as far as possible, for they can ill afford to remain labeled the ‘other side of the same coin’ called Left Front. That achieved and cascaded successfully across all levels of membership can sensationalize the mind of the junta – we maybe ‘indifferent’ or ‘ignorant’, but we are not socially foolish. We have an acute sense of understanding ‘What-Is-In-It-For-Me’, that’s typically 21st century – the leadership can be sure about that. Then, the leaders of the opposition can think of constructive actions, not reactive or subversive in nature (I needed to spell that out), that is focused on upgrading the social status of the state. The fun that the oppositions can have is that they only have to make a SMART (specific, measurable, achievable, realistic and time-bound) presentation to the media and reach the maximum number of people(of course they can have their share of Brigade-Parade stomping, for that’s the birthright of every leader worth his/her khadi). Going by the way things are for the ruling party nowadays, this kind of a move might throw them off-balance. So when the opposition can claim kick-starting a process of ‘mass awareness’ for the first time in the history of modern and post-independent India, the rulers might feel the need to move their rear to survive. One-upmanship, tickling the ‘gone with the scotch’ intellect to resurrect, walking the talk etc can follow much later – but for the time being it will be a nice diversion from the TV screen full of primary school dropouts screaming slogans while setting buses on fire.
What happens to such prospective SMART presentations’ future? Well, first get the spreadsheets ready and start the process of building the bridge, we can cross it when it is built.
The villages of our State follow a strict rule of swearing loyalty to either the Left Front, or the opposition; and while the former is based out of rules that would remind one of the Jurassic age, the later is based out of the philosophy that whatever Left Front stands for, is criminally wrong. For the people of the land, this is not a very healthy line of thought to base one’s existence out of, but, there is zero awareness. The rural people remain poorly educated, with basic knowledge of their mother tongue, so no amount of news and views reaches them barring the vernacular, politically aligned newspaper – which are hell bent on proving the greatness of their respective party banner.
As a result, nothing has changed much from the time when, I as a kid would romp around in my native village somewhere in Burdwan. One would still find a couple of community tube-well pumps for drinking water, there has been no addition over the years; one and a half party offices (one for Left Front and half for the opposition); and a bus stand. The additions over the past two decades are in the shape of a few electric poles that carries wires meant to provide electricity, but there are week long power-cuts; and a few bumps (road-breakers), each a phoenix, rising about ten inches from the cracked and bleeding road, for high speed buses to slow down for locals to get on or off. In terms of accomplishments, one man still tops the list. He cleared the WBCS Exams some fifty years ago – he still is the only man to have done so from that village. The current generation continues to be an apt reflection of those people that lived there a hundred years ago, and whatever I have seen during my travels to other parts of Bengal, villages across the rest of the map are no different. Rural ignorance has been an intended and manipulated situation on the part of Left Front strategy – and that’s one color.
Under such circumstances, one normally tends to turn to the urban people for some positive energy. But sixty years has failed to generate a single urban spot on the map of Bengal. Calcutta it was, Calcutta it still is – and we have the Union Jack to thank for that. Durgapur, Haldia, Asansol, Kharagpur, Malda and Siliguri, promising dark-horses at different points in time in history, remain waiting in anticipation even today, like the bride-to-be, whose prospective groom never turned up.
Was this also manipulated? Probably yes. The resultant generation that has sprouted from all these places is intellectually confused. Needless to say, Calcutta has over the years become remarkably indifferent. Key Bengalis have become tourists to their hometown, from far off Europe or America. The homogenous attitude of people across all of these urban or sub-urban areas is – We Don’t Bother. That’s the second color.
But there is a third and even deadlier hue, that, when gets to become a permanent color, can be the mother of all Singurs and Nandigrams put together. The fact that there is no worthwhile political opposition in the State. First, (and now seems) some million year ago there was Left Front – young, intellectually inclined, progressive and promising; to sum up – political hot-shots. But then they took over as rulers, and no one took over their erstwhile seat. Though it is not that the seat has been lying vacant ever since. For some time, the defeated Congress(I) made lot of usual noises as they settled down on the opposition seat. Gradually they realized that there’s more money in playing at a national level. As a result, they calmed down, save those mandatory blah-blah-ing every now and then as the rightful state opposition. The intellectual quotient of Left died two unique deaths. It died on the side of the opposition, because of the void created by the Leftists moving out from there. It then died within the Leftists, because they became the rulers.
Today, we have a mass of people that call themselves “the only solution to Left Front’s ‘hegemony’”. They have a vision that is confined only to thwarting the existing government. Nothing beyond. They are ridiculously leaderless, despite a leader; are agenda-less, barring dissident practices; and meaningless, despite lot of airtime and acoustic support. Their antics (yes, I call them so) remain desperately reactive in nature. Having been in the political map of the State for more than ten years now, they are yet to come up with a single proactive approach to an issue – detailed and defined down to the last parameter, something that is fool-proof and smells of focus on solution rather than pointing fingers at other party’s inefficiency. I am sure there are lots of issues lurking around every corner one cares to turn to. But the recorded approach to such issues has been the hackneyed ‘get us to power’ stance. An ad-campaign trying to say that they have an incredible pool of talent and stamina within to turn things upside down the moment their team assumes the mantle. I don’t know what amount of intellect the opposition of today has. But I have read Mr. Carl Sagan say, ‘extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence’. I know that the junta of West Bengal is yet to experience such evidence to the claims made.
It is not a thought to denounce the word ‘opposition’ in whatever forms it exist today, for it would be denouncing democracy; and I am not an anti-democracy character. It is also not a thought to denounce the opposition of today. At least they are there, trying to put their point across to the humungous and well-oiled machinery called Left Front, despite serious limitations. They are still holding ground when the likes of Congress (I) and BJP have literally fled from Bengal. Its just that I am a common man, who is not totally indifferent about the state of affairs, questioning the fact that why haven’t I ever seen the opposition leadership take up even a miniscule of a crisis, walk up to a TV channel, get some slot and present an analytic, fact and figure approach to solve the issue, abstaining from using the age-old phrase ‘bring us to power’ subtly or bluntly? Why is it that the ruling party gets away with Neanderthal ideas of how to run a state, something that has been questioned, criticized and crushed the world over? Why does it not get questioned here – why do we have to be so ‘different’ from the world? Why does everyone in the opposition assume that the vote bank, the rural mass is ignorant? Why does everyone overrule the fact that there might be some intelligence there, still? One might hit a goldmine there, but why doesn’t anyone try? What about a collective effort towards building the mental health of the people? Arming them with required knowledge and skills? Loosening the vice a bit, and going to the elections confident on the judgment of the voters afterwards? I am questioning the age-old, dilapidated, carton damaged and post-expiry date mentality of our political leaders – of old and young ones alike.
This color is disturbing and, if this state of the mighty oppositions continues for some more time, then it would be downright scary for all of us. We need to be scared that tomorrow, the once upon a time ‘culture’ capital of India, a place that was known to breed people with points-of-view, will be completely brainless. Scared, that no matter whichever government runs the State, the people will be shuttle-cork between stone-age ideologies and antic artists. In the whole bargain, we would all would grow old, but never really grow up.
It’s the moral duty of any socially active political opposition to try to bring about a change, and, the current opposition party in West Bengal can bring about a change in the existing mindset of the people. Why they have failed miserably so far is, because they are still based out of identical mentality that the Left front was some centuries(almost) ago, when they wanted to topple the Congress regime. That stance of impulsive, often violent opposition that was a characteristic of young and restless brains became synonymous to young Leftists, led by the likes of a highly intelligent Jyoti Basu. This doesn’t apply to the current opposition because the intelligence or credibility factor just does not exist among its leadership. The top leader of the opposition has had national portfolios on platters and she has kept resigning and has kept coming back home (probably homesickness, even I suffer from it), while someone as extremely controversial as Laloo Prasad Yadav has taken up one such leftover mess of hers and has converted that into an extremely profitable venture for the Govt. of India.
Going back to the impulsive and hot-headed variety of approach; this approach has become worn out, redundant, worthless ever since – probably the reason why Mr. Buddhadev Bhattacharaya is trying to re-adjust the Left Front’s brand image. It is sad that the opposition intelligence doesn’t appreciate that. In effect, they are just a different reflection of the Left front of yesteryears, operating out of the same political parameter that they operated out of, and giving the Politburo enough reasons to guffaw. In reality, an image never takes on the real figure. It wouldn’t be called an image then.
The mass maybe ignorant, but they possess sufficient instincts to comprehend that the 70s landed them up in today’s state. If this is to continue forever (for the underlying attitude of the leader and opposition are so similar), there is little point in risking their future, resources, and precious lives of near and dear ones, in trying to bring about a change. So to them, with the exception of a handful of fanatics, this whole chase fails to assume an appropriate dimension.
If the State has to grow up and not just grow older (aren’t we old enough already?), then the oppositions need to get worthier. How about taking a stock of the core attitude that underlines their party values and behavior? A realization of sorts that there is an urgent need to migrate from their existing set of attitude as far as possible, for they can ill afford to remain labeled the ‘other side of the same coin’ called Left Front. That achieved and cascaded successfully across all levels of membership can sensationalize the mind of the junta – we maybe ‘indifferent’ or ‘ignorant’, but we are not socially foolish. We have an acute sense of understanding ‘What-Is-In-It-For-Me’, that’s typically 21st century – the leadership can be sure about that. Then, the leaders of the opposition can think of constructive actions, not reactive or subversive in nature (I needed to spell that out), that is focused on upgrading the social status of the state. The fun that the oppositions can have is that they only have to make a SMART (specific, measurable, achievable, realistic and time-bound) presentation to the media and reach the maximum number of people(of course they can have their share of Brigade-Parade stomping, for that’s the birthright of every leader worth his/her khadi). Going by the way things are for the ruling party nowadays, this kind of a move might throw them off-balance. So when the opposition can claim kick-starting a process of ‘mass awareness’ for the first time in the history of modern and post-independent India, the rulers might feel the need to move their rear to survive. One-upmanship, tickling the ‘gone with the scotch’ intellect to resurrect, walking the talk etc can follow much later – but for the time being it will be a nice diversion from the TV screen full of primary school dropouts screaming slogans while setting buses on fire.
What happens to such prospective SMART presentations’ future? Well, first get the spreadsheets ready and start the process of building the bridge, we can cross it when it is built.
Flavors of India
There is a geographic sentiment in India, which is probably not so starkly visible anywhere across the globe. There are distinctive cultural nuances that take to make a Tamil a Tamil, a Punjabi a Punjabi or a Gujarati a Gujarati. And if you are an Indian, you are probably very sentimental about which city you were brought up or which part of the nation you hail from. Of course one has family values that one gets exposed to, from the small days of his childhood. One usually has a school to go to, where he learns about nations, civilizations, societies and great minds – but, he somehow portrays an imprint of the place he hails from. A place is probably one of the most significant intellect feed above all; and for someone like me, who’s had a dumb past, being from a place that’s least likely ever to get an entry to the record books as a place with its own point-of-view, a new city called Calcutta, where I had to move in twelve years ago, smiled when I was unimpressed with the way she looked.
It took me unusually long – seven years to be precise, before I realized that the city has grown inside me. And Calcutta had remained unusually patient during that span. This had happened because none of the two of us had a choice. I was interestingly daft for my age, the present day kids of mid-twenties are a testimony to that; and of all the virtues Calcutta has, patience was the top order requirement when it came to handle a grownup scatterbrained like myself. A decade now in the metropolis, I have a few larger than life reasons that make me indebted to this place. It is not just the memories that I carry with me as many would like to think or tend to do – for they are often the easiest of things to borrow from your past and feel good about the times you had. This city has taken my wanton state of mind in consideration, and has characteristically planted a series of thoughts that is to be mine for the rest of my life.
This city has taught me to take pride in being a Bengali, discounting the omnipresence of Tagore or Satyajit Ray. Being Bengali, as I have grown to understand, is a state of mind. There probably is no other community with so many distinctive facets that a Bengali can feel good/bad about – depending on whether he considers himself ‘in’ or ‘out’ of the rest of the society at large. Interestingly, after coming to appreciate the Bengali in myself, I have never felt the need to get an approval from the rest of the nation about my being ‘in-sync’ or not. Probably that reflects the pride factor in me. I thank Calcutta for that.
What’s in ‘being a Bengali’? Is it in expressing solidarity with Latin American culture and in reading about Balzac-Shakespeare-Marx? Is it in having a natural disregard of authority and for critically estimating everything? Is it in being under Communist rule for near-eternity; or is it about Monkey-cap, Keo Karpin and Sourav Ganguly – as many like to think? I say it is probably all and yet none of the above. Mastering Shakespeare is easy compared to culturing friendliness towards strangers. Reciting Wordsworth with carefree gaiety is effortless compared to faith in a belief that excessive wealth can have negative effect on a man’s character. And while there would always be a school of thought that would label Bengali as second-rate and hesitant competitors in the ‘real’ world, I would continue to believe that these opinions are kind of quick-fix ‘expert comments’ that tries to covers up the need to apply intelligence to even gauge this community marginally. Being Bengali is about understanding and striking a balance between money and peace of mind. In a world where one’s greatness is measured by the billions that he owns or the aggression that he shows, this series of ‘Bengali’ outlooks might seem incongruous, even incredible to all – but trust me, you will eventually bump into a wanderlust Bengali family taking their half-yearly vacation in Goa or Shimla, where they would give you sharply etched views about the state of the world, and would probably sing a folk song about birds flying home, with remarkable ease the next moment. The amount of awareness demonstrated, the apparent detachment towards the result, and the contentment with present is a combination that would leave you confused. That’s the joy Calcutta breeds in you – if you give in to the city and let it guide your soul.
What else has Calcutta done to me? She has made me realize that it is quintessentially in a Bengali’s nature to value warmth over indifference, mind over matter and contentment over restlessness. A friend of mine (not a Bengali), while pondering over a decision of mine to comeback to Calcutta from Delhi, where I am currently posted, asked me why I would want to leave such a ‘happening’ place like Delhi. My sole question to her was what exactly happens in Delhi. She had no concrete answer. And, speaking of the way I have seen other cities gets me one more reason to look up to this great city of joy. Delhi, for example, being the political capital of our country sharply reflects its political sheen to my eyes. Almost every common man that you fancy culturing would announce his proud connection with a MP or a commissioner or a counselor, or even a police officer – and demonstrate an attitude of being above the law. Bombay, our financial capital, equals to money. Part time works, share trading and sleepless nights, transactions and how, twenty-four by seven busyness… its money or nothing. And people couldn’t be less concerned about what your contacts are, as long you don’t possess the mother of all knockout punches. Bangalore and Hyderabad, India’s IT hubs, experience their personal nirvana in blind-worshipping US or European multinationals based out of an aren’t-they-great-to-have-employed-us attitude. Money remains crucial, but somehow the means assumes more important dimension than the end.
I feel exceedingly good that Calcutta is not bound by any of these categories. I feel happy seeing the father who buys farm fresh groceries everyday and the off-spring who grows up appreciating global literature – the only way to understand the concept of human civilization. I feel happy witnessing a footloose Bengali family whichever corner of the world I travel to – exploring, seeking, appreciating, but completely devoid of the greed to settle down to get a share of the pie. I am proud that when the rest of the country sings ‘e gori, thoda nachke dikha’, we still get our dosage of both local Minstrel and Woodstock Classics – live, at the same venue. I feel relieved witnessing that when speed assumes an all time high in our country, the Bengali community still lets the mind wander in the maze of art, drama, emotions and genuine humanity.
For blind critics of this ‘fish and rice’ clan – being Bengali is not about the community protests that one witnesses on TV when Sourav Ganguly is kept out of the team. It is not about industrial strikes and political bandhs either. It’s about the key thoughts that lead to such visible actions. It is about collective belief in the philosophy that a society or a state is essentially ours to build. To give in to whatever is being practiced can spell a disaster; and the negative forces at work might get away with it. For starters, India at 2007 doesn’t consider the erstwhile coach to be the best thing that happened to our cricket team. And India at early 2008 agrees to the fact that industrialization is good as long as it doesn’t narrow down or cut into the base of our societal/economical pyramid. Once again, what Calcutta thinks today, India thinks tomorrow.
Calcutta has taught me that being a Bengali is about being a conscience indicator. It is about questioning the obvious and at the same time it is about learning to appreciate the universal forces at work – through humans and through nature. My senses have thus developed breathing in a City whose culture is the culmination of the language, philosophy, music, poetry, film, drama, tarja, jatrapala of her land. Of Tagore, Nazrul, Jibanananda, Lalan, Satyajit, Amartya, Nati Binodini, Jahir Raihan, Rammohan, Vidyasagar and Vivekananda. The Hindu, Vaishnava, Islam, Buddhism, Brahmo Samaj, Atheism and Socialism. The Sufis and the Sadhaks. The kirtans, shyamasangeets, bauls and bhatialis. The Marxism, Secularism and Bhasha Andolan. The Titumir, Kano-Sidho, Birsa, Khudiram, Master-da, Bagha Jatin, Subhas Bose, Bhasani, Tebhaga, and Naxalbari. Permeated by an open society and free-thinking lifestyle. The quest for truth and the courage to challenge and question the unfounded. Calcutta has enlightened me with the history of struggle of more than a thousand years – the history of an incredible development of the human mind.
And by all of these, she has demonstrated that a city should have a representative mind of her geography, to help in constructive evolution of the personality of its dwellers. A city should be beyond just being ‘clean and green’, ‘dynamic’, or being ‘cool’. Cosmetic touches are skin deep. The mental health of a place is a sum total of the inexplicable network of history-religion-art-culture-tolerance and the resultant attitude that boils out of it. The forecast of the future lies in the past.
I am lucky I was mindless when I came here. I am also lucky that I was a lot younger twelve years ago.
It took me unusually long – seven years to be precise, before I realized that the city has grown inside me. And Calcutta had remained unusually patient during that span. This had happened because none of the two of us had a choice. I was interestingly daft for my age, the present day kids of mid-twenties are a testimony to that; and of all the virtues Calcutta has, patience was the top order requirement when it came to handle a grownup scatterbrained like myself. A decade now in the metropolis, I have a few larger than life reasons that make me indebted to this place. It is not just the memories that I carry with me as many would like to think or tend to do – for they are often the easiest of things to borrow from your past and feel good about the times you had. This city has taken my wanton state of mind in consideration, and has characteristically planted a series of thoughts that is to be mine for the rest of my life.
This city has taught me to take pride in being a Bengali, discounting the omnipresence of Tagore or Satyajit Ray. Being Bengali, as I have grown to understand, is a state of mind. There probably is no other community with so many distinctive facets that a Bengali can feel good/bad about – depending on whether he considers himself ‘in’ or ‘out’ of the rest of the society at large. Interestingly, after coming to appreciate the Bengali in myself, I have never felt the need to get an approval from the rest of the nation about my being ‘in-sync’ or not. Probably that reflects the pride factor in me. I thank Calcutta for that.
What’s in ‘being a Bengali’? Is it in expressing solidarity with Latin American culture and in reading about Balzac-Shakespeare-Marx? Is it in having a natural disregard of authority and for critically estimating everything? Is it in being under Communist rule for near-eternity; or is it about Monkey-cap, Keo Karpin and Sourav Ganguly – as many like to think? I say it is probably all and yet none of the above. Mastering Shakespeare is easy compared to culturing friendliness towards strangers. Reciting Wordsworth with carefree gaiety is effortless compared to faith in a belief that excessive wealth can have negative effect on a man’s character. And while there would always be a school of thought that would label Bengali as second-rate and hesitant competitors in the ‘real’ world, I would continue to believe that these opinions are kind of quick-fix ‘expert comments’ that tries to covers up the need to apply intelligence to even gauge this community marginally. Being Bengali is about understanding and striking a balance between money and peace of mind. In a world where one’s greatness is measured by the billions that he owns or the aggression that he shows, this series of ‘Bengali’ outlooks might seem incongruous, even incredible to all – but trust me, you will eventually bump into a wanderlust Bengali family taking their half-yearly vacation in Goa or Shimla, where they would give you sharply etched views about the state of the world, and would probably sing a folk song about birds flying home, with remarkable ease the next moment. The amount of awareness demonstrated, the apparent detachment towards the result, and the contentment with present is a combination that would leave you confused. That’s the joy Calcutta breeds in you – if you give in to the city and let it guide your soul.
What else has Calcutta done to me? She has made me realize that it is quintessentially in a Bengali’s nature to value warmth over indifference, mind over matter and contentment over restlessness. A friend of mine (not a Bengali), while pondering over a decision of mine to comeback to Calcutta from Delhi, where I am currently posted, asked me why I would want to leave such a ‘happening’ place like Delhi. My sole question to her was what exactly happens in Delhi. She had no concrete answer. And, speaking of the way I have seen other cities gets me one more reason to look up to this great city of joy. Delhi, for example, being the political capital of our country sharply reflects its political sheen to my eyes. Almost every common man that you fancy culturing would announce his proud connection with a MP or a commissioner or a counselor, or even a police officer – and demonstrate an attitude of being above the law. Bombay, our financial capital, equals to money. Part time works, share trading and sleepless nights, transactions and how, twenty-four by seven busyness… its money or nothing. And people couldn’t be less concerned about what your contacts are, as long you don’t possess the mother of all knockout punches. Bangalore and Hyderabad, India’s IT hubs, experience their personal nirvana in blind-worshipping US or European multinationals based out of an aren’t-they-great-to-have-employed-us attitude. Money remains crucial, but somehow the means assumes more important dimension than the end.
I feel exceedingly good that Calcutta is not bound by any of these categories. I feel happy seeing the father who buys farm fresh groceries everyday and the off-spring who grows up appreciating global literature – the only way to understand the concept of human civilization. I feel happy witnessing a footloose Bengali family whichever corner of the world I travel to – exploring, seeking, appreciating, but completely devoid of the greed to settle down to get a share of the pie. I am proud that when the rest of the country sings ‘e gori, thoda nachke dikha’, we still get our dosage of both local Minstrel and Woodstock Classics – live, at the same venue. I feel relieved witnessing that when speed assumes an all time high in our country, the Bengali community still lets the mind wander in the maze of art, drama, emotions and genuine humanity.
For blind critics of this ‘fish and rice’ clan – being Bengali is not about the community protests that one witnesses on TV when Sourav Ganguly is kept out of the team. It is not about industrial strikes and political bandhs either. It’s about the key thoughts that lead to such visible actions. It is about collective belief in the philosophy that a society or a state is essentially ours to build. To give in to whatever is being practiced can spell a disaster; and the negative forces at work might get away with it. For starters, India at 2007 doesn’t consider the erstwhile coach to be the best thing that happened to our cricket team. And India at early 2008 agrees to the fact that industrialization is good as long as it doesn’t narrow down or cut into the base of our societal/economical pyramid. Once again, what Calcutta thinks today, India thinks tomorrow.
Calcutta has taught me that being a Bengali is about being a conscience indicator. It is about questioning the obvious and at the same time it is about learning to appreciate the universal forces at work – through humans and through nature. My senses have thus developed breathing in a City whose culture is the culmination of the language, philosophy, music, poetry, film, drama, tarja, jatrapala of her land. Of Tagore, Nazrul, Jibanananda, Lalan, Satyajit, Amartya, Nati Binodini, Jahir Raihan, Rammohan, Vidyasagar and Vivekananda. The Hindu, Vaishnava, Islam, Buddhism, Brahmo Samaj, Atheism and Socialism. The Sufis and the Sadhaks. The kirtans, shyamasangeets, bauls and bhatialis. The Marxism, Secularism and Bhasha Andolan. The Titumir, Kano-Sidho, Birsa, Khudiram, Master-da, Bagha Jatin, Subhas Bose, Bhasani, Tebhaga, and Naxalbari. Permeated by an open society and free-thinking lifestyle. The quest for truth and the courage to challenge and question the unfounded. Calcutta has enlightened me with the history of struggle of more than a thousand years – the history of an incredible development of the human mind.
And by all of these, she has demonstrated that a city should have a representative mind of her geography, to help in constructive evolution of the personality of its dwellers. A city should be beyond just being ‘clean and green’, ‘dynamic’, or being ‘cool’. Cosmetic touches are skin deep. The mental health of a place is a sum total of the inexplicable network of history-religion-art-culture-tolerance and the resultant attitude that boils out of it. The forecast of the future lies in the past.
I am lucky I was mindless when I came here. I am also lucky that I was a lot younger twelve years ago.
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