The best news for Kerala since Independence! Read on:
CONGRESS SCORNS HARTALS
New Delhi, November 9
With bandhs affecting normal life the Kerala unit of the Congress on Monday said it was likely to take a decision soon on avoiding such modes of protest. “A decision to this effect is likely to be taken soon,” state party chief Ramesh Chennithala said at the World Economic Forum India Summit here.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
“As a major political party in the opposition in Kerala we are seriously considering not having hartals. Our party committee has discussed it in detail. A final decision has not been taken,” Chennithala said. Noting that as a political party in a democracy the Congress had a right to demonstrate and protest he said people were suffering because of the age-old mode of agitation. “There are other ways in which we can protest. In a few days we are coming out with a decision on not calling for hartals. Personally, I am not in favour of hartals”, he said.(The New Indian Express, Thiruvananthapuram, Tuesday, November 10, 2009)
This is the surest indication that the Congress Party has its fingers on the pulse of the people.
And the party appears to be maturing, and reasserting its faith in principles.
If the Congress can liberate this state from strikes, they will win in the state hands down at every poll. So disgusted are the people of Kerala at the political goons unleashing violence and disrupting normal life in the form of hartals and bandhs.
KUDOS to the New Indian Express, Kerala edition, too for its earnest and dogged campaign against strikes and for sensitizing the political parties into paying heed to the voice of the people for which the paper provided a platform to express their loud and disgusted clamour against bandhs.
Time for the blogsphere to become proactive. While the Congress party is discussing the issue, the blogsphere must speak. It must resound with anti-bandh sentiments, with loud cheers for the Congress party for considering this very very progressive decision.
Every blogger should contribute her/his mite to this good cause which alone can SAVE KERALA.
This is the golden opportunity for the blogsphere which is labeled as the haven for armchair critics to show that it is more than that.
Yes. We bloggers can make a difference.
WE CAN!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Kerala has spoken through the ballot - November 2009.
Congratulations, the voters of Kerala! The UDF has swept the polls, and it won in Kannur very convincingly.
The people have spoken emphatically once again.
The voters have registered their protest loud and clear – against the infighting in the ruling party leading to absence of governance, against rampant corruption and most of all against political parties’ commitment to the party rather than to the people who elect them.
It is a protest of the people against the goonda raj that had Kerala in its grip the past few years.
It is the people’s loud voice of disapproval against the youth wing of the ruling party which had grown into a Frankenstein causing disturbance and spread fear by taking law into its hands.
It’s a protest against the Home Ministry running the state as if it is the minister’s back yard.
People have had enough.
We earnestly hope that the UDF understands the gravity of the burden of expectation that has been placed on them.
The people have spoken emphatically once again.
The voters have registered their protest loud and clear – against the infighting in the ruling party leading to absence of governance, against rampant corruption and most of all against political parties’ commitment to the party rather than to the people who elect them.
It is a protest of the people against the goonda raj that had Kerala in its grip the past few years.
It is the people’s loud voice of disapproval against the youth wing of the ruling party which had grown into a Frankenstein causing disturbance and spread fear by taking law into its hands.
It’s a protest against the Home Ministry running the state as if it is the minister’s back yard.
People have had enough.
We earnestly hope that the UDF understands the gravity of the burden of expectation that has been placed on them.
Monday, November 09, 2009
Anita's Recipe
Anmma asked my sister-in-law Annu to dictate to my eight old niece Anita the recipe of the lovely wine Annu had made. Now Anita was wonderful with words, wrote impeccably and had a way with words. Whenever she copied or wrote down a recipe for amma, she’d add a naughty comment at the end of it which amma loved.
A couple of months later, amma decided to make the wine. She took out the recipe book and checked to see if Anita’s mischievous comments were there.
There were none.
The required ingredients were listed out to be bought.
“Looks like an expensive wine”, amma said. “For every litre, we need 45 pieces of cloves”.
The ingredients were put in the bharani (jar) and lid was put in place and made doubly secure. It had to be stirred every day for 20 days.
After 20 days, it was time to drain the wine. All preparations and the maddening sterilization of vessels, ladles were over and the wine was strained through a fine cloth which served as the sieve.
Then it had to be kept in the bharani for another 20 days before bottling. Before sealing the bharani amma took out some liquid in a ladle and poured it into a glass.
And she tasted it.
She nearly fainted.
She says she took just one sip and her entire gastrointestinal tract was on fire.
She called up my sister- in- law, who asked her to repeat the recipe. The former was horrified when she heard of the 45 pieces of cloves for every litre of water. She had said 4 to 5 when she dictated the recipe to Anita!
Now, I’ve not been able to figure out if, instead of the usual written joke that accompanied her recipes, Anita decided on a practical joke that once!
And I haven’t been able to figure out too how an expert cook like amma didn’t realize that 45 pieces of cloves per litre could be deadly.
A couple of months later, amma decided to make the wine. She took out the recipe book and checked to see if Anita’s mischievous comments were there.
There were none.
The required ingredients were listed out to be bought.
“Looks like an expensive wine”, amma said. “For every litre, we need 45 pieces of cloves”.
The ingredients were put in the bharani (jar) and lid was put in place and made doubly secure. It had to be stirred every day for 20 days.
After 20 days, it was time to drain the wine. All preparations and the maddening sterilization of vessels, ladles were over and the wine was strained through a fine cloth which served as the sieve.
Then it had to be kept in the bharani for another 20 days before bottling. Before sealing the bharani amma took out some liquid in a ladle and poured it into a glass.
And she tasted it.
She nearly fainted.
She says she took just one sip and her entire gastrointestinal tract was on fire.
She called up my sister- in- law, who asked her to repeat the recipe. The former was horrified when she heard of the 45 pieces of cloves for every litre of water. She had said 4 to 5 when she dictated the recipe to Anita!
Now, I’ve not been able to figure out if, instead of the usual written joke that accompanied her recipes, Anita decided on a practical joke that once!
And I haven’t been able to figure out too how an expert cook like amma didn’t realize that 45 pieces of cloves per litre could be deadly.
Dalai lama In Arunachel Pradesh
Dalai Lama should not have done it. The understanding between this spiritual leader and India, and India and China was that he will not use the contested soil of Arunachal Pradesh for political purposes. And he did it. (See link below)
http://epaper.newindpress.com/NE/NE/2009/11/09/ArticleHtmls/09_11_2009_001_003.shtml?Mode=1
Why did he do it?
Enjoying the hospitality of India, it is unlikely that he would have done something so serious that was likely to create diplomatic tension between the two Asian Giants, without the permission of India.
Apparently, India was making a statement through the granting of permission to the Tibetan spiritual leader to visit Arunachal Pradesh. Are the political remarks by the Dalai Lama also an extension of that statement?
Today for the first time, an Indian official stated that the weapons used by the Maoists are of Chinese make, though he made haste to add that this is no indication that the Maoists have any links with China.
Too many things have been happening between India and China in the past few months – the incursions, the dam, issuing separate visas to Kashmiris by China, protesting against Prime Minister Manmohan Singh’s visit to Arunachal Pradesh. Wonder what all these mean.
The average citizen tends to get worried seeing all this, listening to the hysterical voice of the channels while the Indo-Chinese uneasiness is featured or while they talk of the preparedness of the Chinese for any eventuality as against the under preparedness of India. In addition to this, the netizens are invaded by magnificent (but scary on account of their sheer magnificence) clips of the super efficiency and discipline of the Red Army, and the display of that army recently.
We, the people of India, surely wish to see the status quo maintained between India and China. Memories of the Chinese invasion in the sixties after the much hyped Hindi-Cheeni Bhai Bhai still rankle.
http://epaper.newindpress.com/NE/NE/2009/11/09/ArticleHtmls/09_11_2009_001_003.shtml?Mode=1
Why did he do it?
Enjoying the hospitality of India, it is unlikely that he would have done something so serious that was likely to create diplomatic tension between the two Asian Giants, without the permission of India.
Apparently, India was making a statement through the granting of permission to the Tibetan spiritual leader to visit Arunachal Pradesh. Are the political remarks by the Dalai Lama also an extension of that statement?
Today for the first time, an Indian official stated that the weapons used by the Maoists are of Chinese make, though he made haste to add that this is no indication that the Maoists have any links with China.
Too many things have been happening between India and China in the past few months – the incursions, the dam, issuing separate visas to Kashmiris by China, protesting against Prime Minister Manmohan Singh’s visit to Arunachal Pradesh. Wonder what all these mean.
The average citizen tends to get worried seeing all this, listening to the hysterical voice of the channels while the Indo-Chinese uneasiness is featured or while they talk of the preparedness of the Chinese for any eventuality as against the under preparedness of India. In addition to this, the netizens are invaded by magnificent (but scary on account of their sheer magnificence) clips of the super efficiency and discipline of the Red Army, and the display of that army recently.
We, the people of India, surely wish to see the status quo maintained between India and China. Memories of the Chinese invasion in the sixties after the much hyped Hindi-Cheeni Bhai Bhai still rankle.
Saturday, November 07, 2009
Requiescat: Dr C R Soman
It was my friend who works in the All India Radio who suggested that I meet Dr. C R. Soman, who would be the best person to advise me on the nitty gritty of starting an NGO. I was hesitant, because I was not sure if a person so busy would be able to spare the time for me.
“You’ll be surprised, miss (she was my student too) but he is a fine person. I can’t think of better person to help you. You’ll be amazed at the things he is doing for the community – so many years after retirement. I’ll talk to him”.
And she did, after which I spoke to Dr. Soman on Friday, the 23rd October over the phone. It was just a one minute conversation during which I fixed an appointment with him for 26th, the following Monday . Just a minute of minimum conversation over the phone assured me that here was a person who was very friendly, helpful and absolutely without airs.
I met him in his office (Health Action by the People - HAP) the following Monday. I spent two hours with him. He was working on the computer-was putting together a paper, he told me, for publishing. We have collected so much data that I have decided to publish them in an international journal, he said. I wanted to know more about HAP and he gave a brief but comprehensive description of HAP. He explained why it is BY people and not FOR. Community health is dependent on the awareness of people. Every individual has to be conscious of his/her health. The people themselves must take the initiative of maintaining the health of the community. He told me that the data collected by his NGO provided clear evidence linking obesity to all the ailments that stalk the Kerala population. He spoke of his efforts to spread this awareness among young girls. Catch them before they become obese, was his policy. Prevention is better that cure. He told me how he gave talks to young college going students about maintaining the waistline they have at that moment when they sat in the college auditorium listening to him. Maintaining that waistline has more than cosmetic value – it’s a health insurance.
He detailed out how his NGO engages 120 people to collect medical data across Kerala. Most of them came from financially strained backgrounds but have become income generators for their families after joining HAP. He insisted on these girls purchasing two wheelers of their own in order to facilitate greater mobility. He meant it to be this way – his NGO should function at many levels. Its primary functions are to create awareness among people about health and to gather health data for the research activity of the HAP. The organization also becomes instrumental in providing a livelihood for all those underprivileged who serve it besides making medical test facility available at the doorstep.
I offered my service to HAP. I'd been a teacher, and though am a humanities person, I could make presentations if he gave me the material, I told him. He felt that it did not matter which discipline I specialized in; if the willingness to serve was there, that was enough. He promised to send me the Power Point presentations he had prepared to support his lectures on obesity. Whether he would have taken my offer and actually entrusted the task of imparting health knowledge to a lay person like me, I do not know. But he didn’t dismiss my enthusiasm as futile.
He was not cynical or even skeptical about the NGO I had in mind. He heard me out patiently, commended my willingness to become proactive, but warned me that the road ahead would not be easy. He pointed out with specific examples the hurdles that I was likely to face. One shouldn’t be disheartened by stumbling blocks. Must learn to take them in our stride, he advised.
He gave a copy of the bylaws of his organization and two hours of his time - free consultancy, highlighting the ground realities of floating an NGO. And there was no trace of swagger in his tone!
Last Monday, our group met to work out the action plan for launching the NGO, and we talked about inviting Dr. Soman for the next meeting!
“You’ll be surprised, miss (she was my student too) but he is a fine person. I can’t think of better person to help you. You’ll be amazed at the things he is doing for the community – so many years after retirement. I’ll talk to him”.
And she did, after which I spoke to Dr. Soman on Friday, the 23rd October over the phone. It was just a one minute conversation during which I fixed an appointment with him for 26th, the following Monday . Just a minute of minimum conversation over the phone assured me that here was a person who was very friendly, helpful and absolutely without airs.
I met him in his office (Health Action by the People - HAP) the following Monday. I spent two hours with him. He was working on the computer-was putting together a paper, he told me, for publishing. We have collected so much data that I have decided to publish them in an international journal, he said. I wanted to know more about HAP and he gave a brief but comprehensive description of HAP. He explained why it is BY people and not FOR. Community health is dependent on the awareness of people. Every individual has to be conscious of his/her health. The people themselves must take the initiative of maintaining the health of the community. He told me that the data collected by his NGO provided clear evidence linking obesity to all the ailments that stalk the Kerala population. He spoke of his efforts to spread this awareness among young girls. Catch them before they become obese, was his policy. Prevention is better that cure. He told me how he gave talks to young college going students about maintaining the waistline they have at that moment when they sat in the college auditorium listening to him. Maintaining that waistline has more than cosmetic value – it’s a health insurance.
He detailed out how his NGO engages 120 people to collect medical data across Kerala. Most of them came from financially strained backgrounds but have become income generators for their families after joining HAP. He insisted on these girls purchasing two wheelers of their own in order to facilitate greater mobility. He meant it to be this way – his NGO should function at many levels. Its primary functions are to create awareness among people about health and to gather health data for the research activity of the HAP. The organization also becomes instrumental in providing a livelihood for all those underprivileged who serve it besides making medical test facility available at the doorstep.
I offered my service to HAP. I'd been a teacher, and though am a humanities person, I could make presentations if he gave me the material, I told him. He felt that it did not matter which discipline I specialized in; if the willingness to serve was there, that was enough. He promised to send me the Power Point presentations he had prepared to support his lectures on obesity. Whether he would have taken my offer and actually entrusted the task of imparting health knowledge to a lay person like me, I do not know. But he didn’t dismiss my enthusiasm as futile.
He was not cynical or even skeptical about the NGO I had in mind. He heard me out patiently, commended my willingness to become proactive, but warned me that the road ahead would not be easy. He pointed out with specific examples the hurdles that I was likely to face. One shouldn’t be disheartened by stumbling blocks. Must learn to take them in our stride, he advised.
He gave a copy of the bylaws of his organization and two hours of his time - free consultancy, highlighting the ground realities of floating an NGO. And there was no trace of swagger in his tone!
Last Monday, our group met to work out the action plan for launching the NGO, and we talked about inviting Dr. Soman for the next meeting!
When I told him that I was DR. V P Gangadharan’s patient, Dr. Soman, in a very matter of fact tone stated that “Gangadharan is among the last of a dying species of doctors – dedicated, totally committed, for whom the medical profession is a vocation”. He made non committal remarks about Dr. Gangadharan’s troubles while working in a premier medical institution. A couple of days later, I heard from someone who was in the medical college that Dr. Soman was the one who spearheaded the action to protect and support Dr. Gangadharan during his difficult days, for he was convinced that Dr. Gangadharan was on the right side of the ethical boundary.
While talking to me, the telephone rang and he was making arrangements for two air tickets to Bangalore – for him and his wife. “It’s partly official-for HAP’, he told me by way of a small apology for keeping me waiting while he was on the phone.
I do not know if he made that trip to Bangalore. I didn’t pay attention to the dates he mentioned.
A lean tall man, level headed, low profile, cheerful and apparently at peace with himself, and of that type with whom one doesn’t associate ill health - that was my first impression of Dr. Soman. It shocked me to read in yesterday’s papers, ten days after the only one time i met him, that he was battling for his life. Later in the day, the news of the death of this activist who did make a difference and who still had a lot to give to humanity, set me wondering about those extra terrestrial pilots who steer our destiny.
While talking to me, the telephone rang and he was making arrangements for two air tickets to Bangalore – for him and his wife. “It’s partly official-for HAP’, he told me by way of a small apology for keeping me waiting while he was on the phone.
I do not know if he made that trip to Bangalore. I didn’t pay attention to the dates he mentioned.
A lean tall man, level headed, low profile, cheerful and apparently at peace with himself, and of that type with whom one doesn’t associate ill health - that was my first impression of Dr. Soman. It shocked me to read in yesterday’s papers, ten days after the only one time i met him, that he was battling for his life. Later in the day, the news of the death of this activist who did make a difference and who still had a lot to give to humanity, set me wondering about those extra terrestrial pilots who steer our destiny.
Monday, November 02, 2009
Grave Humour
A morbid post- and mebbe, in bad taste too perhaps, writing so irreverently about it but it has always intrigued me – those moments in every funeral, when tears and sobs are suspended and the crowd, absorbed in and anxious about the actual act of burial, temporarily forget the terrible sorrow of bereavement, and focus attention on the this worldly, practical act of lowering the casket into the womb of Mother earth.
Even as a kid, I used to notice that there was always confusion and raising of voices bordering on irreverence at the most poignant part of the funeral, when the actual deed of returning dust to dust was being ceremoniously performed. The logistics of the process is a little tricky. A slip of the hand or a miscalculation in the coordinated act would cause a catastrophe, depriving the demised person the last moments of dignity.
Those sharp instructions ring out loud and brusque.
Slowly, slowly
All eyes are riveted on the casket balancing precariously on the taut ropes held by those bold ones who have come forward to contribute their assistance and show their solidarity. One can sense the tense interest and almost hear the bated breath!
Rajan, pull the rope up a little. Your side is tilting’
OK OK
Yes, that’s it.
The bereaved ones too look at the performance, with a new emotion which provides a prosaic, five minute relief from the pain of bereavement - the new emotion being anxiety about the safe and dignified delivery of the casket to where it now belongs.
Now –Now. Together – slowly, slowly - - -careful - - .
People standing behind crane their necks to see the dangerous journey of the casket towards it final destination.
The casket now rests at the bottom of the grave and the crowd heave a silent sigh of relief – and then some return to their grief while others pray, while still some others gossip or exchange pleasantries or share news about the dead person, the loved ones he/she left behind, the responsibilities not completed or a race well run - - - -
While the subject of the conversation lies oblivious to this terminal scene of the drama of life.
I remember two episodes which still make me smile when I think of them. It was the funeral of my mother and I was heartbroken. One of the pall bearers was a young man in his late twenties, a good friend. No sooner had the casket rested safely in the grave than this young man’s glasses (soda lens with pure gold frame) fell on top of the casket. All of us knew that he was helpless without his glasses. Besides, it’s pure gold, I caught myself thinking!!
Leave it, it’s ok, it’s ok, the poor embarrassed chap kept pleading, blinking his helpless eyes to bring his vision into focus. He, no doubt, thought it indelicate to claim his glasses in this moment of deep sorrow for his close friends. Just then the grave digger jumped into the grave on top of the casket .Though for some reason I winced, I couldn’t help smiling at his commonsensical, matter of fact tone when he declared loud, “Why lose it if it is still retrievable? Any way, she (pointing to the casket) is not going need it”.
More recently, during the funeral of a nun, it was a credit card that fell into the grave. The loser behaved in the same manner as our friend mentioned earlier. He didn’t want a fuss to be made over it. This time the comments came from behind me, from those relatives and friends who had come to attend the funeral. The remarks, however, were more or less the same as that of the aforesaid gravedigger , though exchanged in low voices.
Ask the grave digger to pick it up. Not safe to leave it there.
What do you mean? She (pointing to the grave) is not going to misuse it.
Laughter – in low tone.
She wouldn’t have even seen one, leave alone use it while alive and kicking. So it’s quite safe there.
More laughter.
What if someone tries to get hold of it after all of us leave?
Subdued laughter again.
That’s true. Quite possible. Kaalam mosamanu (These are bad times)
The credit card was retrieved, any way.
However inappropriate this script of the terminal stage of human life is, I sort of welcome it. These interludes serve as comic relief in a great tragic play.
It brings to my mind those famous lines: Death, be not proud.
For life goes on inspite of you, you terminator! You can’t throw a permanent pall over the living.
Even as a kid, I used to notice that there was always confusion and raising of voices bordering on irreverence at the most poignant part of the funeral, when the actual deed of returning dust to dust was being ceremoniously performed. The logistics of the process is a little tricky. A slip of the hand or a miscalculation in the coordinated act would cause a catastrophe, depriving the demised person the last moments of dignity.
Those sharp instructions ring out loud and brusque.
Slowly, slowly
All eyes are riveted on the casket balancing precariously on the taut ropes held by those bold ones who have come forward to contribute their assistance and show their solidarity. One can sense the tense interest and almost hear the bated breath!
Rajan, pull the rope up a little. Your side is tilting’
OK OK
Yes, that’s it.
The bereaved ones too look at the performance, with a new emotion which provides a prosaic, five minute relief from the pain of bereavement - the new emotion being anxiety about the safe and dignified delivery of the casket to where it now belongs.
Now –Now. Together – slowly, slowly - - -careful - - .
People standing behind crane their necks to see the dangerous journey of the casket towards it final destination.
The casket now rests at the bottom of the grave and the crowd heave a silent sigh of relief – and then some return to their grief while others pray, while still some others gossip or exchange pleasantries or share news about the dead person, the loved ones he/she left behind, the responsibilities not completed or a race well run - - - -
While the subject of the conversation lies oblivious to this terminal scene of the drama of life.
I remember two episodes which still make me smile when I think of them. It was the funeral of my mother and I was heartbroken. One of the pall bearers was a young man in his late twenties, a good friend. No sooner had the casket rested safely in the grave than this young man’s glasses (soda lens with pure gold frame) fell on top of the casket. All of us knew that he was helpless without his glasses. Besides, it’s pure gold, I caught myself thinking!!
Leave it, it’s ok, it’s ok, the poor embarrassed chap kept pleading, blinking his helpless eyes to bring his vision into focus. He, no doubt, thought it indelicate to claim his glasses in this moment of deep sorrow for his close friends. Just then the grave digger jumped into the grave on top of the casket .Though for some reason I winced, I couldn’t help smiling at his commonsensical, matter of fact tone when he declared loud, “Why lose it if it is still retrievable? Any way, she (pointing to the casket) is not going need it”.
More recently, during the funeral of a nun, it was a credit card that fell into the grave. The loser behaved in the same manner as our friend mentioned earlier. He didn’t want a fuss to be made over it. This time the comments came from behind me, from those relatives and friends who had come to attend the funeral. The remarks, however, were more or less the same as that of the aforesaid gravedigger , though exchanged in low voices.
Ask the grave digger to pick it up. Not safe to leave it there.
What do you mean? She (pointing to the grave) is not going to misuse it.
Laughter – in low tone.
She wouldn’t have even seen one, leave alone use it while alive and kicking. So it’s quite safe there.
More laughter.
What if someone tries to get hold of it after all of us leave?
Subdued laughter again.
That’s true. Quite possible. Kaalam mosamanu (These are bad times)
The credit card was retrieved, any way.
However inappropriate this script of the terminal stage of human life is, I sort of welcome it. These interludes serve as comic relief in a great tragic play.
It brings to my mind those famous lines: Death, be not proud.
For life goes on inspite of you, you terminator! You can’t throw a permanent pall over the living.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Mallu and the English Language
I got this forward today. http://www.youtube. com/watch? v=JfzWhXYM8- k
We Malayalees will never grow up; never shake off that colonial hangover.
This video juxtaposes Sreemathi Teacher, the Honourable Minister for Health for Kerala addressing the press in English, with a clipping from the film Achuvinte Amma, in which Urvashi is shown trying to learn English by practicing speaking the alien tongue at home when she talks to her daughter. The ‘subject’ for the forward was “You’ll surely laugh”. Well, I did laugh – at the clipping from the film. But I did not find Sreemathi teacher’s English outrageously funny.
For goodness sake, where is written that one should speak convent English to become a minister? Good enough if a minister can communicate well in the regional language. Definitely, competence in English is a bonus point – but not an imperative. Lack of competence in English is not a reason to make an Indian feel inadequate or feel that he is a lesser being.
I thought the minister communicated pretty well. So what if there were hiccups, or slips in grammar, syntax etc? Have we Indians entered into some contract with the erstwhile colonizer to protect the sanctity and correctness of his language?
Nothing gives me more pleasure than mutilating and distorting the English language and getting away with it. That’s my way of getting back for four centuries of oppression.
Come on, let’s slaughter the English languag but make sure that we get away with it. One way to do this is to care two hoots for the language, and treat it merely like a utility object.
If India becomes a super economic power which calls the shots in world affairs, our English will gain the respectability that Australian and American variety have. It’s only money and power that make different voices heard in this unfair world.
In the meanwhile, I hope Hon Minister Sreemathi Teacher will continue to use English the way she knows, the way it suits her, showing scant respect to the rules made by some stuffy grammarians in England in the eighteenth century, and to the rules of pronunciation that cannot always be accommodated by the genius of the our mother tongue.
My post on Mallu English: http://pareltank.blogspot.com/2006/12/mallu-english.html
We Malayalees will never grow up; never shake off that colonial hangover.
This video juxtaposes Sreemathi Teacher, the Honourable Minister for Health for Kerala addressing the press in English, with a clipping from the film Achuvinte Amma, in which Urvashi is shown trying to learn English by practicing speaking the alien tongue at home when she talks to her daughter. The ‘subject’ for the forward was “You’ll surely laugh”. Well, I did laugh – at the clipping from the film. But I did not find Sreemathi teacher’s English outrageously funny.
For goodness sake, where is written that one should speak convent English to become a minister? Good enough if a minister can communicate well in the regional language. Definitely, competence in English is a bonus point – but not an imperative. Lack of competence in English is not a reason to make an Indian feel inadequate or feel that he is a lesser being.
I thought the minister communicated pretty well. So what if there were hiccups, or slips in grammar, syntax etc? Have we Indians entered into some contract with the erstwhile colonizer to protect the sanctity and correctness of his language?
Nothing gives me more pleasure than mutilating and distorting the English language and getting away with it. That’s my way of getting back for four centuries of oppression.
Come on, let’s slaughter the English languag but make sure that we get away with it. One way to do this is to care two hoots for the language, and treat it merely like a utility object.
If India becomes a super economic power which calls the shots in world affairs, our English will gain the respectability that Australian and American variety have. It’s only money and power that make different voices heard in this unfair world.
In the meanwhile, I hope Hon Minister Sreemathi Teacher will continue to use English the way she knows, the way it suits her, showing scant respect to the rules made by some stuffy grammarians in England in the eighteenth century, and to the rules of pronunciation that cannot always be accommodated by the genius of the our mother tongue.
My post on Mallu English: http://pareltank.blogspot.com/2006/12/mallu-english.html
The Bonsai Story
The bonsai metaphor is my favourite. Whenever I get an occasion to talk about the conditioning of human minds, I seize upon the bonsai image. I wouldn’t be surprised if my students call me ‘Bonsai Miss’, ‘cos I’m sure I have bored them to death drawing parallels between the stunting of the plants and the stunting of human minds by social structures. The first time, they listen to it with some interest, as tho I’ve hit upon an original metaphor. But as bonsai keeps popping up in my lectures, I suspect I see sidelong glances being exchanged. But I can’t resist the temptation to drag in the inhuman (or in-nonhuman?) practice of the bonsai techniques whenever I give vent to a fiery harangue on the extent to which Homo sapiens go to manipulate /condition everything including the human thought process in order to suit its schema.
If ever they institute a Nobel Prize for endurance, I’d recommend my poor students. How they have suffered me. Not that I didn’t know it, but once one gets a bee in the bonnet, it’s difficult to get it out.
I even wrote a pathetic (in the original and diluted sense of the word), poem on Bonsai, mourning the tragic predicament of a tree that might have grown full straight, into perhaps a tree that might have given shelter to a modern day Buddha who would have had a nirvanic experience that’d have saved the world from its headlong plunge into disaster; or into a gigantic pala tree, giving shelter to some spirit walking the earth for a chance to execute the revenge drama; or into a tree which would have had the rarest of rare privilege of becoming the husband of the manglik Aiswarya Rai; or into a magnificent tree which could have witnessed a Prithiviraj or a Navya Nair collapse with a hip dislocation while performing one of those gymnastic exercise that passes off for dance.
The poem looked downright stupid that I deleted it, even from the recycle bin, lest I post it on my blog in a weak moment of self love.
To come back to the Bonsai – two years back, when I visited my friend Sally after a long time, I found she had a fantastic collection of Bonsai. Despite myself, I couldn’t help being delighted by the sheer beauty of those stunted trees. Even the most commonplace tree that we wouldn’t take another look at looked lovely. I began to wonder if I could be wrong about my anti-bonsai stand. Seeing me lost in admiration of her plants, my good friend gifted me with a bonsai.
“It’s a phycus – a hardy type. Once you master the art of growing Bonsai, you can try with better plants.’
I didn’t have the heart to decline the offer as a matter of principle. In fact I was excited by the thought of having a collection of bonsai with her help that I forgot all about its potential to grow into nirvanic canopy or a manglik groom.
Now starts my story. I looked after it as though it were a precious baby. Gave it food, water in measured quantities as Sally had instructed. When the time came for pruning, I called Sally over who did it like an expert giving a lec-dem.
Three months after I got it, my bonsai died. The leaves just fell off as though fall had come to the tropical Kerala, and the small tree stood bare, mocking at me.
“Just water it. The leaves will come back. No reason why they shouldn’t”
I waited for a month, watering my Bonsai every day, looking carefully for signs of life.
But it had died for good.
Seeing my distress, Sally gave me another. History repeated itself.
Sally gave me another and another and another.
My fifth bonsai too died.
I’ve begun to think that these plants have extra sensory perception. Mebbe they got those negative vibes from me, and decided to return the compliment. Oh! They are vengeful.
No wonder their destiny to facilitate a Buddha or be a husband to the Miss World was sabotaged.
Serves them right.
No more bonsais for me. No more growing them, I mean. But the metaphor continues to lace my conversation with a dash of virulence.
If ever they institute a Nobel Prize for endurance, I’d recommend my poor students. How they have suffered me. Not that I didn’t know it, but once one gets a bee in the bonnet, it’s difficult to get it out.
I even wrote a pathetic (in the original and diluted sense of the word), poem on Bonsai, mourning the tragic predicament of a tree that might have grown full straight, into perhaps a tree that might have given shelter to a modern day Buddha who would have had a nirvanic experience that’d have saved the world from its headlong plunge into disaster; or into a gigantic pala tree, giving shelter to some spirit walking the earth for a chance to execute the revenge drama; or into a tree which would have had the rarest of rare privilege of becoming the husband of the manglik Aiswarya Rai; or into a magnificent tree which could have witnessed a Prithiviraj or a Navya Nair collapse with a hip dislocation while performing one of those gymnastic exercise that passes off for dance.
The poem looked downright stupid that I deleted it, even from the recycle bin, lest I post it on my blog in a weak moment of self love.
To come back to the Bonsai – two years back, when I visited my friend Sally after a long time, I found she had a fantastic collection of Bonsai. Despite myself, I couldn’t help being delighted by the sheer beauty of those stunted trees. Even the most commonplace tree that we wouldn’t take another look at looked lovely. I began to wonder if I could be wrong about my anti-bonsai stand. Seeing me lost in admiration of her plants, my good friend gifted me with a bonsai.
“It’s a phycus – a hardy type. Once you master the art of growing Bonsai, you can try with better plants.’
I didn’t have the heart to decline the offer as a matter of principle. In fact I was excited by the thought of having a collection of bonsai with her help that I forgot all about its potential to grow into nirvanic canopy or a manglik groom.
Now starts my story. I looked after it as though it were a precious baby. Gave it food, water in measured quantities as Sally had instructed. When the time came for pruning, I called Sally over who did it like an expert giving a lec-dem.
Three months after I got it, my bonsai died. The leaves just fell off as though fall had come to the tropical Kerala, and the small tree stood bare, mocking at me.
“Just water it. The leaves will come back. No reason why they shouldn’t”
I waited for a month, watering my Bonsai every day, looking carefully for signs of life.
But it had died for good.
Seeing my distress, Sally gave me another. History repeated itself.
Sally gave me another and another and another.
My fifth bonsai too died.
I’ve begun to think that these plants have extra sensory perception. Mebbe they got those negative vibes from me, and decided to return the compliment. Oh! They are vengeful.
No wonder their destiny to facilitate a Buddha or be a husband to the Miss World was sabotaged.
Serves them right.
No more bonsais for me. No more growing them, I mean. But the metaphor continues to lace my conversation with a dash of virulence.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Naxalism and Development - Changing Prespectives.
To me Naxalism was evil – out and out evil. As a school going kid, my head was filled with stories of the then Naxalite violence in North Kerala, culminating in the attack of police stations and the horrible images of the bloody palm imprints left behind as a warning and a statement on the walls by the violent outfit.
I think I am right when I say that these are the images most middle class Keralites of my generation have lived with for a long long time. Naxalism was a bad word for them. Like me, perhaps, they too half condoned Rajan’s murder in police custody during the Emergency. Conditionally, of course - if indeed he was a Naxalite, a terrorist who, if let loose, would challenge the right to existence of many a citizen in the name of ideology.
But, while I still condemn the modus operandi of the Naxalites, a qualitative change has been coming over my approach to the larger picture. And I think this is true of many Kerlaites like me, who, in the course of their lives, have been shaken out of their smug existence by some factor or the other.
Strangely enough, it happened rather late in the day for me. Misgivings began to adulterate my unqualified condemnation of Naxalism after I read Draupadi by Mahaswetha Devi in the late nineties. I remember being both ashamed and horrified that I and my likes were totally ignorant of a reality about India both tragic and scary, the two epithets suggesting themselves for different reasons – ‘tragic’ ‘cos most of us are basically socialists and humanitarians, and ‘scary’ ‘cos of our strong self preservation instinct.
I see netizens going hammer and tongs after Arundathi Roy on account of her views expressed on the Naxalites/Maoists issue on Karan Tharpar’s Devil’s Advocate programme. But is everything she said wholly untrue? I do not see her position as a justification of violence, if read in context. I don’t find anything objectionable in her observation that Maoism is something that should not have happened in the frst place, but since it did, it should be dealt with, without turning a blind eye to the soil that gave birth to this terrible movement. Social analysts cum activists like her are corrective agencies in an order that is struggling to come to terms with the ‘other India’, which had been neglected till now. She is raising her voice against the behaviour therapy approach of the government, which leaves the basic, imbedded problem untouched.
I cannot, however, agree with this particular observation of Ms Roy:
Roy, in a debate on CNN-IBN last week, had alleged that the government was a planning a war on Maoists to take away their resources on behalf of the multi-national companies.
“The real fact is--and I believe this--that it is the Government that wants a war to clear out the forest areas because there is a huge backlog of MoUs in Jharkhand as well as Chhattisgarh that are not being activated,” she had said.
I don't believe it. I do not want to believe it. I refuse to be so cynical. I believe that the government is thinking of a military solution, as it has no choice except to take up arms against those who have taken up arms against the citizens of India.
Having said that, I’d like to note down my anxiety that the root cause of unrest continues to go unaddressed. The New Indian Express carried this story on Oct 26.
The woes of evictees are usually dismissed as the birth pangs of development, except during election time. The people who were evicted for the Vallarpadam International container Trasnshipment Terminal project have been homeless for about 2 years now
Yes. It is in this dismissive attitude couched in the rhetoric of development in which the victims of progress are explained away as necessary evil (birthpangs), that the government takes refuge from its own conscience. The duplicity of the powers that be (as evidenced in referring to the issue during election time only) betrays a deliberate lack of political will to address the ramifications of development and the fate of those thrown out of their homes in its name.The very menclature ‘development’ then obviously becomes a misnomer.
The newspaper story continues to highlight how, though the govt had issued pattayams for the lands long back, no infrastructure development has been done so far.
The government has not so far given approval for roads, water supply and electricity connection to the proposed site.
The Vallarpadam acquisition is hailed as the model acquisition where the relocation of displaced population was not retarded! But the truth of the matter is, with the issuing of pattayams, the government very cleverly got the obstacle to progress called the ‘locals’ out of the way and then callously left them to fend for themselves - for two years now in unlivable conditions. These are people who were eking out a decent livelihood for themselves till they were thrown to the streets in the name of development.
The collateral damages of development! This is the soil where Naxalism strikes root.
This is one such case only. India Incorporated is snatching away the ‘other India’s’ food, shelter and livelihood. And the government appears to be generous with the MNCs but helpless in fending for these victims who pay the price for development and who, therefore, are getting angrier, hungrier and frustrated by the day.
The government must get its act together. It should shake itself out of the denial mode. A major policy change is required to deal with this frightening situation. The corporates for whom the people are evicted must compulsorily be made to resettle the dislocated people. It should be binding on them to build up infrastructure in the new sites chosen for relocating the dislocated; livelihood must be offered to at least one person in the uprooted family in the form of employment. All these conditions must be satisfied before they are allowed to lay the foundation stone for their project.
Also, when the government draws up the budget for a mega development project, it must factor in the cost of rehabilitation of those affected by the project (I do not know if it is done that way), and simultaneous with the execution of the project, the process of rehabilitation too must be carried out.
Why should one section of the Indian population pay for the comfort of another section?
Are not all Indians, be it the tribals or the BPL population, equal in terms of their inalienable rights?
A nation built on the backs of the poor cannot sustain itself. The tears of the deprived will prove to be a dangerous curse to India.
I think I am right when I say that these are the images most middle class Keralites of my generation have lived with for a long long time. Naxalism was a bad word for them. Like me, perhaps, they too half condoned Rajan’s murder in police custody during the Emergency. Conditionally, of course - if indeed he was a Naxalite, a terrorist who, if let loose, would challenge the right to existence of many a citizen in the name of ideology.
But, while I still condemn the modus operandi of the Naxalites, a qualitative change has been coming over my approach to the larger picture. And I think this is true of many Kerlaites like me, who, in the course of their lives, have been shaken out of their smug existence by some factor or the other.
Strangely enough, it happened rather late in the day for me. Misgivings began to adulterate my unqualified condemnation of Naxalism after I read Draupadi by Mahaswetha Devi in the late nineties. I remember being both ashamed and horrified that I and my likes were totally ignorant of a reality about India both tragic and scary, the two epithets suggesting themselves for different reasons – ‘tragic’ ‘cos most of us are basically socialists and humanitarians, and ‘scary’ ‘cos of our strong self preservation instinct.
I see netizens going hammer and tongs after Arundathi Roy on account of her views expressed on the Naxalites/Maoists issue on Karan Tharpar’s Devil’s Advocate programme. But is everything she said wholly untrue? I do not see her position as a justification of violence, if read in context. I don’t find anything objectionable in her observation that Maoism is something that should not have happened in the frst place, but since it did, it should be dealt with, without turning a blind eye to the soil that gave birth to this terrible movement. Social analysts cum activists like her are corrective agencies in an order that is struggling to come to terms with the ‘other India’, which had been neglected till now. She is raising her voice against the behaviour therapy approach of the government, which leaves the basic, imbedded problem untouched.
I cannot, however, agree with this particular observation of Ms Roy:
Roy, in a debate on CNN-IBN last week, had alleged that the government was a planning a war on Maoists to take away their resources on behalf of the multi-national companies.
“The real fact is--and I believe this--that it is the Government that wants a war to clear out the forest areas because there is a huge backlog of MoUs in Jharkhand as well as Chhattisgarh that are not being activated,” she had said.
I don't believe it. I do not want to believe it. I refuse to be so cynical. I believe that the government is thinking of a military solution, as it has no choice except to take up arms against those who have taken up arms against the citizens of India.
Having said that, I’d like to note down my anxiety that the root cause of unrest continues to go unaddressed. The New Indian Express carried this story on Oct 26.
The woes of evictees are usually dismissed as the birth pangs of development, except during election time. The people who were evicted for the Vallarpadam International container Trasnshipment Terminal project have been homeless for about 2 years now
Yes. It is in this dismissive attitude couched in the rhetoric of development in which the victims of progress are explained away as necessary evil (birthpangs), that the government takes refuge from its own conscience. The duplicity of the powers that be (as evidenced in referring to the issue during election time only) betrays a deliberate lack of political will to address the ramifications of development and the fate of those thrown out of their homes in its name.The very menclature ‘development’ then obviously becomes a misnomer.
The newspaper story continues to highlight how, though the govt had issued pattayams for the lands long back, no infrastructure development has been done so far.
The government has not so far given approval for roads, water supply and electricity connection to the proposed site.
The Vallarpadam acquisition is hailed as the model acquisition where the relocation of displaced population was not retarded! But the truth of the matter is, with the issuing of pattayams, the government very cleverly got the obstacle to progress called the ‘locals’ out of the way and then callously left them to fend for themselves - for two years now in unlivable conditions. These are people who were eking out a decent livelihood for themselves till they were thrown to the streets in the name of development.
The collateral damages of development! This is the soil where Naxalism strikes root.
This is one such case only. India Incorporated is snatching away the ‘other India’s’ food, shelter and livelihood. And the government appears to be generous with the MNCs but helpless in fending for these victims who pay the price for development and who, therefore, are getting angrier, hungrier and frustrated by the day.
The government must get its act together. It should shake itself out of the denial mode. A major policy change is required to deal with this frightening situation. The corporates for whom the people are evicted must compulsorily be made to resettle the dislocated people. It should be binding on them to build up infrastructure in the new sites chosen for relocating the dislocated; livelihood must be offered to at least one person in the uprooted family in the form of employment. All these conditions must be satisfied before they are allowed to lay the foundation stone for their project.
Also, when the government draws up the budget for a mega development project, it must factor in the cost of rehabilitation of those affected by the project (I do not know if it is done that way), and simultaneous with the execution of the project, the process of rehabilitation too must be carried out.
Why should one section of the Indian population pay for the comfort of another section?
Are not all Indians, be it the tribals or the BPL population, equal in terms of their inalienable rights?
A nation built on the backs of the poor cannot sustain itself. The tears of the deprived will prove to be a dangerous curse to India.
Monday, October 26, 2009
A Rather Insignificant Episode
There are fifteen posters of XYZ, amma, said my 8 year son as we walked down the railway platform. He had been counting the posters of XYZ, the candidate for the legislative assembly, pasted on the pillars of the platform.
Who is he?
He is the candidate for the assembly election that’s coming soon.
Why are there so many posters?
People should know that he is standing for the election, and he is the candidate for that party. Thus, on that railway platform, my son got his first lecture on the democratic process. He seemed to be quite fascinated by it. Questions followed and I answered to the best of my ability in a language and manner that a child could understand.
Will XYZ win, amma?
I don’t know, son .
Will you vote for him.
My vote is not here. I ‘ll vote from my hometown where the candidate is different.
If you had a vote from here, would you vote for XYZ?
I don’t know, math.
You must vote for him , amma, if you have a vote from here.
Why, math?
Because I like him. There are fifteen posters in this railway platform. I decided not to challenge his illogical logic.
The passenger train came and we got in. The compartment was crowded, so we stood between the two doors, leaning against the back of the seat.
At the next stop, some people got down and so we could sit. Passengers started boarding. Suddenly, my son started shouting at the top of his voice. He was pointing to someone and shouting repeatedly Amma amma there’s XYZ Amma amma there’s XYZ. And to my surprise, he was right. There stood XYZ in the space we had vacated, looking at my son, mighty pleased and surprised.
Then he inched his way towards us and ruffled my son’s hair and asked me How does he know me?
I don’t know whether it was the sycophant in me or a sense of mischief that made me say Who doesn’t know you, Mr XYZ?
Oh the guy was simply delighted! He seemed to grow in height like Eddy Murphy in the Nutty Professor and his grin grew wider and wider that I found myself thinking that if not for his ears, his grin would go right round his head (not my original – read it somewhere).
Needless to say, my son’s day was made, but he was heartbroken when XYZ got a trouncing at the hustings. After that XYZ went out of his life.
As for Mr. XYZ, he subsequently left his parent party and joined the rival party after being denied ticket during the next election. Today he occupies an important position and right now is in the middle of a controversy.
I’m naming no names :-)
Who is he?
He is the candidate for the assembly election that’s coming soon.
Why are there so many posters?
People should know that he is standing for the election, and he is the candidate for that party. Thus, on that railway platform, my son got his first lecture on the democratic process. He seemed to be quite fascinated by it. Questions followed and I answered to the best of my ability in a language and manner that a child could understand.
Will XYZ win, amma?
I don’t know, son .
Will you vote for him.
My vote is not here. I ‘ll vote from my hometown where the candidate is different.
If you had a vote from here, would you vote for XYZ?
I don’t know, math.
You must vote for him , amma, if you have a vote from here.
Why, math?
Because I like him. There are fifteen posters in this railway platform. I decided not to challenge his illogical logic.
The passenger train came and we got in. The compartment was crowded, so we stood between the two doors, leaning against the back of the seat.
At the next stop, some people got down and so we could sit. Passengers started boarding. Suddenly, my son started shouting at the top of his voice. He was pointing to someone and shouting repeatedly Amma amma there’s XYZ Amma amma there’s XYZ. And to my surprise, he was right. There stood XYZ in the space we had vacated, looking at my son, mighty pleased and surprised.
Then he inched his way towards us and ruffled my son’s hair and asked me How does he know me?
I don’t know whether it was the sycophant in me or a sense of mischief that made me say Who doesn’t know you, Mr XYZ?
Oh the guy was simply delighted! He seemed to grow in height like Eddy Murphy in the Nutty Professor and his grin grew wider and wider that I found myself thinking that if not for his ears, his grin would go right round his head (not my original – read it somewhere).
Needless to say, my son’s day was made, but he was heartbroken when XYZ got a trouncing at the hustings. After that XYZ went out of his life.
As for Mr. XYZ, he subsequently left his parent party and joined the rival party after being denied ticket during the next election. Today he occupies an important position and right now is in the middle of a controversy.
I’m naming no names :-)
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Alliyaambal Kadavil - Then and Now
It tugs at the heart strings.
But I guess one has to be a Malayalee and around five decades old to receive the full impact of Vijay Yesudas’s rendition of the classic of the sixties Alliyambal Kadavil in the just released Malayalam movie Loudspeaker.
I am curious to know how the generation which did not experience the enthralling entry of Yesudas into their young world reacts to this new version of this song. I am curious to know how the generation which was not the first to hear the original Alliyaambal by Yesudas responds to this song.
Alliyaambal 2009 cannot be the same for our youngsters as it is for those of my generation. It creates a wistful longing for those emotions evoked by the original song which the senior Yesudas, in the sixties, sang with such a mellifuous flow, as though 'he on honey dew was fed/ and drunk the milk of paradise’. The song swept us off our feet by its sheer melody the very first time we heard it. Then, the whole of Kerala was humming it, the young and the old, the middle aged and the very old.From the film Rosy, the song was an event which we can never forget. Composed by Job Master, it was as different as different can be from the other compositions, though all of them too seem to have been created exclusively for young Yesudas with his silken voice and incredibly melodious style of rendition.
The 2009 version of the song from Loudspeaker takes you back - back to a time some four decades back when we were the fortunate witnesses of a great and unique confluence in Kerala of a great rendition artist, great composers and great lyricists. It is this that adds a certain special dimension to the nostalgia that overcomes those of my generation when we listen to Alliyaambal of 2009.
In the movie Loudspeaker, the song itself is a very evocative picturisation of nostalgia - naalukettu, flooded nadumuttam, young adolescent love, paper boats, the swing, the kulam, the simple innocent joys of a life close to nature – all seen through the mind of an elderly man (Sashi Kumar).
The slow rendering of the classic of the sixties by the son, who for the first time sounds like the father, fills you with a longing for those days when the phenomenon called Yesudas burst into Kerala and held it spell bound; for those days in the sixties when the Malayalee suddenly discovered what ecstatic enjoyment film music can bring.
And its picturisation takes you back to a way of life that is not just of the past, but one that is vanishing forever.
But I guess one has to be a Malayalee and around five decades old to receive the full impact of Vijay Yesudas’s rendition of the classic of the sixties Alliyambal Kadavil in the just released Malayalam movie Loudspeaker.
I am curious to know how the generation which did not experience the enthralling entry of Yesudas into their young world reacts to this new version of this song. I am curious to know how the generation which was not the first to hear the original Alliyaambal by Yesudas responds to this song.
Alliyaambal 2009 cannot be the same for our youngsters as it is for those of my generation. It creates a wistful longing for those emotions evoked by the original song which the senior Yesudas, in the sixties, sang with such a mellifuous flow, as though 'he on honey dew was fed/ and drunk the milk of paradise’. The song swept us off our feet by its sheer melody the very first time we heard it. Then, the whole of Kerala was humming it, the young and the old, the middle aged and the very old.From the film Rosy, the song was an event which we can never forget. Composed by Job Master, it was as different as different can be from the other compositions, though all of them too seem to have been created exclusively for young Yesudas with his silken voice and incredibly melodious style of rendition.
The 2009 version of the song from Loudspeaker takes you back - back to a time some four decades back when we were the fortunate witnesses of a great and unique confluence in Kerala of a great rendition artist, great composers and great lyricists. It is this that adds a certain special dimension to the nostalgia that overcomes those of my generation when we listen to Alliyaambal of 2009.
In the movie Loudspeaker, the song itself is a very evocative picturisation of nostalgia - naalukettu, flooded nadumuttam, young adolescent love, paper boats, the swing, the kulam, the simple innocent joys of a life close to nature – all seen through the mind of an elderly man (Sashi Kumar).
The slow rendering of the classic of the sixties by the son, who for the first time sounds like the father, fills you with a longing for those days when the phenomenon called Yesudas burst into Kerala and held it spell bound; for those days in the sixties when the Malayalee suddenly discovered what ecstatic enjoyment film music can bring.
And its picturisation takes you back to a way of life that is not just of the past, but one that is vanishing forever.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Gory Rumblings of Hungry India : Maoist/Naxal Threat.
I begin by stating in no uncertain terms that this post is not an attempt to justify violence. The ethicality of an ideology with violence integrated into its conceptual structure is suspect. Cause and means must be above blame. That’s the most dependable touchstone for the ethicality of any ideology, no matter how simplistic it might sound.
Ethics, I am aware, is an outdated concept in hardcore academic parlance, ‘cos it presupposes essentialism and absolutism. But, at a practical level, for a healthy and harmonious coexistence of human beings, for equity and justice in governance, we cannot merely indulge in scholastic niceties and sideline the issue – or adopt an ostrich attitude on the grounds of the relativity of ethics.
Having said that, I am going to set out on an expedition to find out if I can arrive at a position on the internal violence that is traumatizing heartland India.
One would like to believe that the Naxalites/Maoisits with their brutal operations have lost the sympathy of the common man. The veracity of this statement, however, depends on who fit into the definition of the ‘common man’. Without any ground support, is it possible for any organization to spread and gain control over the Red Corridor, a huge expanse cutting across five states of India?
Tackling the Naxal ‘menace’ by military operations is one option open to the government at this point, but this option has to be exercised in tandem with concrete steps to address the root cause. Otherwise, the solutions yielded can only bail out the government for the moment. Perhaps a well coordinated sustained operation might weaken this extremist group – like the Khalisthan movement in Punjab in the eighties was brought under control. But, unlike in Punjab, it is unlikely such suppression of the Maoists will be permanent. Khalisthan was a separatist movement. The issue here is different. It is a class war intersected by caste war. Traditionally and historically, the warring groups have been like the proverbial anvil and hammer. Suppression will lead to a hydra like resurfacing with greater fury.
Who are these Maoists? What do they want?
Often, the official position on these vital questions is evasive. Two years ago, the Prime Minister expressed his fear of the growing aggression of the Maoists. But other than these knee-jerk sounds made by the authorities, no concerted effort has been taken to address what Naxalism/Maoism represents in India. But their victory in Nandigram and spurts of violence from these groups in the past three years, have rudely jerked the government out of its self delusion, and the government is showing signs of shaking itself free from the grip of the ostrich syndrome.
The Maoists/Naxals call it the ‘People’s War’. They claim to be the voice of that underprivileged, deprived and marginalized citizenry of India who fell by the wayside, untouched by ‘development‘. No. Not just untouched, but marginalized BECAUSE of the model of development adopted by Independent India. This citizenry comprising the tribals from whom land and livelihood have been snatched away by deforestation and allotment of forest areas for ‘development’ undertakings; those displaced by ‘development’ projects such as dams and industry; those eternally at the mercy of privileged caste and class in the feudal society which is still strong in India; the farmers who have been rendered desolate by years of governments’ neglect of the agricultural sector; and more. Many more.
This group represents the failure of India and the Maoists/Naxals constitute the bloody manifestation of a terrible, chronic internal malady of our society. These terror merchants represent the fall out of free India’s skewed mode of development rooted in an unwritten exclusionist definition of progress. They claim to be the voice of the exploited, the downtrodden, the hungry, and the homeless and abused section of humanity in a country which is presently being spoken of as an emerging economic superpower of the 21st century. The Ambani brothers fight over their billions and the government intervenes surreptitiously, and keenly awaits the outcome of this family feud. On the other side of the coin, the downtrodden gets killed, their women get raped, their lands are snatched and they are rendered without shelter. But successive governments have kept a safe distance in order not to get their fingers burnt or on account of pressure from vested interests, or for fear of stirring up a hornet’s nest.
The Naxals/Maoists are the self styled Messiah who holds out to these distressed group hope of redemption from their miseries. That they have taken up arms instead of adopting peaceful methods is not to their advantage, ‘cos, as I mentioned earlier, violence cannot be an acceptable solution in a democracy. But with every passing financial year as the margins keep growing and encroaching into the core, these extremist groups gain greater acceptability with that deprived citizenry.
The Home Minister has now asked these militants to lay down arms and then come to the negotiating table.
Will they do it?
The answer is not within sight. These militant groups who have adopted terrorist’s methods are terrorizing not only the People’s Enemies, but the very people whose battle they claim to be fighting. The cause of the underprivileged has been hijacked by this extremist political outfit, and is being used as a pretext with the long term plan of gaining political power, modeled on a Mao style revolution. Hence, it would be a falsehood to state that they have the wholehearted support of those who exist in the margins of development.
Whatever the case, it will not be an easy task to bring them to the negotiating table. And how much can the government negotiate/compromise with an outfit which swears by violence and indulges in brutal mass murder and heinous and torturous methods of killing innocent hostages?
But what the government can and should do is to create a sustainable system to address the problems of those Indian citizens who are totally distressed and could till now partake of none of the benefits of ‘development’. If this issue is addressed aggressively and substantially with a well structured plan executed efficiently, these extremists group would lose their foothold in their base, the People.
A mammoth task for the government with the type of graft that has stricken our system like a disease, one must admit. But the government can no longer throw up its hands in helplessness. It simply can’t afford to. It should squarely face the hungry heartland of India, which bleeds with years of neglect and failure of governance.
Today, the newspapers ran a story which brings cheer. It is about a programme run by the government in rural India to tap human and land resources, and the laudable success it achieved in bringing light into the lives of the people there . For those who are not inclined to check out the link I have given, this excerpt of the news item will give a fairly good idea:
..The Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme (MGNREGS), …is bringing a silent revolution to the country side in Andhra Pradesh by turning wage seekers into farmers and entrepreneurs.
The scheme which assures 100 days employment to each household every year, has not only checked the village to town migration and help address the problems of extremism in some areas but has also brought a degree of economic empowerment to the beneficiaries.
http://www.newkerala.com/nkfullnews-1-134099.html
For yet another development that evidences the government’s resolve to tackle chronic underdevelopment , read the following excerpt from today’s EditPage of the New Indian Express (Wednesday, October 21, 2009) :
There was an interesting development recently in connection with the Union Home ministry’s effort to tackle the rising Naxal violence in Jharkhand. On the ministry’s urging, the state government (presently under central rule) has withdrawn something like a lakh of cases registered against tribals under the Forest Conservation Act. The charges were all slapped on people trying to keep body and soul together – entering reserved forest without permission. stealing fruit, cutting wood, grazing cattle etc. - - - it was decided …as part of the grand strategy for ‘winning confidence’ of those living in Naxal affected area, to withdraw these cases.
Both these developments are very encouraging. Half a century after the Mahatma’s death, the model of development he passionately advocated is beginning to make sense to the powers that be. Cornered, India is beginning to see the wisdom and foresight of the great man. While the first extract testifies to the government being proactive in taking care of India’s greatest asset – human resource and villages (Take care of the villages and the cities will take care of themselves – Gandhi), the second one shows that realization has dawned on the privileged India that the deprived citizenry too are citizens, and that the same uniform law cannot be applied to all. The nawab or a superstar who poach cannot be seen on the same scale as the starving Indian who hunts or helps himself to the forbidden fruit to keep his body and soul together. The latter requires compassion and understanding. Laws have to be nuanced to prevent the oppression of the oppressed.
It is very encouraging to see that the government is reordering its priorities, though it is sad that the militant’s gun has to prod them. Anyway, better later than never.
Perhaps, we can now be assured that the democracy that we are striving so hard to preserve will not, after all, be destabilized.
Ethics, I am aware, is an outdated concept in hardcore academic parlance, ‘cos it presupposes essentialism and absolutism. But, at a practical level, for a healthy and harmonious coexistence of human beings, for equity and justice in governance, we cannot merely indulge in scholastic niceties and sideline the issue – or adopt an ostrich attitude on the grounds of the relativity of ethics.
Having said that, I am going to set out on an expedition to find out if I can arrive at a position on the internal violence that is traumatizing heartland India.
One would like to believe that the Naxalites/Maoisits with their brutal operations have lost the sympathy of the common man. The veracity of this statement, however, depends on who fit into the definition of the ‘common man’. Without any ground support, is it possible for any organization to spread and gain control over the Red Corridor, a huge expanse cutting across five states of India?
Tackling the Naxal ‘menace’ by military operations is one option open to the government at this point, but this option has to be exercised in tandem with concrete steps to address the root cause. Otherwise, the solutions yielded can only bail out the government for the moment. Perhaps a well coordinated sustained operation might weaken this extremist group – like the Khalisthan movement in Punjab in the eighties was brought under control. But, unlike in Punjab, it is unlikely such suppression of the Maoists will be permanent. Khalisthan was a separatist movement. The issue here is different. It is a class war intersected by caste war. Traditionally and historically, the warring groups have been like the proverbial anvil and hammer. Suppression will lead to a hydra like resurfacing with greater fury.
Who are these Maoists? What do they want?
Often, the official position on these vital questions is evasive. Two years ago, the Prime Minister expressed his fear of the growing aggression of the Maoists. But other than these knee-jerk sounds made by the authorities, no concerted effort has been taken to address what Naxalism/Maoism represents in India. But their victory in Nandigram and spurts of violence from these groups in the past three years, have rudely jerked the government out of its self delusion, and the government is showing signs of shaking itself free from the grip of the ostrich syndrome.
The Maoists/Naxals call it the ‘People’s War’. They claim to be the voice of that underprivileged, deprived and marginalized citizenry of India who fell by the wayside, untouched by ‘development‘. No. Not just untouched, but marginalized BECAUSE of the model of development adopted by Independent India. This citizenry comprising the tribals from whom land and livelihood have been snatched away by deforestation and allotment of forest areas for ‘development’ undertakings; those displaced by ‘development’ projects such as dams and industry; those eternally at the mercy of privileged caste and class in the feudal society which is still strong in India; the farmers who have been rendered desolate by years of governments’ neglect of the agricultural sector; and more. Many more.
This group represents the failure of India and the Maoists/Naxals constitute the bloody manifestation of a terrible, chronic internal malady of our society. These terror merchants represent the fall out of free India’s skewed mode of development rooted in an unwritten exclusionist definition of progress. They claim to be the voice of the exploited, the downtrodden, the hungry, and the homeless and abused section of humanity in a country which is presently being spoken of as an emerging economic superpower of the 21st century. The Ambani brothers fight over their billions and the government intervenes surreptitiously, and keenly awaits the outcome of this family feud. On the other side of the coin, the downtrodden gets killed, their women get raped, their lands are snatched and they are rendered without shelter. But successive governments have kept a safe distance in order not to get their fingers burnt or on account of pressure from vested interests, or for fear of stirring up a hornet’s nest.
The Naxals/Maoists are the self styled Messiah who holds out to these distressed group hope of redemption from their miseries. That they have taken up arms instead of adopting peaceful methods is not to their advantage, ‘cos, as I mentioned earlier, violence cannot be an acceptable solution in a democracy. But with every passing financial year as the margins keep growing and encroaching into the core, these extremist groups gain greater acceptability with that deprived citizenry.
The Home Minister has now asked these militants to lay down arms and then come to the negotiating table.
Will they do it?
The answer is not within sight. These militant groups who have adopted terrorist’s methods are terrorizing not only the People’s Enemies, but the very people whose battle they claim to be fighting. The cause of the underprivileged has been hijacked by this extremist political outfit, and is being used as a pretext with the long term plan of gaining political power, modeled on a Mao style revolution. Hence, it would be a falsehood to state that they have the wholehearted support of those who exist in the margins of development.
Whatever the case, it will not be an easy task to bring them to the negotiating table. And how much can the government negotiate/compromise with an outfit which swears by violence and indulges in brutal mass murder and heinous and torturous methods of killing innocent hostages?
But what the government can and should do is to create a sustainable system to address the problems of those Indian citizens who are totally distressed and could till now partake of none of the benefits of ‘development’. If this issue is addressed aggressively and substantially with a well structured plan executed efficiently, these extremists group would lose their foothold in their base, the People.
A mammoth task for the government with the type of graft that has stricken our system like a disease, one must admit. But the government can no longer throw up its hands in helplessness. It simply can’t afford to. It should squarely face the hungry heartland of India, which bleeds with years of neglect and failure of governance.
Today, the newspapers ran a story which brings cheer. It is about a programme run by the government in rural India to tap human and land resources, and the laudable success it achieved in bringing light into the lives of the people there . For those who are not inclined to check out the link I have given, this excerpt of the news item will give a fairly good idea:
..The Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme (MGNREGS), …is bringing a silent revolution to the country side in Andhra Pradesh by turning wage seekers into farmers and entrepreneurs.
The scheme which assures 100 days employment to each household every year, has not only checked the village to town migration and help address the problems of extremism in some areas but has also brought a degree of economic empowerment to the beneficiaries.
http://www.newkerala.com/nkfullnews-1-134099.html
For yet another development that evidences the government’s resolve to tackle chronic underdevelopment , read the following excerpt from today’s EditPage of the New Indian Express (Wednesday, October 21, 2009) :
There was an interesting development recently in connection with the Union Home ministry’s effort to tackle the rising Naxal violence in Jharkhand. On the ministry’s urging, the state government (presently under central rule) has withdrawn something like a lakh of cases registered against tribals under the Forest Conservation Act. The charges were all slapped on people trying to keep body and soul together – entering reserved forest without permission. stealing fruit, cutting wood, grazing cattle etc. - - - it was decided …as part of the grand strategy for ‘winning confidence’ of those living in Naxal affected area, to withdraw these cases.
Both these developments are very encouraging. Half a century after the Mahatma’s death, the model of development he passionately advocated is beginning to make sense to the powers that be. Cornered, India is beginning to see the wisdom and foresight of the great man. While the first extract testifies to the government being proactive in taking care of India’s greatest asset – human resource and villages (Take care of the villages and the cities will take care of themselves – Gandhi), the second one shows that realization has dawned on the privileged India that the deprived citizenry too are citizens, and that the same uniform law cannot be applied to all. The nawab or a superstar who poach cannot be seen on the same scale as the starving Indian who hunts or helps himself to the forbidden fruit to keep his body and soul together. The latter requires compassion and understanding. Laws have to be nuanced to prevent the oppression of the oppressed.
It is very encouraging to see that the government is reordering its priorities, though it is sad that the militant’s gun has to prod them. Anyway, better later than never.
Perhaps, we can now be assured that the democracy that we are striving so hard to preserve will not, after all, be destabilized.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Seditious Politics over Mullaperiyar.
Mullaperiyar begins to bristle again. And this time, Jayalaitha has crossed all permissible limits offered by the freedom of expression. Equating Kerala building a dam across Mullaperiyar to China building one on Brahmaputra, amounts to a seditious speech.
Take a look at what she has to say:
Chennai, Oct 18 (IANS) Equating Kerala’s demand for a new dam at Mullaperiyar with China’s attempts to build one on the Brahmaputra within its territory, AIADMK general secretary J.Jayalalitha Sunday said if the Indian government could oppose the Chinese project, then Tamil Nadu too had the right to object to Kerala’s project. (Emphasis mine)
What are the implications of this statement?
Kerala and Tamil Nadu are like India and China. Are they two countries? Implied in this statement is a subversion of the federal nature of the Indian Republic. If this does not amount to sedition, what does?
She goes on:
Noting that India is objecting to China building a dam on the Brahmaputra on the plea that it would affect the ecology of several states here, she said: ‘When one nation can object to the actions of another in the matter of river water sharing, does not Tamil Nadu have valid grounds to push its case through vis-a-vis a neighbouring state?’
This elaboration strengthens my argument. Are two states in a federal republic equivalent to nations with independent political status?
And the danger in this metaphor lies in equating of Kerala to China, and thereby, Tamil Nadu to India. It does make matters a little dicey that Kerala has a Communist Government, which is constantly accused by all political parties of having ideological leaning towards China, as the latter is the only surviving large and powerful Communist country.
And then comes her trump card:
‘Are not both Kerala and Tamil Nadu states of the Indian Union? Do the Prime Minister and the Union Minister of State for Forests and Environment have different yardsticks while dealing with identical issues concerning the Indian nation and Tamil Nadu state?’ she asked, according to a statement released here.
She is clearly playing on the emotions of the people with, no doubt, the future of her party in mind. AIDMK, at the moment, is cooling its heels in the opposition benches of Tamil Nadu.
Without batting an eyelid she proclaims loudly that:
The construction of a new dam across the Mullaiperiyar in Kerala would practically result in cutting off the main source of water for five districts of Tamil Nadu.
Kerala leaders have been crying themselves hoarse that Tamil Nadu requirement for water will be met. Besides, the rivers of India are not the exclusive property of any state. They belong to the nation, and the sharing pattern of the waters is always done with intervention of the Centre’s machinery for the purpose. She continues:
She said Kerala is going ahead with surveying lands for construction of a new dam, which would be against the interests of the people of Tamil Nadu.
She knows this statement (which I have highlighted above) is a blatant lie. But politicians are so crafty that they look around for issues that appeal to the parochial sentiments of the public, and then politicize it till it becomes a huge emotional inferno which consumes sanity, logic, common sense and patriotism.
And then she lays the foundation for an unrest and “disaffection” between the States of a federal union:
‘90 per cent of this survey work is complete. The balance will be completed in hardly two months. The minister concerned in Kerala has also said on record that the construction of the new dam will be completed in less than a year after the sanction is given,’ Jayalalitha said.
The final salvo is sent in the direction of the opposition:
She demanded the DMK should pull out of the central government immediately on the issue of the new dam in Kerala.
The continued presence of the opposition in the Centre is interpreted as an anti Tamil Nadu position. This will provoke Karunanidhi to react, in order to ward off Jayalaitha’s blows with the Mullaperiyar stick.
The result is bound to be trouble between two states, created out of sheer selfishness of politicians. Fortunately, Kerala and Tamil nadu are two states which co exist as perfect neighbours. Let us not allow these unscrupulous politicians create bad blood between these two states.
The people of both Tamil Nadu and Kerala should be educated about the new dam that’s being planned. The Centre or some people’s organization should step in to convince the people of Tamil Nadu that 1. The building a new dam is to ensure the safety of millions of people whose lives will be lost in case of a mishap 2. The water availability for Tamil Nadu from Periyar will not be reduced by the new dam.
In the meanwhile, it is worthwhile to examine if Jayalaitha can have sedition charges slapped on her for the threat her rhetoric poses to the federal fabric of the country. Does freedom of speech give license to regional politicians to tear the country apart?
What a shame we have such selfish, self seeking, deceitful, crooked , ruthless and unconscientious politicians in the country.
May their tribe NOT increase!
Monday, October 19, 2009
A Tag with a difference
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBYn3gibgt0&NR=1),
Sujatha has tagged me again. This is a tag with a difference. To quote her
The above web video is an effort to raise public funding for Dr. Sudhir Paul's further research into a promising approach towards a true HIV vaccine. He is the husband of my friend and co-blogger Ruchira Paul ( Accidental Blogger).
I am not competent to say anything about this matter, but i did check out the Covenant Immunology Foundation on the net, and spoke to a couple of researchers in this field. They felt that this is 'definitely legitimate research' and thought that 'the video has some good educational points for the public'.
Please check out for yourself and if you find it convincing, please spread the word around in the blogsphere.
On a side note, Ruchira Paul, the wife of Dr. Sudhir Paul, is a blogger who, with a few friends, author Accidental Blogger . It is a fine and intelligent blog, and a favourite with me. Today they celebrate the fourth anniversary of the blog. You'll find Accidental Blogger worth visiting.
Sujatha has tagged me again. This is a tag with a difference. To quote her
The above web video is an effort to raise public funding for Dr. Sudhir Paul's further research into a promising approach towards a true HIV vaccine. He is the husband of my friend and co-blogger Ruchira Paul ( Accidental Blogger).
I am not competent to say anything about this matter, but i did check out the Covenant Immunology Foundation on the net, and spoke to a couple of researchers in this field. They felt that this is 'definitely legitimate research' and thought that 'the video has some good educational points for the public'.
Please check out for yourself and if you find it convincing, please spread the word around in the blogsphere.
On a side note, Ruchira Paul, the wife of Dr. Sudhir Paul, is a blogger who, with a few friends, author Accidental Blogger . It is a fine and intelligent blog, and a favourite with me. Today they celebrate the fourth anniversary of the blog. You'll find Accidental Blogger worth visiting.
Mahatma Gandhiji ki jai, hollers Indian media
The fourth estate appears to have had an apocalyptic vision about Gandhiji. As a result, the Mahatma has been all over the print media in India for the past couple of weeks. Believe it or not, it did not dump him, as it usually does, after Gandhi Jayanthi. Thanks are due to Obama and Nobel Peace Prize Committee for this uncharacteristic behaviour of the media.
Obama’s choice of Gandhi as the one person he’d like to dine and talk with appears to have opened the eyes of our scribes to the worth of the Mahatma. The op-ed pages are discovering that there could be a remote possibility that Gandhi is after all not quite so antiquated. If he can inspire the person who occupies the most powerful seat in the world, surely Gandhi is not the most forgettable commodity.
So what if took a Prince Charming in the form of the President of the United States of America to wake our media to the relevance of Gandhiji? Gandhiji now stands a chance of getting reinstated in the consciousness of India, to whom he is nothing more than a mere name now. After all Obama is dropping his name every other day!
Every time someone gets a Nobel Prize for peace, our media shakes itself out of a stupor and makes some perfunctory noise about Gandhi not getting it. And then goes back to its indifferent silence. But this year, Obama’s remark about Gandhi, Gandhi Jayanthi and the Peace Prize for Obama – all coming in quick succession, have led to an effort to excavate the great man from the ruins of oblivion. Can we hope this interest will not prove to be another bout of enthusiasm and will not vanish without a trace till the next Gandhi Jayanthi or Nobel Peace Prize, whichever comes first?
Now, there has been another incident which will make the media shake its mane and roar the name of the Mahatma. See this bit of news: Gandhi's ideas influenced release of Lockerbie bomber. A terrorist set free by a western country on compassionate basis on Gandhi‘s diktat from the grave! Am waiting to see how the Indian media is going to respond to this.
Obama’s choice of Gandhi as the one person he’d like to dine and talk with appears to have opened the eyes of our scribes to the worth of the Mahatma. The op-ed pages are discovering that there could be a remote possibility that Gandhi is after all not quite so antiquated. If he can inspire the person who occupies the most powerful seat in the world, surely Gandhi is not the most forgettable commodity.
So what if took a Prince Charming in the form of the President of the United States of America to wake our media to the relevance of Gandhiji? Gandhiji now stands a chance of getting reinstated in the consciousness of India, to whom he is nothing more than a mere name now. After all Obama is dropping his name every other day!
Every time someone gets a Nobel Prize for peace, our media shakes itself out of a stupor and makes some perfunctory noise about Gandhi not getting it. And then goes back to its indifferent silence. But this year, Obama’s remark about Gandhi, Gandhi Jayanthi and the Peace Prize for Obama – all coming in quick succession, have led to an effort to excavate the great man from the ruins of oblivion. Can we hope this interest will not prove to be another bout of enthusiasm and will not vanish without a trace till the next Gandhi Jayanthi or Nobel Peace Prize, whichever comes first?
Now, there has been another incident which will make the media shake its mane and roar the name of the Mahatma. See this bit of news: Gandhi's ideas influenced release of Lockerbie bomber. A terrorist set free by a western country on compassionate basis on Gandhi‘s diktat from the grave! Am waiting to see how the Indian media is going to respond to this.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Sun did not set on the Diwali Lamp in 2009
The American President lights Diwali lamp in the Whitehouse.
The British Prime Ministwe too does the same thing in 10 Downing Street.
Both firsts.
The British Prime Ministwe too does the same thing in 10 Downing Street.
Both firsts.
Inplications?
Mere tokenism?
Or
Is the hitherto fragmented human mind breaking free of narrow domestic walls? Are we moving towards ‘that heaven of freedom?’
Is this the globalization of the mind?
Or an indication of the decolonization of those whom we thought of as incurable imperialists?
Or, a sign of an emerging reverse dependency?
Could it be a recognition of shifting centres of economic power?
Or a wooing of the orient? Are the imperialists back to their old tricks? A sort of old wine in new packaging?
And parallelly, fundamentalism spreading like wildfire – is it the last convulsions of a dying order?
**
I too send Diwali cards to my near and dear ones this year.
That too an insignificant first.
**
We are too close in time to interpret these new features of culture.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Invasion of Bollywood into National News
There was a time when I used to watch with considerable interest when I see film stars on the small screen. They were a rare commodity then, and my curiosity level about them was pretty high.
Today I switch channels as soon as they appear on the screen. But that’s not much of a help. If one channel is discussing some actor’s body ordour, it’s suspected pregnancy of somebody else in another. Or if Sonam has fallen out with 'Ash' or why so and so broke up with so and so.
And those promotional stuff! When some actors come forward to promote their films, they chatter away endlessly – the younger Bachchan tops the chart in this aspect. So irritating! Yakety yak, yakety yak, he goes on and on and on - - - - - -
The past few days, papa Bachchan too was on the small screen all the time – am not sure for what.
And then there these reality shows with super stars asking really ‘potty’ questions or prancing around the stage and making complete fools of themselves, or choosing the grooms in an electronic swayamwara..
Stars, I feel, should limit their exposure to the public eye. They ought not to allow themselves to be so completely demystified. Distance and mystery lend charm but familiarity breeds contempt.
Guess there’s a lot of money for every body involved here. It’s human nature to make hay while the sun shines. Guess the film stars are no different. And it’s stupidly naive on my part to expect the stars not to seize chances to hog the limelight especially when there is huge amount of money at the end of the shows.
Whatever be the case, the English News channels in India are proving to be a huge bore with their obsession with the stars. Mebbe they should have a separate news hour for entertainment, film news and film gossip instead of allowing bollywood to encroach so heavily into the news hour, with speculations about whom Bips is seeing and whom some else is sleeping around with, or if pest control is being done in some superstar's house!
Not many will agree with me, I guess. Am expecting comments to the effect I should go back to the old world where I belong.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
No Small Step!
The decision to travel by train which leaves at 6.35 am was taken late in the evening. The car was at the garage for service. So my husband Sunny and I left for the railway station early morning by 5.30.
We walked slowly to the junction hoping to hail a passing auto. None came and we reached the junction. There was a bus shed and we waited there ‘cos it was a convenient spot for autos to stop to pick us up. Another ten minutes passed and I began to get nervous. True it’d take less than 10 minutes to the station at that time of the day. But still I was jittery.
“Let’s walk up to the museum", I ventured “We’re sure to get one there.”
“No”, said Sunny. “It is a gradient. You’ll find the climb difficult.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll manage.” I was really nervous. It was nearly six. “We’re getting late.”
“Relax Molly.” Cool as usual, was my husband.
So I tried to relax.
Just then a KSRTC city bus appeared and was drawing up to the bus shelter where we were waiting.
A strange excitement gripped me.
“Let’s take the bus”, said I, unable to keep the enthusiasm from my voice.
My cool as a cucumber husband turned towards me with unbelieving eyes and said “You can’t be serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Let’s go.”
I grabbed his hand and started rushing towards the bus which had by then stopped for the passengers to board.
“This is the last landmark on my road to normalcy after my illness.” I explained. "You won’t let me go by bus alone. You won’t even let me go with anyone else. But surely I can go with you.”
Negotiating the high steps of the bus was not easy, I must admit. I could feel Sunny waiting behind, ready, I’m sure, to jump into action in case of a mishap. But I got in all right and he followed suit.
The bus was full. So I held on to the iron frame at the back a seat and stood in the aisle. I could see that Sunny had an eye on me, and was standing protectively close – without making it look obvious. The bus started. A couple of minutes later a lady, bless her, who’d been sitting in the centre of the last seat which had no aisle in between, got up and offered her seat.
I sat down facing the empty space of the aisle. Sunny looked at me with a beautifully pleasant and affectionate expression on his face and said something which I didn’t hear. I was sure he said something to the effect that I looked beautiful that day – such was the expression on his face.
"What did you say?" I asked eagerly.
He spoke louder but the expression remained the same. "Pidichurunno" (Hold on to something).
Why waste such a beatific expression for that boring instruction, I wondered glumly. Of course I knew the answer. He’s being protective without making it appear so, I thought as I held the headrest firmly.
I saw him look back a couple of times to see if I was safe and secure. Soon he got a seat a few rows ahead. Making sure I still had that firm grip on the headrest, he went forward.
The minute he sat down, I let go of the headrest and put my hand down on my lap, cos that posture was getting to be a little uncomfortable.
The bus hurtled towards the destination and I was looking out lost in thought when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
It was a lady, apparently a fish vendor. She looked at me seriously and said "Pidichurunno"!
A small incident, too insignificant to be blogworthy, you might think.
But for me, it was a giant leap. Getting into the KSRTC like I did today, once again being able to do something that I used to do with the greatest ease till a couple of years back, was indeed no small step.
It has been a long and arduous journey, but I’m finally back home.
We walked slowly to the junction hoping to hail a passing auto. None came and we reached the junction. There was a bus shed and we waited there ‘cos it was a convenient spot for autos to stop to pick us up. Another ten minutes passed and I began to get nervous. True it’d take less than 10 minutes to the station at that time of the day. But still I was jittery.
“Let’s walk up to the museum", I ventured “We’re sure to get one there.”
“No”, said Sunny. “It is a gradient. You’ll find the climb difficult.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll manage.” I was really nervous. It was nearly six. “We’re getting late.”
“Relax Molly.” Cool as usual, was my husband.
So I tried to relax.
Just then a KSRTC city bus appeared and was drawing up to the bus shelter where we were waiting.
A strange excitement gripped me.
“Let’s take the bus”, said I, unable to keep the enthusiasm from my voice.
My cool as a cucumber husband turned towards me with unbelieving eyes and said “You can’t be serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Let’s go.”
I grabbed his hand and started rushing towards the bus which had by then stopped for the passengers to board.
“This is the last landmark on my road to normalcy after my illness.” I explained. "You won’t let me go by bus alone. You won’t even let me go with anyone else. But surely I can go with you.”
Negotiating the high steps of the bus was not easy, I must admit. I could feel Sunny waiting behind, ready, I’m sure, to jump into action in case of a mishap. But I got in all right and he followed suit.
The bus was full. So I held on to the iron frame at the back a seat and stood in the aisle. I could see that Sunny had an eye on me, and was standing protectively close – without making it look obvious. The bus started. A couple of minutes later a lady, bless her, who’d been sitting in the centre of the last seat which had no aisle in between, got up and offered her seat.
I sat down facing the empty space of the aisle. Sunny looked at me with a beautifully pleasant and affectionate expression on his face and said something which I didn’t hear. I was sure he said something to the effect that I looked beautiful that day – such was the expression on his face.
"What did you say?" I asked eagerly.
He spoke louder but the expression remained the same. "Pidichurunno" (Hold on to something).
Why waste such a beatific expression for that boring instruction, I wondered glumly. Of course I knew the answer. He’s being protective without making it appear so, I thought as I held the headrest firmly.
I saw him look back a couple of times to see if I was safe and secure. Soon he got a seat a few rows ahead. Making sure I still had that firm grip on the headrest, he went forward.
The minute he sat down, I let go of the headrest and put my hand down on my lap, cos that posture was getting to be a little uncomfortable.
The bus hurtled towards the destination and I was looking out lost in thought when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
It was a lady, apparently a fish vendor. She looked at me seriously and said "Pidichurunno"!
A small incident, too insignificant to be blogworthy, you might think.
But for me, it was a giant leap. Getting into the KSRTC like I did today, once again being able to do something that I used to do with the greatest ease till a couple of years back, was indeed no small step.
It has been a long and arduous journey, but I’m finally back home.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Higher Education in Kerala - from Mediocrity to More Mediocrity
The best way to treat a disease is to arrive at a diagnosis and then treat the cause. The Kerala Higher Education scene generates a plethora of diagnoses, most of them right but not fully right. There is no convergence in the various diagnoses ‘cos the conclusions of all education pathologists are coloured by some agenda or the other.
Ministers, politicians, people from the industry and eminent people connected with education have come up with views on what ails the system of education in Kerala. But then, this has been going on for decades, and with each passing year, things have only changed for the worse. Knowing fully well that diagnosis alone cannot be a panacea, I too am adding my theory to the ever growing mountain of futile theories. After all, having been a beneficiary of the education provided by the state and a person who pursued a career in the Kerala Education Service, I can with some authority provide a few home truths which figure prominently in informal conversation in our circles, but rarely get a mention in official documents or media reports regarding state of education in the state.
A cliché but I’m repeating it. The greatest damage to education in the state was done by the infiltration of political concerns in decision making. The de-linking of the Pre Degree from Colleges was staggered for many years as it would have rendered supernumerary not just the teaching staff, but also administrative staff in the universities. In Kerala, progressive measures in education get invariably linked to non academic issues, and the casualty is always the quality of education. Successive Governments dragged their feet over the de-linking, and finally when it finally took place it was on account of pressure to comply with the requirements of University Grants Commission, the national funding body for education.
The quality of education is the quality of the teaching professionals. Has any one of the governments made any investigation into the reasons for the stagnation of college teachers in Kerala once they enter service? With brickbats, both the authorities and the other stakeholders in the education sector are generous. College teachers unions are very active but their concerns are not remotely connected with creating, maintaining and improving teaching/teacher quality, and they do not voice the discontentment of the majority of teachers who know they are not able to give their best to their profession. The reasons for this situation are many.
A college teacher in Kerala spends the best part of her career valuing papers. One cannot grumble about the internal papers of the periodic exams that the college conducts. It is a test of how the students she teaches learns. But the university papers – those huge gigantic bundles which double up in size the minute you cut the restraining cord – oh that’s the bane of every teacher. They come throughout the year. No season for it. Sometimes they come ten times in bundles of sixty (A small bundle, madam, says the university employee who manages to talk you into accepting). Sometimes they come in three hundreds, four hundreds and even upward. And during summer vacation, there is this centralized valuation.
What else is the government to do, you might ask. Well, before I give an answer to that let me tell you that these papers are not the papers of regular students alone. The universities of Kerala perhaps have the largest number of private candidates. Is it fair on the part of the authorities to bank on the teachers of regular colleges to deal with these astronomical numbers of answer books?
How does this take away from the efficiency of the teachers? Well, this evaluation duty more than takes away from the efficiency; it simply terminates the growth of the teacher. A teacher, first and foremost, has to be a scholar. Scholarship does not come from the guides available in the markets a dime a dozen. Acquiring scholarship is a continuous and slow process. The mind of the teacher must evolve by the minute, no, by the second. How is it possible for a teacher to read, research and learn when her mind, in the course of her career, is ever engaged in the effort to extricate herself from the avalanche of examination papers under which she permanently exists?
With the onslaught of the NAAC (authorized accreditation committee) visits, the teachers’ duties have tripled. The guidelines of the NAAC accreditation are laughable, imported wholesale from a totally different education scenario, and applied without factoring in the indigenous conditions. And colleges desperately scurry to meet the requirements, on account of the ratings, and the prestige and funding that go with the rating. Events are organised, practices are introduced to satisfy the NAAC demands - and documented religiously. And who does this documentation? The teachers. Colleges have begun to live from one NAAC visit to the next and the focus of the educational institution has shifted from its primary function of imparting learning and education to its wards to pandering to the NAAC, so that they get good scores.
And the internal assessment. I have in my earlier education blogs exposed the gigantic farce called the internal assessment. Their relevance in the present context is the time a teacher has to spend doing this absolutely useless business of “continuous evaluation’, which involves running after reluctant students to submit their work, giving good marks despite knowing that the work is either plagiarized or substandard and then keeping the registers updated. All of which dig into the precious time a teacher should be spending updating her skills.
So a day in the life of an average teacher consists of 3 to 4 lectures (I e 3 to 4hours), preparing for those lectures, valuing university papers, valuing periodic exam papers and valuing internal assessment work, documenting activities. On and off, she is bound make that pilgrimage to the University to collect the exam papers to be valued, and transport them home at her own expense. The pittance the university gives for this purpose will not take these papers beyond one kilometer.
How much time does all this leave one with for research activities and or a quiet time in the library browsing through books or reading?
Now that the salaries of teachers have been hiked substantially, the authorities are all out to make this category of professionals sing for their supper. And how, is what matters. Ideally, the move should be to make it mandatory to improve qualification, to publish, and make promotions and even tenure based on academic performance. But with the unions flexing their muscles for a smug existence, this is not likely to happen. Instead, more university papers, meaningless assessments and clerical work will descend on them, denying any hope of improvement of the higher education picture in Kerala.
Solutions? Oh yes, they are a plenty. But the first mandatory step for all solutions is to delink higher education from politics. Think kerala will ever have the political guts and will to do that?
More to follow.
Ministers, politicians, people from the industry and eminent people connected with education have come up with views on what ails the system of education in Kerala. But then, this has been going on for decades, and with each passing year, things have only changed for the worse. Knowing fully well that diagnosis alone cannot be a panacea, I too am adding my theory to the ever growing mountain of futile theories. After all, having been a beneficiary of the education provided by the state and a person who pursued a career in the Kerala Education Service, I can with some authority provide a few home truths which figure prominently in informal conversation in our circles, but rarely get a mention in official documents or media reports regarding state of education in the state.
A cliché but I’m repeating it. The greatest damage to education in the state was done by the infiltration of political concerns in decision making. The de-linking of the Pre Degree from Colleges was staggered for many years as it would have rendered supernumerary not just the teaching staff, but also administrative staff in the universities. In Kerala, progressive measures in education get invariably linked to non academic issues, and the casualty is always the quality of education. Successive Governments dragged their feet over the de-linking, and finally when it finally took place it was on account of pressure to comply with the requirements of University Grants Commission, the national funding body for education.
The quality of education is the quality of the teaching professionals. Has any one of the governments made any investigation into the reasons for the stagnation of college teachers in Kerala once they enter service? With brickbats, both the authorities and the other stakeholders in the education sector are generous. College teachers unions are very active but their concerns are not remotely connected with creating, maintaining and improving teaching/teacher quality, and they do not voice the discontentment of the majority of teachers who know they are not able to give their best to their profession. The reasons for this situation are many.
A college teacher in Kerala spends the best part of her career valuing papers. One cannot grumble about the internal papers of the periodic exams that the college conducts. It is a test of how the students she teaches learns. But the university papers – those huge gigantic bundles which double up in size the minute you cut the restraining cord – oh that’s the bane of every teacher. They come throughout the year. No season for it. Sometimes they come ten times in bundles of sixty (A small bundle, madam, says the university employee who manages to talk you into accepting). Sometimes they come in three hundreds, four hundreds and even upward. And during summer vacation, there is this centralized valuation.
What else is the government to do, you might ask. Well, before I give an answer to that let me tell you that these papers are not the papers of regular students alone. The universities of Kerala perhaps have the largest number of private candidates. Is it fair on the part of the authorities to bank on the teachers of regular colleges to deal with these astronomical numbers of answer books?
How does this take away from the efficiency of the teachers? Well, this evaluation duty more than takes away from the efficiency; it simply terminates the growth of the teacher. A teacher, first and foremost, has to be a scholar. Scholarship does not come from the guides available in the markets a dime a dozen. Acquiring scholarship is a continuous and slow process. The mind of the teacher must evolve by the minute, no, by the second. How is it possible for a teacher to read, research and learn when her mind, in the course of her career, is ever engaged in the effort to extricate herself from the avalanche of examination papers under which she permanently exists?
With the onslaught of the NAAC (authorized accreditation committee) visits, the teachers’ duties have tripled. The guidelines of the NAAC accreditation are laughable, imported wholesale from a totally different education scenario, and applied without factoring in the indigenous conditions. And colleges desperately scurry to meet the requirements, on account of the ratings, and the prestige and funding that go with the rating. Events are organised, practices are introduced to satisfy the NAAC demands - and documented religiously. And who does this documentation? The teachers. Colleges have begun to live from one NAAC visit to the next and the focus of the educational institution has shifted from its primary function of imparting learning and education to its wards to pandering to the NAAC, so that they get good scores.
And the internal assessment. I have in my earlier education blogs exposed the gigantic farce called the internal assessment. Their relevance in the present context is the time a teacher has to spend doing this absolutely useless business of “continuous evaluation’, which involves running after reluctant students to submit their work, giving good marks despite knowing that the work is either plagiarized or substandard and then keeping the registers updated. All of which dig into the precious time a teacher should be spending updating her skills.
So a day in the life of an average teacher consists of 3 to 4 lectures (I e 3 to 4hours), preparing for those lectures, valuing university papers, valuing periodic exam papers and valuing internal assessment work, documenting activities. On and off, she is bound make that pilgrimage to the University to collect the exam papers to be valued, and transport them home at her own expense. The pittance the university gives for this purpose will not take these papers beyond one kilometer.
How much time does all this leave one with for research activities and or a quiet time in the library browsing through books or reading?
Now that the salaries of teachers have been hiked substantially, the authorities are all out to make this category of professionals sing for their supper. And how, is what matters. Ideally, the move should be to make it mandatory to improve qualification, to publish, and make promotions and even tenure based on academic performance. But with the unions flexing their muscles for a smug existence, this is not likely to happen. Instead, more university papers, meaningless assessments and clerical work will descend on them, denying any hope of improvement of the higher education picture in Kerala.
Solutions? Oh yes, they are a plenty. But the first mandatory step for all solutions is to delink higher education from politics. Think kerala will ever have the political guts and will to do that?
More to follow.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Nobel Obama.
One more burden for Obama who already has a heavy burden of expectation to bear. As things stand, he has to show the world in four years time that ‘WE CAN’. And now this! Poor President. Wonder if it’s an arm twisting strategy by the Nobel committee to ensure that he’ll not be bomb happy like his predecessors. The recipient himself is scratching his close cropped head in perplexity, trying to make out how in less than a couple of weeks after his swearing in, he must have been nominated!
The implications are not small. He has swept the world off its feet with his rhetoric. Now it has to translate into tangible forms.
Now that he has won the highest award for peace in the world, the least he can do is to withdraw peacefully from Afghanistan and Iraq, get N. Korea to defuse its nuclear arsenal, win the Taliban and fundamentalists over with a ‘we can’,broker peace between India and Pakistan and and and and - - - - -
Let’s hope he won’t crumble under the burden of nobel expectations!
Our best wishes are with him!
The implications are not small. He has swept the world off its feet with his rhetoric. Now it has to translate into tangible forms.
Now that he has won the highest award for peace in the world, the least he can do is to withdraw peacefully from Afghanistan and Iraq, get N. Korea to defuse its nuclear arsenal, win the Taliban and fundamentalists over with a ‘we can’,broker peace between India and Pakistan and and and and - - - - -
Let’s hope he won’t crumble under the burden of nobel expectations!
Our best wishes are with him!
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Does History Lie?
The past is in the hands of the present – truly spoken by The Stoic.
My post on Gandhi threw up this debate between two very enlightened people in the Blogsphere – Charakan and The Stoic. The issue discussed has been a conundrum to me from childhood. I’ve listened to stories of Tippu, the brutal religious zealot who held up the members of the Hindu priestly class by their Kudumi, and put the question “Will you convert?”. If the answer was
Yes - the kudumi would be cut off
No - the head would be cut off.
Subsequently, as one grows up, and begins to confront history through books, conflicting reports greet you.
We live in times when decisions are taken, fanaticism thrives and policies are made based on History. These comments show what textual history tells and what oral history tells. I am not claiming greater credibility for the latter. Memory too can be conditioned and have an agenda.
My intention in posting these two responses is 1. to emphasise the need to dispel the notion that history never lies 2. to have a healthy debate on this issue 3. to get information about the background of communal picture of Malabar region. First hand reports are most welcome as are those recorded in ‘history’ .
Would be grateful if expletives are kept out.
Thanks. Do send your views.
The Stoic said.....
History is merely the story as written by the winners. We might read Chettur Sankaran Nair’s ‘Gandhi and Anarchy’, to know Gandhi in his own period. To quote a bit,
“His attitude towards the Mopla outrages shows the extent of his surrender. His alliance with the Khilafat movement has led to frightful results in Malabar. The result was, themselves armed and organised, they took the Hindus unawares and committed atrocities too well known, to need recapitulation here — butchered them and inflicted injuries on them far worse than death.
For sheer brutality on women, I do not remember anything in history to match the Malabar rebellion. It broke out about the 20th of August. Even by the 6th of September, the results were dreadful. The Viceroy's speech made on that date deserves careful attention.
....The atrocities committed more particularly on women are so horrible and unmentionable that I do not propose to refer to them in this book. This is what Malabar in particular owes to the Khilafat agitation, to Gandhi and his Hindu friends. The President of the Indian Moslem League, following the AH injunction, justified the Mahomedan atrocities as an act of war against the Hindus and the Government. Gandhi too pleaded for the Mahomedans.”
5:50 PM, October 02, 2009
kochuthresiamma p .j said...
@ stoic
viceroy's speech - there is truth in it - how much, is the question. look back at the first sentence of your comment :-)
history is always a pack of official lies-
have u read about the british reports of the atrocities by the Indians in the rising of 1857?
9:25 PM, October 02, 2009
Charakan said...
A Stoic, The communally minded polititcal leaders and writers along with the British always wanted to increase the divide between Hindus and Muslims.In case of Malabar rebellion also they did the same.But there are enough historical evidence to suggest that the rebellion was a mainly a peasant revolt by Muslim peasants against British rule and the pro British land lords who were mainly Hindus. All Hindu landlords who cooperated with the Moplahs in fighting the British were given protection. Yes, forced conversions and violence against women took place and in later stages it did degenerate into communal violence in some areas.But to dump the Malabar rebellion as a mere communal riot is distorting history
4:22 PM, October 03, 2009
A Stoic said...
@charakan:
Yes, the Past is in the hands of the Present. Your viewpoint is the current accepted version. Current history also says [watch the TV serials] that Tippu was the embodiment of religious tolerance.
Did the Khilafat have anything to do with the Moplah rebellion at all?
Chettur Sankaran Nair was not an RSS guy, I presume. And he lived in those times, unlike us.
8:46 PM, October 03, 2009
Charakan said...
Stoic, my family including my grand parents who were hindus also lived there in Malappuram during that time and I have also some idea of what happened from their stories.
Tipu was an invader King who tolerated anyone who agreed to his rule and was not a religious zealot.Many Forts of Tipu in Kerala have an idol of Hanuman guarding its entrance.The communally minded people on either side wanted to make Tipu an anti-Hindu or an Islamist.He was neither and his palace had many officials who were Hindus.Communalism started in the 20th century only.
11:17 PM, October 03, 2009
Charakan said...
The Tipu Fort in Palakkad has Hanuman idol at the entrance. It is believed to be present when the Fort was built by Hyder Ali. As you may be aware many of the high-ranking officials of Tipu's Palace were Hindus.Tipu did help financially and militarily many temples. At the same time he also have destroyed many temples. Being a Muslim invader he might have been afraid or reluctant to destroy mosques, but may not have any problem in destroying temples. In summary if you zoom out and look with a wide vision we can understand that he was just a brave Sultan, a ruler who fought the British with the help of the French and destroyed anything which he thought will question his authority. There was no Hindu versus Muslim question then. Only loyalty versus disloyalty to the ruler. The ruler will do anything to sustain his rule. Of such rulers Tipu was notable for his bravery and the will to fight till his last breath in contrast to most rulers of Kerala who saved their skin by aligning with the strongest powers of those times.
Read this review of Irfan Habib edited Indian History Congress volume on Hyder and Tipu's rule http://www.thehindu.com/fline/fl1707/17070800.htm
12:52 AM, October 04, 2009
My post on Gandhi threw up this debate between two very enlightened people in the Blogsphere – Charakan and The Stoic. The issue discussed has been a conundrum to me from childhood. I’ve listened to stories of Tippu, the brutal religious zealot who held up the members of the Hindu priestly class by their Kudumi, and put the question “Will you convert?”. If the answer was
Yes - the kudumi would be cut off
No - the head would be cut off.
Subsequently, as one grows up, and begins to confront history through books, conflicting reports greet you.
We live in times when decisions are taken, fanaticism thrives and policies are made based on History. These comments show what textual history tells and what oral history tells. I am not claiming greater credibility for the latter. Memory too can be conditioned and have an agenda.
My intention in posting these two responses is 1. to emphasise the need to dispel the notion that history never lies 2. to have a healthy debate on this issue 3. to get information about the background of communal picture of Malabar region. First hand reports are most welcome as are those recorded in ‘history’ .
Would be grateful if expletives are kept out.
Thanks. Do send your views.
The Stoic said.....
History is merely the story as written by the winners. We might read Chettur Sankaran Nair’s ‘Gandhi and Anarchy’, to know Gandhi in his own period. To quote a bit,
“His attitude towards the Mopla outrages shows the extent of his surrender. His alliance with the Khilafat movement has led to frightful results in Malabar. The result was, themselves armed and organised, they took the Hindus unawares and committed atrocities too well known, to need recapitulation here — butchered them and inflicted injuries on them far worse than death.
For sheer brutality on women, I do not remember anything in history to match the Malabar rebellion. It broke out about the 20th of August. Even by the 6th of September, the results were dreadful. The Viceroy's speech made on that date deserves careful attention.
....The atrocities committed more particularly on women are so horrible and unmentionable that I do not propose to refer to them in this book. This is what Malabar in particular owes to the Khilafat agitation, to Gandhi and his Hindu friends. The President of the Indian Moslem League, following the AH injunction, justified the Mahomedan atrocities as an act of war against the Hindus and the Government. Gandhi too pleaded for the Mahomedans.”
5:50 PM, October 02, 2009
kochuthresiamma p .j said...
@ stoic
viceroy's speech - there is truth in it - how much, is the question. look back at the first sentence of your comment :-)
history is always a pack of official lies-
have u read about the british reports of the atrocities by the Indians in the rising of 1857?
9:25 PM, October 02, 2009
Charakan said...
A Stoic, The communally minded polititcal leaders and writers along with the British always wanted to increase the divide between Hindus and Muslims.In case of Malabar rebellion also they did the same.But there are enough historical evidence to suggest that the rebellion was a mainly a peasant revolt by Muslim peasants against British rule and the pro British land lords who were mainly Hindus. All Hindu landlords who cooperated with the Moplahs in fighting the British were given protection. Yes, forced conversions and violence against women took place and in later stages it did degenerate into communal violence in some areas.But to dump the Malabar rebellion as a mere communal riot is distorting history
4:22 PM, October 03, 2009
A Stoic said...
@charakan:
Yes, the Past is in the hands of the Present. Your viewpoint is the current accepted version. Current history also says [watch the TV serials] that Tippu was the embodiment of religious tolerance.
Did the Khilafat have anything to do with the Moplah rebellion at all?
Chettur Sankaran Nair was not an RSS guy, I presume. And he lived in those times, unlike us.
8:46 PM, October 03, 2009
Charakan said...
Stoic, my family including my grand parents who were hindus also lived there in Malappuram during that time and I have also some idea of what happened from their stories.
Tipu was an invader King who tolerated anyone who agreed to his rule and was not a religious zealot.Many Forts of Tipu in Kerala have an idol of Hanuman guarding its entrance.The communally minded people on either side wanted to make Tipu an anti-Hindu or an Islamist.He was neither and his palace had many officials who were Hindus.Communalism started in the 20th century only.
11:17 PM, October 03, 2009
Charakan said...
The Tipu Fort in Palakkad has Hanuman idol at the entrance. It is believed to be present when the Fort was built by Hyder Ali. As you may be aware many of the high-ranking officials of Tipu's Palace were Hindus.Tipu did help financially and militarily many temples. At the same time he also have destroyed many temples. Being a Muslim invader he might have been afraid or reluctant to destroy mosques, but may not have any problem in destroying temples. In summary if you zoom out and look with a wide vision we can understand that he was just a brave Sultan, a ruler who fought the British with the help of the French and destroyed anything which he thought will question his authority. There was no Hindu versus Muslim question then. Only loyalty versus disloyalty to the ruler. The ruler will do anything to sustain his rule. Of such rulers Tipu was notable for his bravery and the will to fight till his last breath in contrast to most rulers of Kerala who saved their skin by aligning with the strongest powers of those times.
Read this review of Irfan Habib edited Indian History Congress volume on Hyder and Tipu's rule http://www.thehindu.com/fline/fl1707/17070800.htm
12:52 AM, October 04, 2009
Friday, October 02, 2009
Gandhi Jayanthi
In my opinion it is a book which can be put into the hands of a child. It teaches the gospel of love in place of that of hate. It replaces violence with self-sacrifice. It pits soul-force against brute force.
These are Gandhi’s words about his manifesto – The Hind Swaraj. It is true. It’ll make sense even to a child. It’s
simple. And deceptively so.
The book was written in 1908 while Gandhi was traveling by sea from England to South Africa. A recent American publication chose to call the work the SERMON ON THE SEA.
An inspired book which he wrote in 9 days, like a man possessed. He wrote it in such a frenzy that he used both hands alternately to write it. More than 40 pages were written with his left hand!
It was written in Gujarathi, and then translated by Gandhi himself, and published in the same year (1908)
The book was banned in India by the British authorities.
Why was it banned? Find out for yourself. On this Gandhi Jayanthi day, take a resolution to read this small book. It won’t take you more than an hour.
Don’t we owe it to this great man to find out what he believed?
A warning: He might appear naive, or outdated, but he is neither. He is anti modern.
He is post modern.
So read with an open mind. Remember, five years after the publication of this book, World War I broke out.
.
.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Cleanliness, Thy Name is - -
My husband is a stickler for cleanliness. Sometimes he carries it to an extent that makes me want to tear my hair out!
His tidiness (you know that obsession with everything-in-its-place-a place-for everything – and- no-littering-and-scattering-and-and) sometimes upset me during my crazy multitasking younger days – like that day when I had an urgent submission to make. My guide had threatened to withhold my attendance certificate if I failed to honour the deadline. Without that certificate, my salary would be withheld at the parent institution which deputed me. If my salary was withheld, my substitute’s salary too would be stalled – and she’d go ballistic if that happened. It’d affect my credibility in my parent institute. Now I suppose you appreciate the chain reaction that’d be triggered off if I failed to make the submission that day. I simply had to complete the assignment before the whole family set out to our various destinations – before which I had to make and serve breakfast, and get four lunch packets ready.
The arrangement was, I take care of the kitchen - everybody else stays out, ‘cos them messing around would irritate me and delay me too. My husband would take care of tidying up (which he loved doing!! I guess?) and get my nursery going son ready; my slightly older daughter will take care of herself. Things usually worked out smoothly, except on the days I had to submit my monthly assignment. On those days, I’d be like a human possessed by a spirit whose specialty was an inhumanly elevated decibel limit. My family was sensible enough to keep a safe distance from me when that decibel demon took possession of me.
To get back to my story – I sat with my A4 sheets in which I had written out my assignment (those were days when computer hadn’t become the research scholar’s constant companion). The foot notes had to be done. I hated doing that. I ‘ve always hated and still hate documentation. I am bad at it. So always kept it for the last, made plenty of mistakes. Wonder what I’d have done without the white ink in those days!
I spent more than an hour hunting for the cited pages in the various books and in the several sets of Xeroxed papers, keeping them opened at the right pages, systematically arranging the bibliography cards with details to be documented and taking care to place makeshift paper weights on them. That done, I started entering the footnotes. Just then the pressure cooker whistled. Cursing, I got up. Looked at the table to make sure there were weights on all the cards and slips of paper, and rushed to the kitchen. In less than half an hour I was done and rushed back to the dining table where I’d been working – and found the table neatly tidied up! Biblio cards stacked with a polished stone on it, all the papers arranged according to size, and all the books closed and neatly arranged.
I sat down and wept.
After that, my husband has no dared to come anywhere near my work site.
But I had my sweet revenge.
The rubber chappal that he used – one with a weird parrot green strap which someone gifted him – was looked after by him as though it were a premature baby to be reared in a super sterilized condition. Three years after he got it, there was not any discolouration on it. Only slight wearing off at the outer edges of both. Every morning, after his bath, we saw him carry it and keep in standing up against the wall in the work area to drain the water! He’d have scrubbed it with an old toothbrush which was in a better condition than the tooth brush I used to brush my teeth with. He never trusted me with the task of taking his weird parrot green chappal to its usual daytime position against the wall of the work area. If it was not kept at a certain angle, the water would not drain well. And, my using it in an emergency was completely out of question. My children and I kept a sacrosanct distance from it. When my husband came in the evening, he’d slip his feet into the weird parrot green rubber chappal and comment on the small puddle of water still around the chappal, and look at me suspiciously.
One day, I returned home at noon as there was some meeting to be held in the room where the research scholars worked. Glad to get a day off, I slept the whole of the afternoon and was woken up by the sound of Savithri, my help, cleaning the compound. I thought I’d surprise her and went out. And there I found her cleaning the compound with that weird parrot green rubber chappal on her feet!! I stared at her feet with my jaws open.
“Nice of you chechi to keep this chappal for me in the work area. I use it every day”, she said. As I stood there watching her, she finished with the compound, held the chappal under the tap outside the work-area, scrubbed it with coconut fibre, took it inside the work area (she was given a key to the work area), kept it leaning against the wall at exactly the same angle she found it !
His tidiness (you know that obsession with everything-in-its-place-a place-for everything – and- no-littering-and-scattering-and-and) sometimes upset me during my crazy multitasking younger days – like that day when I had an urgent submission to make. My guide had threatened to withhold my attendance certificate if I failed to honour the deadline. Without that certificate, my salary would be withheld at the parent institution which deputed me. If my salary was withheld, my substitute’s salary too would be stalled – and she’d go ballistic if that happened. It’d affect my credibility in my parent institute. Now I suppose you appreciate the chain reaction that’d be triggered off if I failed to make the submission that day. I simply had to complete the assignment before the whole family set out to our various destinations – before which I had to make and serve breakfast, and get four lunch packets ready.
The arrangement was, I take care of the kitchen - everybody else stays out, ‘cos them messing around would irritate me and delay me too. My husband would take care of tidying up (which he loved doing!! I guess?) and get my nursery going son ready; my slightly older daughter will take care of herself. Things usually worked out smoothly, except on the days I had to submit my monthly assignment. On those days, I’d be like a human possessed by a spirit whose specialty was an inhumanly elevated decibel limit. My family was sensible enough to keep a safe distance from me when that decibel demon took possession of me.
To get back to my story – I sat with my A4 sheets in which I had written out my assignment (those were days when computer hadn’t become the research scholar’s constant companion). The foot notes had to be done. I hated doing that. I ‘ve always hated and still hate documentation. I am bad at it. So always kept it for the last, made plenty of mistakes. Wonder what I’d have done without the white ink in those days!
I spent more than an hour hunting for the cited pages in the various books and in the several sets of Xeroxed papers, keeping them opened at the right pages, systematically arranging the bibliography cards with details to be documented and taking care to place makeshift paper weights on them. That done, I started entering the footnotes. Just then the pressure cooker whistled. Cursing, I got up. Looked at the table to make sure there were weights on all the cards and slips of paper, and rushed to the kitchen. In less than half an hour I was done and rushed back to the dining table where I’d been working – and found the table neatly tidied up! Biblio cards stacked with a polished stone on it, all the papers arranged according to size, and all the books closed and neatly arranged.
I sat down and wept.
After that, my husband has no dared to come anywhere near my work site.
But I had my sweet revenge.
The rubber chappal that he used – one with a weird parrot green strap which someone gifted him – was looked after by him as though it were a premature baby to be reared in a super sterilized condition. Three years after he got it, there was not any discolouration on it. Only slight wearing off at the outer edges of both. Every morning, after his bath, we saw him carry it and keep in standing up against the wall in the work area to drain the water! He’d have scrubbed it with an old toothbrush which was in a better condition than the tooth brush I used to brush my teeth with. He never trusted me with the task of taking his weird parrot green chappal to its usual daytime position against the wall of the work area. If it was not kept at a certain angle, the water would not drain well. And, my using it in an emergency was completely out of question. My children and I kept a sacrosanct distance from it. When my husband came in the evening, he’d slip his feet into the weird parrot green rubber chappal and comment on the small puddle of water still around the chappal, and look at me suspiciously.
One day, I returned home at noon as there was some meeting to be held in the room where the research scholars worked. Glad to get a day off, I slept the whole of the afternoon and was woken up by the sound of Savithri, my help, cleaning the compound. I thought I’d surprise her and went out. And there I found her cleaning the compound with that weird parrot green rubber chappal on her feet!! I stared at her feet with my jaws open.
“Nice of you chechi to keep this chappal for me in the work area. I use it every day”, she said. As I stood there watching her, she finished with the compound, held the chappal under the tap outside the work-area, scrubbed it with coconut fibre, took it inside the work area (she was given a key to the work area), kept it leaning against the wall at exactly the same angle she found it !
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Shashi Tharoor: The Evolution of a Tweeter
All fun has gone out of Shashi Tharoor's tweets. They've been cut down to size. All spontaneity vanished without a trace.
And he tweets soberly about having a great meeting with Ghelot!
What a fall was there my country men!
Or should i say, Rejoice, my countrymen, Mr Tharoor has evolved! and in so short a time!
Like they say, the more you learn to control your basic instincts, the more evolved you are.
But i miss those witty smart rejoinders :-(
That said, one must say that we are glad Mr. Tharoor is learning . Good to think he will survive.
And he tweets soberly about having a great meeting with Ghelot!
What a fall was there my country men!
Or should i say, Rejoice, my countrymen, Mr Tharoor has evolved! and in so short a time!
Like they say, the more you learn to control your basic instincts, the more evolved you are.
But i miss those witty smart rejoinders :-(
That said, one must say that we are glad Mr. Tharoor is learning . Good to think he will survive.
Friday, September 25, 2009
My First Confession
How did your aadhya kumbasaaram (First Confession)go? asked my father. He was standing in front of the mirror, combing his hair, something which I loved watching. He was bald and beautiful, my father, with a less than half inch tuft of hair skirting the shining bald head at its base like a fading crescent moon. And Ichayan (as we called him) took ages combing it. Fascinating, the concentration with which his hand followed the comb as the latter went over and over again over the crescent.
It was good, I replied. I was almost six years old. As an after thought I made a confession in a conspiratorial voice. But my repentance was imperfect.
The comb stopped its monotonous activity for a second as Ichayan looked at me puzzled.
Imperfect?
Yes, I said looking up at him. In a very knowledgeable tone, I repeated what Sister Vincentia of the Nazareth Convent who prepared me for the First Communion taught me. There are the two types of repentance. Perfect repentance is when you feel contrite for having hurt the good God. The imperfect one is when you repent your sins for fear of hell.
And the lowering my voice, I told Ichayan I couldn’t feel sorry for hurting God. But I am scared of hell. It doesn’t matter if your repentance is perfect or imperfect so long as you don’t hide any sin.
Ichayan burst into one of his explosive laughs. The comb soon resumed its action. When it finally rested on the hair brush kept face up on the dressing table, the white opaque pyramid shaped old spice jar was opened and I watched, fascinated as he splashed the after shave lotion into his palm and then patted his cheek – chin area with it.
I love that smell I told him. Some more liquid was splashed on his palm and he patted my cheeks with that palm. I was delighted and forgot all about the imperfect repentance.
The next day was a Saturday. My first communion was to be on Sunday. I was pretty thrilled about that one free day between the First confession Friday and the Holy Communion Sunday. I had exciting plans like climbing trees, playing kili and taking part in the cricket match scheduled for evening. My role in the match was that of a stepney batsman for both the teams (comprising my siblings, cousins and a 'madras Swami' who was my father's business partner) and of the ball boy to pick up the ball when one of the batsmen managed to connect the bat and the ball well. I loved the way one of my brothers imitated Vizzy, the commentator and went into squeals of ecstasy when some one was bowled or someone hit a ‘six’.
Saturday dawned. After breakfast, I was about to run out with my brothers to play kili when amma called out to me and said Get ready. Let’s go to Nazareth Convent.
Crash!!! Down came my dreams for the day - like the twin towers.
But why? I am free today. Mild hysteria in the voice.
Get dressed quickly. Don’t argue.
I didn’t argue because my soul was clean after my First Confession and the next day was my Holy Communion. Dejected, I went with amma to the Nazareth Convent.
I saw amma talking to Sister Vincentia who was nodding vigourously. Then she seemed to place a consoling hand on amma’s elbow.
Amma then left, leaving me in the Nazareth convent.
“Molly, you Know God is good?’ asked Sister V.
“Yes.’ I said sulking.
“How good”
“Very Good’
“You know he loves you”
I nodded in agreement though I was not very sure at that moment. Surely a God who loves me wont let me down like this, demolishing all my dreams for the day. He must have known how much I wanted a break from Him and from the two weeks of rigorous catechism lessons at the Nazareth Convent.
‘Then why aren’t you sorry that you hurt him when you sinned?”
So that was it! Ichayan had let amma into my confession secret, which he had found hilarious – but which amma couldn’t.
“I don’t know. I can’t feel sorry. I don’t know why”. Those were days when I hadn’t learnt the art of telling white lies. A lie – black or white - is a lie, and Thou shall not lie, says one of the commandments.
Then Sister V launched into a litany of the good things God has given me - good parents, good brothers, good school, good friends, food to eat, and good dresses, gold ornaments, car, dog - - --. The list was endless and I must confess that I was beginning to get impressed.
And then she turned herself into an advocate for the divine creator, presenting proofs of his great love. Her voice changed. Her eyes turned upwards on and off. Sometimes they rolled at the evidence of divine love. But what touched me – really and truly – was the way they became moist when she plunged into a superb narration of the great love which made God send his son to the earth and the shabby manner in which humans treated him. She got explicit about the passion of Christ. She shuddered and wept at every stroke of the hammer which sent the horrendous nails deeper and deeper into Jesus’ palms, feet. Held spell bound by the master story telling, I too shuddered whenever she did.
At the end of her histrionics, I was in tears.
And then she moved in for the kill.
“You were one of them, Molly. One of those brutal soldiers who tortured Jesus. Every sin you committed gave extra force to the blows of the hammer, the pain of the crown of thorns. Think, Molly ,Think, what you have done to your Lord”
I dissolved into helpless tears and asked pardon of my Lord for hurting him so much - --
It was good, I replied. I was almost six years old. As an after thought I made a confession in a conspiratorial voice. But my repentance was imperfect.
The comb stopped its monotonous activity for a second as Ichayan looked at me puzzled.
Imperfect?
Yes, I said looking up at him. In a very knowledgeable tone, I repeated what Sister Vincentia of the Nazareth Convent who prepared me for the First Communion taught me. There are the two types of repentance. Perfect repentance is when you feel contrite for having hurt the good God. The imperfect one is when you repent your sins for fear of hell.
And the lowering my voice, I told Ichayan I couldn’t feel sorry for hurting God. But I am scared of hell. It doesn’t matter if your repentance is perfect or imperfect so long as you don’t hide any sin.
Ichayan burst into one of his explosive laughs. The comb soon resumed its action. When it finally rested on the hair brush kept face up on the dressing table, the white opaque pyramid shaped old spice jar was opened and I watched, fascinated as he splashed the after shave lotion into his palm and then patted his cheek – chin area with it.
I love that smell I told him. Some more liquid was splashed on his palm and he patted my cheeks with that palm. I was delighted and forgot all about the imperfect repentance.
The next day was a Saturday. My first communion was to be on Sunday. I was pretty thrilled about that one free day between the First confession Friday and the Holy Communion Sunday. I had exciting plans like climbing trees, playing kili and taking part in the cricket match scheduled for evening. My role in the match was that of a stepney batsman for both the teams (comprising my siblings, cousins and a 'madras Swami' who was my father's business partner) and of the ball boy to pick up the ball when one of the batsmen managed to connect the bat and the ball well. I loved the way one of my brothers imitated Vizzy, the commentator and went into squeals of ecstasy when some one was bowled or someone hit a ‘six’.
Saturday dawned. After breakfast, I was about to run out with my brothers to play kili when amma called out to me and said Get ready. Let’s go to Nazareth Convent.
Crash!!! Down came my dreams for the day - like the twin towers.
But why? I am free today. Mild hysteria in the voice.
Get dressed quickly. Don’t argue.
I didn’t argue because my soul was clean after my First Confession and the next day was my Holy Communion. Dejected, I went with amma to the Nazareth Convent.
I saw amma talking to Sister Vincentia who was nodding vigourously. Then she seemed to place a consoling hand on amma’s elbow.
Amma then left, leaving me in the Nazareth convent.
“Molly, you Know God is good?’ asked Sister V.
“Yes.’ I said sulking.
“How good”
“Very Good’
“You know he loves you”
I nodded in agreement though I was not very sure at that moment. Surely a God who loves me wont let me down like this, demolishing all my dreams for the day. He must have known how much I wanted a break from Him and from the two weeks of rigorous catechism lessons at the Nazareth Convent.
‘Then why aren’t you sorry that you hurt him when you sinned?”
So that was it! Ichayan had let amma into my confession secret, which he had found hilarious – but which amma couldn’t.
“I don’t know. I can’t feel sorry. I don’t know why”. Those were days when I hadn’t learnt the art of telling white lies. A lie – black or white - is a lie, and Thou shall not lie, says one of the commandments.
Then Sister V launched into a litany of the good things God has given me - good parents, good brothers, good school, good friends, food to eat, and good dresses, gold ornaments, car, dog - - --. The list was endless and I must confess that I was beginning to get impressed.
And then she turned herself into an advocate for the divine creator, presenting proofs of his great love. Her voice changed. Her eyes turned upwards on and off. Sometimes they rolled at the evidence of divine love. But what touched me – really and truly – was the way they became moist when she plunged into a superb narration of the great love which made God send his son to the earth and the shabby manner in which humans treated him. She got explicit about the passion of Christ. She shuddered and wept at every stroke of the hammer which sent the horrendous nails deeper and deeper into Jesus’ palms, feet. Held spell bound by the master story telling, I too shuddered whenever she did.
At the end of her histrionics, I was in tears.
And then she moved in for the kill.
“You were one of them, Molly. One of those brutal soldiers who tortured Jesus. Every sin you committed gave extra force to the blows of the hammer, the pain of the crown of thorns. Think, Molly ,Think, what you have done to your Lord”
I dissolved into helpless tears and asked pardon of my Lord for hurting him so much - --
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
I Belong Here
Episode 1
The following conversations took place a decade back when I visited the US for the first time.
How do you live there? That was a lady from Kerala, long settled in the US. I was there last May. It’s so hot and sultry. Got rashes all over. My daughter fell sick with the heat, and had to be hospitalized. God I don’t know how you people live there.
(“Are we rats or worms who survive there?” ) I thought, thoroughly irritated.
But, with a plastic smile, I said: Well, we can’t all possibly kill ourselves, can we?
Then I caught sight of my brother glowering down at me. He called me aside and gave me a dressing down.
But you heard what she said, didn’t you?
You don’t have to sink that low. Well, I didn’t know what was so special about me, except that I was his sister, but I held my peace. One doesn’t usually argue with the first born in the family.
Episode 2
Are you planning to disappear here? (Ividei mungaan pogukayaano?)
I beg your pardon?
Ividei mungaan pogukayaano?
Why should I?
People from Asian countries do it all the time, you know. After sometime, you can get your papers regularized.
But why should I do it? My family is back home in India.
When your papers are ready, you can bring them over. A lot of people do it, you know.
I looked at him in utter disbelief.
We are well settled there, back in India. My husband has a job, I have a job and we are comfortable there.
But this is truly God’s own land. The standard of life this country offers you. The climate. The natural beauty. You must see the US in fall. The colours. Kerala landscape is monotonous in comparison.
I know, but the fact remains I don’t belong here.
That does not matter. Once you come here and settle down, you won’t want to go back.
Mebbe. But I see no desperate need to relocate. I’m quite happy in India.
He shook his head helplessly and shrugged his shoulders as though to say ‘Well, if a rat existence is what you want, it’s your funeral’
Happily, I didn’t have to listen to such stuff during my recent visit to the US. I’m not sure if that’s because our Indian Americans think India is a better place now or because I didn’t do much socializing in that crowd. Whatever the reason, these conversations upset me – still; when I think how insensitive people can be.
Also, it surprises me that educated people can think that there is only one path to happiness – driving pricey cars down superbly maintained roads and highways, living in a/c comfort, eating easily and cheaply available quality food imported from all over the world, wearing the best branded clothes always available on discount sales. True, this primrose path does lead to happiness. But there exists another narrow and potholed road which also leads to the same destination.
Tropical weather can be cruel at times. Mosquitoes can make life itchy. Sultry weather can make you feel dirty and tired as you travel on ill maintained public transport buses, or in autos which hurts your back as they descend and ascend out of broken roads. Poor waste management can be an eye (and nose) sore too.
But running away from it all – will that make me happy?
Or rather, will I run away and try to get illegal entry into a strange land because of the opportunities and super sterilised comfort it offers?
Maybe, I’d run away if this tropical sub- continent with all its drawbacks it did not offer me a decent livelihood.
Mebbe I’d run away if India was not a democracy.
Mebbe I’d run away if, by doing it, I could delete the reality that is India from my consciousness.
The following conversations took place a decade back when I visited the US for the first time.
How do you live there? That was a lady from Kerala, long settled in the US. I was there last May. It’s so hot and sultry. Got rashes all over. My daughter fell sick with the heat, and had to be hospitalized. God I don’t know how you people live there.
(“Are we rats or worms who survive there?” ) I thought, thoroughly irritated.
But, with a plastic smile, I said: Well, we can’t all possibly kill ourselves, can we?
Then I caught sight of my brother glowering down at me. He called me aside and gave me a dressing down.
But you heard what she said, didn’t you?
You don’t have to sink that low. Well, I didn’t know what was so special about me, except that I was his sister, but I held my peace. One doesn’t usually argue with the first born in the family.
Episode 2
Are you planning to disappear here? (Ividei mungaan pogukayaano?)
I beg your pardon?
Ividei mungaan pogukayaano?
Why should I?
People from Asian countries do it all the time, you know. After sometime, you can get your papers regularized.
But why should I do it? My family is back home in India.
When your papers are ready, you can bring them over. A lot of people do it, you know.
I looked at him in utter disbelief.
We are well settled there, back in India. My husband has a job, I have a job and we are comfortable there.
But this is truly God’s own land. The standard of life this country offers you. The climate. The natural beauty. You must see the US in fall. The colours. Kerala landscape is monotonous in comparison.
I know, but the fact remains I don’t belong here.
That does not matter. Once you come here and settle down, you won’t want to go back.
Mebbe. But I see no desperate need to relocate. I’m quite happy in India.
He shook his head helplessly and shrugged his shoulders as though to say ‘Well, if a rat existence is what you want, it’s your funeral’
Happily, I didn’t have to listen to such stuff during my recent visit to the US. I’m not sure if that’s because our Indian Americans think India is a better place now or because I didn’t do much socializing in that crowd. Whatever the reason, these conversations upset me – still; when I think how insensitive people can be.
Also, it surprises me that educated people can think that there is only one path to happiness – driving pricey cars down superbly maintained roads and highways, living in a/c comfort, eating easily and cheaply available quality food imported from all over the world, wearing the best branded clothes always available on discount sales. True, this primrose path does lead to happiness. But there exists another narrow and potholed road which also leads to the same destination.
Tropical weather can be cruel at times. Mosquitoes can make life itchy. Sultry weather can make you feel dirty and tired as you travel on ill maintained public transport buses, or in autos which hurts your back as they descend and ascend out of broken roads. Poor waste management can be an eye (and nose) sore too.
But running away from it all – will that make me happy?
Or rather, will I run away and try to get illegal entry into a strange land because of the opportunities and super sterilised comfort it offers?
Maybe, I’d run away if this tropical sub- continent with all its drawbacks it did not offer me a decent livelihood.
Mebbe I’d run away if India was not a democracy.
Mebbe I’d run away if, by doing it, I could delete the reality that is India from my consciousness.
Mebbe I'd run away if, with all its discomforts, we did not celebrate life here.
As things stand, and at this stage in my life, I'd rather stay put here and not opt for comfortable uncertainties.
The moral of the story? Well, none. Was just sorting out to myself why I don’t quite fancy the idea of relocating to the US despite the openings to do it.
The moral of the story? Well, none. Was just sorting out to myself why I don’t quite fancy the idea of relocating to the US despite the openings to do it.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The Shashi Tharoor Twitter Issue.
My letter to the editor which was not good enough, i guess :-(.But why waste the effort. So here it is, whether it is good enough for the blogsphere or not :-)
Much can be said on both sides regarding the Shashi Tharoor Twitter issue.
One must remember that Mr. Tharoor is an Indian English writer and enjoys a very high level of comfort in the English language. It is the writer in him and his keen sense of humour that caused him to succumb to the temptation of making a humorous rejoinder to a query, by playing on the image evoked by the term ‘cattle class’. The Party should have taken this witticism in the spirit in which it was said and ignored it, instead of blowing it out of proportion.
On his part, Mr. Tharoor should remember that he is more than a writer now. He is the representative of the people whose sensibilities he should be careful not to offend. He is also a high profile Minister, the cynosure of media attention and the hope of young India which looks upon him as one of the new breed of politicians handpicked to give a makeover to the image of India as an emerging world power. The responsibilities on him as a politician, a leader, and a party man demand he develops a sense of political propriety rooted in an awareness of socially and culturally sensitive issues and of the culture of the political party which gave him a ticket.
There are many expressions in the English language - like pariah and coolie for examples- which are accepted words in the English language but hardly ever make their appearance in the Indian print media, though they are used freely outside India. It is the sensitivity of the scribes to the connotations and associations of these words in the Indian context that has caused these words to almost disappear from the public sphere in India.
Now that Mr. Tharoor has chosen a career in politics, he should take a lesson from this discretion shown by the journalists in the use of words for public consumption. He has to be politically correct always. It will do him good to learn the art of becoming a successful Indian politician. The manner in which he conducts himself as the member of the Congress party will decide his political future.
Much can be said on both sides regarding the Shashi Tharoor Twitter issue.
One must remember that Mr. Tharoor is an Indian English writer and enjoys a very high level of comfort in the English language. It is the writer in him and his keen sense of humour that caused him to succumb to the temptation of making a humorous rejoinder to a query, by playing on the image evoked by the term ‘cattle class’. The Party should have taken this witticism in the spirit in which it was said and ignored it, instead of blowing it out of proportion.
On his part, Mr. Tharoor should remember that he is more than a writer now. He is the representative of the people whose sensibilities he should be careful not to offend. He is also a high profile Minister, the cynosure of media attention and the hope of young India which looks upon him as one of the new breed of politicians handpicked to give a makeover to the image of India as an emerging world power. The responsibilities on him as a politician, a leader, and a party man demand he develops a sense of political propriety rooted in an awareness of socially and culturally sensitive issues and of the culture of the political party which gave him a ticket.
There are many expressions in the English language - like pariah and coolie for examples- which are accepted words in the English language but hardly ever make their appearance in the Indian print media, though they are used freely outside India. It is the sensitivity of the scribes to the connotations and associations of these words in the Indian context that has caused these words to almost disappear from the public sphere in India.
Now that Mr. Tharoor has chosen a career in politics, he should take a lesson from this discretion shown by the journalists in the use of words for public consumption. He has to be politically correct always. It will do him good to learn the art of becoming a successful Indian politician. The manner in which he conducts himself as the member of the Congress party will decide his political future.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Gujarat: A Divided State
On September 8th, Metropolitan Magistrate Tamang’s report is made public. His findings about the encounter which killed Irshat and her friends are that it was a fake encounter. They were shot at short range and then the bodies left on the public road for all to see how Gujarat deals with terrorists (read Muslims?). The action of the police is suspected to be entrenched in a deep desire to please the BJP strongman Narendra Modi, and to boost his image as the defender and protector of the Hindu community.
On September 10th, Gujarat goes to polls and Narendra Modi registers a better show than the Congress.
Now what are we to make out from this? This has happend several times. The worse his record on human rights violations gets, the better Modi's chance of victory at the polls. The only interpretation for this fact is, Modi's brutal acts have the support of the majority of the people of Gujarat
Gujarat is a divided state. The people of Gujarat have lost faith in the concept of secularism as defined in the Constitution of India, which the BJP ridicules as ‘Pseudo secularism”. For the people of Gujarat, secularism as the average Indian understands it is a pseudo notion. The minorities have rights if the majority is generous enough to grant them those rights. The minority communities have right to existence only if the majority community so wills it.
The state of Gujarat is a scale model of what India would become if the BJP with its control strings in the hands of RSS gets a majority at the Centre, and rules India unhindered by coalition partners.
In the responses to my last post (on Rahul Gandhi), there were some views on choosing between fundamental rights and bread for all. Gujarat results makes me think that even a discussion on these lines is dangerous. If we are willing to give up any one of the fundamental rights, why not another at another point in time? And another and another?
In a democratic Nation-State, Fascism can be ‘encountered’ only by a tenacious faith in fundamental rights exercised through the ballot.
On September 10th, Gujarat goes to polls and Narendra Modi registers a better show than the Congress.
Now what are we to make out from this? This has happend several times. The worse his record on human rights violations gets, the better Modi's chance of victory at the polls. The only interpretation for this fact is, Modi's brutal acts have the support of the majority of the people of Gujarat
Gujarat is a divided state. The people of Gujarat have lost faith in the concept of secularism as defined in the Constitution of India, which the BJP ridicules as ‘Pseudo secularism”. For the people of Gujarat, secularism as the average Indian understands it is a pseudo notion. The minorities have rights if the majority is generous enough to grant them those rights. The minority communities have right to existence only if the majority community so wills it.
The state of Gujarat is a scale model of what India would become if the BJP with its control strings in the hands of RSS gets a majority at the Centre, and rules India unhindered by coalition partners.
In the responses to my last post (on Rahul Gandhi), there were some views on choosing between fundamental rights and bread for all. Gujarat results makes me think that even a discussion on these lines is dangerous. If we are willing to give up any one of the fundamental rights, why not another at another point in time? And another and another?
In a democratic Nation-State, Fascism can be ‘encountered’ only by a tenacious faith in fundamental rights exercised through the ballot.
Friday, September 11, 2009
The Rahul Gandhi Phenomenon
I get the feeling that Rahul Gandhi will do better than his father. In the past five years, this reserved quiet scion of the Gandhi family who could have easily stepped into any position he liked, kept a low profile. Maybe, he is taking a leaf out of the Mahatma’s book by not plunging into politics till he has had experiential knowledge of what it is about.
And he is proving to be a clever politician. Yes. He is playing the Gandhi-Nehru card wherever and whenever he knows it’ll pay dividends. He seems determined to reclaim the Congress Party’s foothold in the Hindi heartland and in Southern India. He seems to have registered some success in this mission, if we are to go by the recent general elections.
I can well foresee the barrage of accusations that’ll jostle against each other in my blogsphere – accusations of me being an advocate of dynastic rule. Regarding that issue, my position is this. The son should not rise only because he is the father’s son. Or the grandmother’s grandson, or the great grandfather’s great grand son, or the great great grand father’s great great grandson. But if the son can rise because he is clever enough to turn his lineage to his advantage, and consequently to the advantage of his country, give him a chance. After all this is a democracy. We cannot deny an opportunity to a person simply because he is the son, grandson, great grandson and great great grandson of a particular family. And the Indian democracy does not have the history of having given a person with the above credentials a free hand to misuse the dynastic advantage to oppress the people. When these advantaged people overstep democratic limits, or fail to perform, the voter punishes him. That’s the tradition in our democracy.
So if a person is young and seems earnest and sensible , and is making every effort to familiarize himself with the huge complex reality called India, let us accept him. Let’s not cry foul simply because he is somebody’s somebody.
After all every human being has to be somebody’s somebody.
During the elections, the media was tom-tomming about his average academic records. To this I say, where is it written that one has to be an Albert Einstein to become the leader of a nation?
The Rahul Gandhi whom all of us dismissed as ineffective, is coming into his own. He is patient, training himself to perhaps lead the country one day, or just to lead the party. He is starting from where an Indian politician always should. From rural India. He is nurturing the party from the grass root level. The party which had lost its directions and was well on the way of becoming just another political outfit, might (let’s hope), under this person reinstate the ideology and values which it had been happily compromising for political expediency. The process is slow, painful and time and energy consuming - and Rahul Gandhi appears to have a sizeable repertoire of patience and energy. He seems to have that race winning quality of slowness and steadiness.
I do hope I am right when I say, if this son rises, it will not be a case of greatness thrust on him because he is born great – it’ll also be because he has achieved greatness.It could be a rare case of the confluence of all those three phenomena that Shakespeare spoke about.
And he is proving to be a clever politician. Yes. He is playing the Gandhi-Nehru card wherever and whenever he knows it’ll pay dividends. He seems determined to reclaim the Congress Party’s foothold in the Hindi heartland and in Southern India. He seems to have registered some success in this mission, if we are to go by the recent general elections.
I can well foresee the barrage of accusations that’ll jostle against each other in my blogsphere – accusations of me being an advocate of dynastic rule. Regarding that issue, my position is this. The son should not rise only because he is the father’s son. Or the grandmother’s grandson, or the great grandfather’s great grand son, or the great great grand father’s great great grandson. But if the son can rise because he is clever enough to turn his lineage to his advantage, and consequently to the advantage of his country, give him a chance. After all this is a democracy. We cannot deny an opportunity to a person simply because he is the son, grandson, great grandson and great great grandson of a particular family. And the Indian democracy does not have the history of having given a person with the above credentials a free hand to misuse the dynastic advantage to oppress the people. When these advantaged people overstep democratic limits, or fail to perform, the voter punishes him. That’s the tradition in our democracy.
So if a person is young and seems earnest and sensible , and is making every effort to familiarize himself with the huge complex reality called India, let us accept him. Let’s not cry foul simply because he is somebody’s somebody.
After all every human being has to be somebody’s somebody.
During the elections, the media was tom-tomming about his average academic records. To this I say, where is it written that one has to be an Albert Einstein to become the leader of a nation?
The Rahul Gandhi whom all of us dismissed as ineffective, is coming into his own. He is patient, training himself to perhaps lead the country one day, or just to lead the party. He is starting from where an Indian politician always should. From rural India. He is nurturing the party from the grass root level. The party which had lost its directions and was well on the way of becoming just another political outfit, might (let’s hope), under this person reinstate the ideology and values which it had been happily compromising for political expediency. The process is slow, painful and time and energy consuming - and Rahul Gandhi appears to have a sizeable repertoire of patience and energy. He seems to have that race winning quality of slowness and steadiness.
I do hope I am right when I say, if this son rises, it will not be a case of greatness thrust on him because he is born great – it’ll also be because he has achieved greatness.It could be a rare case of the confluence of all those three phenomena that Shakespeare spoke about.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Oh My Name! Sigh!
My last post on this subject was the outcome of a need to unload a burden I’d been carrying all my life. But this time I was provoked.
“Can you give me a sensible name that I can call you?” pleaded the delegate to whom I was introduced in my official capacity as Kochuthresiamma P.J. etc etc etc. She was not from my part of the world; so I understood her difficulty in getting her tongue around my name. But surely there was a more polite or less boorish way of expressing that difficulty.
“You can call me whatever suits you so long as you don’t call me names”. I tried humour to conceal my irritation.
The lady made me repeat my name several times and then appeared to strike upon the brilliant idea.
“Hey, can I call you Kochu?”
“Why not”, I replied returning her sweet smile with a sweeter one.
I’ve thought of changing my name officially, but my father used to get distressed every time I mentioned my intention. He thought my name was the most beautiful one in the whole world. I suppose if you are a Malayalee and a catholic, and know the history and etymology of the word you’d find music in my name – or else, my father had an extraordinary ear that could detect harmony in the worst of tongue twisters.
On a more practical note, he pointed out the hassles of changing the name. Thus it was, despite my yearning to get away from my name, I remained Kochuthresiamma p j all my life.
Since I have this capacity to step out of a situation and look at it and enjoy the situation in which I am the butt of the joke or the lifelong victim of a father’s fancy for a particular name, I have
come out quite unscathed by the embarrassment the name caused me on several occasions. The worst is what I have related in my earlier post on this. Close on heels comes the occasion when, the day I joined a particular college in Mumbai a little over a decade ago, I was introduced to the staff at the staff meeting which, my bad luck, was scheduled for the day. I was asked to attend the staff meeting by the Principal.
“You can meet the other teachers too”, she said.
My HOD took me to the hall where the meeting was to take place. Being a very punctual person, she was the first to be in the hall, with me along with her. Soon people started streaming in. Men and women, young and middle aged, all dressed to kill and looking very sophisticated and powdered and patched. This was a new experience for me who hadn’t, till then, served anywhere outside Kerala where teachers dress up in a very sober and businesslike manner when they come to teach. I looked around happily, charmed by the styles and sounds and perfumed smells of the elite working class of Mumbai who gathered in the room.
Then the Principal walked in.
“Before we start, let me introduce you to the new teacher”
She looked at me and beckoned to me to come forward. My heart sank. I wasn’t prepared for this formal introduction, or I’d have given the Principal some phonetic training.
“This is Dr. ----“ . Silence. I could feel my ears turning red. I was always one who hated attention.
“Will you tell them your name, please?” she entreated, looking at me sweetly, pleadingly.
I announced my name.
It made no sense to anyone except two people who looked at me and waved from where they sat. They were keralites. The others looked at each other as tho’ some alien creature had descended on them from some other galaxy.
“Thank you. I can deal with the rest of the details”, she said cheerfully. Big deal, I thought. One would think that the rest of my biodata included terms like Kalaripayatu, Angathari, and Verumkai - terms which she could handle with the greatest ease while my name was the only problem that she couldn’t digest!
And then came the parting shot. Just as I was about to leave the dais for my seat, she said “Just a minute Dr er er er - - - is there another name I can call you?”
Looking at my smiling face, none could have imagined how high the seismic rumblings inside me measured on the Richter scale. What the heck, I thought. I take trouble to learn the pronunciation of unfamiliar and difficult names of people. That’s basic decency. This head of the Institution should have done her homework and learnt to pronounce my name instead of making a song and dance about it.
“I have no other name”, I lied. Let her learn to pronounce my name, I thought angrily – but my face betrayed none of my feelings. It had a heavily sweetened smile on it.
“Oh”, she looked unhappy. Then brightening up she said, “What did you say your name was?”
I repeated.
She wagged her bobbed head like a little child who unexpectedly stumbled upon the extra terrestrial she wanted to meet desperately.
” Yes!” she declared triumphantly. “I’ll call you Kochu. That ok?” she asked, looking at me and beaming at the teachers who were watching this one minute drama which, to me, seemed to stretch out to eternity.
Thus, I was Kochu during the short period of over a year that I worked there. With my quaint name, an exotic aura surrounded me throughout my service there and I decided to bask in the feel good, privileged feeling it gave me. Make the best out of a bad situation, has always been my policy.
I can never cease to be grateful and appreciative of the CEO of an organization I worked for in Mumbai before I joined this college. He was a Bengali I think, and was the only one in the organization who called me Kochuthresiamma - that too with the greatest ease and perfect phonetic and syllabic accuracy. The others resorted to my pet name which I shared with them because I met them informally, unlike the fiasco introduction episode described earlier. Whenever the CEO gave me an unrealistic deadline, I’d honour it each time, no matter how hard or impossible. Such was the impact of calling me the way I should be called. Without any distortion, stumbling, ridiculing.
My name - no matter how terrible it is – is part of my identity, and respecting my name is respecting my identity.
I have a pair of twin nieces, almost identical but I’ve had no problem distinguishing one from the other. But for some reason I used to think of them not as individuals but as two in one – which, I suppose, they resented. There was a time when I used to bungle up their names and call one by the other’s name. At one point they decided enough was enough. They wouldn’t respond to my question if I addressed X as Y, and vice versa. They’d wait till I realized my mistake and corrected myself. Only then would they respond to me. That’s when their separate identities emerged for me, and my eyes were opened to the fact that the two are so different from each other, and each had an individuality of her own.
Yes, my name is part of me. No wonder it is said that remembering names and calling people by their correct names are so important in effective PR and HR management.
I hope all future parents, particularly Keralite parents who read this blog will realize that when you name your children, you are confering on them a factor that plays a major role in identity formation. Despite the unpronounceable name that I was given by him, I am so grateful to my father for sparing me such names as Shito (d/o or s/o of Shinu and Tommy), or BDP (Birth Day Present cos she was born on her father’s birthday) or all those terrible names that we mallus come up with.
My name at least has a history, geography, tradition and a cultural content to it.
“Can you give me a sensible name that I can call you?” pleaded the delegate to whom I was introduced in my official capacity as Kochuthresiamma P.J. etc etc etc. She was not from my part of the world; so I understood her difficulty in getting her tongue around my name. But surely there was a more polite or less boorish way of expressing that difficulty.
“You can call me whatever suits you so long as you don’t call me names”. I tried humour to conceal my irritation.
The lady made me repeat my name several times and then appeared to strike upon the brilliant idea.
“Hey, can I call you Kochu?”
“Why not”, I replied returning her sweet smile with a sweeter one.
I’ve thought of changing my name officially, but my father used to get distressed every time I mentioned my intention. He thought my name was the most beautiful one in the whole world. I suppose if you are a Malayalee and a catholic, and know the history and etymology of the word you’d find music in my name – or else, my father had an extraordinary ear that could detect harmony in the worst of tongue twisters.
On a more practical note, he pointed out the hassles of changing the name. Thus it was, despite my yearning to get away from my name, I remained Kochuthresiamma p j all my life.
Since I have this capacity to step out of a situation and look at it and enjoy the situation in which I am the butt of the joke or the lifelong victim of a father’s fancy for a particular name, I have
come out quite unscathed by the embarrassment the name caused me on several occasions. The worst is what I have related in my earlier post on this. Close on heels comes the occasion when, the day I joined a particular college in Mumbai a little over a decade ago, I was introduced to the staff at the staff meeting which, my bad luck, was scheduled for the day. I was asked to attend the staff meeting by the Principal.
“You can meet the other teachers too”, she said.
My HOD took me to the hall where the meeting was to take place. Being a very punctual person, she was the first to be in the hall, with me along with her. Soon people started streaming in. Men and women, young and middle aged, all dressed to kill and looking very sophisticated and powdered and patched. This was a new experience for me who hadn’t, till then, served anywhere outside Kerala where teachers dress up in a very sober and businesslike manner when they come to teach. I looked around happily, charmed by the styles and sounds and perfumed smells of the elite working class of Mumbai who gathered in the room.
Then the Principal walked in.
“Before we start, let me introduce you to the new teacher”
She looked at me and beckoned to me to come forward. My heart sank. I wasn’t prepared for this formal introduction, or I’d have given the Principal some phonetic training.
“This is Dr. ----“ . Silence. I could feel my ears turning red. I was always one who hated attention.
“Will you tell them your name, please?” she entreated, looking at me sweetly, pleadingly.
I announced my name.
It made no sense to anyone except two people who looked at me and waved from where they sat. They were keralites. The others looked at each other as tho’ some alien creature had descended on them from some other galaxy.
“Thank you. I can deal with the rest of the details”, she said cheerfully. Big deal, I thought. One would think that the rest of my biodata included terms like Kalaripayatu, Angathari, and Verumkai - terms which she could handle with the greatest ease while my name was the only problem that she couldn’t digest!
And then came the parting shot. Just as I was about to leave the dais for my seat, she said “Just a minute Dr er er er - - - is there another name I can call you?”
Looking at my smiling face, none could have imagined how high the seismic rumblings inside me measured on the Richter scale. What the heck, I thought. I take trouble to learn the pronunciation of unfamiliar and difficult names of people. That’s basic decency. This head of the Institution should have done her homework and learnt to pronounce my name instead of making a song and dance about it.
“I have no other name”, I lied. Let her learn to pronounce my name, I thought angrily – but my face betrayed none of my feelings. It had a heavily sweetened smile on it.
“Oh”, she looked unhappy. Then brightening up she said, “What did you say your name was?”
I repeated.
She wagged her bobbed head like a little child who unexpectedly stumbled upon the extra terrestrial she wanted to meet desperately.
” Yes!” she declared triumphantly. “I’ll call you Kochu. That ok?” she asked, looking at me and beaming at the teachers who were watching this one minute drama which, to me, seemed to stretch out to eternity.
Thus, I was Kochu during the short period of over a year that I worked there. With my quaint name, an exotic aura surrounded me throughout my service there and I decided to bask in the feel good, privileged feeling it gave me. Make the best out of a bad situation, has always been my policy.
I can never cease to be grateful and appreciative of the CEO of an organization I worked for in Mumbai before I joined this college. He was a Bengali I think, and was the only one in the organization who called me Kochuthresiamma - that too with the greatest ease and perfect phonetic and syllabic accuracy. The others resorted to my pet name which I shared with them because I met them informally, unlike the fiasco introduction episode described earlier. Whenever the CEO gave me an unrealistic deadline, I’d honour it each time, no matter how hard or impossible. Such was the impact of calling me the way I should be called. Without any distortion, stumbling, ridiculing.
My name - no matter how terrible it is – is part of my identity, and respecting my name is respecting my identity.
I have a pair of twin nieces, almost identical but I’ve had no problem distinguishing one from the other. But for some reason I used to think of them not as individuals but as two in one – which, I suppose, they resented. There was a time when I used to bungle up their names and call one by the other’s name. At one point they decided enough was enough. They wouldn’t respond to my question if I addressed X as Y, and vice versa. They’d wait till I realized my mistake and corrected myself. Only then would they respond to me. That’s when their separate identities emerged for me, and my eyes were opened to the fact that the two are so different from each other, and each had an individuality of her own.
Yes, my name is part of me. No wonder it is said that remembering names and calling people by their correct names are so important in effective PR and HR management.
I hope all future parents, particularly Keralite parents who read this blog will realize that when you name your children, you are confering on them a factor that plays a major role in identity formation. Despite the unpronounceable name that I was given by him, I am so grateful to my father for sparing me such names as Shito (d/o or s/o of Shinu and Tommy), or BDP (Birth Day Present cos she was born on her father’s birthday) or all those terrible names that we mallus come up with.
My name at least has a history, geography, tradition and a cultural content to it.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
The Many Indias - Haphazard Thoughts
I would not have touched this issue with a barge pole, but since the Indian Express has given it an editorial status, I feel I too can talk about the issue of a north south divide in India.
The Express pointed out that the headlines of national newspapers highlighted that the national films awards were bagged by the SOUTH, and raises the question if South and North are different countries.
My experience of living in many parts of India confirms that there is indeed such a divide in the minds of Indians, a fact which seeps through inevitably into the language of their daily parlance.
And there is animosity too – perhaps not with too serious consequences generally. The Shiv Sainik hostility towards the 'Southies' in the sixties and seventies and towards the 'Northies' in the present century, which translates into violent assault, is an isolated localised phenomenon.
When you look closely at the issue, certain nuances become visible. These complexities emerge in metros like, say, Mumbai. Mumbaikers don’t consider themselves North Indians, something which deep down in Kerala, I hadn’t realized. In Mumbai, I’ve had my head bitten off a couple of times for referring to Mumbaikers as North Indians. Mumbaikers are “West” Indians, a category with intelligence and sophistication superior to the rest of India. A slip of the tongue and you refer to them as East Indian, you’ll have your head broken into smithereens – for that is a category for with they have supreme contempt. So we have the North, South, and the West.
From the Kerala where I grew up, I formed the notion that all North Indians are cerebrally challenged, except the Bengalees for whom Mallus have some sneaking admiration. And so it is common to hear us Mallus trying to list out the points of similarities between the Mallu and the Bengalees – fish eating and rice eating habits, light colour of the saree women wear, intelligence, Marxism blah blah blah. My take on this issue is mallus and bongs are as different as two people can possibly be – neither for better nor worse.
Sorry for the digression. To return to the subject in hand - There was a time in my unenlightened youthful days when my friends and I earnestly believed that all ‘Northies’ were ‘Bhaiyyas’, which was a derogatory term used to dismissively speak of the inferior intelligence of North Indians who, we admitted, were fair and beautiful and - well that’s it. Nothing more. The term Bhaiyya as a belittling term was so ingrained in my mind that when my nieces and nephews, in all respect for him, added the word 'bhayya' to my son’s name (because they or somebody thought that chetan or angala was too naadan), I used to cringe inside and pray earnestly that he would not grow up to earn that name! Thank God, in my mid thirties, I was completely cured about my biased and stupid notions of graded intelligence among the Indians.
Within the southern states, there is this highly ethnocentric notion about the cerebral capacities of the denizens of the four states. Mallus are supremely contemptuous of the talmilians -‘Pandis’ as they call them. The term has a lot of negative connotations, mostly related to unintelligence, colour and lack of sophistication. Regarding the Kannadigas, we talk of all Gowdas as Goondas. I once heard a Mallu assert very authoritatively that the origin of the word Gowda is Goonda!! But there is a huge, unconcealed admiration for the Andhraites. I don’t know what the other southern states think of the Mallus, but I know, from a friend, that they are very wary of us. “If you see a Cobra and Mallu, kill the Mallu first" is a favourite maxim, said my Tamilian friend.
It was during my stint in Mumbai that I came to know that the women with whom I worked (from all parts of India to the North of the Vindhyas) had a fascination for South Cottons. Most of my saris were light printed cottons made in cotton mills in Gujarat. We get them in plenty in Kerala. But my Mumbai friends used to insist that they were “South cottons”. They’d nearly faint in sheer ecstasy when I wear village cottons. Wear a Kasavu sari(Travancore cotton, as they call it), you’ll have to wear an thank-you placard round your neck - or you’d tire your tongue out and weaken you muscles around the mouth expressing and smiling your gratitude for the tsunami of tributes showered on your sari - from the student community too. So the divide also exercises itself in the act of exoticising that strange region to the south of the Vindhyas where a strange species called the Madrasis live!
I remember a common sentiment expressed in Kerala among educated Malayalees in the sixties. South India should have been a different country – at least it should be part of a loose Indian federation where the Centre would have control only over the defense matters. They (? I’m not sure who) were not fair to Kerala, it was felt. It was a case of taxation without representation! The state of kerala gets hardly any representation in the Central government or a decent budget allotment, but it contributes heavily to the Central coffers through exports – don’t ask me how/what -just bits and pieces I have heard and remember.
I remember a very painful incident while working in a college in Mumbai. My very good friend – a Mumbaiker – fumed into the department, dumped her books and handbag on her table, whirled around and asked me:
“What is this, molly? Is it to be given according to the whims of the President?”
I had no clue as to what she was talking about. Seeing me blink with incomprehension she said
”MS Subhalakshmi is getting Baharat Ratna”
“Well deserved, don’t you think?” I asked sincerely.
“What do you mean? Why does she deserve it more that Bhimsen Jhoshi?”
I could have told her that it was not just her singing skill that won her that honour – but didn’t venture to, seeing how agitated she was.
“I’ll tell you why. The President is a South Indian”. !!!!!!!!!
I chose to hold my peace. And it took her a week to forgive me for KR Narayanan, the President from Kerala favouring a South Indian by bestowing on her the highest award in the country.
This type of stereotyped thinking and the animosity it generates are not peculiar to India alone. Russel listed this tendency under the category 'intellectual rubbish' (One Englishman is equal to five French). Modern theorist have written/continue to write libraries of complex, involved abstract theories in strange unpalatable language to establish that there are no distinguishing features that are exclusive to any one category of people. But it’ll take aeons before we humans are able to relate to each other outside the contexts of caste, creed, nationality, class, ideology, race and what not.
The Express pointed out that the headlines of national newspapers highlighted that the national films awards were bagged by the SOUTH, and raises the question if South and North are different countries.
My experience of living in many parts of India confirms that there is indeed such a divide in the minds of Indians, a fact which seeps through inevitably into the language of their daily parlance.
And there is animosity too – perhaps not with too serious consequences generally. The Shiv Sainik hostility towards the 'Southies' in the sixties and seventies and towards the 'Northies' in the present century, which translates into violent assault, is an isolated localised phenomenon.
When you look closely at the issue, certain nuances become visible. These complexities emerge in metros like, say, Mumbai. Mumbaikers don’t consider themselves North Indians, something which deep down in Kerala, I hadn’t realized. In Mumbai, I’ve had my head bitten off a couple of times for referring to Mumbaikers as North Indians. Mumbaikers are “West” Indians, a category with intelligence and sophistication superior to the rest of India. A slip of the tongue and you refer to them as East Indian, you’ll have your head broken into smithereens – for that is a category for with they have supreme contempt. So we have the North, South, and the West.
From the Kerala where I grew up, I formed the notion that all North Indians are cerebrally challenged, except the Bengalees for whom Mallus have some sneaking admiration. And so it is common to hear us Mallus trying to list out the points of similarities between the Mallu and the Bengalees – fish eating and rice eating habits, light colour of the saree women wear, intelligence, Marxism blah blah blah. My take on this issue is mallus and bongs are as different as two people can possibly be – neither for better nor worse.
Sorry for the digression. To return to the subject in hand - There was a time in my unenlightened youthful days when my friends and I earnestly believed that all ‘Northies’ were ‘Bhaiyyas’, which was a derogatory term used to dismissively speak of the inferior intelligence of North Indians who, we admitted, were fair and beautiful and - well that’s it. Nothing more. The term Bhaiyya as a belittling term was so ingrained in my mind that when my nieces and nephews, in all respect for him, added the word 'bhayya' to my son’s name (because they or somebody thought that chetan or angala was too naadan), I used to cringe inside and pray earnestly that he would not grow up to earn that name! Thank God, in my mid thirties, I was completely cured about my biased and stupid notions of graded intelligence among the Indians.
Within the southern states, there is this highly ethnocentric notion about the cerebral capacities of the denizens of the four states. Mallus are supremely contemptuous of the talmilians -‘Pandis’ as they call them. The term has a lot of negative connotations, mostly related to unintelligence, colour and lack of sophistication. Regarding the Kannadigas, we talk of all Gowdas as Goondas. I once heard a Mallu assert very authoritatively that the origin of the word Gowda is Goonda!! But there is a huge, unconcealed admiration for the Andhraites. I don’t know what the other southern states think of the Mallus, but I know, from a friend, that they are very wary of us. “If you see a Cobra and Mallu, kill the Mallu first" is a favourite maxim, said my Tamilian friend.
It was during my stint in Mumbai that I came to know that the women with whom I worked (from all parts of India to the North of the Vindhyas) had a fascination for South Cottons. Most of my saris were light printed cottons made in cotton mills in Gujarat. We get them in plenty in Kerala. But my Mumbai friends used to insist that they were “South cottons”. They’d nearly faint in sheer ecstasy when I wear village cottons. Wear a Kasavu sari(Travancore cotton, as they call it), you’ll have to wear an thank-you placard round your neck - or you’d tire your tongue out and weaken you muscles around the mouth expressing and smiling your gratitude for the tsunami of tributes showered on your sari - from the student community too. So the divide also exercises itself in the act of exoticising that strange region to the south of the Vindhyas where a strange species called the Madrasis live!
I remember a common sentiment expressed in Kerala among educated Malayalees in the sixties. South India should have been a different country – at least it should be part of a loose Indian federation where the Centre would have control only over the defense matters. They (? I’m not sure who) were not fair to Kerala, it was felt. It was a case of taxation without representation! The state of kerala gets hardly any representation in the Central government or a decent budget allotment, but it contributes heavily to the Central coffers through exports – don’t ask me how/what -just bits and pieces I have heard and remember.
I remember a very painful incident while working in a college in Mumbai. My very good friend – a Mumbaiker – fumed into the department, dumped her books and handbag on her table, whirled around and asked me:
“What is this, molly? Is it to be given according to the whims of the President?”
I had no clue as to what she was talking about. Seeing me blink with incomprehension she said
”MS Subhalakshmi is getting Baharat Ratna”
“Well deserved, don’t you think?” I asked sincerely.
“What do you mean? Why does she deserve it more that Bhimsen Jhoshi?”
I could have told her that it was not just her singing skill that won her that honour – but didn’t venture to, seeing how agitated she was.
“I’ll tell you why. The President is a South Indian”. !!!!!!!!!
I chose to hold my peace. And it took her a week to forgive me for KR Narayanan, the President from Kerala favouring a South Indian by bestowing on her the highest award in the country.
This type of stereotyped thinking and the animosity it generates are not peculiar to India alone. Russel listed this tendency under the category 'intellectual rubbish' (One Englishman is equal to five French). Modern theorist have written/continue to write libraries of complex, involved abstract theories in strange unpalatable language to establish that there are no distinguishing features that are exclusive to any one category of people. But it’ll take aeons before we humans are able to relate to each other outside the contexts of caste, creed, nationality, class, ideology, race and what not.
Friday, September 04, 2009
Ruminating on Blog Responses
It might be only a tiny storm in the teacup brewing in my blogspace (triggered off by my post Burqa War) but to me it was a revelation and a coming to terms with a certain truth which I would not have missed had I read the writings on the wall instead of playing the ostrich.
And the terrible truth is that Young India is divided on the issue of secularism.
One section of educated young men pooh poohing the very idea of secularism the way my peers and I understood and internalized it, is a matter for serious worry. To them, those secular values that shaped the weltanschauung of my peers have become an anachronism.
Wonder how this happened. The post independence generation to which I belong believed that all Indians – Hindus, Musselman, Christian, Jain and Buddhist – are my brothers and sisters who will someday live like a large happy family.
What went wrong?
The constitution? And we grew up thinking India has the most democratic constitution!
Today, no one is happy. Neither the majority nor the minorities.
The secularism we believed in was built on a ‘live and let live’ policy and respect for all religions. The constitution, we believed, would ensure an equal space for all religious groups in the polity of the nation and there would be no state interference in the religious practices so long as there is no violation of fundamental rights.
Also, Minority Rights and other reservation policies were looked upon as an arrangement to give equal opportunity to those who were outnumbered or downtrodden for centuries. It was a way of providing a level playing field for a diverse population in a democratic dispensation.
And we believed all this - we believed in the constitution and the well intentioned reservations. Sacrifices and making space after all is part of nation building. Looking back, I realize that we believed ‘cos those who taught us the history of India and the nature of its post independent dispensation in the high schools, taught us with passion in their voice and pride and stars in their eyes. Not surprising, given that they grew up in an atmosphere charged with patriotism and a faith in the all inclusive model of democracy fathered by the Mahatma.
Unfortunately, the socioeconomic changes post independence reshuffled the century old economic order, and the losers of this change among the majority group had no privileges to resort to. This led to resentment, which in turn put the minorities on the defensive, giving rise to a vicious circle of action and reaction in many parts of the country.
It must be admitted that the minorities seized upon the privileges bestowed on them constitutionally as inalienable rights, became very possessive about them and often stretched the privileges to the point of offending the majority community.
A vast oversimplification, I know, but I was only constructing a rough scenario to show where the Machiavellian politicians stepped in and exploited the communal situation to serve their megalomaniacal ends.
When and how it happened I do not know but all on a sudden we realized that these politicians had invaded the campuses and cast a magical spell on the youth. And thus began the beginning of the end of young India’s faith in the visions of the founding fathers.
And this is not all. Corruption entered and became the order of the day in the Indian polity. The mode of development created many a discontented groups in the margins. The political will to address the terrible economic inequality was conspicuous by its absence. This undesirable atmosphere vitiated by self seeking politicians is what today’s youngsters have inherited. Any wonder that cynicism should prevail with regard to secularism and all those values imbedded in the constitution of our nation? When we dreamed in the early sixties, the world, despite all its problems, lay before us like a land of dreams – ‘cos there were dream merchants selling idyllic visions passionately in schools, in media and in the homes. Today’s young India has the failure of those dreams as their experience of the young democracy, and for mentors, it has hardened criminals/ Machiavellian politicians, ever on the lookout for chelas whom they can exploit and use as pawns in the dirty power game. The youngsters grew up hearing from these anti social elements, stories about the delicious taste of power.
So what if power corrupts, they are not ashamed to ask.
I was surprised to read a comment which protested against the banning of politics in the campuses as it amounted to banning ‘progressive’ activities!!?? This, he argued, gave rise to communalism among the youth! As a teacher from Kerala where the educational institutions are the breeding ground for cantankerous and ruthless politicians, I strongly disagree with this statement. Of course, we have had a few shining stars among politicians who came from the youth wings of parties; but they are exceptions rather than the rule. How campus politics can be termed ‘progressive’ when we have known cases of brilliant students being moulded into hardened criminals and goondas and goonda kingpins by campus politics, I simply fail to understand.
A college in Kerala with a long tradition of having produced many illustrious sons to serve the country in the highest and important positions, has today the dubious honour of having produced a new breed of political goondas who, with their muscle power, assist politicians in their mission to acquire disproportionate assets. These goondas are groomed to break every law in the country, indulge in violence and murder for their political gurus in exchange for protection and asylum.
Islam Bashing.
Another distressing fact that emerges from the blog responses is Islam bashing. A cursory glance at the comments of the blog visitors of my post Burqua War will show what I mean. While I agree that the minorities in India often forget that they are privileged, I cannot fall in line with these Islam bashers. Their strategy is to point to the past. They quote history – selectively and bypass the power politics (clash of civilizations, as it is now finally and honestly christened) dating back from the Crusades continuing through the imperial rhetoric in which Islam was demonized and finally down to the present times when the imperial countries manipulated world affairs with the greatest ease to become the self styled arbitrators of the destiny of oil producing Islamic nations. These are realities that no one can wish or will away. One cannot isolate the origins of Islamic fundamentalism from these truths.
I think we should turn to history to learn how not to make the mistakes of the past. Let’s not turn to history to find sticks to beat any group.
I would say religious leaders of all groups have failed secular India. With each one baying for his pound of flesh I would say “Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country”. The religion I follow very strictly teaches “Give to Ceaser what is Caesar’s”. It can’t be any different in other religions too.
And the terrible truth is that Young India is divided on the issue of secularism.
One section of educated young men pooh poohing the very idea of secularism the way my peers and I understood and internalized it, is a matter for serious worry. To them, those secular values that shaped the weltanschauung of my peers have become an anachronism.
Wonder how this happened. The post independence generation to which I belong believed that all Indians – Hindus, Musselman, Christian, Jain and Buddhist – are my brothers and sisters who will someday live like a large happy family.
What went wrong?
The constitution? And we grew up thinking India has the most democratic constitution!
Today, no one is happy. Neither the majority nor the minorities.
The secularism we believed in was built on a ‘live and let live’ policy and respect for all religions. The constitution, we believed, would ensure an equal space for all religious groups in the polity of the nation and there would be no state interference in the religious practices so long as there is no violation of fundamental rights.
Also, Minority Rights and other reservation policies were looked upon as an arrangement to give equal opportunity to those who were outnumbered or downtrodden for centuries. It was a way of providing a level playing field for a diverse population in a democratic dispensation.
And we believed all this - we believed in the constitution and the well intentioned reservations. Sacrifices and making space after all is part of nation building. Looking back, I realize that we believed ‘cos those who taught us the history of India and the nature of its post independent dispensation in the high schools, taught us with passion in their voice and pride and stars in their eyes. Not surprising, given that they grew up in an atmosphere charged with patriotism and a faith in the all inclusive model of democracy fathered by the Mahatma.
Unfortunately, the socioeconomic changes post independence reshuffled the century old economic order, and the losers of this change among the majority group had no privileges to resort to. This led to resentment, which in turn put the minorities on the defensive, giving rise to a vicious circle of action and reaction in many parts of the country.
It must be admitted that the minorities seized upon the privileges bestowed on them constitutionally as inalienable rights, became very possessive about them and often stretched the privileges to the point of offending the majority community.
A vast oversimplification, I know, but I was only constructing a rough scenario to show where the Machiavellian politicians stepped in and exploited the communal situation to serve their megalomaniacal ends.
When and how it happened I do not know but all on a sudden we realized that these politicians had invaded the campuses and cast a magical spell on the youth. And thus began the beginning of the end of young India’s faith in the visions of the founding fathers.
And this is not all. Corruption entered and became the order of the day in the Indian polity. The mode of development created many a discontented groups in the margins. The political will to address the terrible economic inequality was conspicuous by its absence. This undesirable atmosphere vitiated by self seeking politicians is what today’s youngsters have inherited. Any wonder that cynicism should prevail with regard to secularism and all those values imbedded in the constitution of our nation? When we dreamed in the early sixties, the world, despite all its problems, lay before us like a land of dreams – ‘cos there were dream merchants selling idyllic visions passionately in schools, in media and in the homes. Today’s young India has the failure of those dreams as their experience of the young democracy, and for mentors, it has hardened criminals/ Machiavellian politicians, ever on the lookout for chelas whom they can exploit and use as pawns in the dirty power game. The youngsters grew up hearing from these anti social elements, stories about the delicious taste of power.
So what if power corrupts, they are not ashamed to ask.
I was surprised to read a comment which protested against the banning of politics in the campuses as it amounted to banning ‘progressive’ activities!!?? This, he argued, gave rise to communalism among the youth! As a teacher from Kerala where the educational institutions are the breeding ground for cantankerous and ruthless politicians, I strongly disagree with this statement. Of course, we have had a few shining stars among politicians who came from the youth wings of parties; but they are exceptions rather than the rule. How campus politics can be termed ‘progressive’ when we have known cases of brilliant students being moulded into hardened criminals and goondas and goonda kingpins by campus politics, I simply fail to understand.
A college in Kerala with a long tradition of having produced many illustrious sons to serve the country in the highest and important positions, has today the dubious honour of having produced a new breed of political goondas who, with their muscle power, assist politicians in their mission to acquire disproportionate assets. These goondas are groomed to break every law in the country, indulge in violence and murder for their political gurus in exchange for protection and asylum.
Islam Bashing.
Another distressing fact that emerges from the blog responses is Islam bashing. A cursory glance at the comments of the blog visitors of my post Burqua War will show what I mean. While I agree that the minorities in India often forget that they are privileged, I cannot fall in line with these Islam bashers. Their strategy is to point to the past. They quote history – selectively and bypass the power politics (clash of civilizations, as it is now finally and honestly christened) dating back from the Crusades continuing through the imperial rhetoric in which Islam was demonized and finally down to the present times when the imperial countries manipulated world affairs with the greatest ease to become the self styled arbitrators of the destiny of oil producing Islamic nations. These are realities that no one can wish or will away. One cannot isolate the origins of Islamic fundamentalism from these truths.
I think we should turn to history to learn how not to make the mistakes of the past. Let’s not turn to history to find sticks to beat any group.
I would say religious leaders of all groups have failed secular India. With each one baying for his pound of flesh I would say “Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country”. The religion I follow very strictly teaches “Give to Ceaser what is Caesar’s”. It can’t be any different in other religions too.
The Agnostic Angst
And finally there is another category that has become vocal in the blogsphere– the atheists/agnostics. Most of them opt for it out of disgust for the religions that are polarizing the nation. To this category I’d say: Adopt a live and let live policy. Centuries have taught us that humans need God. Having said that, we should do everything in our power to create that felt need among our countrymen to build an India where Humans, Gods and the Godless can live in perfect harmony.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
What is the Truth about Anand Jon?
Terrible news on Onam. Kerala’s pride Anand Jon sentenced to 59 years imprisonment. For rape and molestation of dozens of women!
What’s the truth about the allegations?
I think most people here in Kerala were unmoved being convinced that he is guilty. If he is truly guilty of what he is accused, well, he deserves an imprisonment for two lifetime.
But after watching his sister and lawyer on the channels, and reading about the incongruities and irregularities in the legal proceedings against him, a terrible sense of tragedy is creeping in.
It is difficult to believe that he has been going up the hill and down the dale, from New York to California, raping and molesting women and minors for four years.
And they suffered it all in silence for all these years!
Could it be a case of consensual sex being misrepresented as rape by the ‘victims’ for hefty monetary compensation, as the family is claiming?
What about the absence of evidence in the form of medical tests conducted on the women? Is it true no tests were done on any of the victims except on one, and that test showed nothing to indicate rape. In that case, the case against him can only be for having sex with minors.
Which does not call for such a steep punishment.
And Anand’s Polygraph test was in his favour. No such tests were done on the victims despite Anand's offer to finance the tests.
And his team of lawyers backing out one by one, or changing sides?
All this sounds weird in the world’s most transparent judiciary system.
Is the American legal system so weak as to condemn a person on accusations that don’t have the support of evidence?
Looks like it is a case of one man’s word against 20 women's. Is quantitative weight of qualitatively weak evidence sufficient to deny a person even the benefit of a doubt?
Is this possible in the world’s oldest and strongest democracy?
Or is he really guilty? And the Indian media is soft pedaling on certain incriminating facts?
If Anand is truly guilty, will his sister go public with such daring and serious accusations as the judgment being racial in nature? Accusations which can have dire consequences on her?
What is the truth about Anand John? Will it ever come out?
How many more unknown Anand Johns are rotting in the American prisons because they don’t have the money, power and colour to fight the lobbies that’d go to any lengths to put an inconvenient competitor out of the way?
The Great American Dream!
What’s the truth about the allegations?
I think most people here in Kerala were unmoved being convinced that he is guilty. If he is truly guilty of what he is accused, well, he deserves an imprisonment for two lifetime.
But after watching his sister and lawyer on the channels, and reading about the incongruities and irregularities in the legal proceedings against him, a terrible sense of tragedy is creeping in.
It is difficult to believe that he has been going up the hill and down the dale, from New York to California, raping and molesting women and minors for four years.
And they suffered it all in silence for all these years!
Could it be a case of consensual sex being misrepresented as rape by the ‘victims’ for hefty monetary compensation, as the family is claiming?
What about the absence of evidence in the form of medical tests conducted on the women? Is it true no tests were done on any of the victims except on one, and that test showed nothing to indicate rape. In that case, the case against him can only be for having sex with minors.
Which does not call for such a steep punishment.
And Anand’s Polygraph test was in his favour. No such tests were done on the victims despite Anand's offer to finance the tests.
And his team of lawyers backing out one by one, or changing sides?
All this sounds weird in the world’s most transparent judiciary system.
Is the American legal system so weak as to condemn a person on accusations that don’t have the support of evidence?
Looks like it is a case of one man’s word against 20 women's. Is quantitative weight of qualitatively weak evidence sufficient to deny a person even the benefit of a doubt?
Is this possible in the world’s oldest and strongest democracy?
Or is he really guilty? And the Indian media is soft pedaling on certain incriminating facts?
If Anand is truly guilty, will his sister go public with such daring and serious accusations as the judgment being racial in nature? Accusations which can have dire consequences on her?
What is the truth about Anand John? Will it ever come out?
How many more unknown Anand Johns are rotting in the American prisons because they don’t have the money, power and colour to fight the lobbies that’d go to any lengths to put an inconvenient competitor out of the way?
The Great American Dream!
Friday, August 28, 2009
Jaswant Singh: Hero or Politician?
The truth is out. The beans are spilt by the dissidents.
While time owes it to the nation to set records straight, I wish it were done in a more honourable and statesmanlike manner.
Jaswant Singh waited to be thrown out of the party to open the can of worms. How much more dignified it would have been if he had walked out of the BJP after Godhra! Would he have let the cat out of the bag if he were not dumped by the party?
Jagjivan Ram did it once. On the eve of the election in which the nation passed its verdict on the Congress party, Mr. Ram walked out of the party, taking a high moral stance – after keeping quiet during the entire period of the Emergency and enjoying its fruits.
No heroes, these people.
Guess one cannot blame such “leaders”. Integrity and patriotism can only be expected when these “elected representatives” of the people are statesmen and not mere politicians.
Gone indeed are the days when a minister resigned owning responsibilities for his or his party's failures. This is the only way political parties can be forced to do that soul searching so necessary for self correction. In these times, when politics is a mere profession or a career, it’s only the naive who give up a ministerial berthe or positions of power on account of ideological differences with the party to which they belong, or in disagreement with actions/policies which violate fundamental human rights.
Incidentally, regarding all this noise about Advani having knowledge of the logistics of the exchange arrangements of a dangerous prisoner for passengers, what would the Congress have done had it been in power then? Conduct an Entebbe like rescue operation? Maybe the only course open to the government was to outsource the rescue operation to Israel. But then that would have pulled the rug from under the foreign policy of India.
The then BJP government could do nothing else. Terrorists were bargaining with the lives more than a hundred Indian citizens. What choice did the BJP government have? And I admire the courage shown by Jaswant Singh to go to Khandahar. What guarantee was there that the ruthless terrorists wouldn’t take him as a trump hostage?
I only wish that the physical courage that Mr. Singh showed going to Khandahar resurfaced again as moral courage post Godhra.
The moral of the story is the most clichéd of all truisms. The loyalty of elected representatives of the people should be to the country first, and only then to their party. And they should love their country above themselves.
We have become a cynical nation which no longer expects from our leaders statesmanship, honesty and dedication to the nation.
While time owes it to the nation to set records straight, I wish it were done in a more honourable and statesmanlike manner.
Jaswant Singh waited to be thrown out of the party to open the can of worms. How much more dignified it would have been if he had walked out of the BJP after Godhra! Would he have let the cat out of the bag if he were not dumped by the party?
Jagjivan Ram did it once. On the eve of the election in which the nation passed its verdict on the Congress party, Mr. Ram walked out of the party, taking a high moral stance – after keeping quiet during the entire period of the Emergency and enjoying its fruits.
No heroes, these people.
Guess one cannot blame such “leaders”. Integrity and patriotism can only be expected when these “elected representatives” of the people are statesmen and not mere politicians.
Gone indeed are the days when a minister resigned owning responsibilities for his or his party's failures. This is the only way political parties can be forced to do that soul searching so necessary for self correction. In these times, when politics is a mere profession or a career, it’s only the naive who give up a ministerial berthe or positions of power on account of ideological differences with the party to which they belong, or in disagreement with actions/policies which violate fundamental human rights.
Incidentally, regarding all this noise about Advani having knowledge of the logistics of the exchange arrangements of a dangerous prisoner for passengers, what would the Congress have done had it been in power then? Conduct an Entebbe like rescue operation? Maybe the only course open to the government was to outsource the rescue operation to Israel. But then that would have pulled the rug from under the foreign policy of India.
The then BJP government could do nothing else. Terrorists were bargaining with the lives more than a hundred Indian citizens. What choice did the BJP government have? And I admire the courage shown by Jaswant Singh to go to Khandahar. What guarantee was there that the ruthless terrorists wouldn’t take him as a trump hostage?
I only wish that the physical courage that Mr. Singh showed going to Khandahar resurfaced again as moral courage post Godhra.
The moral of the story is the most clichéd of all truisms. The loyalty of elected representatives of the people should be to the country first, and only then to their party. And they should love their country above themselves.
We have become a cynical nation which no longer expects from our leaders statesmanship, honesty and dedication to the nation.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Can I Speak to Mr. Baxter?
I don’t know why we called him Pathan. His real name had nothing to do with it phonetically, orthographically or lexically. No did he have the tall sturdy built of that mountain breed. Our Pathan lived bang opposite our house in Ernakulam in the sixties, and he was a fat man, totally out of shape. I remember an episode when my friend came home to copy some notes she had missed. She waited in the verandah which was used as our study room. I went in to get the note book. Suddenly, I heard her shout AIYYOOO!! My mother and I ran to the verandah to find her with her little hand covering the eyes and her lips drawn back in disgust. “Aiyyeeh Aiyeeh” she kept saying.
“What happened Chithra”, asked my mother?
She pointed to Pathan’s house, and with the other hand still over the eyes, she said “A lady is standing there without her chatta (the upper garment the Kerala Christian women wear).
Amma & I looked across to see Pathan standing on his verandah, clothed only in a huge turkey towel around his waist, well oiled for a bath and swinging his arms.
I’ve never seen amma laugh so helplessly.
So, you can imagine what Pathan looked like. Perhaps, it was because of his awkward size and shape that we children were so uncharitable as to make him the butt of our jokes and object of pranks.
Pathan’s double storeyed house had identical long verandas on the ground and first floors and we could see them from all the rooms from that side of our house. Once, when my brothers were home for summer vacation, one of them came up with a bright idea. It was past 10 o clock at night and my parents were away in our native place, which meant that the telephone which was kept in their room was free for our use or misuse.
As per the plan, one of them picked up the receiver and gave Pathan’s number to the operator. We could hear his telephone ring. With the lights off in our room, all of us watched his house. His telephone was kept in the extreme end of the upper verandah. We watched excited and tense. The phone kept ringing and ringing. Then the lights came on in a room inside and the verandah. We saw the door to the verandah open and Pathan came out, looking comical as he tried to walk fast. He took up the phone and hollered into it.
“Hello hello araanathu? (Who is it?)
“Can I speak to Mr. Baxter?” said my brother in a highly sophisticated accent.
”Sarry. Wrong number”. With great delight, we watched him bang the phone and walk away muttering.
My brothers waited for him to close the door to the verandah, and then switch off the light in his room. They gave him enough time to get back into bed and called again. Again the phone rang for a long time, then lights were switched on, door was opened and Pathan walked again towards the phone.
“Can I speak to Baxter?” This was another brother who outdid the other in the accent he put on.
“I told you there is no Baxteru here. You have the wrong number”, he screamed into phone and, and hearing him from where we were, we siblings dissolved into silent laughter. I remember tears were streaming down my face in sheer ecstasy.
The poor guy went back to bed. And then, another brother took up the phone. He could hardly control giggling when he gave the number to the operator but was cool when he asked for Baxter.
This time, what Pathan said cannot be written here. Repeating what he said would be a violation of my undertaking as a blogger not to pollute the blogsphere with obscenities.
And we saw another figure appear at the door. It was Pathan’s son, his exact replica in size and shape but younger of course. Apparently he was disturbed by all the sounds and Pathan’s loud obscenities.
“Enna appa?” he shouted. Perhaps it was the silence of the night which exaggerated all the sounds. And those people had loud voices too.
“Some ****** is playing a prank on us. They are asking for some bloody (mildest version of the real word he used) Baxteru”.
“Keep the phone off the hook appa”.
“Yeah. That’s an idea” he said.
And thus came to an end a supremely entertaining session for us.
We repeated this a few more times. But once, after banging the phone down, he stood on the veranda for sometime, looking in our direction in the dark. My brothers then decided that it was time to call off this game.
Looking back, I wonder why he didn’t try tracing the call. Maybe he wasn’t aware it could be done – and I’m sure we too weren’t aware it could be done. Phones were a pretty new and rare thing in our part of the world in the early sixties. I shudder to think of the consequences if the calls were traced to our house, and the hiding that’d have followed!
Or maybe we wouldn’t have got that hiding. Maybe we’d have been let off with a warning only. My father too had a terrific sense of humour, and he too had had a couple of mild brushes with Pathan for the latter's habit of blasting the Suprabhatham from his radio early morning and waking up the entire neighbourhood.
“What happened Chithra”, asked my mother?
She pointed to Pathan’s house, and with the other hand still over the eyes, she said “A lady is standing there without her chatta (the upper garment the Kerala Christian women wear).
Amma & I looked across to see Pathan standing on his verandah, clothed only in a huge turkey towel around his waist, well oiled for a bath and swinging his arms.
I’ve never seen amma laugh so helplessly.
So, you can imagine what Pathan looked like. Perhaps, it was because of his awkward size and shape that we children were so uncharitable as to make him the butt of our jokes and object of pranks.
Pathan’s double storeyed house had identical long verandas on the ground and first floors and we could see them from all the rooms from that side of our house. Once, when my brothers were home for summer vacation, one of them came up with a bright idea. It was past 10 o clock at night and my parents were away in our native place, which meant that the telephone which was kept in their room was free for our use or misuse.
As per the plan, one of them picked up the receiver and gave Pathan’s number to the operator. We could hear his telephone ring. With the lights off in our room, all of us watched his house. His telephone was kept in the extreme end of the upper verandah. We watched excited and tense. The phone kept ringing and ringing. Then the lights came on in a room inside and the verandah. We saw the door to the verandah open and Pathan came out, looking comical as he tried to walk fast. He took up the phone and hollered into it.
“Hello hello araanathu? (Who is it?)
“Can I speak to Mr. Baxter?” said my brother in a highly sophisticated accent.
”Sarry. Wrong number”. With great delight, we watched him bang the phone and walk away muttering.
My brothers waited for him to close the door to the verandah, and then switch off the light in his room. They gave him enough time to get back into bed and called again. Again the phone rang for a long time, then lights were switched on, door was opened and Pathan walked again towards the phone.
“Can I speak to Baxter?” This was another brother who outdid the other in the accent he put on.
“I told you there is no Baxteru here. You have the wrong number”, he screamed into phone and, and hearing him from where we were, we siblings dissolved into silent laughter. I remember tears were streaming down my face in sheer ecstasy.
The poor guy went back to bed. And then, another brother took up the phone. He could hardly control giggling when he gave the number to the operator but was cool when he asked for Baxter.
This time, what Pathan said cannot be written here. Repeating what he said would be a violation of my undertaking as a blogger not to pollute the blogsphere with obscenities.
And we saw another figure appear at the door. It was Pathan’s son, his exact replica in size and shape but younger of course. Apparently he was disturbed by all the sounds and Pathan’s loud obscenities.
“Enna appa?” he shouted. Perhaps it was the silence of the night which exaggerated all the sounds. And those people had loud voices too.
“Some ****** is playing a prank on us. They are asking for some bloody (mildest version of the real word he used) Baxteru”.
“Keep the phone off the hook appa”.
“Yeah. That’s an idea” he said.
And thus came to an end a supremely entertaining session for us.
We repeated this a few more times. But once, after banging the phone down, he stood on the veranda for sometime, looking in our direction in the dark. My brothers then decided that it was time to call off this game.
Looking back, I wonder why he didn’t try tracing the call. Maybe he wasn’t aware it could be done – and I’m sure we too weren’t aware it could be done. Phones were a pretty new and rare thing in our part of the world in the early sixties. I shudder to think of the consequences if the calls were traced to our house, and the hiding that’d have followed!
Or maybe we wouldn’t have got that hiding. Maybe we’d have been let off with a warning only. My father too had a terrific sense of humour, and he too had had a couple of mild brushes with Pathan for the latter's habit of blasting the Suprabhatham from his radio early morning and waking up the entire neighbourhood.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Strange But True
It was in the early seventies that my cousin Joshi joined a college in Trichur for his Pre degree. My aunt and her second son Michael (Joshi’s elder brother) went to drop him at the college. All three were sad, ’cos that was the first time Joshi was leaving home. Also, there were fears and anxiety about ragging.
After putting his suitcases in his room and meeting the warden, aunt and Michael started to leave. Joshi walked them to the car, subdued.
“You’ll get over homesickness in two days time”, Michael told him.” After all Trichur is not far from Ernakulam”
Silently, Joshi nodded in agreement.
“I only hope they don’t rag him”, said my nervous aunt, as they reached the car. ”Joshi, if they do, just let us know. Papa will take care of it”
“Come on, Ma, stop worrying and making him nervous. This college is run by priests and ragging, if at all thre is, it will be very mild”
“But why should they rag at all?” asked my aunt, her voice slightly hysterical.
“Keep quiet ma and get into the car. Joshi, nobody is going to do anything to you. Just take ragging sportingly. OK?”
Joshi nodded sullenly, looking around at the senior students, some of whom were playing badminton while some watched, and some stood in groups talking. One group was looking at Joshi.
“Look at the guys on my left. They have been watching us for sometime. I’m sure they’ll pounce on me the minute you leave”
Aunty got really scared.
“Shall we speak to the warden” she asked. Her voice shaking.
“Stop it ma. Stop being so protective”, said Michael angrily. ”Joshi, be a man. I told you no one will harm you. All this is part of life”
“You can say that and go back to the safety of our home. I’m the one thrown to the wolves”. His eyes were moist.
Aunty was on the verge of tears.
Michael took her firmly by her elbow and put her in the front seat. He was about to close the door when he saw Joshi leaning forward to plant a kiss on his mother’s forehead. So Michael went around, got in behind the wheel. The goodbyes were over. Joshi shut the car door on his mother’s side and stood back.
Michael started the car abruptly to avoid any more emotional goodbyes and the car shot forward.
My aunt put her head out of the window to wave to Joshi, and then let out a terrible scream.
“Michel stop! Stop! They’ve already started ragging him. He’s running behind the car asking us to stop. They’ve pulled off his mundu and he is running with only his shirt on”.
Michael slammed the brakes and jumped out of the car and ran towards Joshi.”Aarada ninney shalyapeduthunnathu (Who the hell is troubling you?)
Joshi pushed him aside and rushed to the car.” Where are you going, Joshi?" shouted Michael running after him. "You cannot run away from trouble all the time. Go to them and get back your mundu”
“That’s what I’m going to do. Mundu, my mundu. It got caught in the car door and you drove away with it?”
After putting his suitcases in his room and meeting the warden, aunt and Michael started to leave. Joshi walked them to the car, subdued.
“You’ll get over homesickness in two days time”, Michael told him.” After all Trichur is not far from Ernakulam”
Silently, Joshi nodded in agreement.
“I only hope they don’t rag him”, said my nervous aunt, as they reached the car. ”Joshi, if they do, just let us know. Papa will take care of it”
“Come on, Ma, stop worrying and making him nervous. This college is run by priests and ragging, if at all thre is, it will be very mild”
“But why should they rag at all?” asked my aunt, her voice slightly hysterical.
“Keep quiet ma and get into the car. Joshi, nobody is going to do anything to you. Just take ragging sportingly. OK?”
Joshi nodded sullenly, looking around at the senior students, some of whom were playing badminton while some watched, and some stood in groups talking. One group was looking at Joshi.
“Look at the guys on my left. They have been watching us for sometime. I’m sure they’ll pounce on me the minute you leave”
Aunty got really scared.
“Shall we speak to the warden” she asked. Her voice shaking.
“Stop it ma. Stop being so protective”, said Michael angrily. ”Joshi, be a man. I told you no one will harm you. All this is part of life”
“You can say that and go back to the safety of our home. I’m the one thrown to the wolves”. His eyes were moist.
Aunty was on the verge of tears.
Michael took her firmly by her elbow and put her in the front seat. He was about to close the door when he saw Joshi leaning forward to plant a kiss on his mother’s forehead. So Michael went around, got in behind the wheel. The goodbyes were over. Joshi shut the car door on his mother’s side and stood back.
Michael started the car abruptly to avoid any more emotional goodbyes and the car shot forward.
My aunt put her head out of the window to wave to Joshi, and then let out a terrible scream.
“Michel stop! Stop! They’ve already started ragging him. He’s running behind the car asking us to stop. They’ve pulled off his mundu and he is running with only his shirt on”.
Michael slammed the brakes and jumped out of the car and ran towards Joshi.”Aarada ninney shalyapeduthunnathu (Who the hell is troubling you?)
Joshi pushed him aside and rushed to the car.” Where are you going, Joshi?" shouted Michael running after him. "You cannot run away from trouble all the time. Go to them and get back your mundu”
“That’s what I’m going to do. Mundu, my mundu. It got caught in the car door and you drove away with it?”
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The Cutlery Crisis
A post by wannabe, one of me favourite bloggers, took my mind to a somewhat similar episode in which the protagonist was my friend and colleague. I’ll call her Keralina in this post.
Keralina was one of a group of teachers selected to attend an all India conference on higher education in Ooty. Now, she was a hardcore non-vegetarian. By hardcore, I mean really really hardcore. She can have a complete vegetarian sadhya (Spread) and still feel incomplete in the absence of meat or fish.
By evening 5 0’clock she and the group (all men) from her little town where she worked, reached the venue of the conference which was a college in Ooty. Dinner was at 7.30, they were told.
After relaxing and freshening up, Keralina came down to the mess hall for dinner. There were separate tables laid out for the veggies and the non vegetarians. She stood for a moment beside a non veg table laid out for six people, surveying it. With great satisfaction she looked at the large oval dish in which big pieces of roasted chicken, garnished with fried onions and nuts, were aesthetically arranged. The dish stood out among the other dishes like a crown prince among lesser mortals, she thought. She was about pull out a chair and take her seat when she suddenly noticed that cutlery was also arranged around each plate.
Now, born and brought up in the heartland of rural Kerala, she had never used them, and was known for her tirade during her lectures against Indians imbibing these colonial habits (like eating with mini weapons) at the cost of sensible and healthier practices in our own land. To make matters worse, on her way to Ooty, she had been reading in the train an article on etiquette and table manners which claimed that awkwardness with cutlery is a dead give away that your breeding and sophistication need serious honing.
She was distressed. She had absolutely no inking as to how to deal with chicken with fork and knife. After all, why should she have gained that skill when God has given her expert fingers which can find its way into the smallest crevice in the boniest piece of chicken?
With a heavy heart, Keralina, poor girl, moved away towards the vegetarian section. Whatever may be her ideological position on this issue, she didn’t want her image to take a bashing, negotiating a piece of roast chicken clumsily with fork and knife. As she took the last seat at a long table laid out to accommodate 16 veggies(there were several non-veg tables with seating arrangements for 6 people at each), her friend who was already there told her that she was at the wrong table.
“The non vegs should go there”, she said pointing to the tables next to this single veg table.
“I am observing noyambu (abstinence) for a week”, she bluffed, feeling miserable.
And she joined them and took her spoon and stated her meal. The conversation revolved around noyambu, and the veggies were lost in admiration of Keralina, her discipline, piety - -
Half way thru the meal, Keralina looked at the non-veg table to see how her friends from her home town were managing with the cutlery. To her utter dismay, she found that the cutlery was untouched! All of them were attacking the large chunks of roasted chicken with their fingers!
Keralina nearly wept.
And almost screamed in sheer frustration when the mess manager came around to confirm the number and list of the vegetarians and non vegetarians. She couldn’t backtrack on her noyambu claim and so got listed in the vegetarian section for the whole duration of the conference!
Keralina was one of a group of teachers selected to attend an all India conference on higher education in Ooty. Now, she was a hardcore non-vegetarian. By hardcore, I mean really really hardcore. She can have a complete vegetarian sadhya (Spread) and still feel incomplete in the absence of meat or fish.
By evening 5 0’clock she and the group (all men) from her little town where she worked, reached the venue of the conference which was a college in Ooty. Dinner was at 7.30, they were told.
After relaxing and freshening up, Keralina came down to the mess hall for dinner. There were separate tables laid out for the veggies and the non vegetarians. She stood for a moment beside a non veg table laid out for six people, surveying it. With great satisfaction she looked at the large oval dish in which big pieces of roasted chicken, garnished with fried onions and nuts, were aesthetically arranged. The dish stood out among the other dishes like a crown prince among lesser mortals, she thought. She was about pull out a chair and take her seat when she suddenly noticed that cutlery was also arranged around each plate.
Now, born and brought up in the heartland of rural Kerala, she had never used them, and was known for her tirade during her lectures against Indians imbibing these colonial habits (like eating with mini weapons) at the cost of sensible and healthier practices in our own land. To make matters worse, on her way to Ooty, she had been reading in the train an article on etiquette and table manners which claimed that awkwardness with cutlery is a dead give away that your breeding and sophistication need serious honing.
She was distressed. She had absolutely no inking as to how to deal with chicken with fork and knife. After all, why should she have gained that skill when God has given her expert fingers which can find its way into the smallest crevice in the boniest piece of chicken?
With a heavy heart, Keralina, poor girl, moved away towards the vegetarian section. Whatever may be her ideological position on this issue, she didn’t want her image to take a bashing, negotiating a piece of roast chicken clumsily with fork and knife. As she took the last seat at a long table laid out to accommodate 16 veggies(there were several non-veg tables with seating arrangements for 6 people at each), her friend who was already there told her that she was at the wrong table.
“The non vegs should go there”, she said pointing to the tables next to this single veg table.
“I am observing noyambu (abstinence) for a week”, she bluffed, feeling miserable.
And she joined them and took her spoon and stated her meal. The conversation revolved around noyambu, and the veggies were lost in admiration of Keralina, her discipline, piety - -
Half way thru the meal, Keralina looked at the non-veg table to see how her friends from her home town were managing with the cutlery. To her utter dismay, she found that the cutlery was untouched! All of them were attacking the large chunks of roasted chicken with their fingers!
Keralina nearly wept.
And almost screamed in sheer frustration when the mess manager came around to confirm the number and list of the vegetarians and non vegetarians. She couldn’t backtrack on her noyambu claim and so got listed in the vegetarian section for the whole duration of the conference!
Friday, August 21, 2009
The Burqa War
MANGALORE: The Sri Venkatarama Swamy (SVS) College in Bantwal has restricted a first year BCom student from attending the class till she conforms to the regulations of the college, which is not to display her religious identity, the headscarf. (Times of India)
This is a very sad development indeed. After all, this is not France or Australia or Canada but secular India where the citizens have come to take in their stride the differences in the attire of those belonging to various religious communities.
Don’t students belonging to all communities display symbols of religious identity? What about the Bindi? Or the scapular or the rosary? Why single out the head scarf or the Burqa alone?
There was a time in India when Christians (in Kerala) went to school/college in mundu and chatta, Hindus in their set mundu and Muslims with their headscarf. For these students who came to acquire learning, these differences in the dress were no issue. They represented the plurality that was our pride. How much India has moved away from this situation!
The saddest aspect of this event is that the protests originated from the students, the clearest of indications that the citizens of tomorrow have their minds poisoned by communalism.
The first on the list of priorities of an educational institution in a pluralistic society like India’s is to inculcate secular values – like respect for other religions which includes tolerance and acceptance of religious markers. An institution that tries to throw a wedge between communities is unfit to be in the field of education, where religious tolerance, harmonious existence, respect for other religions and respect for differences should be held up as the highest values of civilization.
It is significant that this is happening in Karnataka, a state ruled by the BJP. Funny, how the party has not learnt its lessons after the drubbing it got at the hustings. The party can start packing up its bags in Karnataka after its shameful sexist and communal track record. The assault on women by lumpen elements of the communal outfits that mushroom and flourish under the BJP umbrella and the unofficial fatwa issued against people from the majority community who interact with the minority, are events which are still green in the minds of the electorate.
It becomes exceedingly difficult to understand this regressive movement in India which facilitated the rise of a communal party, all the way to New Delhi. The anti Muslim posture of the party – is it a political necessity or a genuinely ideological position? Or is it a type of fascism that infects the narrow mind which draws its identity from a narrow cultural and religious context? Or a combination of all these? Academia is replete with attempts to locate the issue in the historical site but speculations have given rise to theories and theories without credible answers.
Or
Is it a reaction to globalization inherent in which is the possibility of eventual loss of identities of religious groups? Like the last convulsions of a dying animal? Can the religious activism across the world- of all religions- be explained in these terms?
Can’t help thinking about John Lenon’s Imagine.
Back to the issue. the brainstorming of the BJP which just concluded in Simla is causing anxious tremors among the peace loving citizens of this country. Fascist voices are drowning those of the moderates in the party. Political strategies are being spelt out to regain power from where the party can position itself to launch assault on differences.
***
Below is given the rest of the news item from TOI.
The student Aysha Asmin, after objections from saffron-leaning students, was told by the college management not to wear the headscarf, which she started wearing after the college had prevented her from wearing the burqa.
Aysha has not been attending the classes from past 12 days. Trouble started after the college elections. She alleged that college president Bharath started heckling her for wearing a scarf saying that they too would come wearing a saffron scarf.
"He was taken aback when I said I don't mind. I don't even mind wearing a saffron scarf", Aysha told TOI. After this, harassment continued, but Aysha was stoic till it reached a flash point when the principal told her not to attend classes.
Aysha's father clarifies that he admitted his daughter to the college only after clarifying that there would be no issue for wearing a burqa in the college with a lecturer.
This is a very sad development indeed. After all, this is not France or Australia or Canada but secular India where the citizens have come to take in their stride the differences in the attire of those belonging to various religious communities.
Don’t students belonging to all communities display symbols of religious identity? What about the Bindi? Or the scapular or the rosary? Why single out the head scarf or the Burqa alone?
There was a time in India when Christians (in Kerala) went to school/college in mundu and chatta, Hindus in their set mundu and Muslims with their headscarf. For these students who came to acquire learning, these differences in the dress were no issue. They represented the plurality that was our pride. How much India has moved away from this situation!
The saddest aspect of this event is that the protests originated from the students, the clearest of indications that the citizens of tomorrow have their minds poisoned by communalism.
The first on the list of priorities of an educational institution in a pluralistic society like India’s is to inculcate secular values – like respect for other religions which includes tolerance and acceptance of religious markers. An institution that tries to throw a wedge between communities is unfit to be in the field of education, where religious tolerance, harmonious existence, respect for other religions and respect for differences should be held up as the highest values of civilization.
It is significant that this is happening in Karnataka, a state ruled by the BJP. Funny, how the party has not learnt its lessons after the drubbing it got at the hustings. The party can start packing up its bags in Karnataka after its shameful sexist and communal track record. The assault on women by lumpen elements of the communal outfits that mushroom and flourish under the BJP umbrella and the unofficial fatwa issued against people from the majority community who interact with the minority, are events which are still green in the minds of the electorate.
It becomes exceedingly difficult to understand this regressive movement in India which facilitated the rise of a communal party, all the way to New Delhi. The anti Muslim posture of the party – is it a political necessity or a genuinely ideological position? Or is it a type of fascism that infects the narrow mind which draws its identity from a narrow cultural and religious context? Or a combination of all these? Academia is replete with attempts to locate the issue in the historical site but speculations have given rise to theories and theories without credible answers.
Or
Is it a reaction to globalization inherent in which is the possibility of eventual loss of identities of religious groups? Like the last convulsions of a dying animal? Can the religious activism across the world- of all religions- be explained in these terms?
Can’t help thinking about John Lenon’s Imagine.
Back to the issue. the brainstorming of the BJP which just concluded in Simla is causing anxious tremors among the peace loving citizens of this country. Fascist voices are drowning those of the moderates in the party. Political strategies are being spelt out to regain power from where the party can position itself to launch assault on differences.
***
Below is given the rest of the news item from TOI.
The student Aysha Asmin, after objections from saffron-leaning students, was told by the college management not to wear the headscarf, which she started wearing after the college had prevented her from wearing the burqa.
Aysha has not been attending the classes from past 12 days. Trouble started after the college elections. She alleged that college president Bharath started heckling her for wearing a scarf saying that they too would come wearing a saffron scarf.
"He was taken aback when I said I don't mind. I don't even mind wearing a saffron scarf", Aysha told TOI. After this, harassment continued, but Aysha was stoic till it reached a flash point when the principal told her not to attend classes.
Aysha's father clarifies that he admitted his daughter to the college only after clarifying that there would be no issue for wearing a burqa in the college with a lecturer.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
The Jinnah Fiasco?
Of late, the BJP heavy weights have been flirting with the idea of Jinnah - Advani, a couple of years back and Jaswant Singh now.
Curious, when you consider that the man who systematically whipped up anti Muslim sentiments in India through the famous ( or infamous) Rath Yathra, and Singh, a senior minister and stalwart of the BJP Govt, should attempt to recast history (official Indian version) by foregrounding the ‘secular’ credentials of the architect of Pakistan.
The obvious strategy of these senior BJP leaders appears to be the adoption of the policy of my enemy’s enemy is my friend. And by befriending him (enemy’s enemy), his friends will become my friends.
Thus, the glorification/secularization of Jinnah is a double kill: the Nehru dynasty (read Congress party of India) is demonized and the Muslim voter in India, it is hoped, will be gratified.
Advani was let off lightly with a rap on the knuckles. Perhaps Jaswant Singh thought he too could get away lightly. But it was not to be. His punishment did not stop with the rap. He was rusticated.
Why was he thrown out so unceremoniously?
The obvious answer is the arm twisting of the party leaders by the RSS.
All this is just stating the obvious and, I fear, I am oversimplifying some complex undercurrents. I am sure there is more to it than meets the eye but I don’t have the insight of a political pundit.
But an issue which baffles me is how, across the parties, people are going hammer and tongs after Jaswant Singh. Some Kerala politician was telling the media that Jaswant Singh should be tried for sedition!!?? For tainting the hallowed names of Gandhiji, Nehru, and casting aspersions on the Freedom Movement.
And Narendra Modi has banned the book in Gujarat!
Oh, come on now. India is a democratic state.
And nobody has proprietorship over history. History is what historians write, and historians write how they have understood the past. They see the past sometimes as they wish to see it, or sometimes as they are conditioned to see it. Pakistan and India do not have the same views on the Freedom movement and the Partition. So where does the truth lie?
History is not sacrosanct. Balzac, I think, it was who said that history is a pack of official lies.
So why al this banning and sedition charges in a democracy, all in the name of an academic pursuit?
Truth is like a multifaceted diamond, said Gandhi. The search for it will never end.
Whether the secular Jinnah is Jaswant Singh’s discovery of truth or his strategy with a hidden agenda, he can spend the rest of his life comfortably, harvesting the yield from a book which is bound to go into several reprints both in India and Pakistan.
He’ll survive without the BJP.
Curious, when you consider that the man who systematically whipped up anti Muslim sentiments in India through the famous ( or infamous) Rath Yathra, and Singh, a senior minister and stalwart of the BJP Govt, should attempt to recast history (official Indian version) by foregrounding the ‘secular’ credentials of the architect of Pakistan.
The obvious strategy of these senior BJP leaders appears to be the adoption of the policy of my enemy’s enemy is my friend. And by befriending him (enemy’s enemy), his friends will become my friends.
Thus, the glorification/secularization of Jinnah is a double kill: the Nehru dynasty (read Congress party of India) is demonized and the Muslim voter in India, it is hoped, will be gratified.
Advani was let off lightly with a rap on the knuckles. Perhaps Jaswant Singh thought he too could get away lightly. But it was not to be. His punishment did not stop with the rap. He was rusticated.
Why was he thrown out so unceremoniously?
The obvious answer is the arm twisting of the party leaders by the RSS.
All this is just stating the obvious and, I fear, I am oversimplifying some complex undercurrents. I am sure there is more to it than meets the eye but I don’t have the insight of a political pundit.
But an issue which baffles me is how, across the parties, people are going hammer and tongs after Jaswant Singh. Some Kerala politician was telling the media that Jaswant Singh should be tried for sedition!!?? For tainting the hallowed names of Gandhiji, Nehru, and casting aspersions on the Freedom Movement.
And Narendra Modi has banned the book in Gujarat!
Oh, come on now. India is a democratic state.
And nobody has proprietorship over history. History is what historians write, and historians write how they have understood the past. They see the past sometimes as they wish to see it, or sometimes as they are conditioned to see it. Pakistan and India do not have the same views on the Freedom movement and the Partition. So where does the truth lie?
History is not sacrosanct. Balzac, I think, it was who said that history is a pack of official lies.
So why al this banning and sedition charges in a democracy, all in the name of an academic pursuit?
Truth is like a multifaceted diamond, said Gandhi. The search for it will never end.
Whether the secular Jinnah is Jaswant Singh’s discovery of truth or his strategy with a hidden agenda, he can spend the rest of his life comfortably, harvesting the yield from a book which is bound to go into several reprints both in India and Pakistan.
He’ll survive without the BJP.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The Prince and the Pauper: The President of India on Mumbai Slums
The New Indian Express, Aug 19, 2009 carried a couple of news items which were disturbingly similar. In the NATION page 7 it says
PREZ CALL FOR URGENT STEPS TO REMOVE MUMBAI SLUMS.
President Prathibha Patil on Tuesday called upon Mumbai civic authorities to urgently tackle the problems of slums in the city. She said that the sprawling slums of Mumbai, which house nearly 13 million people (emphasis mine), presented a sad picture especially when they were surrounding posh multi storied buildings.
Now, I didn’t see the rest of the speech tho’ I tried locating it on the net. So this could be a case of quoted out of context. Having said that, I’d like to look at this statement of the first citizen of a nation of more than a billion people.
The implications of her statement are not very clear. Does a sad picture mean an eyesore that is aesthetically offensive, spoiling the appearance of the surrounding posh multi storied buildings?
I am not being cynical. What put this idea into my mind is another news item in the same paper in the back cover Sports page:
CWG: NEW DELHI TO HIDE SLUMS
New Delhi is to hide the city’s poor during the 2010 Commonwealth games by erecting bamboo ‘curtains’ around their squalid shanty homes, the Daily Telegraph reports.
The games, the Telegraph says, was supposed to be India’s moment to show off its rapidly rising wealth and banish memories of a country once synonymous with chronic poverty.
New Delhi is littered with makeshift slums that house the millions of migrants who pour into the city in search of work from Bihar, Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan. Their inhabitants are seen naked at the roadsides washing at stand pipes or defecating astride open sewers.
Officials had planned to shift their settlements to the outskirts of the city so the city that the television viewers and visitors see is restricted to the capital’s gleaming new metro system and world class airport, and its smart new roads, pavements and streetlights. But now they fear they could not complete the resettling work and had opted to hide the problem instead.
One official said the govt was so desperate to clean up the city it is preparing to offer free rickshaws and retraining courses to those whose jobs clutter the pavements.
The most positive part of the second news item is that the government is thinking of only hiding the problem and not repeating a Turkman Gate of the emergency days here!
The two news items coming together on the same day reflect the thinking in the corridors of power. Once, the BJP Govt. at the centre carried out a frenzied campaign of India Shining but was thrown out of power by that part of India which did not shine.
The President’s remarks, I feel should not have been made in such a vague manner that it lends itself to ever so many interpretations.
This sight is not a matter of pride and the scenario should change, she went on to say. The report in the paper did not say anything about her concern for the 13million who live in the slums. Her words sounded like an embarrassed echo of the observations of officials of New Delhi from when she came.
The long and short of it is, the government of India, mesmerized by India Inc., finds the millions who have come from the villages to the cities in order to keep their body and soul together an embarrassment only – something to be swept under the carpet, while projecting to the world the image of a country with a quality of life enjoyed by a minuscule number of people in the country.
President Prathibha Patil on Tuesday called upon Mumbai civic authorities to urgently tackle the problems of slums in the city: She sounds so casual and callous. Did she come down from Delhi with a package for slum dwellers which will enable them to pack up and leave Mumbai and live comfortably else where for the rest of their lives? How she has trivialized the huge human problem that exists in the form of slums.
You might ask: What quality of life do these slum dwellers have in the cities.
I am ashamed to say that it was during my stay in Mumbai for six years that I realized that the slum dwellers are of the same material that I am made of. My maid’s children are intelligent and she wanted to send then to English medium schools so that they will have a better quality of life than she. She works hard to achieve that. She too chaperons her girls when they go for the Dandya. There was yet another help that I had who worked and continues to work herself to death to pay the rent of 1000/ per month for a tiny room, to feed her two children and to send them to school. And I discovered that they celebrated life much more than I did. They had that spring of optimism in their gait and stars in their eyes when they spoke of the next generation.
It is these dreams that the President of India and the officials in New Delhi do not see when they ‘other’ these human beings who litter the pavements of the metro. If the civic authorities pack them off without providing for a proper alternative income, they will be guilty of a heinous crime of a massive destruction of the livelihood, dreams and aspirations of a section of Indian population.
When Shabana Azmi took up the cause of the slum dwellers in Colaba whom the authorities were planning to relocate, I heard a lot of criticism from my peer group that she did it for publicity and for retaining the workforce from the slums on which South Mumbai depended heavily. Whatever the motives, I think we should appreciate her activism - for it prevented the annihilation of the dreams and hopes of a large number of underprivileged Indian citizens.
Am I saying that the slums must be allowed to exist as they are? No. But the city planners MUST factor in these millions when they do their job. It is not all about constructing a few buildings to relocate them. The authorities should not leave it to a few NGOs and social workers to make an effective relocation of the slum dwellers. In planning and budget allotment, the slums should figure as prominently as the flyovers and the sea bridges that pop up in big metros at an incredible speed.
The civic authorities need to reorder their priorities.
For no city or country can flourish on the ruins of the dreams and hopes of a large chunk if its citizens. No India Incorporated has a moral right to build its empire on these ruins.
Yes. These slum dwellers are citizens of India whom India could not take care of. So, instead of going under, they opted to survive. In the cities.
Once again, I am reminded of what the Gandhi so vehemently warned: India lives in her villages, he said. So take care of the villages and the cities will take care of themselves.
We did not take care of the villages. And if we cannot still do it, the cities must provide for these migrants from the villages. Even if it means we have to face and bear the embarrassment of the naked bottoms and littered street.
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