Jaago India Jaago, Mahaan Bano!!!!!

One more Independence Day has come and gone.  More programmes on TV celebrating our independence and more shouting from the roof tops about how great we are.  More odes sung to all the glorious achievements of India and Indians.  We have produced the likes of Aryabhat who gave the world the concept of "0", given the world Ayurveda, trigonometry, chess, ....... (I do not know the veracity of all these claims - I have not checked them out - these are just a few of the claims about which we keep thumping our chests over the ages).  

All very fine. But what have we achieved or what are we achieving in recent times?  Does not help to rest on our laurels and that too laurels achieved by people in ancient times. How long will we continue to harp on them?

We talk of the achievements of Kalpana Chawla - she achieved whatever she did on foreign soil.  The opportunity to do so was given to her by a foreign country.  How many women or even men in our country have been given this opportunity here?  We boast of the number of successful Indians in foreign companies in the US or the UK.  Why are these people not in India?  What made them leave the country and go out?  What is the population of India?  How many people can we account for who have done something noteworthy?  What percentage of the population does that account for?

Leave aside our achievements.  Look at our politics.  Look at our politicians.  I need not recount a list of all the "achievements" of those "greats" who occupy the highest positions in our country.  It is there for all to see, on the front pages of newspapers every morning, on all the new channels on the hour, every hour and throughout the hour.

Here is a country that sends people fighting against corruption to jail. It is something the British did to freedom fighters. Anna Hazare is fighting for freedom from corruption. And our own government is sent him to jail. So how are we any different from our erstwhile colonial masters, nay tormentors?

Is this what the likes of Mahatma Gandhi, Nehru and other freedom fighters sacrificed their lives to get us independence for?

Look at the gross indiscipline on the roads.  Look at the lack of work ethic, be it amongst the poorest of the poor who work in menial jobs or people who man high positions in the government machinery.  Look at the corruption and inefficiency all around.  Look at the filth, illness and poverty everywhere.

Does the number of vehicles on the road, the number of mobile phones in the country and the number of television channels available make us a great country?  Or is it the number of malls that have replaced the "kirana waala's dukaan"?

Sorry, it is not that I am not patriotic or don't want to be proud of being Indian.  I am simply unable to rejoice over our independence till we pull our socks up and develop something called social and national conscience. Where is our honesty, where is our discipline, where is our work ethic? What about the moral bankruptcy in our country? How can we be proud of ourselves or ever look people all over the world in the eyes?  Forget others, how can we look at ourselves in the mirror and say "We are great"?

It has become our habit to revel in various "facts and figures" and forget what we as a country have to come to. It is just my agony over the existing state of affairs that makes me present these other facts here. This should be food for thought for all of us Indians.

What we really need to do to grow as a nation is to take a good look at ourselves in the mirror and see all the blemishes in ourselves. Only when we see our own faults can we really set about correcting them and grow into a truly great nation - which we have a immeasurable untapped potential for. What we really need is to develop something called national character.

Bas! Bas! (Enough, enough)

I love travelling, but have always had a hard time on buses. Before you all start writing me off as a snob, I would like to say it is not me. It is my stomach. It seems to have an allergy to any vehicle called a bus and protests at the very word. I can almost hear it screaming for mercy "Bas, bas, no bus for me" at the very mention or thought of the word. 

The history of my bus rides goes back to my childhood. Those days, cars too were an equally detested mode of transport. I remember my aunt taking me in her chauffeur driven car to Zaveri bazaar - shopping for my cousin's wedding - and I left my indelible mark on it by the time we got back. Of course with threats from aunt to make me clean up the car myself.

The next memory of a bus ride in Mumbai is of me - a 4 or 5 year old - going with my Mama. The bus breaked somewhere in between and I fell flat on my face. That was bad enough, but the outrage at such buses being called "BEST" buses was tremendous. "What are their worst buses like"? I asked when I got back home.

Back in Kerala, when travelling once by bus, the poor bald guy sitting in front of me was at the receiving end of my indignant stomach. Those days I used to be given lemon and ginger to suck - all to no avail. Many years later, when I was unwell, my parents struck a deal with Guruvayoorappan, that they would bring me to the temple (even if it meant physically dragging me) if he would make me well.  (Talk of corruption having reached the high heavens in India!) As consolation, I was given an anti-emetic. All along the way I wanted to sleep, while my mother kept trying to wake me up asking "Have you come to sleep or to see the scenery"? She conveniently forgot that I had not come - I was dragged along. By the time I got off the bus, I was sick. I was given 2 idlis to compensate the loss. After that my brain packed up on me and I passed out. But my parents were not to be deterred. Both of them gave me a shoulder on either side and dragged me round the temple.

Why am I talking of all this now? Well, just to explain why I do not travel by bus. For further explanation, refer to this picture.

That is not a great incentive is it, to travel by bus? This is what buses in Bangalore frequently look like. Besides, all the boards being in Kannada, I don't know where the bus plans to take me - up, down, left or right. Any enquiries earlier were met with the very helpful answer "Gottilla" (don't know). So my preferred mode of travel these days is on my Activa or by autorickshaw. 


My experience with auto rickshaws has been a varied one. I have shared this previously in "10 Golden Rules of Auto-rickshaw etiquettes". Yesterday I needed to go to the old part of the city for some work and so hired one. The driver stopped midway and explained with a sweet smile that his accelerator cable was broken. So I was grateful to get off. Unfortunately other drivers did not share my enthusiasm to go to the part of town where I needed to go. Just as I was wondering what to do, a bus came along. I enquired if it was going to Town Hall and when the answer was in the affirmative, I made to enter, but the bus started moving. Not one to be deterred, I actually managed to jump onto it all the same. That was a major achievement which made me feel good about myself. I have not become as old as I imagined. And the bigger achievement was the fact that without a word, I managed to get the conductor to stop the bus once again - he probably is not used to seeing middle aged women try such stunts. The other achievement was the fact that my stomach did not actually protests too loudly - it just went into a major sulk for the rest of the day. I can deal with that. Maybe it is mellowing down with age. 


In any case, I am extremely grateful to the rickshaw driver for helping me rediscover my innate gifts (jumping onto moving buses) as well as for saving me a fairly goodish pile. 


Maybe in due course of time, I will muster the courage to step into a bus once again. In fact, one of these days I plan to buy myself a monthly pass, go on every bus in town to find out where it goes and where all it stops. It will spare you the need to read all this stuff here - I will be too busy travelling to write and my tum like the proverbial shrew will be tamed too. 

How I did not become a Journalist

I had just finished my B.Sc. I wanted to try for a seat for M.Sc at the University of Pune. Unfortunately the seats were limited, and I was not as good as the others who tried that year. I was at a loss of what to do further. The future seemed bleak.

The newspaper carried an advertisement for a course in Journalism. I thought I would give it a try. People at home were certain I would not make it. Not one who was never interested in the news, never read the newspaper etc. Not one whose general knowledge did not extend beyond the area in which she lived.

Anyway, I decided to take the entrance test. I did not have anything to lose. Believe me, this is the best position to be in. It makes one take risks one would otherwise hesitate to take.

Next day I went for the test. There were objective questions and multiple choice questions. There was a question "Who was the Frontier Gandhi"? Search me. I was aware of only Mahatma Gandhi. Although I had heard of Frontier Gandhi, I had no clue who it was. For some reason a voice whispered in my head "Say Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan". I thought I would once listen to someone. Anyone reading it would be unknown to me, so I had the immunity of anonymity, so who cared if it were right or wrong.

After I went home, I faced another Spanish inquisition about what questions were asked. When I came to Frontier Gandhi, there were curious looks and I was asked "and, what did you write"? Imagine my relief when I found out that my thukka was right. Next day there was a list of candidates who could attend a viva.

I was there early enough to check out the list and imagine my surprise to see my name on the list. One of my classmates who had done her Microbiology was there (although she had got admission for M.Sc.). What a waste I had thought. Anyway. I went for the interview. It went this way:

(I = Interviewer S = Satchi)

I: What have you studied?

S: I have done my B.Sc in Microbiology.

I: Then why do you want to do Journalism?

S: I did not get admission for M.Sc and thought this would be something that would interest me.

I: What newspapers do you read?

S: Indian Express and Poona Herald.

I: Poona Herald?

S: Sorry, Maharashtra Herald. (The name had been changed a few months before that).

I: Then why did you say Poona Herald?

S: Force of habit. Old habits die hard.

I: OK. How many columns does the paper have?

S: I read the paper. I did not count the number of columns.

I: So what do you read?

S: I read who died, who murdered whom, Mandrake the Magician and Mickey Mouse.

I looks like he wants to leave the room and take in some fresh air (or at least I think so).

I went home and was again faced an inquisition. When they heard what all I had answered, all hell broke loose and I was told I could forget any hope of getting on the course.

Next day I went to look for the results. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I found my name on the list of people selected. My friend was also selected and I was happy, I would have my close friend with me in this course.

The course started. I went to class and took my seat. The first lecturer walked in. He was the editor of a very reputed Marathi newspaper. (He was also the one who had interviewed me).

The first thing he did was look around the class and said "My God, this class is full of girls. I do not feel inspired at all when I have to teach girls, because you will do the course, quit and get married". I was shocked.

After the class was over, there were 5 minutes for the next lecturer to arrive. I thought over my course of action. I could not bring myself to learn anything under such an MCS. My mind was made up. I went straight back home and decided I did not want to be a student to this kind of a teacher. My friend later on told me that they had made him eat his words packed in newspaper covered with printers' ink.

Well, I could say "My Loss". But that is in retrospect. May be I was never destined to be a journalist. My name is not Barkha Dutt. May be it could have been Geetanjali Aiyer.

P.S. My friend finished her journalism, did her B.Ed and has been teaching in a school for the last 25 years.

July 4 celebrations in Manhattan

Today being the 4th of July, thought I would share a couple of clippings of the fireworks and celebrations in Manhattan on the same day 2 years ago i.e. in 2009.

Punyachi por

I come from the city of Pune
Jethe mhane kahi nahi une
But now I live in Bangalore
Though ever a Punekar to the core
Sutat nahi kadhihi bandhan june

Me aahe Punyachi por
Jithoon aale pushkal mothe thor
Of Pune I am proud
And I'll say that clear and loud
I miss you dear Pune very sore

LimerickWala: Welcome Swati

LimerickWala: Welcome Swati

Does Your Life Need Some Spice?

A certain dear friend named Ice 
Complained that her life lacked some spice 
I told her "Go see a movie
Or do something groovy
I'm sure you'll find that very nice"
.
"Or I'm always willing for a chat 
Do you think you'd like to do that?
Do you find me a bore
Then pray say no more
I'd rather know nothing of that"

Ice said she was going crazy
I didn't think she was being lazy
She really had loads of work
Which she did nothing to shirk
So I wished to make her life a bit easy.

Now I suggested "something Italian
Or maybe something completely European 
It could be a culinary blessing
With lots of salad dressing,
Be it vegetarian or non-vegetarian".

"Or how about a nice new dress 
Shopping's known to reduce stress
But make sure of the price
Don't spend thousands in a trice
Or your balance sheet would be a complete mess".

"Or how 'bout in the Bahamas a cruise, 
I hope that will certainly amuse,
A young lady who is bored,
Of being at work moored,
For a holiday she now has a ruse".

Peacocks and Their Rituals

Friends, 

While going through my collections, I found some rare videos of peacocks.  I had the good fortune of being able to witness these sights a couple of years ago.  I thought I would like to share these with you.  Would certainly appreciate your comments on these.

A PEACOCK PUTS UP A GLORIOUS DISPLAY

A

PREPARING FOR A FIGHT

MOMMA AND BABIES GO OUT FOR A WALK

The Sanity of Insanity

Are all the insane really insane
And the sane really sane?
Or is it just our imagination
Or the phases wax and wane?

I have for you just one question,
Please tell me if you can.
Who decides who is insane
And who the sane man?

If life is but an illusion,
Everything springs from our imagination,
And if living in that perpetual state is sanity
Then shouldn't we redefine insanity?

Who is to say our illusions
Are more legitimate than their delusions
Imaginations or even hallucinations?
It's all a matter of perceptions.

And if this logic we accept,
Then all are insane except 
The Old Man laughing above
While he makes us all his puppets.

If this truth we realize,
All “sane” people would be wise
Enough this simple fact to learn to accept,
No one on earth is born perfect.

So why can't we be more humane
To those the “sane” consider “insane”?
We know not when we cross the border
That should to us be pretty plain.

The line in-between is fine
We could cross over any time,
Or the border could move either way
Which side would we be on that day?

For what one sees as white
May not to another seem so bright.
He may see a shade of gray
Whose perception is right, tell me, pray?

So let's not mock at those who are yonder
But take time off the fact to ponder,
That to remain perfectly sane
We all need a streak of the insane

We need a streak of the bizarre
To keep us as sane as we are,
Or at least as sane as we seem
In this life that is but a dream.

Without that streak of insanity
There would be no sanity.
Truly no one is sane or insane
Let's stop making such empty claims.

The Divided World

Look at that bird fly in the sky,
I can't do that, no matter how much I try.
On terra firma I am sentenced to stay
Friends, can you just tell me why, can you say?

I crave to fly to the world beyond
My little world, just take a round
Of the globe which is mine to inhabit,
But only a minute bit to inherit.

Tell me friends, do you think it fair
That I must live here, not dream of going there
Without obtaining a paper permit,
Or my visit would be deemed “illegitimate”

Who gave us humans the power to say
Who comes on a visit and who may stay?
Why is it that we think it right
To shoo away some, who gave us that might?

God had already divided the earth,
And as HE did that He shook with mirth
As the land split and the oceans came
Our natural wanderlust to tame.

But then in HIS mercy HE gave us the power,
With intelligence and emotions HE did shower
Humans, so that aircrafts we may build
And visit each other as we willed.

But alas we used those mighty brains
To fight each other in a manner insane.
The power to love has gone to rust
Other races we do not trust.

We divide our homes, our land, our hearts,
Each inherits just a tiny part.
Don't come here, this is my land,
Any problem was caused by the foreign hand.

Why can't I just fly at will?
There is so much that I haven't seen still.
For me the very finest way to worship
Would be to make round the earth a trip.

For the earth is to me my God's creation,
HE did not intend its joys to ration.
HE wished me a path over the whole to trace
See all there is and HIS work with wonder praise.
HE is the creator of all seasons,
Of every beast, man and woman.
What right do we have to pray
When God's basic laws we disobey?

Folks, wake up! Listen to God's orders
Create a world without borders!
Please each other do tightly embrace
Live life fully, with perfect grace!

Wake up! This world to everyone belongs,
Everything in it including rights and wrongs.
Go everywhere that you were intended to go,
And in doing so, to the Creator bow!

And praise that eternal Magician,
Whose powers extend beyond human reason!
Be grateful for all that you have received,
And give up your ways so false and deceived!

That when you eventually get back HOME
After having the whole world roamed,
HE will welcome you back with open arms
And you can rest there forever, happy and calm
For an eternity at complete peace
And happiness at your Heavenly father's knees.
With all your siblings black, brown and white
Holding each other's hands, never again to fight.