LIVING WITH DIGNITY IN INDIA

Living with dignity anywhere depends upon how much freedom we get to do the things that we want to do as long as the doing of them is not illegal. One doesn't exercise a choice in being born in a country; if at all, sometimes the parents may exercise such a choice. So, if you grow up in the country of your birth, wherein you did not exercise a choice to be born, you expect to live, above all, with dignity. This is despite your not being in majority; by your religion, caste, creed and vocation. I know that James Michener had commented, "If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people, you might better stay home." However, JM's comment is suited for those who exercise a choice. What if home is country or state of your birth? Where do you go if you reject the ways of your people? Worse, where do you go if people reject your ways? I am not talking about seditious ways chosen by some, eg, Arundhati Roy or Geelani.

I shall give you a few examples of how your dignity (not ego) gets adversely affected simply by living in India.

There are extreme examples of carrying night-soil that was banned only recently in India. Or there was this tradition of Sati - the self (sometimes provoked) immolation of a widow after her husband's death. Dowry, poverty, being born a girl, having to face injustice or to be wrongly accused, would be some other such extreme examples. This article is not about these. This article is about the dignity of ordinary middle class people living ordinary lives.

My examples starts with my home (whatever that means) state Himachal. The other day a friend from Himachal asked me how is it that we settled in Himachal when we are Sikhs and Punjabi speaking. When I showed surprise he asked me a more direct question, "When did you migrate from Punjab into Himachal?" I told him that I was born and brought up in Himachal and that each one of the Indian states are supposed to be multi-lingual and multi-religious and that an Indian has got a right to settle down anywhere in India. I told him that there is a recent Supreme Court ruling on it. Now, it was his turn to show surprise. Even though well educated, he had never dwelled on this point and had taken it for granted that whilst Hindi speaking people can hope to live with dignity anywhere in the Hindi belt, others necessarily belong to where they are in majority, ie, Punjabis in Punjab, Bengalis in Bengal and so on.

I had read about the travails of a Muslim trying to buy a house in a predominantly Hindu locality in Pune. It was in the papers last year.

I tweeted and wrote a lot about the Navratri  festivities in our part of the city. The cacophonic noise of filmy songs had nothing to do with any religious sentiments. At thirty past midnight, one night, I phoned the local police station to complain that with the excessive noise we couldn't sleep. The constable on duty told me, "Nahin, Navratri mein nahin sone ka." (No, Navratri is not meant for sleeping). Even though he did not say it, since the majority of people was involved, it was taken for granted that everybody must share the sheer joy of those festivities, even though outside legal limits. However, in the same breath an indoor 'midnight mass' on Christmas eve had to finish by 2215 hours to keep us free from "excessive noise" caused by 'Silent night, holy night'.

A time has come in India when one has to be apologetic about belonging to any community, caste, creed, and culture other than the majority's. At many places it can be dangerous too. The Wikileaks revelation about Rahul Gandhi telling the US Ambassador to India, Timothy Roemer, that Hindu radicalism is a greater threat to India than Muslim fundamentalism was certainly well off the mark, at the verge of being anti-national (considering the damage to Indian societal fabric being done by such organisations as LeT and SIMI), and in poor taste. But, we must take notice of the fact that a potential PM candidate thought of voicing it. Do we still maintain that we give equal opportunity to other communities, castes, creeds, cultures in ordinary things that they can do? When I voiced it on Twitter the argument given was that we had a Muslim President, services Chief, Sikh PM and so on. I maintain, as I did above that this article is about the dignity of ordinary middle class people to live ordinary lives. I am not talking about extreme and isolated examples.

Here is another example. Poor driving habits kill more people in India in a year than in all the wars India fought with its neighbours. However, when the majority believes in jumping lanes, red lights, drives on the wrong side of a road with median, edges you out of the lane, honks relentlessly in case you have stopped to let a woman or old man to cross; try doing the right thing, see where it lands you? You will be a like a foreigner in your own place. Talking about foreigner, you can see Indians driving abroad; but, have you ever seen a foreigner in India driving in, say, Mumbai?

In case by lack of road signs or wrong road signs (they are aplenty) or because you are edged out by a lorry and you land up in the wrong, you have to face the traffic cop whose only assistance to you is to make you rid of some of your money. Indian police makes you feel like criminals even if you have stopped to ask for directions or gone to the Police Station to lodge a complaint. Try to do any of these things with dignity. Indeed, all so called public servants in India make you feel as undignified as possible for your error of judgment in having approached them for any help.

Now, if you belong to a niche group like Indian Armed Forces, who are largely disciplined, secular and upright; all attempts would be made to bring you down to the level of the majority for any small or big aberration or perceived aberration. At a bus stop in my native place I gently told a man, who spat out paan, that he could have done it in a trash can. He gave me a thorough once over and the conversation with him went like this:

He: Aap afsar ho? (Are you an officer?)
I replied in the affirmative.
He: Afsar ho to kuchh bhi kar sakte ho? (because of being officer can you do anything?)
I did not like the sudden unexpected turn he gave to the subject. However, he proceeded without paying heed to any interrupttion from me.
He: Afsar ho to hamare ghar aa ke hamari bahu betiyon ko bhi kuchh bhi kar sakte ho? (By being an officer can you force yourself into my home and do things to our women at home)
I tried to protest at the unfairness of it. But, by that time a sizeable crowd had formed and they asked him what had happened.
He: Pata nahin ji kya zamana aa gaya hai? Mujhe keh raha hai ke main afsar hun aur kuchh bhi kar sakta hun. (I don't know what world we have landed in? He is telling me that he is an officer and can do anything)
At this another equally wise person remarked: Pehle Angrez afsar the, ab yeh aa gaye hain. (At one time we were under the British officers; and now we have these).
At this the wisest in the crowd remarked disdainfully, "Chhodo ji, mujhe to fauji lagta hai. Bechare ko civil tareekon ka pata nahin hai". (Let it be. He appears to be a military man. Poor man doesn't know the ways of the civilians)
Having said that, they "forgave me" for my effrontery in asking a man not to spit out paan in public. Phew.

In case this incident has to take place now, post Adarsh housing scam involving some senior officers from the armed forces amongst bureacrats and politicians, I can foresee the ultimate jeering, "Jao jao, jyaada adarsh mat bano". (Go, don't try to become adarsh (ideal in literal meaning but actually with an eye on the Adarsh scam)

Try to, with dignity, become adarsh when you board a bus, or train. You will be left at the station long after the bus or train has departed.

I am reminded of this scene from a Shyam Benegal movie in which a village teacher has his wife abducted and raped by the village goondas. He goes from one government office to the other asking for justice. Finally, he realises, with frustration, that the process of asking for his and his wife's dignity to be restored is even more undignified.

If you are an Indian, you are used to such indignities as can rape your feelings and emotions, liberties and honour on an everyday basis. From the indignity of a woman being molested in public to your driving a car through extreme pot holes, filth, chaos, indiscipline, you are always under stress; more so, if you are law abiding citizen. Try standing overnight in a queue to obtain train reservation and face the indignity of knowing that your neighbour has managed better seats than you by paying underhand and getting the tickets delivered to him at home.

Adarsh, my foot. Indian society is as far from being adarsh as can be.

Have you ever been to an Indian court? I have been several times for a case involving our neighbours who have encroached upon my mother's land. Eventually, you may win the case after decades. But, you have to decide whether you can go through the extreme indignity of dealing with lawyers, police, court clerks, officials, judges etc. Your only fault is that someone encroached on your land and now you are an equal contender in the case as the other party! A similar experience awaits you in case you are walking on an exclusive pedestrian foot-path and a vehicle knocks you off and you approach police or the courts for justice.

Here is what Rabinder Nath Tagore wrote in 1910:

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Let us pause and reflect on how far we in India have come from these ideals.

AMARANTH

Like a gentle rain
On a placid pond in wilderness
The memory of our tryst forms
Never dying ripples
Each one capturing
Those brief moments of togetherness.

Did you at that time know
That the twinkle in your eyes
The softness of your lips
Your looks, your scent, your laughter
Would remain with me forever?

Indelible…unfading.

And I would search for these
In the pearl drops on lotus leaves,
In yellow flowers of joy
By the gurgling brooks;
In the haunting song of cuckoo
Pervading the silent secrets of woods.

Did you know that I would
Eternalize each whisper,
Each colour, each touch, each look
Each song, and each ditty
And treasure them
As a Life Time's Achievement Award
For my undying love for you?

ANYTHING FOR ME?

          The Missile Boats, of the type that took part in our daring attack on Karachi in 1971, had a deadly punch of missiles. However, due to their low height of eye, they were many times poor in inter-ship communications, especially in comparison to larger Fleet ships. This often produced frustrating results. One of these is described here.

          For CinC’s farewell at sea, the Fleet Commander had got the combined strength of the Fleet and Flotilla (to which smaller boats like Missile Boats and Durgs belonged) with him. Whilst the Fleet ships had to do the traditional steam-past the mighty Vikrant with CinC embarked, the Flotilla ships were to approach Vikrant from ahead and fan out abreast of Vikrant in pairs on obtaining the crucial signal.

          This complex manoeuvre required coordination of extremely high order. To ensure proper command and control, the Fleet Communication Officer had tried to get all ships, big or small, on a common communication circuit. At this stage, a small Missile Boat (Let us call it MB One) was trying to establish communication with the Fleet Commander (Let us call it Flag), for example:

          “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me, over”

          And again: “Flag, this is MB One, Radio Check, over” with increasing urgency since the serial was about to start.

          I was on a newly commissioned Fleet ship and we could hear the repeated wails of MB One. Even though Flag had many times acknowledged the calls of MB One, the latter could not hear it. In the meantime the grand manoeuvre commenced and the communication operator on MB One must have been panicky that he had not established two-way communications.

          Before the Fleet ships’ planned steam-past, came the first of the Flotilla ships, the Durgs who were to fan out abreast of Vikrant, their ship’s companies calling out ‘Teen Jais’ to the CinC. One of the Durgs (Let us call it Durg Two) fanned out earlier than called for and that part of the grand manoeuvre looked shabby. The Fleet Commander could have waited to return to harbour to convey his displeasure; but, there is nothing like on-the-spot-dressing-down. So a signal was made on the common net, “Durg Two this is Flag, your stupidity has spoiled the whole show, over”.

          Meanwhile MB One was still trying, in vain, to net in, “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me? Over”.

          The ‘stupidity’ signal, not being in the proper signalese, completely flummoxed the operator on Durg Two, who asked for a repetition by the most commonly used words on the circuit during those days, “Flag, this is Durg Two, say again your last, over”.

          I am sure, Commanding Officer of Durg Two, if he had heard this on the speaker on his ship, as the rest of the Fleet did, would never have wanted such a signal to be repeated. But, now, the Flag operator had no choice. Hence, he tried again, “Durg Two, this is Flag, your STOO PEE DITTY has spoiled the whole show, over”.

          Meanwhile, MB One, getting a lot of crackling sound on the headset must have been in total panic, more so as his turn to perform similar manoeuvre was fast approaching. Hence, his “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me, over” had become agonisingly more desperate. At this stage, Durg One, to our amused horror, requested Flag to spell word after ‘your’.

          After this, the entire sequence, heard on my ship was:

          “Flag, this is MB One, how do you hear me, over”

          “Flag, this is Durg Two, say again all after ‘your’ and spell word after ‘your’”.

          “Flag, this is MB One, anything for me, over”

          “Durg Two, this is Flag, I say again my last: your STOO PEE DITTY, I spell, Sierra Tango Uniform Papa India Tango Yankee, STOO PEE DITTY, has spoiled the whole show, over”

          “Flag this is MB One” with alarm now since a long message had been made and he had missed it totally, “Anything for ME over”!

          They also serve who only stand and wait!

A FOUR LETTER WORD CALLED LOVE

Love, they say, is the greatest feeling on earth; some even go to the extent of saying that Love is God. The fact is that highest attainments of mankind are possible through a feeling of love towards others. The other day I wrote about the case of this woman in Russia who was found alive with her infant under the rubble after several days of an earthquake. In order to keep her baby alive she had fed the baby her own blood; and that the baby could be kept alive only through this way, kept her alive too. She loved her baby so much that she went beyond just giving up her own life to save that of her child.

Here is Lord Collingwood writing about the death of Nelson, "I saw the tears in the eyes of the young sailors on knowing that Lord Nelson had died". Can you shed tears without loving? Leadership at its best is through the feeling of love towards the men one commands. So, when you go into harm's way you are prepared to give your life. Of all the qualities that Nelson had - some good, some bad - the one that set him apart as a great leader was his love for his men.

Go back into history and you have Jesus Christ as son of God loving us to the extent that he even forgave his persecutors.

There is a school of thought that goes on to compare this kind of unconditional and supreme Love as also possible between a woman and man. Indeed, Guru Nanak told us to "approach God with perfect humility. Throw yourself on His mercy. Give up pride, show and egoism. Beg for His kindness and favour. Do not think of your own merits, abilities, faculties and capacities. Be prepared to die in the pursuit of His love and union with Him. Love God as a woman loves her husband. Make absolute unreserved self-surrender. You can get divine favour and love”. Throughout the Guru Granth Sahib there are repeated mentions of loving God as a woman loves her husband. Indeed, Guru Nanak goes about asking the woman (ie, all of us) what kind of Shingar (Ornaments and Make-up) are required to get our Suhag (husband), that is, God. Of course, we know, that such Shingar is not with material things.

The important thing to remember is that Guru Nanak thought of love of a woman towards her husband as the stuff divine love is made of. Contempraneous with Guru Nanak was Meerabai. Born a princess in Rajasthan, she gave herself away as a wife and worshipper to Lord Krishna:

"My beloved dwells in my heart all day, 
I have actually seen that abode of joy. 
Meera's lord is Hari, the indestructible.
 My lord, I have taken refuge with you, your maidservant."

The legend of Heer Ranjha in Jhang (Pakistan) in Punjab has it that Heer became mesmerised by the way Ranjha played flute and fell in love with him. Even though she was forced by her family to marry Saida she continued to love Ranjha. Eventually, when Ranjha again visited her village, she was poisoned to death by her wily uncle. Ranjha heard of this and bit into the same poisoned Laddu to kill himself. Waris Shah, the poet, who documented this legendary story, is reputed to have made the Heer (a tearful singing tradition in her name) as a depiction of parting from the Almighty. So, once again, the theme of purest form of love being that of a woman for a man or vice-versa was manifested.

Cut now to the modern India:

"Dekh Waris aake apni Heer nu,
Sikh gayi hai roz naviyaan lahn di."
(Waris, come now and see the modern Heer,
She has learnt to find a new liaison everyday)

In the epic of Ramaayan, Lord Ram's consort Sita, crossed the Lakshaman Rekha and was abducted by Lanka's king Raavan. Eventually, Ram fought a great war, helped by Banar Sena (an army of monkeys), against Raavan to win her back. But, guess what? She had to have an Agnipreeksha (Trial by Fire) to prove her loyalty and devotion to Ram.

I do not agree that a woman has to go through any Agnipreeksha to prove devotion to her husband or lover. However, the fact is that the Indian woman has taken her emancipation too far; something like the feminist movement of the United States. In her bid to seek parity with the man, the Indian woman, at present has made a mockery of the word Love. There is no love lost is probably the right expression to use for the modern Indian woman.

The modern Indian woman is at a stage now when, if Guru Nanak was to be reborn, he won't think of her love as the prime example of divine love. I know I would be immediately dubbed as being racist and sexist. But, all that I am saying is that the modern Indian woman ceases to be an example epitomised by many before her such as Sati Savitri.

I am one of those who feel that modernity and traditional values can co-exist. Pragmatism and equality of sexes do not permit 'I love you' to become just a catch-phrase, eg, going to Archies and asking for 'I truly love you' cards on Valentine's Day to be sent to a dozen really close boy-friends.

What about men? I am sure the same applies to men too except that no one had ever given them credit for being so patni-vrata (true to wife in all respects) as to sing paeans describing their virtuous nature as we did of the Indian women of yore.

But the way that poor guy is nowadays treated by the modern Indian woman, very soon we shall have a Munnabhai (in reversal of role of Meerabai) marrying the idol of Durga in supreme devotion.

Any comments?

SOUNDS OF SILENCE

"The stars of midnight shall be so dear,
For her and she shall lean her ear,
In many a secret place;
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound,
Shall pass into her face".

Despite our love for silence that Wordsworth and others wrote endless verses about, the fact is that sounds and noise never leave us. We want to hear, we want to be heard.

As soon as a child is born, we want to hear him or her make a sound..any sound. For, unless you make a sound, there is no proof that you are alive.

Is life a cacophony in which the louder you are the more powerful you become? Or, is the reverse true? Despite all the shibboleths such as 'silence is gold', we commonly associate silence with the meloncholic, sad and poignant. Happiness and joys, on the other hand, have sounds...happy sounds.

"Hontho ko si chuke to zamane ne yeh kaha,
Yeh chup si kyun lagi hai aji kuchh to boliye"
(The moment I sewed up my lips, the world asked me:
Why does silence reign? Speak something at least."

According to the Hindu religion silence within and without is the attainment of greatest joy. The Hindu philosophy has it that even thoughts make sound. And, if you can shut off all sounds, even those of thoughts, you are one with your God.

And yet, we never want to be silent. Honking, crackers, screeches, shouts, loud speakers and even blasts become parts of our life. We go as far away from tasting life as from the true flavour of tea by adding sugar.

There is so much to be heard in silence but we become immune to it. Here is how Wordsworth described it:

"THE world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:

Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!"

"See it with your heart, 'tis mere joy" said he. Guru Nanak too described it as a music that can't be heard with the worldly senses given to man.

"Chup hai dhartii, chup hain chaand sitaare,
Mere dil kii dhadakan tujhako pukaare."
(The Earth is silent (my love)
And so are the moon and the stars,
The only sound that is there,
Is that of my heart beat calling you."

No, silence can't be sad or stifling or melancholic.
Silence is the beginning of the condition,
In which you hear sounds you had never heard before.

Try it.

CHASING A RAINBOW

He had set out to explore a new world; a world where - as per the lyrics of the old Hindi song - there would be no sorrow or sadness, no tears; where there would be only Love as far as the eye would see and heart would feel.

First, there was a hill to be crossed. He had overheard many a wise people in his town telling about the wonderful new world that existed beyond the hill and beyond the rainbow.

He set out just before the crack of the dawn one day. He was alone. The going was tough not just because of his aloneness. It had rained just a while back and there was wetness in the air. Because of it the ground had become slippery. Even though the hill was beyond the valley and the stream, the thick vegetation was there to be negotiated and was making the going difficult. Some of the rocks too were slippery.

It was late in the afternoon when he reached the stream. The rainbow had been showing at the hill from the time the sun rose but even though he had headed straight towards it, it appeared beyond his reach. He wanted to continue going but the heat and toil had taken their toll and the stream beckoned him to take out his shoes and immerse his feet in the cool and clear water. He lay back his upper torso on the grass and his eyes closed.

Suddenly he heard a voice very close to him; it was a heavenly voice, a goddess singing exclusively for him. It appeared to him that the singing was sweeter and more heart-warming than that of Wordsworth's Solitary Reaper though he was quick to admit to himself that he wasn't really there when the great poet heard the reaper. Anyway, he wasn't getting into having a dual with WW and turned all his attention to the singing, "Aapko apna koi dard na sehna hoga..." (You won't have to bear the burden of any of your pains).

This was music to his ears. Suddenly, the scenery transformed itself into a paradise. The rainbow appeared so close that it was almost within reach. But, at this juncture, he had no desire to touch it since he had both his arms around her; the most beautiful person on earth and beyond. Indeed, he forgot all about climbing the hill. There was no need really because he had - he thought - found his new world there and then.

They set out to make their world more beautiful than any world anyone had ever seen. He worked in a farm and she amused herself in the hut by the stream. They often observed to each other that God must have been kind to them for having given them each other. Listening to each other, being with each other, loving and dreaming, dreaming and loving were the only things that mattered. The world that they had made protected them against everything, or so they thought.

Time passed....as it always does...

One day, she ventured out to go and look at the scenery upstream whilst he went to work at the farm. She came to a spot where the stream had formed into a near still pool. As she watched from behind the bushes she saw a number of men come to the spot, remove all their clothes and bathe in the pool. She was totally in love with her man but it appeared to her that this was, after all, innocent fun just to watch other men bathe.

That evening he asked her where she had been. She lied and said she watched the cattle at the meadow and enjoyed the sight; brown, white and black cows grazing with their calves. She deliberately omitted to mention about the bulls she had seen.

He knew instinctively - as one would in love - that it was a lie but he did not say anything.

Time went on, as it always does...

By this time she had taken to watching the men at the pool whenever she could. She liked the gleam of their muscles as they dried themselves in the sun. Gradually, she became familiar with the features of every man in the group. Everytime she lied to her own man. Everytime she was overcome by the fascination of seeing the men in the pool.

And then one day..

She took a dip in a smaller pool downstream from the men. It felt great. Why hadn't her man ever suggested it? It was, she reasoned, innocent fun.

He was returning home a little early that afternoon as he had a headache. From a distance he saw his woman bathing in a pool with men. There was no need to lie now. He had seen it with his own eyes. That night when they lay in each other's arms he asked her; to his shocked surprise he found that she lied about this too. Incredible, he thought. She said she was feeling so warm that she just thought of having a dip, and...she had no idea of men bathing so close to her.

Lies multiply and mutate like living oganisms. Now that she had gotten over a hump (my first lie?) she became quite crafty with it. For everything she had an explanation and often quarrelled with him for doubting her. "What do you want me to do? Quit bathing? Do you like dirty women?" she would confront him and made it look like he was a demon for having even doubted her.

He wanted to get over the trauma of her bathing in nude so close to men. Was it really as innocent as she made it out to be? But there was one thing that made it less innocent; the fact of her lying about it.

One day, when he slept, his dream came back to him. Next morning he got up and went to the stream and watched the sunrise. There soon formed an exquisite rainbow across the hill. Why had he paused? Why had he forgotten about the brave new world? Who had he set out to become and what had he become?

He took the first hesitant steps to go across the stream, to start climbing the hill. It wasn't easy since he had really worked hard at making the world, their world. But, later he found he could do it. From the first stop up the hill, he looked back. There she was in her pool...and the men appeared close...very close.

The steep part of the hill was still to come but, he knew he had to keep climbing beyond the hill, beyond the rainbow.

He hit a rock.

He found he was with his feet in the stream and body resting on the grass.

An eternity had passed since he had closed his eyes....

JO BHI HAI BUS YEHI IK PAL HAI

I am so unsure of myself when I glance at forecasts, horoscopes and what the stars foretell. The reason is that I don't know whether to believe or not. However, I often read the horoscopes to confirm that my experiences are - laugh if you want - according to some cosmic plan! Amongst all the forecasts, I found that the late Peter Vidal's were the truest for me. Lately, I found that the Blackberry's daily Horoscope comes close to my situation. Here is my Horoscope for today:

"You are stuck in a rut, Gemini, and the stars are urging you to dig out of it. What? You did not know you were stuck in a rut? That's the worst kind of rut - the one that you don't know you're in. If you are feeling a bit stifled or if it seems you have become lost in a particular routine, you need to shake things up. It isn't that staying this way will harm you, but going beyond your current pattern will be the first step in building a bridge that can take you to a much more attractive place. Don't be afraid of change."

It can well be argued that it is a very general statement and with a little variation can fit just about anyone. However, I am surprised at the confirmation of my current state of mind. Is there something to it afterall?

I don't know whether the total people on earth can actually be divided into just twelve categories, but, I do know that shaking things up is something that a Geminian is actually good at.

Out of all people on earth, it is probably a Geminian who can be at home singing Kishore Kumar's 'Door Ka Rahi' (Long Distance Traveller):

"Rehguzar mein kai manzilen bhi mili;

Dekh kar ek pal, dam liya phir chale.

Khushi do ghadi ki mile na mile.

Shama aarzoo ki jale na jale.

Har kadam par naye marhale the khade;

Ham chale dil chala, dil chala ham chale,

Khushi do ghadi ki......"

(On the way, I came across many a destination;

I saw, rested a while and moved on.

I may not get the joy of the moment,

I may not get to see my desire fulfilled.

At every step I found new stops,

I moved, heart moved,

Heart moved, I moved.

I know that when you move on, the criticism that hits you is that you don't care; you are heartless. Here too I know for sure that a Gemini is probably the most emotional of the lot; the most caring in his/her special way. But, a Gemini is bored with trying to make music with a violin with strings deliberately loosened to make wrong or ugly music. How many times a Gemini is expected to tighten the strings to liven up the music? Why should it be his/her complete responsibility to make things work.

In the end, the more you stick, the more you want to make it work, the more it is uncharacteristic of a Gemini.

No one understands more than a Gemini that:

Jo bhi hai bus yehi ik pal hai.

(All that is there is just this moment)

and...

Dust thou art

and dust returnest

was not spoken of the soul.

LEADERSHIP LESSON #2

Life’s little things are the ones that teach you more than bigger events. I spent thirty-seven years in the Indian Navy and I am convinced my life was moulded because of the small nuggets that came my way. I shall periodically try to recollect some of these in this blog. This is the second of these nuggets.

I was posted on INS Himgiri for obtaining my Bridge Watchkeeping certificate. Himgiri was the second of the indigenously built Leander class frigates (the first one being Nilgiri). It was a fully air-conditioned modern frigate with the latest in weapons and sensors. However, my next ship, INS Karwar, a Hunt class minesweeper appeared to be a big letdown. It was old, leaking (especially at the forepeak where the previous ship's company had banged it whilst going alongside at Gateway of India whilst practising for President's Review of the Fleet) and as far removed fron the luxury of a Leander as possible.

In addition to the pathetic state of the ship, I suddenly found myself in a position wherein I was responsible for my job (unlike when I was an under-trainee on Himgiri) and could not turn to anyone for advice about how to go about doing the various tasks that I was expected to do.

I had been on board for about a week. On one night when I was the Officer of the Day, at about the time when the last libertymen should return, there was commotion in the water near the ship's berth on South Breakwater in Naval Dockyard, Mumbai. Kuldip Singh, Seaman First Class, Radar Plotter, Third Grade, had fallen from the brow into the water. It came out that he was in the habit of returning drunk on board and that the incident was bound to happen one day or the other.

Anyway, I got him fished out of the water. Kuldip had lost his turban and his Identity Card, two of the things that he should have guarded with great care; one protecting his izzat (honour) in civil life and the other in navy life. The next day he was marched before me and thereon to the Executive Officer (second in command) and to the Commanding Officer (the Navy Act and Regulations for the I.N. gives powers to those in authority to summarily try and award punishments). He was awarded Punishments numbers 14 (Reprimand, that was recorded in his Service Documents), 12 (Stoppage of Leave for 30 days), and 11 (Extra work and drill for 7 days).

On the same day, my CO called me and told me to get in touch with the concerned staff officer in the Bureau of Sailors and have him transferred out of the ship and ask for someone smart.

I was about to make the phone call to the said staff officer when I gave it one last thought: what would be achieved by transferring him out? Instead of being a headache to us he would become a headache to them. He should either be boarded out (which punishment we had not given him) or reformed. But, who was going to reform him?

The next day, Kuldip was standing before me for another default verging on insubordination; he had refused to wash the mess utensils as a mess man on duty. Instead of putting him on defaulters I consulted my XO. Despite the setback, he was very encouraging of my plan to reform Kuldip and never told me that the idea was doomed to failure. He, however, commented upon how bad Kuldip was in anything that was entrusted to him. As a Radar Plotter he was simply awful.

When I called Kuldip in the evening I wasn't sure where to start. I asked him about his family. He told me he came from a small village near Jalandhar in Punjab. I enquired about his parents and siblings. I then told him that at my parents place my mother always did the cooking and even washed the dishes. Suddenly Kuldip warmed up to the commonality and said that at his village too his mother did the same.

We talked for well over an hour and I discovered that Kuldip was not bad at all. He was only rebellious as most young men at that age. Indeed, he joined the Navy as an act of rebellion against his father who wanted him to do something worthwhile at his village.

I also discovered that Kuldip had many things to tell me about his village, his family, his stern father and his goddess-like mother. At one point when he was describing the food and sweets his mother would make, I intervened to tell him how much I loved the Shakkerparas (Jaggery coated sweets made of flour) that they made in our villages.

I gently led to the topic of his drinking. It came out that initially he did it as a macho statement prevalent in Punjab villages. Later, he was drinking because he felt nobody would understand him.

In all this I only listened rather than offering any platitudes. Kuldip left and I switched on my Sony portable tape-recorder that I had acquired on my last ship Himgiri during a cruise to Aden. Elton John's 'Talking Old Soldiers' was playing. Some of the words that I remember are:

You're right there's so much goin' on
No one seems to want to know
So keep well, keep well old friend
And have another drink on me
Just ignore all the others
You got your memories...

The next evening as I was getting ready to go to the United Services Club to play Bridge, there was a knock at the cabin door. There stood Kuldip with a paper-bag. He was sweating due to the Extra Work and Drill and it appeared that he had gone straight to his locker to fetch the paper-bag after that.

"This is for you", he told me, "My mother made them and you would like them". I called him in and we again started chatting whilst having the Shakkerparas. It came out that Kuldip was very fond of reading, football, jokes, and serving langar (free community meal) at the gurudwara. I told him about my own interest in reading, writing, badminton, squash racquets, bridge and chess.

I did not go to USC for Bridge that evening; indeed, for several evenings after that.

A few days later, when our Navigator's Yeoman was to go on leave, I suggested to XO that Kuldip could be entrusted with the job. All apprehension about his careless attitude were proved wrong when, to our pleasant surprise, we discovered the neatness and correctness of his records.

That year, Kuldip got the Proficiency Award for the best sailor on Karwar. Next year he was promoted to a Leading Seaman. That's when I left the ship. Many years later I learnt that Kuldip rose to become a Master Chief Petty Officer, the highest that a sailor can reach.

At about the same time I was informally referred to see a psychiatrist by the edgy and pompous medical specialist at the Navy hospital in Mumbai. I was suffering from a skin affliction called Psoriasis and the doc did not like my wasting his time by discussing my situation with him. He felt that my being overly worried about my situation (seen from the fact that I needed his reassurance and wanted him to tell me the progress of my disease) was making my condition worse.

At his behest I saw the psychiatrist on three occasions in the next week and we had long sessions of discussions tailored to find my abnormalities. At the end of these, the psychiatrist pronounced me normal and balanced.

This is what he told me: "If only your medical specialist had spent fifteen minutes with you, you did not have to come to me".

LIARS ROLL OF (DIS)HONOUR

In the world, Darwin and others would have us believe (and there is evidence to be found everywhere), there is survival of the fittest. Liars must be very fit indeed because their tribe or breed appears to be flourishing. Like cockroaches (who can get out of the fridge and go straight onto the cooking gas stove) liars too appear to be everywhere; surviving and thriving.

There is, like a reality show on the television, great tussle to win the top spot. Two of the breed vying for the Numero Uno position are the politicians and the lawyers. Opinions are divided who gets to win; both lie through their teeth, both have thick skins, both have short memories, and both do it with others' money. But, the fact that many lawyers strive to become politicians puts the latter in winning position. Lawyers can only befool some of the people some of the times; but, politicians can befool all the people all the times. They are in a league by themselves. On another score too the politicians win; which is that lawyers do have to study and acquire a bit of knowledge to become lawyers, whereas, you can start lying your way to becoming a politician without any qualification. Ignorance of the politicians is a bliss; but, if the general public can be perpetually kept ignorant, it is even greater bliss for them.

I think there is no doubt about the third spot: the babus in govenment offices who tell you that your file has received the highest attention and your case, hence, is about to be decided. These worthy gentlemen and ladies are the most versatile excuse makers. One cartoon showed someone walking into a government office and asking a babu, "No one seems to take any responsibility here. Why doesn't anyone feel accountable?" The reply given was, "Don't ask me; ask someone who should know." 

The fourth spot in our compilation of list of liars should go to the film stars. They are masters (as also mistresses) of the game. From big lies about how much they liked the acting prowess of, say, fellow actresses, to small lies about current boy or girl friend, they bring more elan to their lies than to their acting. Their lies often are at the verge of bitchiness; you can't make out one from the other.

The fifth on the list must surely be women literally taking years to answer a simple query related to their age. Some of them confront you with their interpretation that instead of lying they are merely consistent for the last ten years or so by maintaining the same age. These are the only species who goad their gadgets too to lie; for example, their weighing machines and the mirror on the wall.

At the sixth rung are, without too much ado, husbands coming home late. "Darling, in all this sweltering heat, I was getting dehyderated and they rushed me to the nearest clinic (bar). They have a long drawn out treatment (you bet!). Today, they have just given me the first part of the course but, in my own interest, I have to take the full course for the next one year (after which I can surely come up with some other plausible excuse) to get out of this terrible congenital (my father too was good at making excuses!) problem." Don't beleive me? Well, how can you forget about the man who went to the bar and kept ordering double-martinis. His excuse: his wife had sent him to buy olives!

The seventh spot surely must go to the members upper middle class filling up income tax returns. These are, by the way, the rare breed that tells lies in writing. If all or even some of their lies are to be believed, the IT Department should be actually giving them money so that they can survive!

At the eighth notch should be the weather men. I am putting them so low in hierarchy because I actually feel for them. Weather and Women both start with the letter W and can be unpredictable for men. Hence, these are the only gentlemen caught without umbrellas in driving rain after predicting 'clear and sunny skies'. They are also in so pitiable a situation that no one believes their truths, let alone their lies.

At the ninth spot are our media personnel. Their style of telling lies is to tell half truths or to ignore any news that does not fit with the findings of the analysis they are presenting. They are often honoured for their efforts at such lies as investigative journalism.

The tenth spot is consistently maintained by the statistics department of the planning commission. These worthy men and women juggle figures that affect lives of the people, eg, people Below Povert Lines (BPL). I have put them so low in hierarchy because left to themselves they cannot do much damage; but, in collusion with politicians at the Number One spot, much harm can be done and is being done.

Why have I left out Investigators or those in fact-finding commissions? Surely they must be fairly high in the hierarchy. Once again, the reason is that I have made (dis)honour roll of what I feel are independent liars or those who have free-will to do so. Inquirers and Investigators are merely paid authors writing their stories at the dictates of the politicians in power.

You think it is bad? Have a rethink because in a neighbouring country easily the first ten spots are occupied by the government itself starting from the academic qualification of its (un)worthy members to habitual lies about not having sufficient proof about their country's involvement in terror attacks in India. They even lied about a certain Kasab and other terrorists not being from their country even when all evidence stared them in the face. Lying comes so easily to them that when they say, "We won't take things lying down" they actually mean quite different from what is ordinarily understood.

So, readers, mine is just an Indian national list. Internationally our neighbouring country is so far ahead in the art of lying that we are mere rookies, all of us.

Should the readers have their own lists or rolls please share with us in the 'Comments' below.

LOVE AND FENCING

She loved him. He loved her. There was a thick white line between their ends of the court. The match started.

First, she held her breath, extended her arm and muttering ""Love, love, love.." went charging into his side of the court. If only she could touch him and return across the thick white line.

He looked at her. She had love in her eyes, on her breath. But, why did she want to score a point? Anyway, he tried to grab and keep her on his side but she was elusive. Finally, she was getting out of breath and she went across the line.

Now, it was his turn. He too held his breath and ventured into her territory whilst muttering "Love, love, love..." This time she tried to grab him and keep him permanently on her side. Once or twice he was very close to touching her and changing her forever but whilst she wanted love she did not want to be changed. She detested any change because it appeared to her as encroachment on her independence.

This continued for sometime; both having love on their lips but both wanting to score points and return across the line. At one point she touched him and he actually grabbed her but she dragged him all the way back to the line and scored a point. He was at a disadvantage even when he grabbed her. He looked into her eyes and forgot all about the game.

After this, everytime she ventured into his territory, she was quick to realise and exploit the advantage it gave her to make him look in her eyes and then score points. She thus raced to nearly the end of the game (match point) whilst he was still at Love.

Finally, she won, or so she thought. She returned to her side. On the sidelines her fans were there cheering her up; some of them even so bold as to lift her up and display her as a prize.

He just watched and kept standing there. He was still standing when she went away with her complete fan club, cheerers and followers.

He was still standing there when it rained. Slowly, there was no thick white line, nor the court, and no signs of the Love Game.

"Love, love, love, love..." he kept muttering, barely audible now....

The last breath was taking longer than he'd expected.

INSTANTLY

If this appears deceptively similar to Cliff Richard's famous number 'Constantly', the similarity stops there. No one has the time these days to do anything constantly let alone to walk in a dream and think about one's love. These days the world moves 'instantly'. No one has time to deliberately do anything or deliberate over things.

At one time we used to hear a song over the Short Wave radio and then hope to hear it again over the next few months. In order to remember the lyrics we would sit with a paper and pencil when the Geetmala would be broadcast again and, if there would be no disturbance on the shortwave, we would be able to fast write the lyrics, or, most of those. Nowadays, we download any number from the You tube and not only hear it but also see its video; and, have its lyrics before us instantly.

Take the case of photographs. Even though it is obvious, let me say it. Earlier we used to take pictures of the family during the holidays or engaged in diverse activities. We used to get them printed and stick them in the family album and then invite unsuspecting guests at home; and sort of lead them into viewing our album. They were forced to show interest whilst waiting for the dessert to be served (No one ever took the risk of showing those pictures after the dessert). But nowadays, we put them up on facebook even when the event is going on and enjoy the attention. The plus point is that we don't get to see the yawns and the furtive glances at the watch.

Remember how we used to cringe when visiting a friend's house and the couple insisting that we must see merit in their son Gaurav performing as Gabbar of Sholay with a dacoit's belt loosely hanging from his shoulder. Now we go through the videos in our own time. We don't have to match our comment, "How cute Gaurav looks!" with our own (disgusted) looks. In addition, we can instantly subject the sender to some return torture (like return gifts on birthdays) of seeing our own son Vivek doing the rendition of Michael Jackson's moonwalk.

Television too projects pictures and news for us instantly. Gone are the days when a politician's denial of his involvement in corruption would be read after a week. Nowadays, thanks mostly to his media-managers, his denial appears instantly whilst the scam is being aired. Do you remember when Pramod Mahajan was shot? When he was battling with life, the media used to instantly show details of his innards, knowing well that most of us are genuinely interested in the inner news.

At one time we used to deliberate over national and international issues and then form our views and much later express these. Nowadays, Twiiter has made sure that important views of such leading personalities as those who specialise in having views on everything under the sun are instantly available. It is another thing that we had never known that these worthies had any views on anything until then; but, then, a view is a view. Everyone, from Obama to O' mama, is reduced to 140 characters.

Earlier, we would get news from the battle front days later. Nowadays, the scenes of the battle are instantly flashed before us even as the first shots are fired. Many so called war-correspondents vie with one another in reaching news to us before the bullets hit the targets.

Thankfully, in all this intantaneity there are two things that still move at leisurely pace and we are sure never going to change. One is something called a 'File' in government offices. Its movement is exactly at the same pace as, say, in 1949. From noting number 1 to 478, all aspects of the case are deliberated upon at great length. Some of these notes are tagged Immediate, Most Immediate, Urgent etc but there is never any undue hurry. Five years later, the File, knowing that in the fable of the Hare and the Tortoise, it is the latter that wins, crawls even slower than the tortoise.

The second is the Indian judicial system. A fast moving case is often the one, which has advanced from being posted to its fifth hearing in about five years time.

In most other things everything is instantly done. For example, it used to take many years from love at first sight, to marriage, to children, to divorce. Nowadays, before you can switch channels on a television the divorce is through and the guy, having been instantly free again, is enjoying honeymoon with the second wife in Pattaya.

What about instant fame? Have you forgotten Prince? He became instantly famous and rich by the sheer bad luck of falling in a 40 feet open hole; the exact opposite of golfing term, that is, one-in-hole.

Many of us, however, still miss the slow pace at which things used to move. There were no ATMs, no cell phones to instantly connect to people, ODIs and T 20s. There were no prizes for reading books fast or pressing the button in fastest finger first.

Oh, how we miss those slow moving days? "Dil dhoondta hai fursat ke chaar din..." (Heart searches for those leisurely days).

Alas, no more.

IF YOU DRIVE IN INDIA - PART II

This article has my tweets on the thread #ifudriveinindia (Part I was published in Jul 10). Comedy and humour apart, more people die of road accidents in India than in any other country in the world. It is because of our peculiar driving habits. One of the old Hindi movies had this song: “Zindagi ik safar hai suhana, yahan kal kya ho kisne jana?” (Life is a pleasant journey; but, no one knows what will happen tomorrow). Well, whilst driving in India you have no idea of what will happen the next moment. Read on; these tweets may be of some use to foreigners desirous of driving in India or even Indians not yet totally initiated.

If you drive in India: 

• You would learn the virtues of patience as you go along; it is not important to reach anywhere!
• You would become a very spritual person at the end of your journey!
• And the road sign gives you a number to call for assistance it would always be engaged.
• And carry a map for directions it is false security since many roads and their names would have changed since publication.
• On a long journey you would need to know different languages to read road signs in different states. 
• You should be prepared for the entire traffic to be diverted, even on a highway, for a VIP to cross. 
• And stop to ask directions don't go by the person's words; look at his gestures; try to match them together. 
• Remember that brake, accelerator, indicator lights, clutch etc are not as important as the horn. 
• And are thinking of enjoying your journey, you have not been reading my tweets! 
• You should have a volley of choicest abuses ready to hurl at the other driver who rams into you and starts doing the same. 
• You should be prepared for vehicles overtaking you from both sides on a single or double lane highway! 
• And find that the main road or highway has suddenly landed into a river or canal, just enjoy the scenery and......pray! 
• You have to compete with such traffic as vehicles, carts, animals, people, processions, statues and hoardings on all roads. 
• Do not be taken aback by seeing about 300 people riding in a 45 seater bus; many will be on the roof top. 
• And get the impression that drivers all around you are trying to kill you, it is not a hallucination; they are if you are not careful. 
• And are totally hassled, there is nothing new because all around you there are totally hassled drivers. 
• Remember that Indians don’t respect road medians and don’t mind risking lives by coming on the wrong side to save 1/2 litre fuel. 
• Be prepared for perpetual work going on the roads. 
• Remember we got our freedom on 15 Aug 1947 and we haven't stopped celebrating this freedom on roads to do anything and everything! 
• And have to overtake a roadways bus you can only do so when the driver is not looking your way. 
• You have to drive very carefully all the time as danger lurks where you would least expect it. 
• And there is only one other vehicle with you on the highway you should never take your eyes of it; else it would surprise you. 
• You must realise that roads are environmentally friendly and kept close to original state of being rivulet, field, ditch or forest. 
• And reach home without dents on car, personal injury, and bruised ego, you have performed a miracle. 
• Remember that upon overtaking you a vehicle will immediately be turning left; it just couldn't wait to do it after you cross. 
• You will realise you have very little chance of keeping yourself from becoming mad. 
• You will realise that there is ALWAYS work going on the roads especially on your lane or your side of the road. 
• Remember that you will feel safest in a road-roller even if you don’t go anywhere far; in any case in India you should not go too far. 
• Remember that on Indian roads it is the survival of the fittest, nay, biggest: truck has right of way over car, car over scooter and so on. 
• The commonest expression that you will hear is, "Yeh sadak tere baap ki hai kya?" (does this road belong to your father?) 
• And give dirty look to a driver who has done something wrong you are in for trouble. In India everybody is someone big especially in politics. 
• And park your car in a parking place and go to restaurant or movie; it is as safe as a virgin girl in a colony of rapists. 
• And get out of crowded city and heave sigh of relief you will realise that your relief is short lived. In India two is a crowd. 
• And stop to let pedestrians cross, everyone around you will honk to show their displeasure at you for delaying them. 
• You should remember that hardly anybody cares about lanes; people drive with the lane marking line between the two tyres. 
• And start going through a One Way Street; it does not mean traffic will not come at you from opposite direction.

IN THE WAR ZONE

No, this is not a review of the play by this name of my favourite playwright Eugene O'Neil. This has got much limited scope: the War Zone called Sector 20, Kharghar in Navi Mumbai. If you had similar war zones in your own neighbourhood during Diwali, I can only add a disclaimer, as is found before movies and books: ‘The resemblance is purely coincidental’.

Everyone’s been warning us that the Maoists are eyeing urban landscape for expanding their war against the state and its citizens. Little did we know that this war would come to us from unexpected quarters: revellers trying to celebrate a certain Ram having returned home safely. My take is that he was lucky he was exiled to the forests; if he was to be exiled to Sector 20, Kharghar, returning safe would have been a tougher challenge.

Initially, during the day, it started with sporadic firing of small arms but enough to make our dog Roger cringe and look for shelter. But soon the calibre of the weapons used increased in inverse proportion to the calibre of the users. By night, unguided missiles, heavy artillery, rockets and grenades had been brought out. The scenes of blood curdling warfare with unintelligible screams of “get them”, “bachne na paaye” (don’t let them get away), “aaj nahin chhodenge” (tonight we shall not leave them) filled the air. Soon, no place was safe for the enemy.

 

In a distant place called Guantanamo, American investigators used to disorient their prisoners by constant loud noises; so that finally the terrorists would own up their guilt or collusion. But, the kind of torture, Sector 20, Kharghar, subjected its inhabitants to would have put any Guantanamo to shame.

The technological excellence of the raids left us gaping. Like Iraq war, first the targets were softened by continuous aerial bombardment. Tracers were used to illuminate the targets and then it was tchak tchak tchak boom boom boom blast. The enemy could not be seen but must have been running for life. Flushing out operations were the hardest; boom, boom, tchak, bang, wroom.

Just as we thought there was a let up,the door to door fighting resumed with renewed zeal. Sounds of determined explosions continued the whole night. We were in our homes like people cowering in nuclear bunkers, expecting the worst.

At one stage, I ventured out like an intrepid war – journalist and tapped a combatant as young as 14 years old who was about to light up the fuse of serial bombs of a few hundred kilo-tons and asked him, “Beta yeh aap Ramji ke liye kar rahe ho?” (son, are you doing it for Lord Ram?) His reply was muffed in the blast of the explosions but I could understand the essential part of it: He was doing it for fellow combatant Ujjawal, who had taken a break to replenish ammunition from the nearest store.

 

Another one told me that life depended upon subjecting the enemy to continuous firepower; something similar to Basanti in Sholay: “Ab nacho; jab tak tere paer challenge, tere aashiq ki saans chalegi” (Now dance; as long as your feet run, so will the breath of life of your lover).

To give credit to these warriors, their devotion to duty was so complete that they continued relentlessly the whole night. Basanti would have given up long ago.

In the morning we were gratified to get the news that Sector 20 Kharghar had emerged the winner in urban guerrilla warfare. It had to face extremely tough competition but the young men of our neighbourhood had fought determinedly and without respite. We are going to honour them in a felicitation ceremony as soon as we have collected a billion old sandals and chappals, one each for the tchak tchak boom boom.

I saw a young warrior returning home at wee hours of the morning, rockets and missiles popping out from his back-pack, grime and grease on his face, and satisfaction of a job well-done. His only complaint was that victorious though he and his gang were, there was shame in returning home with unused ammunition. I assured him that life had not ended for him (even though it nearly ended for us) and that there would be a next time.

I went for a walk at the other end of the Central Park and found a few familiar mongrels. These gathered near a trash mound there and looked pretty inactive and morose. I told them that they did not have to come this far since Sector 20, Kharghar had adequate number of garbage dumps to welcome them. Their reply made me think highly of our young men’s commitment to their cause, “All very well for you to say so. Everyone in Sector 20 Kharghar is very cooperative in throwing garbage everywhere so that we can enjoy. But, last night we were out-manoeuvred by really heavy firing. On one hand you welcome us like proper Indians with trash everywhere. On the other hand, you slam the daylights and even nightlights out of us by war cries, explosions and blasts. You can continue to stay there because you have no choice; but, we will not return until peace prevails.”

Peace prevails? Lord Ram, you have returned after fourteen years of exile and we welcome you. But, tell us when will peace return to Sector 20, Kharghar?

THE GREAT INDIAN TRAIN JOURNEY

The opening ceremony of the recently concluded Commonwealth Games 2010 at New Delhi showcased Indian culture really well. One of the most fascinating items was the ‘Great Indian Train Journey’. Let’s face it; if you are an Indian, trains are as much part of your life as, say, gods, Bollywood films, potholed roads, and cricket. Whether you try to cross a railway crossing by tilting your scooter under the barrier or hang precariously on to the handle bars in the locals, you are never beyond the overpowering influence of Indian Railways.

Indian Railways fill you with all emotions known to man. As you stand in the queue at the reservation counter, from the night before, so that you are amongst the first lucky ones to get ‘Confirmed Reservation’ when the counter opens at 8 AM, you go through a set of emotions ranging from suspense, extreme tolerance, abiding faith in God, frustration, anger, acceptance, and finally untold joy when the clerk informs you that two of your family have confirmed seats and the other two are wait-listed one and two, which you know is as good as confirmed since within the next 60 days there would be many cancellations. It was, you tell yourself, well worth it, to stand in the queue overnight so that your overnight journey in the train would be comfortable.

Even though you have a confirmed reservation, no one can describe the elation of finding your name on the reservation chart on the platform just before boarding the train. Eager passengers look up to these charts in a manner similar to looking for your roll number in the matriculation exam results. Compartment, in both cases, is welcome, and is better than failure. Meanwhile wait-listed and RAC (Reservation Against Cancellation) passengers try to seek the TTEs (Travelling Ticket Examiners); but, like all public servants, these men make themselves scarce and busy elsewhere until you have sorted out most of the confusion yourself. After that the TTE starts the great Indian trick called ‘adjustment’. This is almost like magic: he looks at his chart, looks at you, shakes his head to indicate no berths available, you reach for your wallet to pay for his sincere efforts to somehow find a berth, he looks at you a little more kindly, looks back at his chart, and lo and behold, like a conjurer, pulls out a vacant berth that had earlier totally escaped his attention. You have song on your lips when you return to the family patiently waiting for you in the space between the western style and Indian style toilets.

Now, if only you can find a place for your one trunk, two suitcases, two baskets and one cardboard box containing Bikaneri namkeen, pau bhaji, sweets, parathas, achar, onions, aloo ghobi subzi and two each packets of cheewada and chikki. The people already on the berths near you have filled in every possible crevice under and around the seats and there appears to be no place for your baggage. But, thanks once again to the great Indian trick, all your baggage gets 'adjusted' somehow, some of it hanging from hooks provided for clothes, whilst smaller packets are neatly tucked under the pillow.

It is incredible to think after what you have gone through that the journey has not yet commenced. And how do you know the journey is about to start? Well, not merely by the Guard's whistle and waving of the green flag; but, also by the fact that an equal number of people (farewell parties) have to get out and make place for those on platform who are actually the passengers. An old Punjabi anecdote describes this confusion of mass movement: On the platform a sardar is waving at his friends in a departing train and laughing uncontrollably. When reminded that parting is a sad occasion he replies, "Do you see those people waving back from the train? They are the ones who came here to see me off."

In the 'General' compartment bigger confusion prevails; it is meant for 68 passengers and generally the number is exceeded by a few hundred. In the slowly moving train some are seen half hanging out since they decided to take the plunge at the last minute and launch themselves on unsuspecting passengers inside who had taken hours to find their seats. They know as the train catches speed they cannot be thrown out and somehow have to be adjusted in the compartment.

Within about an hour, like dust, all confusion settles down. The conversation ranges from the coolie's attempt to hoodwink people, to the poor decision on Dhoni's part to have sent Bhajji as a pinch-hitter. Those who did not want to budge an inch to make place for co-passengers are now in animated conversation with them and insisting that they have a bite of the stuffed paratha that their only daughter packed for them. "What does your daughter do?" asks the man appreciatively taking a bite of the stuffed paratha. One thing leads to another and a betrothal is very much on the cards.

From the next compartment when you hear utterances that resemble Chinese, that is, "Cho Chweet", these are actually meant for the young infant on the next berth. Earlier, the neighbouring passengers were fed up with his incessant wailing, but now that he has been rocked to sleep with the moving train he looks so sweet.

In another part of the bogie there is heated discussion going over a cards game with a man-of-the-street predicting with authority, "Yeh sarkar nahin chalegi" (This government won't last) and another one irritated with his pontification, "Per Chopra ji, aap patta to pehle fainko; sarkar ko maaro goli" (But, Chopra ji, first throw your card; shoot the government later".

Then there are these women who are returning from Brindavan and are full of Krishna's charisma (quite a tongue-twister that). They break out into what they feel is melodious hymn about Krishna, Radha and gopiyan. An old man next to them congratualtes himself that he had the sixth-sense or a sense of higher number to have brought his portable tape recorder for just such an eventuality. So he plugs in his ears with the headphones and is partially oblivious of the hymns.

The great Indian train journey, in many ways, is a true reflection of how Indians make peace with their circumstances. So, when they get up next morning and the chai-wallah tells them that the train is running some eight hours late, the general consensus is that it could have been worse.

Finally when the train screeches to a halt at the destination this peace is broken and nobody wants to wait for even thirty seconds to allow passengers ahead of them to get out. It is push, scream, fret, and get-out with all your baggage in flaming hurry as if the bogie is on fire.

As you get on the platform with all your belongings and family members, the one thought foremost in your mind is that the great Indian train journey never ends.

Life goes on...

ADARSH SOCIETY, CWG, CORRUPTION IN ARMED FORCES AND PUBLIC MORALITY

As soon as I was commissioned in the Navy I had to undergo Subaltern Lieutenant's training courses. The user-maintainer concept had just been introduced and we had to go to Navy's Electrical Engineering training establishment named Valsura in Jamnagar, Gujarat, to acquire skills to become proficient first level maintainers.

Most of the First Class compartments had been booked for our course as we headed towards Jamnagar. To pass time, we played Bridge and drank beer and rum. When the TTE (I still remember his name on the his name telly: V Srivastava) came to our compartment he saw that we were drinking. He was visibly shocked at this and addressed us in chaste Hindi which is translated thus: "Young men, you should be ashamed of yourself. You are passing through Mahatma Gandhi's state wherein drinking liquor is prohibited. And yet, here you are - young men who would be responsible to defend our nation - shamelessly breaking the law and drinking."

I was, at that time (perhaps I still am) an idealist and moralist. I was so mortified by this that I left the gang, collected my Ayn Rand and climbed to the upper berth to hide my head in shame. I was so immersed in 'The Fountainhead' that after some time when I looked down I found the TTE having a drink with my friends. I got down from the berth and berated him, "Srivastava ji, you had no right to be pseudo moralistic. Look at you, now, a TTE on duty having liquor. I think at the next station we shall hand you over to the Vigilance people".

His reply is pointer towards the central theme of this essay, "Ab chhodiye bhai sahib. Main to ek do peg pi ke chala jayoonga; vigilance wale kam se kam poori botal lenge aapse". (Just forget it, brother. I shall (quietly) go after one or two pegs; the vigilance people would demand a full bottle, at the least).

On another occasion, I was travelling by the defence - services - friendly Frontier Mail, from Bombay to Delhi. Just the hint of one being a defence officer [and entitled to draw "pure" (it was the public perception) rum] would get one a vacant berth that would have otherwise got the TTE some chai-paani money from others. After "adjusting" the passengers the TTE came to me in the coupe' he had told me to occupy. I offered him a drink, which soon became two, three, four etc. That loosened his tongue. Over a period of next one hour he told me that he had a house in South Delhi, another in Jaipur, two cars etc and that his elder daughter was about to marry an IAS officer from "a rich family".

I not only showed surprise but expressed it, "I say, you guys really indulge in corruption and can get anything".

His reply was as classic as that of TTE Srivastava. He said, "Bhai Sahib, hum to apni mehnat ki kamai khaate hain. Corrupt to hamare bade sahib hain jo ghar baithe hi paise bana rahe hain" (Brother, we (TTEs) only enjoy the fruits of our labour. Corrupt are the big bosses in railways who get the money sitting at home".

These two are mere examples of our (voyeuristic?) attitude when we see yet another example of corruption in public life. The "bigger fish" always seems to get away whilst poor people like us who do indulge in petty corruption (either in giving bribes or receiving chai-paani money) are always made scapegoats.

What do you think shocked us about corruption in recently concluded CWG deals? Well, not the fact of the corruption but the sheer scale of it.

Laxman's cartoon, many years back, about big time corruption was most telling. In this a policeman is seen taking a handcuffed petty thief to the Police Station and telling him, "Your fault is that you stole five bucks. If you had stolen fifty crores I could have been your security guard".

Corruption at higher levels does affect the morale of the people at lower levels. And when we hear about increasingly more stupendous and brazen corrupt cases, we see one holy bastion or the other crumbling. Over a period of time our perception is that politicians, bureaucrats, engineers, doctors, film stars (casting couch, avoidance of income tax et al), religious leaders, railway TTEs, personnel in government departments from peon to boss, shopkeepers and tradesmen, cricketers and policemen are not only corrupt but have earned the right to be so. We publicly hate them for it. But, if we have to marry our daughters, we find these as the most eligible bachelors. In my last posting in the Navy before I retired, a sailor from Haryana wanted his daughter to be married to an ASI in the police. He was asked to pay rupees ten lakhs in dowry "considering the earning capacity of the ASI and hence the ability to keep your daughter happy".

We resignedly accept corruption even in the judiciary. But when the last bastion of upright behaviour, that is, armed forces too display signs of corruption a la booze-colonels, fake-encounter-for-medal COs, Tehelka expose' big-wigs, land and housing scam generals and admirals, we tend to bemoan that there is "total lack of moral values in Indian public life". How can these jokers be trusted in war when they indulge in such immoral acts? Isn't esprit de corps the hallmark of defence forces? How would their men have trust in them when they indulge in such things? How could they stoop so low? How could they shamefacedly make such statements that they did not know that the land belonged to the military or to the war-widows?

Seven years back I was asked to conduct a major investigation into endemic corruption at Navy's Material Organisation at Mumbai. This was a prelude to trying by Courts Martial all those found involved. Gradually it came out that everyone from the top (Material Superintendent) to bottom was involved and that the case, just like the Adarsh Society case, should be handed over to the CBI (Central Bureau of Investigation). Indeed, a Navy Order exists to the effect that with such large scale corruption it is mandatory to hand over the case to CBI. But, did we hand over? No, the Navy was jealously guarding its reputation. Hence, there was only one officer, that is me, conducting the entire investigation. I was posted as Director of an operational unit, the Maritime Warfare Centre, and I conducted this large investigation single-handedly. Whilst my own officers and others used to return home at 5 PM I used to continue until 10 or 11 PM and worked on Saturdays and Sundays too for the next eighteen months.

Many a time even the organisation refused to support me. The original C-in-C and his Chief of Staff who ordered the Courts Martial got transferred and a new lot took over. The present C-in-C, who complained about the Adarsh Society, became the Chief of Staff and happened to be a course mate of the chief accused, the Material Superintendent. The witnesses (vendors who had given the bribes) were being threatened by the accused officers not to appear in court. One day, when out of fear not a single witness appeared, I approached him for assistance. He bluntly told me that I was by myself. I approached the original team too who either refused to take my call or pretended not to receive mail from me.

With all this, I was responsible for putting oneCommodore and one other officer behind bars and others were given lighter punishments. So, how was I rewarded for my efforts? Well, it was the Judge Advocate who was awarded a Vishisht Sena Medal (VSM or Medal for Distinguished Service) specifically for his efforts in the investigation and courts martial! Many years later, for two consecutive years, I was recommended for Ati Vishisht Sena Medal (AVSM or medal for Very Distinguished Service) for operational reasons but not awarded since neither me nor the C-in-C who recommended it had friends at the right places. Just before retirement I too was given a VSM as if doing me a great favour.

I have, therefore, first hand and officially recorded experience with large scale corruption in the Navy. But, we in the Armed Forces tend to still regard ourselves as holy cows smug in our knowledge that it is only a miniscule percentage of corruption in civil life.

I agree that corruption in public life should be rooted out and that it is really letting down the countrymen when even armed forces big-wigs indulge in it. But, what do we do other than to watch, complain, compare, tweet, accept and observe a holier-than-thou attitude? What can we do? Should we act like the corrupt politician who, when the case is going on and knowing that it would last for years, confidently says: "Let the law take its own course"? This same politician when he is finally convicted by the court says: "This is a political vendetta" or expresses his sheer contempt for the judiciary and says: "Iska faisala to ab janata ki adalat hi karegi" (I await the verdict of the people).

No, we should never be like the corrupt politician finding excuses for our aberrations.

I think the first thing that we can do is to put our own house in order and not be like the government babu in a Khushwant Singh joke who berated his son for having stolen his classmate's pencil thus: "Shame on you for having stolen your mate's pencil. Next time when you require a pencil tell me and I shall get you from my office".

Like Jesus in the Mary Magdalene case, the first stone should be cast by the one who has not sinned.

The second thing is to remember that there is no small or big corruption. Corruption is corruption whether in small or big things; period. I am reminded of an English gentleman in a train who suddenty lowers his newspaper and addresses the only other passenger in the compartment, a lady thus: "I say you are a pretty lady and I have fallen for you. I would like to spend a night with you....no, please don't be shocked. As you can make out I am really very rich. I shall give you a million pounds for the act".

The lady is taken aback during the conversation but the million pounds makes her think. She quickly gets over her confusion and scruples and mutters, "Well, I think for a million pounds I will go through with it".

At this the English gentleman says, "Okay, then how about having it with me on that seat now for 5 pounds".

The lady is clearly enraged and shoots back, "What do you think I am?"

He says, "That we have already decided, ma'am; we are only haggling over the price".

So, that's really the crux: Are we really honest when we point a finger at others or are we just haggling over the price in the same manner as we do it with a policeman or railway TTE or the babu in the office?

The third is the advice given by former President Dr Abdul Kalam when I invited him to deliver a talk at the College of Naval Warfare whereat I was the director just before retirement. He was asked what do we do to stop staggering corruption in India. His advice: "Begin with yourself and extend it to your family; if every man or woman and family becomes honest we can still have India free of corruption".

In 1969 when corruption in Indian public life had still not become endemic and institutionalised Mrinal Sen's movie Bhuvan Shome was released. Utpal Dutt played the title role and is a strict disciplinarian, a dedicated civil servant in railways who is fanatic about rooting out corruption. When he visits a remote town in Gujarat, a TTE there, played by Sadhu Meher, is chastised by him for taking bribes. Gradually, the tough nature of Bhuvan Shome is worked at by Suhasini Mullay, who is Meher's fiance'. In the end, with his hardness having been cracked, Bhuvan Shome allows Meher to be transferred to a bigger station. The movie ends with Meher breaking this "good news" to his wife, "Meri ab transfer bade station mein ho gayi hai. Aur bade station ka matlab samjhati ho? Jyaada paisa" (I am now transferred to a bigger station. And do you know what bigger station means? More money)

So, that is another thing that we can do: not to let our bigness and senior rank translate into more perks, privileges and underhand gratification.

Is it that we are honest only because we have not got the opportunity to be otherwise?

The last is contained in the lines of the song I heard when I was small:

"Vo buraai karen, hum bhalaai karen, nahin badle ki ho bhavna" (Let them do the evil and let us do the good; and yet we should never be vengeful)

It is because in Eugene O' Neil's words: "No man's guilt is not yours; nor is any man's innocence a thing apart."