Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Homage....
OPINION
He deserved more…
The year was 1943,the place, University College, Trivandrum. Republic of Travancore.The Divan Sir C.P.RamaSwamy was visiting. It was a very important occasion. The authorities had made elaborate arrangements. Everything was planned to the detail. The Divan must not get any bad notions.
Sir C.P arrived. And everything went smoothly, until he set out on the routine inspection tour. On his way to the economics block he stopped in front of a Grad class. Or rather he was stopped. A short, dark man wearing a jubbah (kurta) was teaching.
‘Who is he?’ the Divan asked the Principal.
‘It ‘s Narayanan, the University Gold Medallist and first Rank Holder, he is teaching on contract service
His convocation is scheduled next week..
The Divan went back.
Narayanan’s teaching career ended the next day. His offence? He was a Harijan. He excelled enough to teach those above him in the social hierarchy. He covered his torso with a Jubbah in front of an upper caste Divan. Narayanan boycotted the convocation in protest and packed his bags for Delhi.
Fate plays strange games.
Fifty-Four years later, Kocheril Raman Narayanan was sworn in as the 10th President of Free India.
The Republic of Travancore was now part of the Republic of India. And Sir C.P was chased out of Travancore by freedom fighters.
K.R Narayanan died yesterday.
K.R Narayanan was a soft-spoken man. After leaving Travancore,he won the TATA scholarship and went on to study at the London School of Economics. He was one of the favorite disciples of Lasky, the famed economist. On coming back he joined the Indian Foreign Service.
He worked in London.,Rangoon,Tokyo,Canberra and many other places. He was the Indian Ambassador in Thailand, Turkey and China.. Upon retirement he was appointed Vice Chancellor of the JNU, Delhi..After four years he became the Indian Ambassador in United States..
In 1984 he entered politics. He won from the Ottaplam Constituency in Kerala and became a union minister. He retained his seat in 1989 and 1991.In 1995 he accepted, Prime Minister V.P.Singh’s nomination and was elected as the Vice-President of India.
In 1997,Narayanan created history by becoming the first Dalit Indian President .He won the election with 95.5% of the Electoral College votes.
Narayanan showed that he was not a rubber stamp and exercised his powers as President to the Maximum. He sent back the cabinet recommendations to dismiss the Bihar and U.P assemblies twice. He was an apostle of democracy and never allowed anything undemocratic or autocratic to happen. He also dismissed the Loksabha two times during his tenure.
Narayanan took the boldest step of his life last year when he revealed that during the Godhra riots he had asked in writing to Prime Minister Vajpayee to deploy the army in Gujarat. Vajpayee dismissed his request and what followed was one of the goriest exhibitions of communal tension.
He broke tradition, when he became the First Indian President to cast his vote in an election. This was against the convention of Presidents and Governors not voting in any election. He showed that each man had the right to support his choice.
In spite of all his achievements and contributions he is still seen as a Dalit.His academic and administrative talents has been looked over. It was disappointing to see the Times of India put just a small box news about his death, along with a caricature of the former President. They could have at least carried his picture. The channel and web news services also relegated his death to a non-issue.Even Rediff has not given due importance to the news, of course they still have “Chat with the President” link posted yesterday. The death of a former President doesn’t seem to bother them. Most have mentioned only his Dalit credentials not his achievements and contributions. They just seemed to have forgotten him. Can we imagine the media doing this in the case of Sonia Gandhi? In case of Advani or Prakash Karat?
Narayanan was eons higher than any of them, he deserved a little more.
Ramabhai..
‘Where are the diwali sweet boxes?’
Rama bhai was asking as though askng for her rightful share in her parental property due for partition.
I was intimidated for a moment.
But soon gathered my senses to say..” We gave you two boxes Na..?”
She smiled and said…”so it was from all of you?”
“Yes!”
“I though each one of you was going to give me a sweet box”
Innocent smile.
I tried hard to hide my irritation. My roommates had accidentally given her two sweet boxes. Each not knowing that the other had already gifted her. And now she was asking me for a third!!
We were five and that meant two of us remained to face the ordeal.
I pushed my bike’s kicker hard and accelerated away.
Ramabhai is the caretaker/dhobi/kitchen aid/babysitter of our housing society.
Her services were imposed on all whether they liked it or not, ofcourse at a nominal fee.
She had three plus one kid. Three already out to face the world and one on queue.
Her youngest kid is about three months and the eldest one is already doing her summers as bhai in a neighboring household.
Her family lives in a makeshift accommodation in the parking lot. From there she rules.
The door to this ‘house’ was always open and her kids could be seen playing all the time, except occasionally when it would be closed for conjugal bliss.
Her kids never went to school. And when asked why she said,” who will look after your homes when im gone?’
Puzzled I couldn’t reply…’My Kids” She said with pride.
There was always love and warmth in her eyes. Never the subjugation of a servant, but always the authority of a mother. I often wondered why this woman took so much care of everyone, why she scolded us…. Why she advised us…..who was she to do all this…..?
I could never accept her. Not because of the feudal difference, but because I hated intrusion into one’s personal life. She was always curious about my other life. About how much I got paid. About shi. About when we will get married. About her earrings and dresses. About what not….
She would be waiting with the day’s news whenever I rode in from office. About the kids, complaints about her husband, how her back ached and so on….
But yesterday she was not there.
And I dint bother to ask anyone. Because she was no one to me …or so I thought.
I watched TV, had food, read a little and lied down
I couldn’t sleep.
Where could she be? Did she go away? Without even telling me? Without demanding some money for her travel expenses? Did the Society secretary fire her? Or did she meet with some accident? And why did no one tell me that? Did her husband… Is she dead?
Ramabhai was bothering me.
My imagination stretched me to unknown extents. I dreamt of Ramabhai’s death, her kids being shown the door. I dreamt that Ramabhai had committed suicide. I dreamt our sweets boxes lying near her dead body
The calling bell awoke me.
It must be the newspaper boy. It was 9:30.Why was he so late today?
I opened the door.
“If I go to my mothers home for a day, does it mean that you keep your doors open. What happens if someone comes and takes your TV away? You will tell my name only, I know that….”
It was a miracle. I couldn’t control my happiness.
Ramabhai.! She was scolding us for not locking our door at night.
I smiled at her.
She was evidently angry and kept on speaking.
“Are you making fun of me? Do you think Im a fool?” She snapped at me
I smiled again.
“Mausi, you look beautiful when you are angry….ek chai banake denghe?” ***
She tried hard to remain angry. I was still smiling.
“ Kettle kaha he?” ****
She knew where it was…and was making tea soon, blabbering about the bus journey to her village and how indecent bus conductors nowadays are.
I have read somewhere that the people who matter most to us are not the rich or famous, not the known or the knowledgeable, but those who care for us, those who love us and think about us.
We may not overtly accept it. Nor may we acknowledge everybody’s love to us the first time.
But at some point in life, we will have to, because love is not bound by any barriers. Because it always hits you back like a boomerang.
Rama bhai was love.
----------------------------------------------------
*** Will you make a cup of tea?
**** where is the kettle?
----------------------------------------------------
Rama bhai was asking as though askng for her rightful share in her parental property due for partition.
I was intimidated for a moment.
But soon gathered my senses to say..” We gave you two boxes Na..?”
She smiled and said…”so it was from all of you?”
“Yes!”
“I though each one of you was going to give me a sweet box”
Innocent smile.
I tried hard to hide my irritation. My roommates had accidentally given her two sweet boxes. Each not knowing that the other had already gifted her. And now she was asking me for a third!!
We were five and that meant two of us remained to face the ordeal.
I pushed my bike’s kicker hard and accelerated away.
Ramabhai is the caretaker/dhobi/kitchen aid/babysitter of our housing society.
Her services were imposed on all whether they liked it or not, ofcourse at a nominal fee.
She had three plus one kid. Three already out to face the world and one on queue.
Her youngest kid is about three months and the eldest one is already doing her summers as bhai in a neighboring household.
Her family lives in a makeshift accommodation in the parking lot. From there she rules.
The door to this ‘house’ was always open and her kids could be seen playing all the time, except occasionally when it would be closed for conjugal bliss.
Her kids never went to school. And when asked why she said,” who will look after your homes when im gone?’
Puzzled I couldn’t reply…’My Kids” She said with pride.
There was always love and warmth in her eyes. Never the subjugation of a servant, but always the authority of a mother. I often wondered why this woman took so much care of everyone, why she scolded us…. Why she advised us…..who was she to do all this…..?
I could never accept her. Not because of the feudal difference, but because I hated intrusion into one’s personal life. She was always curious about my other life. About how much I got paid. About shi. About when we will get married. About her earrings and dresses. About what not….
She would be waiting with the day’s news whenever I rode in from office. About the kids, complaints about her husband, how her back ached and so on….
But yesterday she was not there.
And I dint bother to ask anyone. Because she was no one to me …or so I thought.
I watched TV, had food, read a little and lied down
I couldn’t sleep.
Where could she be? Did she go away? Without even telling me? Without demanding some money for her travel expenses? Did the Society secretary fire her? Or did she meet with some accident? And why did no one tell me that? Did her husband… Is she dead?
Ramabhai was bothering me.
My imagination stretched me to unknown extents. I dreamt of Ramabhai’s death, her kids being shown the door. I dreamt that Ramabhai had committed suicide. I dreamt our sweets boxes lying near her dead body
The calling bell awoke me.
It must be the newspaper boy. It was 9:30.Why was he so late today?
I opened the door.
“If I go to my mothers home for a day, does it mean that you keep your doors open. What happens if someone comes and takes your TV away? You will tell my name only, I know that….”
It was a miracle. I couldn’t control my happiness.
Ramabhai.! She was scolding us for not locking our door at night.
I smiled at her.
She was evidently angry and kept on speaking.
“Are you making fun of me? Do you think Im a fool?” She snapped at me
I smiled again.
“Mausi, you look beautiful when you are angry….ek chai banake denghe?” ***
She tried hard to remain angry. I was still smiling.
“ Kettle kaha he?” ****
She knew where it was…and was making tea soon, blabbering about the bus journey to her village and how indecent bus conductors nowadays are.
I have read somewhere that the people who matter most to us are not the rich or famous, not the known or the knowledgeable, but those who care for us, those who love us and think about us.
We may not overtly accept it. Nor may we acknowledge everybody’s love to us the first time.
But at some point in life, we will have to, because love is not bound by any barriers. Because it always hits you back like a boomerang.
Rama bhai was love.
----------------------------------------------------
*** Will you make a cup of tea?
**** where is the kettle?
----------------------------------------------------
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Its all rotten....
I was never a higher being.
Nor am I now. But I have certainly come a longway; from the kid who hungrily looked at bakery sweets and silently romanced toys at shops, from being stupidly jealous of my friend's pencil box and angry at myself for being born middle class. I was never confident about my identity.
Where did I belong?
That was the single most piercing question that haunted me always...and still do sometimes..My family was not rich, yet it was not poor...My parents always had 'just enough money' .We were taught to respect and accept it..
We were neither of the 'so called' high castes nor off the trampled down.And I never had to wait for a social revolution.Everybody said that it had already taken place...even before my father was born.
Not that I had a Complex, but this business of accepting scarcity with dignity was too much for me..
Classic Indian middle class dilemma...
I also got my share of the collective fatigue that my community suffered from while trying to find its position in the post revolutionary social hierarchy. I just couldn't place myself.
It carved niches of insecurity in my personality..
I wanted to be poor...so that I could happily be poor.
Or nauseatingly rich. So that I could flaunt it and live life king size....
Stupid me...
I tried to convince myself for a long time that Indians should not thinklike that..
That when millions starve, you can't be ambitious..
That sacrifice is better than success..
That you shouldn't dream big...
Stupidity...
Nothing changed in this country and nothing will...
Because we got one billion hypocrites in this nation..
People who ask you to be patriotic in a caste ridden, class ridden culture..
People who rape women and celebrate durga puja..
People who put surname above qualifications....
This country is poor because it should be...
This country stinks....
Nor am I now. But I have certainly come a longway; from the kid who hungrily looked at bakery sweets and silently romanced toys at shops, from being stupidly jealous of my friend's pencil box and angry at myself for being born middle class. I was never confident about my identity.
Where did I belong?
That was the single most piercing question that haunted me always...and still do sometimes..My family was not rich, yet it was not poor...My parents always had 'just enough money' .We were taught to respect and accept it..
We were neither of the 'so called' high castes nor off the trampled down.And I never had to wait for a social revolution.Everybody said that it had already taken place...even before my father was born.
Not that I had a Complex, but this business of accepting scarcity with dignity was too much for me..
Classic Indian middle class dilemma...
I also got my share of the collective fatigue that my community suffered from while trying to find its position in the post revolutionary social hierarchy. I just couldn't place myself.
It carved niches of insecurity in my personality..
I wanted to be poor...so that I could happily be poor.
Or nauseatingly rich. So that I could flaunt it and live life king size....
Stupid me...
I tried to convince myself for a long time that Indians should not thinklike that..
That when millions starve, you can't be ambitious..
That sacrifice is better than success..
That you shouldn't dream big...
Stupidity...
Nothing changed in this country and nothing will...
Because we got one billion hypocrites in this nation..
People who ask you to be patriotic in a caste ridden, class ridden culture..
People who rape women and celebrate durga puja..
People who put surname above qualifications....
This country is poor because it should be...
This country stinks....
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
invest....?
Its been almost two years since I started working fulltime
Believe it or not, my first job was Teaching…I was an English teacher..
I taught English to MBA aspirants…and since it was a contract job, I got paid by the hour and did not worry at all about paying taxes…I didn’t make that much..
But now I am a Techie and will have to keep aside some Moolah to feed the government unless…
INVEST….
Speaking about investment…An Insurance Agent came and met me the other day…He wanted to make my future secure,,,gift my kids( I don’t have them yet…im not even married…..!) a wonderful future..He asked me whether I had already fallen prey to another investment banker or Insurance militant….hell no..
…I thought for a while ,,mentally assessing my position
my till date investment included….
5 Black jockeys..
5 White Banyans (Tantex to be precise…Mr Thomson)
2 Jeans..
A couple of shirts and Tees..
Food…
Intoxication….
Movies…
Books…
No…
No Loans
No shares
No savings certificate
No Insurance policies
No Mutual Funds..
Yes..
Credit Card..( 3to be precise)
Pending Credit Statement… on two of them
A kaali Salary account..
‘Kannan…
I got this excellent plan for you, very small premium…very high returns…’
Just 18670 per year and you’ll get post retirement income of 25 Lakhs…2.5 Million Rupeess…
This is just the right time to invest..”
Everything was excellent…
The plan..
The agent..
The time…
Except my bank balance…
But I felt secure…
Boastmaster Miser owed me 40 Rupees..
ML owed me 50 Rupees…
I would get 90 rupees any minute….
I can demand it, ask politely or even beg for it…
And if they did not give it to me still….I can always kidnap one of them and ask the other for a Ransom
Or maybe I can kill them both and get everything…..
life holds immense possibilities….
And I can always ask Shi.. for anything…
‘This policy is excellent…..”
Deaf ears…I walked through him…arrogance personified..
Left Out...?
Nowadays I have the feeling that im really out of touch with what’s happening in the technical world…
I shudder on hearing words like ipod or GPRS enabled…
For someone who used to keep track of all silly developments and review all new products its really a letdown when you get naturally eliminated in a related discussions
Uninitiated…?
No just lost track…But I think there are many or rather a majority like me…
However I managed to find out that GPRS helps you browse anywhere with a mobile and an Ipod does many things everywhere…and feltl exhausted after being through the thingamajigs associated with each…half of which I never understood and doubt whether I will ever………
I feel ashamed when the kid next door, the hero of our area, Debashish cries out at every new AD that pops in the idiot box, he seems to know everything…Once in another sphere of time, I was Debashish, who updated the entire family on everything…
I guess this happens with all, save a few who are always alert and vigilant…or some who are always curious and ambitious…others just drift along to be carried into the future by the younger generations…
I shudder on hearing words like ipod or GPRS enabled…
For someone who used to keep track of all silly developments and review all new products its really a letdown when you get naturally eliminated in a related discussions
Uninitiated…?
No just lost track…But I think there are many or rather a majority like me…
However I managed to find out that GPRS helps you browse anywhere with a mobile and an Ipod does many things everywhere…and feltl exhausted after being through the thingamajigs associated with each…half of which I never understood and doubt whether I will ever………
I feel ashamed when the kid next door, the hero of our area, Debashish cries out at every new AD that pops in the idiot box, he seems to know everything…Once in another sphere of time, I was Debashish, who updated the entire family on everything…
I guess this happens with all, save a few who are always alert and vigilant…or some who are always curious and ambitious…others just drift along to be carried into the future by the younger generations…
Monday, October 24, 2005
Loafers of the World....
Lately I have been a little too lazy.
Lazy even to put on a shirt …lazy even to brush ,shave or bath…maybe it’s the Pune Climate..
Cold. Seems its got some weird proportional relation to my levels of activity… or rather inactivity.
Its specifically my level since it doesn’t seem to affect anyone around me…
They are all working hard and straight…
Boastmaster miser watches all the matches, sleeps late and deep, wakes up early and goes to office…
Mr. Hypocrisy is never tired; he would rather go on and on than take rest…
Same with lazy devil. Though he is called so…
Even ML who was lazy enuf to play fudball seems to have turned into a hard worker….
Its all ‘SEEMS”
Maybe it seems so only..
They are only appearing as hard workers because am doing nothing…
Its relative…
I guess Einstein was right after all…and he did a. great favor to Israel by refusing their Presidency..
Else the nation would have breeded a host of lazy morons like me…
I got work at office…documents to study and also prepare for an exam…
A trap which I laid for myself…hurting my conscience, ego…mind, heart..everything..
Why is this so?
Isn’t cruel that a student needs to study to get work….
That a man need to work to get paid…to get a life….???
When will this world progress into an ideal socialistic welfare state democracy where everything will be sponsored?
I leave it to others to think about who ill sponsor…
Great minds afterall give the clue…its for the masses to interpret…..
And you all….who are out reading this….better do it…..
The future is in your hands….
Ill be watching and appreciating you…
Thinking about your sacrifices and efforts…..While I wait here in deep reflection about total revolution………
Friday, October 21, 2005
Bambai Meri Jaan
Bambai account.....
It all started Saturday morning when we boarded our bus to bambai from parihar chowk..Zooming through the express highway basking in the pristine glory of the morning sun amidst the lush greenery ofMaharashthra ...Santhanu had an insight.....Bot great men don't speak out insights...they act out thoughts...
So poor myself along with my dear friend got down at Dadar and askd the way to station..3 kind people showed us 3 different ways to dadar station...vijay and geo had promised to wait for us there...ofcourse they were waiting....but in andheri....on bed...in their dreams...But a few phone calls and some adoring words made our friends jump up from bed and board train...
soon we all were in Church Gate....meeting mumbai in all its glory..we roamed around...snapped a zillion pictures..India Gate,Taj.Madam Cama road...Colaba...the evergreen stars of Bollywood....It was great...seeing the sea after 6 months ,sitting on the marine drive chatting ....
It was around 3 or 4 when we reached Bandra Bandstand...dotted with 100's of couples smooching,hugging..doingeverything short of the final Act..It was funny to see so many umbrellas being put up for more innovative uses...A birds Eye view to the beach from the sea would have spotted a new life form..umbrellas with four legs...sheilding the world from private bliss..The couples were so immersed that inspite of knocks on the umbrella from a certain enterprising gentleman they did not botherto look up or shout....
We walked through the bandstand alongside Salman khan's Flat before we finally settled on a few benches beside "Mannat"- shahrukh khan's house....There we had the unimaginable luck of meeting a former loksabha candidate whobeleived that fornification was bad but self stimulation and satisfaction not...
He gave us a long speech on the effects of fornification and self stimulation and satisfaction onIndian economy and technological progress..It took us sometime to realize that this well dressed old gentleman was ..yes ..a liitle mad..He wouldnt leave us ....Bloody capitalist santhanu along with traitor Vijay left brandman geo and poor myself at the hands of Gaurav patil,RTD Cheif superintendend of Railways who according to himself could have become the Chairman had he fornificated......Finally we made that narrow escape promising him that we will take up and follow through his anti fornification /pro self stimulation and satisfaction campaign....
That was mannat...( was he making fun of us or was that some kind security system implemented by khan for keeping guys like us out..ahh?)we visited a few malls in the evening..casanova saheem had won a contest for typing in India's fastest SMS(Stupid Message from a Stupid)..and wasthere to redeem his prize from provouge ..Shakesphere Vinay was also there at his usual best..the same swagger..the same look..We spent the night on the terrace of the flat..sipping vodka and puffing cuban cigars....looking at lights of bambai and wondering whetherthe stars had really come down...
the next day saw the birth of a new capitalist...Santhanu..Santhanu Sasidharan....Santhanu Sasidharan nair....the one man who would have brought bombay had he had the money...though he had the mind..it seems that anything below RS 2000 is now unbuyable for the guy....Well the insight that he had on the trip was this...that money is not going to stay in has hands...My dream FD account turned into silly chitty company....buying everything and anything that came in his way..(I too contributed my part...on a smaller scale..)It was too tempting ....and we burned our pockets..
It was soon time to come back to our good old Pune with the lush green hills and plains,the cool climate and the calm breeze..We got a local bus to vashi and from there took a volvo to pune..And now back at office facing the monday morning blues..i feel it got over too fast....the trip for which we waited for the whole month got over so fast....
Bombay is highly industrialized and polluted,with people who have no time for anything..with busy trains and jammed roads,clogged drainsluxury cars ...with skyscrapers and slums...But the city does have an undeniable charm..which we can see in the smiles of all those who are there..in the chatter of taxiwallas and riksha drivers..in the slums and malls..there is that spirit...of commom love for their city...bambai....
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