Something fishy about it !

The other day I was sucked into a discussion on the benefits of fish eating and Omega 3 fatty acids and other such medico-gastronomic discussion over lunch with a few of my colleagues. What with stress and other such urbane issues plaguing most of the population, there was a stormy discussion on the lunch table one day where few of my colleagues were animatedly discussing the benefits of eating the right food to ensure that the plaque sits elsewhere and not on your artery wall.

Although I did not happen to be a part of the discussion from the beginning , what with joining on the table a trifle late, I kind of stormed into the scene when the vegetarian folks were trying to advocate the benefits of being so for the sake of the artery at least. Fiesty protests followed from the colleagues who were not so and it was somewhere around this juncture that my timely action of pulling a chair and joining in veered the discussion to the benefits of savoring fish and the Omega 3 etc.

Since almost all have read sometime or other in the papers about this oily substance that fishes possess and the benefits thereof, the discussion somehow came to the issue of when and how much fish should a person eat to keep your artery in shape.  Much to the chagrin of my Tam-Brahm and Gujju friends, the non-vegetarians on the table proclaimed that they consumed fish pretty regularly and this kept them healthy fit and fine. Due to my origins in Bengal, a kind of opinion was being sought from me as to what should be the optimum frequency of consumption. Fortunately no one asked for co-relation to the statistical data of coronary diseases in Bengal.

The lunch at canteen was anyway coming to a close so gathering up my plates I gave my dictum clearly. I told them “Guys, Bengalis generally do not give a damn on Alpha Beta Omega. We believe in eating fish only two days in a week…” Their jaws dropped as they had heard much to the contrary about it being a staple daily food in that part of the country.

As I gathered to get up from the table I completed the sentence “ …the day it rains and the day it does not”.

Imagine

My kid daughter is expectantly waiting for Christmas. After the Durga Puja and Diwali celebrations have been over in October and the memory of the festivities at the Puja pandal and the firecrackers have taken a backseat in her memory, the next big thing for her is to await the arrival of Santa Claus with bated breath. At her age she is not yet fully conversant with the concept of time more than a few days away and although the names of the months are well known to rote, the time interval of two months it is not yet comprehensible for her.

She has been questioning us constantly on such queries that plague her young mind. As is normal for kids of her age, she is unable to play the waiting game of another couple of month or so before the day comes when the grand old man in red will bring cheer and gifts for her. It is with this expectant tone that she walked up to me one day and asked me why Santa Claus cannot come now and must wait for so long. I explained to her in all its profundity that all things have a time in life. However the logic was lost on her.

Her next question stumped me “ Does Santa Claus live in the same snow covered mountain where Maa Durga stays with her lion ?” she asked, eyes big with curiosity. I immediately assured her that yes indeed it was the same mountain which seemed to satisfy her curiosity for next few minutes. Then she came up with the next one “Then Santa Claus and the lion must be good friends !”

With a twinkle in my eye I told her that they indeed were- they were the best of chums I assured her.

I was thinking about this rather amusing episode the other day and wondered that yes all kids the entire world over must be thinking in the same simplicity and living in their imaginative worlds like her and the life revolves around teddy bears and lions and Santa Claus etc. Yet every other day at some part of the world we have ethnic clashes, discrimination on divisive grounds over caste creed color or fights over religious beliefs. I wonder when and how does this wide eyed wonder and love-all attitude of a child yield to such a bitterness between human beings that they fight with severity worse than wild boars ?

I remember the irreplaceable song of Lennon “Imagine there’s no countries it isn’t hard to do, nothing to kill or die for and no religion too…You may say I am a dreamer but I am not the only one , I hope someday you will join us and the world will live as one…”

The Misty Eyed Goddess

One of my favorite columnists, Jug Suraiya proudly calls him a Hon Bong (Honorary Bengali), having spent his formative years in Calcutta and willingly succumbing to its charms before shifting base to Delhi. Taking a cue from that perhaps I can say I am a Bon Bong (Born Bengali), born and brought up in the city and state, however have not stayed there much after that except for a short stint what with career options forcing me to drop anchor in Mumbai for several years now.

There are many like me everywhere else in the world who have chosen to move out of the city or the state but there is always one time of the year for a Bengali, Hon or Bon, when the Bangaliana (the essence or spirit of Bengali-ness) comes out to the fore most and that is when Goddess Durga comes for her yearly trip with all her entourage to be with us for five days to bring cheer to every home.

During this time of the year, my mind flies back in time to those days when as a kid I used to wait patiently for these five days. I remember as kids we used to take pride in monitoring every progress as the neighborhood pandal used to go up in height with its bamboo structure, then watch with bated breath as the artists used to mould the cloth to replicate some monument or some other piece of architecture with such care. From the day of arrival of the idols to the day of their immersion used to of great significance and excitement all through. As children, one of our major sources of happiness during the Puja days used to be the new clothes and gifts. In the evenings was the sheer joy of going from pandal to pandal watching the Pujas.

I remember an old song eulogizing the deity which goes on to express that the eyes of the Goddess Durga change during the days of the Puja with each day. The first day or Mahashashthi when she arrives and is welcomed in the pandal her eyes are happy with expectation and they depict a sheer glee to be with her children on this earth once more. The happiness and joy increases with each day leading to a sublime grace to her face on the day of Mahashtami which is considered as the pinnacle point of the Puja festival. The gaze becomes a little somber, a shade sad by the night of Mahanavami , as the inevitability of the end of the stay draws nigh and a long wait till next year again beckons. On the morning of the Dashami , the last day, the eyes turn tearful, blessing the devotes always as ever, but with a tinge of melancholy as the time has come to go back. I remember in my childhood as I listened to the song and carefully checked the face of the Goddess every day I could actually see it happening and my heart reflected the same feelings from deep within with same synchronicity.

Long after I bade farewell to my childhood I have tried to watch the face with equal attention and have relentlessly searched for the misty eyed Goddess on the day of Dashami and have increasingly failed to spot it.

Alas, the harsh realities of mundane life have dried the mist from my eyes.

WBC vs PBK

How different is PBK from WBC ? I am not from the medical fraternity so cannot decipher the difference between something abbreviated from White Blood Cells with some thing else which is equally Hebrew Greek and Latin to me or maybe all of them combined.

Well what I actually am wondering about after a short blitzkrieg business trip sometime back there is : How different is Paschimbanga’s Kolkata (PBK) from West Bengal’s Calcutta (WBC) ? Well how much has the DNA metamorphosed in this rechristening effort by the government to shore up the fortunes and the moods of the Bengali bhadralok ? We read it in the press that this alphabetic promotion will do some bit of a change in the fortunes of the state when it comes to attention given to them by the central government. But let us not get into that and let’s get down to the street so to speak.

One of the key changes that I did notice, although it will have nothing to do with the name change, is that the traffic appeared a wee bit more organized, although regular office goers in the city of joy may tear me down to pieces after spending a haranguing hour or two in traffic snarls for this inappropriate comment. Some construction activity is in full swing, be it the East West Metro or the flyovers along arterial roads. The state and city seems to be waking up from some deep slumber poised to run again. I could see a lot of new infrastructural growth signs along the EM Bypass.

I also noticed something else on the streets. The almost omnipresent red flag which used to sway at almost every street corner seems to have either lost its way (pun intended indeed) or have given its place to the now deserving rival. Whether it is the union of the local auto drivers or taxi drivers or whoever seem to have suddenly jumped ship and changed their allegiance. This was indeed visible.

Well if there are things that change , there ought to be things that do not.

It is that time of the year when the most celebrated guest of the city is about to check in with her children and stay with full pomp and grandeur for five days. Pandals are mushrooming almost everywhere , adding one more speed breaker to the already busy traffic. But as like all times, no one complains to this impediment as it is one more homecoming for the Mother.

Be it the Rossogolla or the DuggoPujo , PBK or WBC they are the same as ever.

As we have heard always : What is in a name ?

The Dance of Democracy

As always I have been a strong believer that the ultimate triumph of democracy lies in the fact that the vox populi is supreme and is the bloodline of the system. I had some time back voiced the same vein in “Whose Democracy is it anyway ?”

The drama that was enacted for twelve days both in the House and in Ramlila grounds had kept us glued. We have had raving and ranting from Mr.Sibal and his friends on the supremacy of the Parliament and the finality of the parliamentary procedure. However we saw a big resistance from most of the politicians to accept the writing on the wall. Finally better sense has prevailed and yesterday we saw one of the most serious debates on the floor of the House in recent times. The parliament has unanimously accepted to agree to the three conditions put forward by Team Anna. What was unfortunate was that it took 12days of fasting by an old man to do this.

Is this one of the major tests our democracy went through ? I would say yes and although it staggered in the initial run up, it passed the muster reasonably well at the end. I do not for a moment think that this process has undermined the position of the Prime Minister or the Parliament.

On the contrary I feel that this has only strengthened the position of the elected polity in redefining their stature as the representatives of the people , having a Herculean task before them to deliver each time correctly according to the wishes of the common man. I feel that most of the times our political class forgets that their position in power is not that of a ruler, but in a democratic environment it is merely a representation of the wishes of the people. The quicker they re-adjust their lenses to these basics the sooner will they have fewer problems in understanding and standing by the wishes of the nation.

So therefore what was enacted yesterday after twelve days of the saga was actually the real dance of democracy further strengthening the belief of all in the process and ensuring that the political class is part of the people that they have chosen to represent.

Whose Democracy is it anyway ?

Anna Hazare brigade has taken all of us by storm. It is not an agitation but a crusade. We all as a nation have suddenly united to free the country once more. While we all support in our own ways and keep track of the proceedings , we also watch the theatrics of our learned Members of Parliament who rave and rant about the supremacy of parliamentary democracy and how civil society has to keep away from that.

Long back when countries used to be ruled by kings and the like, there was the royal family and the commoners. The royal blue blooded gentry used to live in separate parts of the town always wary that mixing with the commoners may dilute their blue blood. The commoners were treated like slaves and used to do the menial work for the kings.

The world changed forever when Abraham Lincoln framed the government of the people, by the people and for the people. More and more countries over the years adopted the democracy as the supreme method of governance. It is heartening to see countries like Egypt and Libya trying to join the bandwagon.

The blue blood has left. However a new blood type has been formed. It is the green blooded (Green as in money, honey, mostly ill-gotten !). It is indeed a medical marvel. The class system has shifted focus and there is now a ruling class and a ruled class. The irony is that the ruling class is chosen by the ruled class generally every five years. What astounds me is that our learned parliamentarians who are so eager to keep the parliament sanitized from the whims of the civil society have actually forgotten that neither are their seats in the august house given to them by their heritage but by a small little button on the EVM machine nor are they there to discuss issues related to some species residing in the faraway lands in Neptune or Pluto.

They have been sent there to discuss, debate and decide on a course of action that the people of this country want. They are the representatives of the very people who have given them a mandate to sit there and the very people who can take away that mandate as and when they wish. If the majority of the country wants the Lokpal bill in the way that is good for the country it is the duty of these parliamentarians to deliver. They have been sent there to deliver for the country not to discuss private Swiss bank account codes.

It is high time Mr.Singh and his friends understand this and the quicker they do the better for them. It is indeed sad that our learned parliamentarians do not understand the basic tenets of democracy which they have pledged to serve.

Hope Afloat

Scam time for India. We are keeping ourselves busy – with one scam to another. The cameras roll, the 24x7 news feeds abuzz with the latest on the latest scam. People on the roads test each other’s general knowledge by quizzing on scam.

We have ministers, bureaucrats, business tycoons vying with each other to get into the scam page of the newspaper. I think there seems to be some gradation system working with scams being rated – I heard the title “mother of all scams” in a news channel recently. Tihar jail and 5-star hotels have almost similar guest list nowadays and the jail authorities are seriously considering introducing “frequent guest schemes” to give the hotel programs a run for their money. It would really be popular like if one person tainted in a scam stays so many nights in Tihar, he can get some points which can get him/her some freebies…

Watching the news or reading the newspapers have become funny too. Crocodile tears are putting crocodiles to shame. People are forgetting to remember and then forgetting to forget (technique copyrighted by Mr. Kalmadi). We are familiar with tantrums of toddlers and the racket that they can create when they are deprived of their favourite toy. But an outgoing chief minister slapping another minister and smashing a laptop in anger at having to resign – where have we got ourselves to ?

In this gloom and doomsday scenario a news report stood out of the paper yesterday. In Bellary, the same scam tainted Bellary, where mining has shaken skeletons out of many cupboards, we have a 76year old businessman doing the same business with dignity, running schools for the under-privileged, pledging part of the wealth for the upliftment of the society and in general doing a bit more for the public than most. Even his business has been bunched together in the recent ban. He takes it with a smile knowing how difficult it is to be a good apple in a basket of rotten apples.

He is one Mr.Ghorpade , Chairman Emeritus of Sandur Manganese Ore. Such news keeps the hope afloat for the country- it gives us that light at the end of the tunnel that we are all looking for. May there be more like him in these times of gloom.

Time to stand up for the dues....

Every time a bomb blast rips through the country, we have the usual sound bytes and live feeds. The politicians who are in power blame it on the terrorists operating out of foreign soil, those sitting in the opposition blames the inaction of the government, both together shed their crocodile tears, the bureaucracy tries to take care of the political bosses so that they are not transferred to oblivion, the media tries to pan their cameras on every square inch of the site, tries to create breaking news every moment, the victims’ families rue their own fate and stare into space. The common man on the street stands stunned, shakes his head and is compelled to move on to earn his daily bread to keep the kitchen fire running. This happens with such repetitiveness that a SOP manual can be made out of this nightmare.

But does this happen only in India and is it that the developed nations get to their act better? Obviously so, as all of us know that after the horrendous 9/11, US has got its act so good that try as they may, the terrorists have never been able to penetrate the cordon even once.

We have had our citizens attacked with surprising regularity. Every time assurances from the government have been galore. Perhaps some of the actions have been initiated only to gather dust in the horrendous red tape of our system. The files must be gathering dust somewhere as some politician has realized that he is short-changed so it is better to dump the whole thing or some bureaucrat must be looking up for orders. In this country the political bosses get to the arena after locking their shame and conscience in some safety vault somewhere and the bureaucrats after getting into their jobs know that the key to a long safe career is to be sub-servient to their bosses. 

Time the citizens (the civil society as per the political bosses) sat up and asked some questions. Before I go into that I must admit the way our politicians mouth this word “civil society” gets me to laugh. We all know what they do in the parliaments and assemblies and the broken furniture is proof to that, but is there a more direct way of calling themselves uncivilized?

How does this meek civil society ask the questions due to them? Well RTI has been there, judiciary is also there but given our system both of these procedures are so time consuming we cannot expect to get any speedy redressal.

What then can give the scorpion sting to our politicos to get them out of their cocoons and make them sit up to realize that at the end every job has an accountability ? Simple : a small button on the EVM stating “None of the above”. There have been arguments about how much money will be wasted in having a re-election if this button manages to catch the fancy of the majority, but as a nation are we not wasting enough money anyway on these incompetent representatives of the people, their entourage, kith and kin ? The only difference is perhaps we are spending this money slowly over the years whereas this crazy button will make us bleed at one shot.

What difference does it make ? Are we not bleeding anyway ?

Name Game

What’s in a name ? We have heard this so often ever since Shakespeare made this statement immortal. However when we look around us in this country , we see that there is so much in a name !

Our politicians seem to think that all is in a name. So there is our great name game which goes on. As soon as a party comes to power and soon after they stop ranting about the great democracy that has propelled them to power, starts their first job. Which all names that can be changed and should be immediately changed becomes the priority number one.

Be it roads, be it airports, railway stations , street corners, townships, towns , cities, nothing escapes their attention. Hours are spent debating on assemblies and houses of parliaments as to what should be the apt name. Some of the debates border on fist fights to get the names of their heroes immortalized.

When I come to think of it, I find that not only is the name changed, it is also another agenda to make the name as long as possible. So apart from the small name that was given by the great soul’s parents , we have additions at the end and salutations at the start. So the name of a road which is around one and half kilometers long can start with salutations which are around three hundred metres long.The longer the name, the more number of alphabets that have to be inscribed on the plank the bigger is the achievements of our great politicians, the bigger is the pat on the back from the party high command.

The name changes with grand fanfare, one morning is devoted to a function at the appropriate place and our press laps up all the bytes. Then what happens ? The road, street , rail station or airport whatever it is remains in the same mess that it originally was. If that is so then the great soul on whose name the change happened is lucky. And so are we. What actually happens is that the situation worsens, the place is messier and is on the same downward spiral that it was without a name or the name of some British which we wanted to throw away as vestiges of the past.

Sometimes I have wondered, why do these politicians bicker about their favourite heroes not being covered in this name game and fight for hours in parliament or assembly. Why don’t they start naming the potholes on the roads of Mumbai to start with ? Then they can go to the next four cities and so on and on. It can create huge employment that will put all the earlier Rojgari Yoganas to shame. Imagine, every pothole named after a blessed soul. The politicians can have potholes named after their kith and kin who have long since left this world of potholes. Anyway the potholes are there perennially so they can actually have a small barricade around each and put a name plank.

And the ultimate test of our car drivers is to go round each and every one of them to reach their destination. It will be really the The Long and

Winding Road

!

Old Junk

She was past her prime. In more ways than one. Nobody cared for her much but were not blunt enough to say it openly. Gone were those days when everyone gloated on her, took every care to keep her in shape.

Her sharp mind also was slowing down these days. She wanted to keep herself fit but it was perhaps not possible anymore at this age. The joints were jarred , creaky and needed much attention as she moved around. She caught attention of passers by now too but for all the wrong reasons. How she envied the young generation as they moved in perfect rhythm and barely made a wrong move. Her curves are all in the wrong places and are not the talk of the town anymore.

Will they age too one day, she wondered ? Age catches up with everyone, just you wait till it comes to you too pal- she thought with a glint in her eye.

She was definitely not the most cared for at home too. She had her own corner to herself, mostly in a slumber all through the day, only her mind gloating over the memories when she was the undisputed queen.

She hated the new generation. Hated is a small word actually to express the feeling she possessed of these upwardly mobiles and nubile folks. What do they think of themselves she wondered ? Just because they are attractive and in their prime , huh ? But one thing she was sure of : these newbies maybe slim but are mean. Will they ever be as accommodative as me, she would ask ? Large people have a large heart, she would say. Will they ever care for all in the family, always eager and able to accommodate to the last square inch in her ample heart ? But what could she , poor helpless soul that she was ? But she still had faith that her long time friend would still value her.

Then one day she heard it. They were talking in hush tones but she is not so deaf yet ! They were talking of abandoning her as she was too old and ugly. She could not believe her ears.

As it was a regular ritual , he came to meet her at her corner. He wanted to talk to her and take her out for some fresh air. But the conversation she overheard had been so depressing that she did not feel like it anymore. She wanted to tell him to go take a walk. She wanted to tell him on his face that he better talk to those young ones that he likes so much these days. 

Her heart had gone out for good. She just did not feel like it anymore. Where had she heard that if the heart is not happy the body follows. It is so true. Try as much as he did, he could not coax her out of the slumber today.

She was gone for good.

Try as he did , he could not crank this rickety engine up and finally gave up. Its time finally to hang up his boots on this old Ambassador. He took out his cell phone and called the junk dealer again.

How about a deal for some junk, my friend ?

Chaos- we love it !

We Indians love chaos. The more the chaos the more we seem to love it , imbibe it and cherish it. We are an ocean of a billion people , so chaos does not need to be created. Like millions of microbes under the microscope, we fight for our rights, fight to be heard and fight for survival.

Of course it is not new. We have been living this almost mutinous chaotic existence for the last so many decades, only there have been additons. However the best part which is most intriguing is that we love that chaos. If there is not chaos, if there is a serene calm or a military orderliness then we feel alienated in our own space, threatened that we are going to become zombies and get packed into some faraway land. We may suddenly become peace loving. Peace loving, huh ? What was that ? Oh yes, peace loving we are: did you not listen to the last address of our President about how a peace loving nation we are and we intend to foster peace in the region. Presidents and prime ministers come and go , but that part of the speech remains...

But that is for the speech is it not ? How about some real piece of action on the street as they say ? A sneek peek at a Mumbai suburban rail station in the morning rush hour, or at the toll gates of Gurgaon in the evening or at a Kolkata minibus will tell you how we are. But that is competitive spirit: if this spirit is not in us, how can we live as Indians? Thats the working week...

So the weekend is for some nice little siesta in front of the idiot box , you may ask. Looks like you are the idiot here.

Of course not ! We must show our competitve spirit at all times. So we have Big Bazaar and the likes. If we are not fighting enough we cannot make enough of the bargain and we must do it before the other can ! So it is action time !

I wanted to get away from it all so one weekend went for a long drive on the outskirts of the city. Almost the countryside you may say with only the car stereo giving some serene company. It was really refreshing till I was almost knocked off the road by a auto whose driver had just met Schumacher in his dreams and had decided that the lanes need to be reversed in India as well - otherwise how can he drive with his pal Schumacher in the highways abroad ?

I think the oft repeated phrase needs to be rephrased for us: From chaos you have come and to chaos will you return.