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".