Smorgasbord

ALL-ROUND JUSTICE: The Call of the Master

2012-01-23T00:23:00.000+05:30

I chose Isaiah 42:1-9 as the text for my sermon at the Chandigarh Bible Fellowship this morning. I came back with the feeling that perhaps more than anyone else, the Word spoke to me. The primary "task" of the Servant, about whom the text speaks, is to establish justice. The word justice is repeated three times in the first four verses. It is clearly a concern close to God's heart. Right now the state of Punjab is gearing up for assembly elections due next month. The candidates are going at it with hammer and tongs. They can't seem to wait to serve the state and its people. Now, politicians are meant to be servants of the people and work towards justice. But, then, who believes them? There are reports that the prime minister's rally in Amritsar today was poorly attended. Politics and politicians, at least for the time being, have lost all credibility. Now when I spoke to the congregation about the text, it hit me rather strongly, that as far as the issues of justice are concerned, the Church must wrest the responsibility. It's the church's primary task: to ensure justice being done in all aspects of our personal and corporate lives. Don't leave it to the government alone. The Church must take charge. It should not continue to feel and behave like a victim but stand up for justice for all, like it's Lord and Master did. This minor change in perspective is nothing short of a paradigm shift.

Year 2011: The 150th birth anniversary of Brahmabandhab Upadhyay

2011-12-31T22:30:00.001+05:30

For the past few days, I've been revisiting Brahmabandhab Upadhyay. Year 2011 is supposed to be the year of his 150th birth anniversary. In 2007, the year of his death anniversary, some of us organized a small memorial function. Couldn't do much this year. Anyway, though I cannot agree with all that he said and stood for, he continues to be a fascinating figure to me. As "iamplural", he was "dual". And, as the year comes to an end, I remember him yet again. I perhaps will continue to grapple with him in the coming year.

Here's a small extract about him from his biography:

It is not well known that it was Brahmabandhab Updhayay who helped propel Rabindranath Tagore to fame. Upadhyay first publicly noticed Tagore in a serious way in an article entitled 'The world poet of Bengal' in the weekly Sophia (September 1, 1900). With uncanny prescience he wrote:

'Rabindra is not only a poet of nature and love but he is a witness to the unseen. Revelation apart, Kant, Tennyson and Newman are considered to be three modern witnesses to the invisible world. Poor Bengal has produced another and it is Rabindra Nath.... If ever the Bengali language is studied by foreigners it will be for the sake of Rabindra. He is a world-poet.... He will be ranked amongst those seers who have come to know the essence of beauty through pain and anguish.

(Julius J. Lipner, Brahmabandhab Upadhyay: The Life and Thought of a Revolutionary, OUP, 2001, p. 281)

Lipner calls him a "forgotten colossus" and suggests that we need a more psychological-oriented biography of the man. Perhaps someone should write a novel.

No Turning Back (My memories of Rev. C. M. Khanna)

2011-11-28T19:55:00.001+05:30

“The arrest of RevKhanna was shocking and humiliating. He was clearly framed and he had notconfessed to any person that he was involved in conversions by force orallurement.”

Rt. Rev. P. K. Samantaroy, Bishop, Diocese of Amritsar,Church of North India

“The whole Christiancommunity feels humiliated because a religious leader like Rev Khanna has beentreated in a manner so undignified. The charges of forcible conversion aretotally baseless and false.”

Alwan Masih, General Secretary, CNI

My first memory ofRev. C. M. Khanna is rather faint. He was leading a prayer meeting at afriend’s birthday party. I might have been about three or four years old but ifthere’s one thing I still remember in that birthday party is the figure of thepadre in his characteristic priestly cassock, sporting long hair and flowingbeard. We children were sitting on the durree while the adults sat on thechairs around. Right opposite was the filigreed table for the cake and theeateries. In front of that table stood the young priest, who looked every bitlike Jesus Christ himself. But I remember him for a peculiar reason. As hebrought us the Word of God, he had closed his eyes and he kept on swaying toand fro. At that age, all I could think of while looking at him with anupturned face was, why does he have to swing like that?

Second time, I wasbrought to think of him was when, many years later, I was rummaging through someold books in a modest library – just a few bookcases, actually – at the Dioceseof Chandigarh head office in Ludhiana. There were some old books on religion,theology and philosophy. The one that interested me was a little Pelicanpaperback The Shaking of the Foundations by Paul Tillich, the greatGerman-American theologian, an “outspoken critic of Nazism”, who was “forced toleave Germany in 1933”. I came across Tillich’s name while reading about existentialismbut hadn’t yet found anything originally written by him. I was thrilled to seethat book and pounced on it. The book originally belonged – the rubber-stampimpression informed me – to Rev. Chandra Mani Khanna, Assistant Presbyter, Christ Church,Sector 18, Chandigarh;my congregation where he had served many years back. It was a pleasant surprisebecause it was hard to find many presbyters interested in reading “seriousstuff”, or, for that matter, reading anything at all. It seems he was the lastpresbyter-in charge of the CNI congregation who had any interest in reading.Anyway, I felt a sense of respect for the man. It was heartwarming.

Third time, I actuallyheard him from a distance. He was addressing public meeting in Delhi. It was a religious gathering for theyouth. Rev. Khanna, I learnt, had just come back from England, where,if I remember right, he had gone for some kind of higher studies. This wasabout 10 years back. He spoke on the cultural trend in the West, particularlypostmodernism, and how it was challenging the traditional beliefs of thatsociety. He wasn’t too impressed with that shift. He thought it was adisintegrating factor. He also spoke of “mortification”, which he seemed tosuggest is the way to counter corrupting influence of postmodern consumerism.

Fourth time. I read anews item. “Pastor held in Valley over ‘forced conversions’”. While it is aroutine thing to come across such propaganda, two things seemed particularlyodd. One, the incident happened in the Kashmir Valleyand not in a BJP/NDA-ruled state and, two, that it was Rev. C. M. Khanna whowas arrested. One can criticize the religious leadership of the valley but thatis already being done, started by brave Muslims like Javed Anand (and this editorial in Times of India). John Dayal has called attention to the“fragile unity” of minorities. However,on a personal note, what is most disappointing is the way the bogey of “forcedconversions” is raised to humiliate a senior cleric like Rev. C. M. Khanna. Itseems one only needs to bring up the C-word and you can get away with almostanything. Nuns can be raped, priests can be paraded naked, missionaries withthe little children can be burnt alive, a 64-year-old priest can be picked uplike a petty criminal by the police and vilified by the jingoistic local media.Say “conversions” and the blade must fall and the heads must roll.

Rev. Khanna is as mucha victim of religious fundamentalism as he is of this worst kind of postmodernistapproach to journalism. The “truth” doesn’t matter, selling of the story does.Make it sensational, pander to emotionalism, and cover up any attempt towardsrational assessment of the situation.

Like, Tillich he facesthe power of the might of the state. Government ministers have already pledged“strict legal action” against the padre, even before the case has properly beenprobed. According to reports, Minister for Law and Parliamentary Affairs AliMohammad Sagar has said that government would not allow any person or group tocreate disharmony. “J&K is known for communal harmony and co-existence ofreligion. Any person who will try to create hatred or ill will against anyreligion will not be spared, but will be dealt under law,” he said.

“Every one should cooperate to maintain thepeace,”

However, in the virtualworld hate-filled messages against Rev. Khanna are apparently being encouraged toproliferate. “We swear to kill all Christian missionaries and burn theirbuildings, churches and schools, I offer myself volunteer to find this man,this priest should burn” – these are the kind of comments one gets to readbeneath the YouTube video of the baptism ceremony Khanna is leading. (One couldhear in the video the chorus normally sung at baptisms, the Hindi version of “Ihave decided to follow Jesus/No turning back, no turning back”) Nathan Khanna,Rev. Khanna’s son has said that the government is totally indifferent to thisand has no intention to remove the video. He told AsiaNews.it: “I have no doubtthat my phone and my mother’s phone are under control … it is clear thatsomeone is trying to provoke Muslims against my father in the name of religion.”

In all this, I go backto the first memory of the man. His resemblance to Jesus Christ now goesdeeper. His hair is much shorter and beard a modest French style. However, insuffering, he is like his Master. Trumped up charges were brought to discredit anddispense with both the men The Jewish Sanhedrin could not pass a death sentenceon Jesus, so they sent Him to the Romans to be crucified. The kangaroo court ofthe “Grand” Mufti may similarly not be able to prosecute Khanna but inconnivance of the state, the objective may actually be fulfilled.

I go back to the firstmemory of the man and I picture him praying to the Master with eyes closed,swaying to a fro and singing – “No turning back, no turning back”.

… And they killed their merit

2011-11-24T23:16:00.000+05:30

A list of Dalit students who committed suicide in the last four years in leading educational institutes was recently released

Linesh Mohan Gawle died on 16 April 2011. Committed suicide, to be precise. Or perhaps it would be far more precise to say that he was forced to take his own life. Gawle was a Ph.D. scholar at the National Institute of Immunology (NII), New Delhi. He was one of the 35 scholars who made it to the prestigious institute during the academic year 2009–2010. And now he adds his name to the list of 18 Dalit students who committed suicide across various institutes of higher learning in India in the last four years. Anoop Kumar, the Delhi-based advocate, whose Insight Foundation has compiled this list, says that the actual number of suicides may be much higher; the listed cases are the ones pursued by friends and family of the victim. All of these instances of suicide are in one way or the other related to caste-based oppression.

Gawle’s is the most recent instance of a Dalit student committing suicide. Though all the details are yet to come out, the institute lost no time in declaring it a case of “failed love” . Fellow students mutter that it is the pressure at the institute that has taken its toll; most students at such elite institutes practically work as slaves and are at the mercy of the faculty for things like favourable recommendation letters and smooth interviews. But one cannot deny the fact that Gawle is the second Dalit student to commit suicide in this institute in the last three years.

Kumar says that in all such cases the so-called premier institutes are ready with stock responses: The student could not cope with the pressure of studies. He was battling with “personal” problems. By this they also imply that these “quota students” actually do not belong there. But according to Kumar if these institutes cannot deal with the diverse backgrounds of their students then they should openly declare that they will only admit urban, English-educated, upper-class, upper-caste students. They should stop calling themselves “national” institutes. “The problem lies with the institutes and not the students,” Kumar asserts.

He also denies the charge that these students are not able to “cope up” with the pressure of the studies. A year before Gawle took the extreme step, Bal Mukund Bharti, a final-year medical student from All-India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS) had hanged himself. A bright student, Bharti had cleared his IIT entrance exam and yet changed stream to pursue a career in medicine by enrolling in

India

’s best medical college, AIIMS. They don’t come brighter than that; and, yet he was traumatised to such an extent on account of his caste, that he tried to end his life twice and, unfortunately, succeeded the second time.

Suicide sans suicide note

What Anoop Kumar finds most intriguing in all these cases is that, except in one instance, the typical suicide note has never been found. In the absence of such a crucial evidence, which otherwise is almost always left by the victim, authorities get away with citing any reason they like. Dr Jaspreet Singh, who hanged himself in his college library in 2008, was the only one whose suicide note was found and that too accidentally by his father. That note clearly expressed the reason for his suicide: caste-based oppression.

A bright student at the Government Medical College, Chandigarh, Singh cleared all the exams he ever took during his MBBS but was deliberately failed, by just one mark, in “Community Medicine” by his examiner, who had repeatedly told Singh that he would never become a doctor. In his suicide note, Singh mentioned the Head of Department’s and two fellow students’ names who so tortured him that he was forced to take this extreme step. After his death, the answer sheet was re-evaluated by a three-member expert Board of Examiners, and it passed him. The HoD has never been prosecuted in any way, either by the institute or by the law. It was perhaps this injustice that drove his younger sister to follow in Singh’s footsteps. On the day of Raksha Bandhan the next year, she too ended her life.

The act of suicide is never a sudden decision; in the case of Dalit students, it is result of a long-standing process of denigration and demoralisation . What the SC/ST students need is a healthy, affirming environment (see “Suicide”, pp. 45–47). But can our upper-caste-dominated elite institutes effect a change of this nature? Or shall one look at other possibilities? Anoop Kumar’s Insight Foundation is one such way, which also runs a helpline for students facing caste-based oppression at their institutions.

OBC–SC/ST Combine?

Now, since the reservation in educational institutions is extended to the OBCs as well, a new scenario may emerge in the days to come. There may emerge a Dalit–OBC alliance that stands up to caste oppression. Kumar believes that though OBCs are not welcomed by the upper castes, they are seldom the target of verbal or physical hostility, which is almost exclusively directed towards the SC and ST candidates. Because of a deeply rooted casteist mindset, the upper castes “are trained to use violence against the SCs,” Kumar says. However, a similar kind of caste-based animosity that both the groups experience would bring them together. Kumar hopes that with the increasing number of OBCs in these institutes, caste oppression may actually reduce. This is likely to happen primarily because the monopoly of a few selected upper castes over these institutes will be broken. Diversity of castes will cause a rupture in the vicious caste nexus in these places. The numbers will also play a part. Kumar says that there is violence because upper castes are greater in number and hence they are able to overwhelm the miniscule minority of Dalits. “What chances do 5 have against 95?” Kumar asks.

But now there is a possibility of a coalition between the OBCs and SCs/STs, a possibility of brothers becoming each other’s keepers. And, it will go on to make these institutes truly talent-nurturing centres instead of being graveyards of merit!

Dalit & Adivasi Students Helpline: 0 99 99 48 42 49

E-mail: deathofmerit@gmail.com

http://thedeathofmeritinindia.wordpress.com/2011/05/07/about-the-death-of-merit/

This blog documents all kinds of casteist oppression in institutions of higher education, including the kind which results in the ‘suicides’ of young and meritorious Dalit and Adivasi students.

(I was reminded of this story I did for FORWARD Press magazine when today few friends on FB drew attention towards this news item: Exams where caste stigma has no answer. )

Decapitating Democracy

2011-11-09T10:51:00.000+05:30

Such remarks were mostly seen in the comments section of an online article, where one could safely conceal one’s identity. Whenever the topic of conversion cropped up in any article, some reader with the name “Bharat”, “Indian” or “NRI” would say that those who convert others and/or those converted should be beheaded. Later such comments also came with proper, if not real, names. But one still saw such language in the comments. The Indian Express yesterday, 8th November, carried a report with the headline: “Behead those who convert Hindus: Togadia”. The newspaper may have wanted to sensationalize things but then it carried it, at least in the Chandigarh edition, not on Page 1. It may be giving an unambiguous warning.

“Behead”. I am not sure if this is cow-protector Pravin Togadia’s way of saying “Happy Bakara Eid”. He made this statement in Ahmedabad in village Pirana inhabited by a substantial population of Muslims. Speaking at the third and the final day of the Akhil Bhartiya Dharmaprasar Karyakarta Sammelan, 2011, which coincided with Bakrid, he also said, according to Times of India, that while anti-conversion was a priority, re-conversion of those converted to Islam and Christians was a bigger priority. Earlier he had given the call to Muslims of the area to reconvert to Hinduism and mocked the idea of politicians wearing skull caps during Muslim festivals.

Of course, Togadia has been making such inflammatory statements since forever and though they have certainly contributed in making savages out of human beings, many believe that the country has moved on from those horrifying instances of communal violence. The great Indian middle class believes that we have all matured and will not be swayed by such crass rhetoric. In fact, some news sites have called it a “lackluster” affair and they may even be right. The event may not have been very well attended but it has made a significant statement—a significant communal statement.

The sammelan was held in an RSS-run village school and many of the delegates stayed on the campus that included a Sufi shrine, a dargah, of Imam Shah Baba and a Hindu temple. The dargah attracts both Hindu and Muslim devotees. Hindus, called “Satpanthis”, comprise 85 per cent of the followers while the rest are “Saiyed” Muslims. The balance is tilted in the favour of the Hindus, though there had apparently been no history of communal tension. The trust of the shrine is for obvious reasons dominated by the Hindus. There are reportedly seven Hindu and three Muslim trustees. The Muslim trustees did not want extremist Hindus to hold a three-day event there. “We are against such meetings and we haven’t given any permission orally or in writing. They (Satpanthis) are doing what they want to do. All we want to say is that if you don’t believe in the ideology of what Imam Shah Baba taught, should leave the Dargah alone,” DNA quoted Saiyed Nuruddin Bade Miyan, a Muslim as saying. And though the dargah was a symbol of communal harmony in the area, the differences arose between trustees of the communities in 2002 and about six years ago, the communities clashed. Each accuses the other of communalizing the dargah. A 2006 article in the Christian Science Monitor highlighted the increasing communalization of the village: “Eager to slough off the shrine’s Muslim identity after the Gujarat riots of 2002, Hindu devotees of the saint built a barbed-wire fence between the shrine and the mosque that was originally built in the same complex. Muslims and Hindus then accused each other of stealing religious items and are now locked in a bitter court battle, each claiming the shrine is rightfully theirs.”

On the day the sammelan began, two organizations, Movement for Secular Democracy (MSD) and Peoples’ Union for Civil Liberties (PUCL) gave a memorandum to the Gujarat governor Dr Kamala Beniwal to requesting her to “ensure peace and harmony during VHP’s conference”. While their efforts did help prevent simmering communal explode, they could not do much to check VHP capitalizing on the already tense relationship between Hindu and Muslim followers of the shrine.

On 7th November, the last day of the sammelan, the communal degeneration of the dargah was inscribed, if not unveiled, when the chief of the trust handed over a cheque worth Rs 1,11,111 to the saffron outfit. While ToI said that this act allayed pre-event fears of communal conflict, reports are yet awaited as to how the Muslim trustees reacted to this gesture of unmitigated gratitude. It’s possible that the majority of members overruled any dissent within the trust.

It is, thus, not difficult to see a clear divide within the trust as well as the communities in general. The Hindu trustees have already thrown their lot with VHP hoping some backing from the militant outfit even as they continue to battle legally with their Muslim counterparts.

This particular event has indeed added fuel to the fire but the reason that it becomes uncannily frightening is that it is part of a larger resurgence of Hindutva forces within last eight or nine months.

For example, the recent “clashes” in Rajasthan’s Gopalgarh (Sept. 2011) between Meo Muslims and Gurjars have been called communal riots, where the local BJP MLA tried to raise the bogey of Muslim fundamentalism. The truth, however, is that it is clear case of massacre by the police, targeted at a particular community (see Pramod Ranjan’s “Not a Riot, Repression”, Cover Story, FORWARD Press magazine, Nov. 2011). That little town did not witness any communal riot in the past before the RSS became active there.

The rise of the so-called anti-corruption movement under Team Anna too is symptomatic of this resurgence. While skeletons are tumbling out of the cupboard for the leaders, the discussions, especially on the social media are exposing the true face of the rank and file of this campaign. The self-righteous freedom fighters of the “second freedom movement” are the same sort of people who brought down the Babri Masjid in 1992. For many of them, corruption-free Indian is nothing but another name for saffron brigade’s Akhand Bharat. Krantikari Manuwadi Morcha is one of the many Hindutva organizations extending their support to Anna Hazare’s campaign. It holds that reservations are the chief cause of corruption in the country; and it is not difficult to see that it has become especially vocal since implementation of reservations for the OBCs. Gail Omvedt, in a recent column, suggests that possibility of OBC influx in educational institutions and government jobs has terrified the Manuwadis, the casteists. Talking of reservations she says, “This major aspect of democratising and acting against the old privilege of birth, is hated by those who benefit from it. Now those who hate it are getting a chance to divert attention into the single issue of ‘corruption,’ with the hidden agenda of blaming much of it on reservations!”

Almost every evening the ‘fans’ of India Against Corruption on Facebook berate and hurl choicest abuses at all those who seek serious dialogue regarding Team Anna’s crusade, its larger motives, programmes and goals. Behind their ferocity is nothing but a misguided caste and communal pride that is deeply offended by democratic principles of affirmative action and even the Constitution. When I last followed one such a discussion, I found people calling it a pirated document, which needs to be thoroughly revamped.

It’s not before long that this anger falls on another cardinal democratic freedom, freedom of conscience. After reservations, conversion can be the next target of this movement that initially only wanted its own version of a bill to be passed. After all, there are ready-made arguments against corruption—in the eyes of the Hindutva forces, conversion is always a result of Christians and Mulsims “bribing” the so-called poor (read, lower caste) people.

Such is the force of this argument, though quite illogical and so far without any credible evidence, that a former member of Team Anna has already made a statement against conversions. Recently the head of the Roman Catholic Church, who is also revered by many Protestants, Pope Benedict XVI sent his Diwali wishes via a letter to all Indians, in which he mentioned that one should also celebrate the freedom to change one’s religion. Swami Agnivesh responded to that letter “suggesting a moratorium on the religious conversion of ‘unlettered tribals’ and children who cannot make an ‘informed choice’”, reported Hindustan Times. A totally unnecessary reply, one would think. It is a common knowledge that in most families, except where both the parents are atheists, children as young as one year old are taught to bow before the idols and are shown religious books and pictures to train them in religion. That aside, one must ask what propelled Swami Agnivesh, who is respected across religious spectrum, to make such a suggestion. It may be that continuous personal attacks on him by virulent Team Anna followers have forced him to establish his credentials as a good Hindu, in the mould of Gandhi and Vivekananda, who made similar suggestions. And, these two are also inspirational figures for some of the most powerful Hindutva ideologues.

The feel-good campaign of the saffron brigade may not have been politically approved by the electorate in the 2004 general election, but the socio-cultural machinery that creates and perpetuates it was never shut off. Now when the Congress party is in ruins, Hindutva forces are already sniffing victory in the 2014 election. Earlier this year in an interview with Frontline magazine Christophe Jaffrelot said it as a maxim: “…the centre of gravity of the political discourse in

India

has shifted to the Right.” It’s their best chance.

Pravin Togadia seems to believe that. Swami Agnivesh perhaps thinks likewise. Who knows, he may even be trying to play Good Samaritan by asking Christians and Muslims not to involve themselves in conversions, else Togadias of VHP would act on what they are only saying. Behead!

Cruelty will come like culture, warns the artist

2011-11-07T00:15:00.001+05:30

Sunday, July 24, 2005

AN actor must not be confined to drama alone. Acting is not synonymous with performance; poetry is acting; conversation is acting.

On Saturday evening, theatre personality Ram Gopal Bajaj demonstrated what acting means when liberated from the confines of an auditorium. Sitting atop a table, and not behind it, Bajaj read poems and spoke to a spellbound audience.

In a meet-the-artiste evening organised by the Chandigarh Sangeet Natak Akademy, Bajaj drew the attention of the audience to the fact that in the last fifty years the "mood" of the society has become more aggressive, pernicious and violent. This he ascribed to a complete overlooking of foundational matters of culture and education. Identifying with each other is exactly what is missing from our degenerating culture, Bajaj said.

Theatre, he said, has not become part of our primary education system like other arts namely, painting, musicand dance.

When someone from the audience asked him about the future of theatre, he said without mincing words, "I am horrified when I see the symptoms of decay."

With the maddening increase in the city's population how many cultural centres, had come up, especially for children, he asked. Interspersing his talk and audiences' questions with poems of eminent Hindi writers like Kumar Ambuj, Kunwar Narayan and Ajneya, Bajaj lauded poetry for engaging with culture in a critical manner, a point that theatre misses out.

He said while the theatre doyen Alkazi had shaped his dramatic skills, it was Ajneya who shaped his sanskaras and his ethical notions.

By the time the evening ended with Ajneya's poem "Ghar", the soft spoken thespian had made one thing strikingly clear - In a shrinking cultural space, acting is the only way to survive.

(http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=140698)

About love, Among Other Things

2011-11-03T23:26:00.000+05:30

Sunday , May 15, 2005

Estranged spouses can become exasperating habits. Easy to pick in the days of youth. Hard to leave as you grow old. Divorce, then, is just a sorry reprieve. Raell Padamsee's play Anything but Love which opened to a full house at Tagore theatre today grapples with this theme in a comic yet forceful tone. Directed by Vikranth Pawar, the play revolves around two characters Seema and Anish, played by Mandira Bedi and Samir Soni, respectively.

The play begins with the chance meeting of the two in a restaurant. Divorced for five years, they can't wait to put the other one down. What follows is a hilarious exchange of whipping wit, immediately hooking the audience, and they are seldom let off.

After the initial fusillade of sexual insults and indefatigable repartee, the play lays bare the complex lives of the two characters, still retaining its risible flavour. Having divorced Anish, Seema, a one-time feminist, marries a younger man. Anish, a bisexual, absent-minded physics professor carries on his flings with, what Seema calls, "overgrown" schoolgirls. Even after five years of water gone under the bridge, both feel jealous and threatened by the presence of another lover in the former spouse's life. The jealousy is countered by an attempt to reclaim the old state. Guess what! They end up in bed again. Undergoing therapy with impossible shrinks, they realise that they are each other's best support.

Legally married to someone else Seema decides to go back to Anish. And then things go bad, again, and she moves out again only to bump into him in a restaurant again. That's where the curtain falls.

The play looks at the woman's fear of growing old and the man's dread of impotence. Samir Soni was flamboyant as a nutty professor. His timing and control was admirable. The quirks and whims of married individuals were brilliantly portrayed by both the actors who shared a great chemistry and acted out the characters as well as the relationship with impeccable empathy.

Once in the play Anish says that choosing whom to marry is like selecting a mobile phone service. You never know the hidden costs until later. But probably a better metaphor, taken from the play itself, is that of the crossword puzzle. It's all about helping each other with the clues to get it right.

(http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=129363)

This Tendulkar Is Never Out of Form

2011-11-03T01:16:00.000+05:30

Jun 04, 2005 at 1028 hrs IST

When it comes to exploring the elemental violence inherent in human relations or delineating the hope that springs eternal, few come close to the master playwright Vijay Tendulkar.

Baby, a play written by this award-winning dramatist and staged in Tagore Theatre today, projects the life of its protagonist with supreme empathy and piercing insight. Despite its agonising length and a delayed start, the play maintained a firm grip on the audience. Such is the power that the original master blaster of Indian Theatre wields.

Directed by Rajinder Sharma of Art and Act Academy, the play tells the story of a young woman ravished and resuscitated by the same man. It begins with arrival of Baby’s brother Raghav, who has spent a year and a half in a lunatic asylum. Because he tried to save his sister from the local goon Shivappa, he was falsely declared insane.

He comes back only to find out that his sister has started living with the same man as his mistress who is responsible for their miseries. ‘‘Such is life, Raghav,’’ Baby tells her brother. Shivappa kept her, got her a job as an extra and provided her with lodging when everyone else turned on her. The play explores the entanglement of cruelty and mercy that mark human relationships and celebrates the hope that keeps the world going.

The knock-down script was executed with élan by the able caste. As their director calls them, the ‘‘amateur yet seasoned’’ actors gave scintillating performances. Gaurav Sharma as Raghav, a terrified, broken man was brilliant and so was Sachin Sharma who played Shivappa, the sadistic ruffian. Yogesh Arora as a struggling bisexual assistant director provided much needed comic relief. It goes to his credit that the Karve never became a caricature.

Alongside these confirmed histrionics, Anmol Bharati in the role of Baby made her debut. A promising talent, her hard work was evident. Lights for the play were handled by Parveen Jaggi, who in spite of the limited lights available in the theatre was able to create an ambiance.

(Review originally published in Indian Express: http://www.expressindia.com/news/fullstory.php?newsid=47953)

Cherchez La Femme, Looking for Annie Mascarene

2011-10-15T12:52:00.001+05:30

Yesterday afternoon after I had finally submitted the forms for registering the names of both my children at the registrar’s office in Sector 17, I decided to take a quick tour of the National Gallery of Portraits in the basement of the Central State Library Building, which fell between the registrar’s office and the parking lot and to which I thought I would bring the juniors when they are ready to start reading while standing on their own feet.

One of three such galleries in India (besides Delhi and Kolkata), Chandigarh’s National Gallery of Portraits houses some fine exhibits, portraits, busts of nationalist leaders and recordings pertaining to the “national freedom struggle” from 1857 to 1947. One thing I particularly liked was that unlike most Indian museums, this one allows you to click photographs. Alas, I wasn’t carrying a camera.

Crown presented to Ajit Singh by Tilak

The first exhibit I noticed was the “crown” that Bal Gangadhar Tilak had presented to Ajit Singh, the uncle of Bhagat Singh, in 1907 at the Surat session of the Congress . (Photo courtsey: fulldhamaal.com) The purple-coloured headgear with shining tassels had the OM (ऊँ) sign and “Vande Matram” embroidered on the front. It was exciting to see this material artifact of history in a city that was born out of a resolve to make a clean break from the past. I turned and went around looking at the portraits and reading the descriptions about various freedom fighters and key events. Since this was an unscheduled stop, I decided to skim through the rest of the panels, after having spent some time reading about all the stalwarts of 1857 revolt on the first.

Together it all presented an impressively comprehensive assemblage of that heady 90-year period. It was a national conglomerate indeed. The Bengalis, the Punjabis, the Tamilians, the Manipuris, the Biharis, the UP-ites were all there. I don’t think I saw many from the “Dalit” backgrounds, though Ambedkar’s portrait hung there and there was one panel dedicated to Birsa Munda, the Adivasi. Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Parsis were all present but hardly a Christian till I saw this European name. Yes, of course, I had come across Womesh Chandra Bonnerjee’s image next to A. O. Hume’s on the panel that showed the genesis of the Congress Party, but as far as I know, there’s nothing that distinguishes him as a Christian. Ambedkar in his speech/book, The Annihilation of Caste, names him as one responsible for forestalling social reform in favour of the so-called political reform in the 1892 Allahabad Session of the Congress. Bonnerjee, one can argue, acted in the interest of his class/caste background and not true justice.

WANTED Information about Annie

It was actually a serendipitous discovery. I lingered a little longer on the panel about the impact of freedom movement on the princely states. I had recently finished reading Javier Moro’s Passion India, having read about it in an article by A. J. Philip and this one topic continues to interest me. The “Maharajas” (not allowed to be called kings by the British; and befittingly called spectacles by Kipling) and their lives are fascinating studies, especially when one wants to understand the ambivalence of colonial encounter besides the truth about Indian monarchical system with its tantalizing pathos, in all its decadent glory. This panel had a strip of text of the 1939 statement by the Maharajah of Patiala made to Praja Mandal workers—who were bringing the rural folk in the princely states into the national “mainstream” politics—that forbade their activities in the state and ended like this: “…Remember, I am a military man; my talk is blunt and my bullet straight.” As my eyes moved to the centre of the panel, there was a mention of the Travancore state and a rare picture of a woman with that name that arrested my attention—Annie Mascarene.

Annie Mascarene could turn out to be like W. C. Bonnerjee, a keeper of the brahmanical order but she may also be a real harbinger of socio-political transformation of her state. There wasn’t any note on her on that panel. So I decided to search for her on the Internet once I got back home. Who knows she may turn out like Rajkumari Amrit Kaur? Though it was pretty clear that unlike that Kapurthala princess, she was not from the royal family. But like her she was a Christian woman.

While the princes, and princesses, in principle and practice were against the national freedom struggle and the Indian National Congress, Rajkumari or Bibi Amrit Kaur threw her lot with Gandhi and his Congress. She had always been the most-independent minded among the men and women of the royalty in Kapurthala. Javier Moro notes:

“Bibi enjoys enviable freedom in an atmosphere where it is practically impossible to obtain. That is why the women in the zenana look at her with suspicion, although deep down they admire her … She smokes, using a long black silver cigarette holder. The other women excuse her because she is a Christian. They consider her as half-white, as though she came from another planet … Her father has the reputation of being ‘a pious Christian’, and a man committed to the idea of an independent India. … She has come back from England with her mind full of discontent, and a desire to change the age-old mentality of her country.”

She gave it a shot by joining Indian National Congress and held the post of Indian first health minister.

But what about Annie?

To start with, there’s no Wikipedia page on her in English! There’s one in Italian though that Google translated for me making all the pronouns referring to her masculine. It said that she was born in 1902 in “a bourgeois family Catholic in the then kingdom of Travancore” (present-day Kerala), became politically active in 1935, joined the Congress and was part of the Quit India Movement but left the Congress after Independence, in 1950, “Because of his character is frank and direct often brought into conflict with their party leaders”. She fought the first general election in 1951–52 as an independent and won. Interestingly, in that election, out of the 20 independent candidates who fought against INC and RSP (Revolutionary Socialist Party) in Travancore, only three managed to win and she was the only independent woman candidate to run (Source: IBNPolitics.com). She gave up political career in 1957. She died on 19 July 1963.

Information on her is hard to come by, on the Internet at least. A search result points to a Rediff page but that is curiously all blank. Then there is Web site streeshakti.com that has small box of information on her but since the information is far too little, it has repeated a paragraph. But still some additional pieces of information: one, she was born on 26 May; two, her father was a “low-paid government servant” by the name Gabriel Mascarene; three, by 1925 she had done double MA, in economics and in history; four, she taught in Ceylon (Sri Lanka); five, she came back to India three years later and got herself an LLB degree (must be about 1930). And going back to that Italian Wikipedia article, she became politically active in another five years.

Another piece of information about her is found on the government Web site of Gandhi’s works. There is a strongly worded letter written by “BAPU” on October 28, 1945, from Nature Cure Clinic in Puna, to “DEAR MASCARENE” in which he is nearly reprimanding her for dragging his illiterate sister and barely literate niece in an apparent “controversy” on the question of primary education in Travancore and making “them repeat things parrot-like, leading the public to believe that some good work has been done”. He wanted to hear her version of the story. It would’ve been nice to get that. I hope I can lay my hands on her response and much else.

Till then let’s admire her autograph as preserved at indianautographs.com.

Truth Is Our Only Defense. But What Is It?

2011-10-14T19:08:00.000+05:30

I was part of a demonstration this evening held at Plaza in Sector 17, Chandigarh. Organized by some "Left-Democratic" organizations, it was held to uphold freedom of expression and condemn extremism. There was a lot of passionate sloganeering followed by even more passionate speeches by various protesters. I addressed the small gathering briefly and said that such attacks do not happen all of a sudden; there is a long incubation period in which some "scholars" rewrite true events and weave myths out of history in which youngsters like the ones who assaulted the eminent Supreme Court lawyer get willingly entangled. Bhagat Singh has been made a Hindutva ideologue. I urged everyone, especially the young students to study history closely and not lose sight of the truth. Truth is our only defense. ... But since then I am sitting wondering if this word "Truth" means much in our times ... I seem to be asking like Pontius Pilate: "What is Truth?" ...

Alternative Insurance Plan for NREGA?

2011-07-03T13:55:00.000+05:30

LIC bonanza

At the NREGA meet last week, Congress MP Mabel Rebello raised an important and very valid query about the high cost of involving Life Insurance Corporation of India in the employment guarantee scheme. She calculated that LIC is paid Rs 400 annually per NREGA worker which works out to a yearly premium of Rs 1,000 crore. Citing the example of Jharkhand, Rebello pointed out that there were only two accidental NREGA-related deaths in Jharkhand for the whole year. LIC was earning enormously from a scheme meant for the poorest sections of society. She felt a smarter alternative would be to pay every district collector Rs 10 lakh per year. In the eventuality of an NREGA worker’s death, the collector would be in a position to pay Rs 1 lakh to the next to kin within 24 hours.

(from Coomi Kapoor's Inside Track in The Sunday Express, 3 July 2011)

In Laboratory of Emotions

2011-03-09T23:48:00.000+05:30

Scientist-cum-poet Laltu rhymes it for the common man

It was, but natural, for him to turn to poetry one day. “Every Banglaspeaking has to write a poem once in life,“ says Calcutta-born poet Dr Harjinder Singh. He was in City to attend a discussion on his poetry, organised by Sahit Chintan on Sunday.

Laltu, as he is fondly known among friends and acquaintances, earlier taught Chemistry at Panjab University and is at present teaching at the International Institute of Information Technology in Hyderabad.
Poetry, says Laltu, is an important part of Bangla culture. He, whose thoughts first found the shape of poetry in high school, has come out with a third collection of his poems, Log Hi Chunenge Rang. “They are about our times, issues concerning us, on my understanding of women,“ he says of the anthology. “They are about as I see things, and poetry has to say what the poet feels,“ he adds.
Laltu's creative instincts aren't just limited to poetry, there's story writing, translations and yes, his famous blog – Aayeeae haath uthayein hum bhi. The blog is replete with musings, published poetry and issues of concern, from Binayak Sen to his latest post on death penalty, which he says is against his principles. When Laltu began blogging, way back in November 2004, not many people were using the medium. For Laltu, it was filling the gaps between poetry and story writing, things that did not have a platform to be said. “It was for things we can't say and don't say,“ he says. Discussing Laltu Renowned literary critic Manager Pandey spoke on Laltu's poetry and short stories at the discussion organised by Sahit Chintan at Pracheen Kala Kendra, Sector 35, on Sunday. He said, “Laltu's poem reflect urge for democracy, honesty and open commitment for the downtrodden.“ This was followed by a question-answer session, in which academicians NK Oberoi, Akshay Kumar, Prem Singh, Manjit Singh and theatreperson Shabdeesh participated. Earlier, Satyapal Sehgal, professor of Hindi at PU, introduced Manager Pandey and Laltu.
(Story by Sarika Sharma that appeared today in Hindustan Times' HT City, Chandigarh)

The Meaning of Celebrating Christmas

2011-01-01T18:20:00.002+05:30

Braj Ranjan Mani

He was born in an obscure village about 2,000 years ago. The son of a simple rural woman, he grew up in the village. He lived there for about 30 years, working as a carpenter and performing other manual duties. He never had a formal education; he never attended school or college. At about the age of 30, he became a spiritual teacher. He left home, and he simply wandered and taught. He had no credentials that people generally associate with greatness. He did not earn wealth. He did not write any book. He did not go for a world tour or travel across the seas. He only travelled within a couple of hundred kilometers of his home village. He had no special status as a religious or political leader. Some people turned against his teachings—and his life. Even without really understanding who he was or what he was speaking about, they viciously targeted him. His friends abandoned him. One friend denied him, and one friend betrayed him to the political and religious authorities. Others put false charges against him, and he was convicted as a criminal. He was hung on a cross between two thieves. Finally, his lifeless body was placed in a grave donated by a friend. But his story did not end there. According to Isaiah,

He grew up before him [God] like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground. He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed…. He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth…. He bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors. (Isaiah 53: 2-12, The Bible)

Centuries have passed since then, and we are on the threshold of the 21st century; but he, Jesus Christ, is still alive. He lives in the hearts of millions of men, women and children. Like a lamp that is never blown out by any storm or tornado. Why is it that over time, his importance has increased? Why, day by day, are more people taking shelter under the shadow of this Messiah?

Today, material changes—along with huge advances in science, technology and medicine—have changed the face of the world but they have not changed many old ways of the world. The world remains unkind, fragmented, and violent. Many things in our world and our relationships remain ugly and oppressive. Many old and new woes continue to fester. The vicious circle of injustice, exploitation and violence continues, albeit in new forms and new garbs. Today’s story is very complicated but our social and environmental poverty is clear—and remains the main source of discord, conflict and violence both within the countries and among the countries of the world. Human life is difficult: many people suffer due to internal, personal or family problems but many more are systematically oppressed. Millions of children are denied the basics like sanitation, health care and education. Today, above all, there is a growing feeling of helplessness before the pervasiveness of greed, cynicism and callousness. As injustices and violence persist, we desperately look out for some beacon of hope. We seek and invoke ideals and ethics to keep our sanity, to restore our faith in our common humanity—with a hope to end the hatred, strife and injustices.

Christmas brings us hope. A celebration of dreams, Christmas symbolises the triumph of hope over despair. Whatever the adversities, the life of Jesus reminds us that we have a soul and a spirit capable of endless love, sacrifice, and endurance. Jesus’ unbounded love for humanity inspires and unites all humanity. Especially in the moments of darkness and desolation, Jesus appears with the light of liberating love and wisdom. He shows the way, and brings us together for a just, happy and harmonious world. He promises us not just life but abundant life in which new forms of reconciliation, cooperation and creativity can blossom.

Celebrating Christmas is celebrating humanity by reaffirming our faith in noble values for which Jesus lived, died and resurrected. The life of Jesus suggests that the body of God includes everyone, especially the needy, the suffering, the outcast. The radical inclusion of the oppressed is the distinctive feature of the Christian embodiment. Jesus’ passionate concern with basics of life for all, and his focus on the healing of oppressed, vulnerable, suffering bodies, those who are in pain due to the indifference or greed of the more powerful, overturns hierarchies and destabilises status quo.

Jesus basically taught that we can lead a good life by loving each other, by nurturing relationships with fellow beings. Sensitising the self to the needs of others—comforting the people-in-distress, healing the sick, feeding the hungry, welcoming the outsider, setting free the imprisoned—will generate a climate of reciprocal care, share and service which creates the necessary condition for each person to flourish. Such reciprocal love ensures that there is no malevolence, hatred, and violence, paving the way for the flourishing of each and every individual. All ‘individuals’ will be wholesome, indivisible from others—because flourishing of one individual is dependent on the flourishing of others. Such reciprocal service and love can flourish only among equals, not in an unjust and stratified society. There is nothing grandiose and philosophic about it. Here, the meaning of life is manifested in offering a glass of water to the thirsty, rather than in seeing eternity in a grain of sand. Wholeness, equality and a unity based on it can provide the common ground of love in everyone, inviting everyone to the banquet of life. This is possible for everyone—anyone can lead such a life, a life of caring and loving relationships. To act and live in this way, however, will change the world in an amazing way, gracing everyone with abundant life.

Jesus’ sublime legacy is legacy to all humanity without any distinction of caste, race, class, gender, language, religion, political and other opinion. Celebrating his birth in our life requires pursuit of peace and harmony. Pursuing peace and harmony, however, is a risky business in a world divided by caste, class, gender, and other exploitative structures. For, it demands commitment for an exploitation-free world. It demands risky willingness to take on the immensely powerful forces of discrimination and domination. It demands the “cross” in some form or another.

Exploitation—covert or overt, social or economic, political or cultural, whatever its colour—is violence. Peace cannot prevail in a society founded on the axis of caste, race, class, and gender; such a society is essentially an unjust, unbalanced, sick society in which violence is inbuilt and pervasive. To rebel against such a society—and dismantle the matrix of domination that supports it—is the first and foremost task for any seeker of justice and reconciliation.

Vested interests and morality stand in opposition to each other—they are antithetical. And so are democracy and concentration of power and wealth in a few hands. Those who love peace and humanity have to necessarily oppose the entrenched interests. It is important to understand that the enemies of privilege are not the enemies of peace. Those who stand by peace stick out their necks for justice which brings in its wake genuine reconciliation. The rest are part of the problem—for, their ‘peace’, the peace of the rich and privileged, generates violence of one kind or another. Giving a loaf of bread to a crying child is not pursuing peace; pursuing peace is to change the system that produces millions of hungry children. Standing for peace means prioritising life of children of the poor over the power dinners of the rich. Unless we give justice to the oppressed, this world cannot be peaceful.

Differences and diversities are not to be confused with discriminations. Diversities are beautiful; let a hundred flowers bloom. Different people would always want different things from life, this is part of the human condition, and perfectly understandable; the trouble erupts when someone tramples on another’s feet for one’s success and excellence. Without a level-playing field, or equality of opportunity, the claims of talents and achievements are fraudulent. Such successes are built on the bricks of deception and exclusion. Exclusion breeds fertile ground for brutality by dehumanising both the victim and perpetrator.

It was for this precise reason that Jesus radicalised the divine love by stressing that God’s love is unbounded and oriented towards especially the oppressed. Jesus befriends the poor and powerless. Whoever the oppressed, Jesus reaches out to them. His love is destabilising. By overturning the conventional dualisms of righteous and sinner, rich and poor, he destabilises hierarchies and structures of exploitation. His life teaches us in crystal clear terms that peace cannot prevail without embracing the suffering humanity. Harmony cannot prevail without including the neglected oppressed. As long as the world remains divided between the winners and losers, the victims and victimisers, peace will continue to elude us.

Radical inclusiveness is at the heart of Jesus’ teaching. Solidarity with the oppressed, solidarity of each with all is at the core of his morality. In its active form, it exhorts us to rise in rebellion against oppression; in its passive form, it coaxes us to suffer with those who suffer. In either form, it motivates us to side with the devalued, the discarded, the destroyed. It teaches us that a just, compassionate treatment of other people is the prime condition for our own thriving. Prayers, individual and collective, are meant to motivate us for action based on love and truth.

The truth shall make us free, as Jesus said, but before freeing us, the pursuit of truth, beauty and happiness puts us through many trials and travails. Are we ready for that? If we are, we are celebrating Christmas. Merry Chrismas!!

*****

…One great champion of the downtrodden, the holiest of the holy, the great sage and lover of Truth, Bali Raja [Jesus Christ], came into this world…and gave of true and holy knowledge and granted everyone an equal right to it…He undertook the task of releasing the poor, the oppressed from the bondage of slavery…and strove to establish the kingdom of God on earth.

—Mahatma Phule in Gulamgiri (Slavery)

Artwork by a 6-year-old neice

2010-11-15T23:07:00.000+05:30

O Korea Re...

2010-10-27T23:02:00.005+05:30

Korean sitcoms are a hit in Manipur

I just came across this story in the magazine Caravan about Korean "invasion" of Manipur. Published in the October issue, the story narrates how the vacuum created by a ban on Hindi-Bollywood TV/Cinema in Manipur is being filled by DVDs of Korean sitcoms and serials. Koreans—South Koreans, that is—are not really surprised about this. Korean popular culture has already made way into countries across Asia, from China to Iran. This success is because Korean movies, serials, etc., are able to combine entertainment with traditional values that are shared by many Asian societies. Now this is quite an intriguing piece in itself. But I perhaps wouldn't have blogged about it if I didn't have another Korea story ruffling in my mind.

We, the FORWARD Press magazine, have just gone to press with our November issue and in it we are carrying an article by Vishal Mangalwadi titled "Moving Forward: Korean Style". It is a short study of a village called Yong Am in South Korea and the spiritual-cultural forces that transformed this impoverished village "hidden in a mountain and covered by snow for more than three months in a year" into one of the richest rural communities where the average annual income of a small farmer is Rs 28 lakh! This Korea story also has an India connection, the people (and the NGO) that brought about this transformation in Yong Am, and many a Korean wasteland, are helping the people in Bihar improve their farming.

When it comes to Asia, people world over are talking about China and India, but Korea might be the dark horse that will perhaps lead the way in this part of the world. The former two countries have the size and political clout. Korea seems to have the confidence and capability to more than compensate for these pluses its two continental cousins have.

And yes, Korea has been inspiring talented Indian musicians too. Take a look at this song.

Ten. X. 10

2010-10-10T20:22:00.000+05:30

It has to be a perfect day. The eldest son of my eldest sister turns 11 on this 10th — the first of the third generation in our immediate family. And even though he is now living thousands of miles away, it didn't stop his nani to cook some gurh wale chawal. He is supposed to be getting some kind of a video game but I am sure he will miss this grandma special for the dessert.

I could not cook up something as original or delicious as this. But at the back of my mind were some verses by Nissim Ezekiel. He wrote 14 short "blessings" that I wanted this growing boy now living in England to read.

One my most favourites from among the 14 is this one:

III

Be drunk, occasionally,

but not with gin

or whiskey. May the Lord

use you up for ends

beyond your means,

so you know what drunkenness

really means.

And it is also a Sunday. The day of rest. The day of meditating on being "drunk". The day of the dessert. It is 10/10/10.

Some Post-seminar Thoughts

2010-10-03T15:32:00.005+05:30

The magnificent IIAS at Shimla.

In a recently concluded seminar in the Indian Institute of Advanced Study (IIAS), Shimla, I caught on to two remarks that continue to resonate in my mind. The first remark was made almost unconsciously when AGR started reading her paper. As she read out her seminal thoughts, from the lectern, she could see that people were not really with her. In that moment, which could well be termed epiphanic, she said she could see people yawning at the postcolonial jargon that her paper doled out so generously. I said to myself, we are supposed to be a "postcolonial" society and the postcolonial theory has been with us for about three decades. Some of the best-known postcolonial critics and writers are Indians. Why do we still yawn at, and yet yearn for, the theorizing postcolonial. It seemed that a language that is fashioned in the academic-culture factories of Europe and America will not help us in a meaningful way to discuss our own problems. Is it possible that our critics, teachers, researchers are lost in academic navel-gazing without having much to say to people outside the universities and academic institutions? They make fine start, their awe-inspiring verbal acrobatics do give the impression of something profound being said and performed. But then why does a well-respected, and well-published scholar, end up saying what AGR said above?

The second comment was in some ways related to the one above. In the evening as we were winding up the seminar, participants and observers began sharing their thoughts. Professor GS said one thing very categorically — along with theoretical work our researches should be based on empirical data. And, for me what was more important, was his later assertion that this balance, or amalgamation, of theory and factual data is what will lead to "social transformation". All fields of knowledge – natural sciences, social sciences, and arts and humanities – must be geared towards this. Not many people want to use this term social transformation. For that one has to make value judgements, seek fundamental changes and propose radical alternatives, and our current academic stances are ill equipped for this. And thus if our academic discussions only result in audience yawning should we not become suspect of our "scholarly" enterprises?

A South Asian Taxi Driver in New York

I might add one more thing. There is this general tendency in human beings to blame the other for all their maladies, which, unfortunately, spills over into our academic enterprises too. Yes, there is inequality in this world and consequently oppression and dominance but should this make us communally paranoid? Does that absolve one from any kind of introspection? For example, there was a presentation on the behalf of a group that is spreading awareness about dangers of illegal emigration. Hundreds and thousands of Punjabi youth endanger their lives when they tie up with these emigration racketeers. Now the presentation was about how this group reaches out to the young and explain to them the dangers of such enterprises through lectures, songs, skits, etc. In the ensuing discussion one participant mentioned that the host countries leave certain loopholes in their immigration laws and thus encourage such practices because they want cheap labour from the so-called Third World. The idea was clear, it is "they" who are to be blamed. There would have been a consensus on this but for the interjection by RH. He immediately intervened and said that it is our own people there who are responsible for pitiable condition of many of the immigrant labourers. It is not the host country that exploits them. They have their adequate laws in place. They pay adequately. It's their fellow-countrymen who swindle the immigrants' hard-earned salary. Now this was an argument no one could challenge.

(Photos: http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/malariamonday/1/1277062587/tpod.html; http://thefacesisee.blogspot.com/2009/05/may-26-43rd-street-new-york-ny-usa.html)

Right to Education and the Privilege to Ignore!

2010-04-28T00:07:00.010+05:30

After dwelling briefly on the achievements of institutes of higher education in India, especially the IITs and the IIMs, Amartya Sen had this to say in his essay, "The Indian Identity":

Yet the underdevelopment of Indian school systems, especially in socially backward regions of the country and particularly among disadvantaged groups, has been equally extraordinary. This is both deeply inefficient and amazingly unjust. The smart boy or clever girl who is deprived of the opportunity of schooling, or who goes to a school with dismal facilities (not to mention the high incidence of absentee teachers), not only loses the opportunities he or she could have had, but also adds to the massive waste of talent that is a characteristic of the life of our country. If we have not yet been able to seize the economic opportunities for the manufacture of simple products in a way that has happened in Japan, Korea, China and other countries in east Asia, not to mention the West, India's remarkable neglect of basic education has a decisive role in this handicap. (emphases added, excerpt from The Argumentative Indian: Writings on Indian History, Culture and Identity, New Delhi, Penguin/Allen Lane, 2005, p. 344.)

About ten days back, I was part of a group that came together to discuss the Right to Education Act that came into force on 1 April 2010. It was an initiative of a friend who is a strong believer in the transformative potential of this new fundamental right. There were some hopefuls and some cynics in the group. In any case, there were some interesting things to be learnt. The right not just seeks to empower the children in the age group of 6 to 14 but also gives a tool in the hands of the parents themselves to ensure that their children get free, compulsory and quality education. That tool is participation in the SMCs or school management committees. The government schools are now supposed to have an SMC, in which the proportion of parents will be 75% and 50% of members should be women. The medium of instruction will be the mother tongue. Teachers will not be burdened with non-academic work, except election duties (in best case scenario, once or twice in five years) and during instances of natural calamities. There are other liberating features: No child can be declined admission in case he or she cannot produce a birth certificate. For those who want to learn more, the "right" can be downloaded from here.

While there were some who pointed that there are flaws in this law, my believer friend was quick to point out that RTI and NREGA are also two such tools that are fraught with problems but they have also delivered. Even if limited, their gains are huge. Same can happen with this act! I think so. By the way, my concern is that we must have motivated young men and women, not just motivate but idealistic in that old-fashioned way, who are ready to dedicate themselves to teaching in such schools. Do we have that breed anymore? Or am I being a being a dreamer in a foolish way? Can't say.

We certainly need more awareness and discussion on this. This is quite a revolutionary act, but strangely no consistent follow-up is being done. There are no front-page stories. Nothing by way of urgent-sounding op-eds either. Since India's leap into big league of global economic powerhouses is dependent on the springboard of quality education, it is surprising to see that corporate India is not talking about it. Or have I missed something? Meanwhile, here's one article that discusses some core issues.

(Photo: http://advocacynet.org/wordpress-mu/tmathys/blog/tag/nizamuddin/)

Ram Manohar Lohia's 100th Birthday

2010-03-25T00:03:00.005+05:30

One of my colleagues had his birthday on 23 March. I walked up to him as soon as he came in and wished him a Happy Birthday. As I shook his hand, I said to him, 'Do you know you share your birthday with...' Before I could finish, he quipped, 'Yes, the martyrdom of Baghat Singh and ...' 'No, no, I am talking about Ram Manohar Lohia.' And as I said this, another colleague, who loves a friendly bantering said, 'No wonder, there is something of Amar Singh in the birthday boy..." And we had a a little laugh about it.

This two-minute episode is quite instructive of our political sensibilities at this point of time. Politics for us is either a dead ideal or a living, though sick, cunning. In the middle of these two perceptions, the insights are lost. In contemporary Punjabi folklore Bhagat Singh is an icon of Sikh and not just Marxist pride. There are movies about Bhagat Singh, one of them has 23 March 1931 as part of the title. This has kept his memory alive. The other figure, that of Amar Singh, is as theatrical as any Bollywood film. He epitomises, in public eye, political opportunism at its worst and to the critics, this is what ultimately happens to the political heirs of Lohiaism.

But I want to know the man first hand. I have recently been reading about Ram Manohar Lohia. The trouble is that his books are just not available out there. So I've taken printouts of his few writings, which are scattered on various blogs, and read them off and on. On the 23rd, it was his birth centenary. It is generally a big deal when a political leader of such stature complete 100 years. But apart from one article in Deccan Herald and a report of a seminar in Goa there wasn't much that was available to me online on that day. I picked up a copy of the Hindu to see if there's any editorial or op-ed. Zilch.

I am not a socialist. But to me it was a bit sad to see this amnesia about an important person in our recent history. So I wrote a quick piece for the Herald of India, which the editor was very kind to publish and give a headline too.

One reader responded to the write-up with a very interesting anecdote.

The timely and informative piece, 'Deafening silence on Lohia', took me back to mid- sixties when I heard Lohia for the first time at an open rally in Chandigarh's Sector 15. It still is etched on my mind how he attributed most of our failures to our inherent indecisiveness. I remember even the fine example he gave to prove his point. On visiting a friend, if he offers us a choice between having tea and coffee we fail even to tell him our personal preference or choice. "Kuch bhi chaleyga", Lohia rightly lamented the attitude. He continued by lampooning Lal Bhadur Shastri, the then PM, saying that he too remains indecisive on many issues and he often sees two instead of one face of Shastri in Parliament, yeh bhi theek hai, woh bhi theek hai. -Balvinder

I love such personal memories and anecdotes but this was a particularly intriguing comment because I lived in Sector 15 of Chandigarh for most part of my life. That little connection warmed me up.

Later that day, I got to read the news that Kanu Sanyal committed suicide by hanging himself. Did somebody notice that he chose 23 March as the day of his death? And also, that three other revolutionaries died that way in 1931. Here are a few of links of some remembrances. Rediff, Times of India, DNA, The Hindu.

Converting footnotes to endnotes

2010-03-17T17:10:00.006+05:30

Here's the editor at work.

In one MS Word document I was working on this afternoon, I had to change footnotes at the bottom of each page to endnotes, which would appear at the end of the document. It's not difficult at all to do that in Word, but there was one glitch, the endnote numbers changed to Roman (i, ii, iii...) from Arabic (1, 2, 3...). So there was an additional set of steps to ensure the numbers remain the same.

Right click on any footnote anywhere in the document.
Select Note Options… from the drop-down list.
In the dialogue box, click on Convert… button.
A small dialogue box will appear with one of the three options highlighted. For our purpose, it will be Convert all footnotes to endnotes. Click OK.
Click Close.

That's it! But, in case you want Arabic and not Roman numerals for your endnotes,

Right click on any of the endnotes.
Select Note Options… from the drop-down list
In the dialogue box, change Number format: to 1, 2, 3… Click Apply

Documenting my great rediscovery for posterity.

Disclaimer: I work with MS Office 2003, so it might be useless for those working on advanced versions.

The Digression Teacher

2010-03-16T10:30:00.005+05:30

I am sorry! I am not terribly excited about this bright idea of yours Honourable Education Minister. Is it a cover-up for the repeated failure of your ministry in providing a decent education facilities to children in your state? Your teachers are up in arms against you. Students are not coming to schools. The list of failures goes on and on.

Now the best way to divert attention, for her as for other Punjab MLAs, is to rake up the two most emotional issues the state has frequently exploited since Independence, Punjabi Language and Chandigarh.

I just hope there are no agitations in next few days! So tired of traffic snarls already! There are no digressions left for the commuters.

Ambani/Mittal and Lohia: A Tentative Remark

2010-03-11T18:21:00.010+05:30

One of the news that most Indian news portals flashed persistently throughout today was about Mukesh Ambani and Laxmi Narayan Mittal being the richest Indians. We, the Indian readers, are supposed to be waiting for one of these men to become THE richest man in the world. Because that will strengthen our tentative hopes that India is indeed becoming a developed nation. We are in a hurry to overtake America and other Western societies. We want to be rich like them. We want to be like them in all aspects. And in all this we forget that one of the reasons, besides others, for them becoming rich was colonialism. They were able to find a way to boost their economies at the cost of other nations.* Ram Manohar Lohia (on whom I am sipping lately) had an interesting insight about this. He said that we can't be advanced like West unless we ourselves become colonizers.** Either we find colonies on other planets or "colonize" the people within our own country. The latter is indeed happening. Singurs and Nandigrams are examaples of this internal colonialism. We can stretch it further to Kazakhstan where Mittal was accused of slave labour. Mukesh Ambani did not want to think beyond his profit in last year's gas crisis, completely overlooking public interest. Of course, the issue also exposed the inaptness of the petroleum ministry. It's ironical that these men have become mascots of our national pride.

We want more and more to look like Westerners in the way we do our business and the way we evaluate it's benefit to our society and our people. Is that the only way? The recent global recession and, closer home, the Satyam fiasco, should propel us to look for alternatives.

(16 March 2010: Apparently that insight came to Lohia via Gandhi, who expressed similar thoughts in his journal Young India on 7 October 1926 [cited by Kishan Pattnayak in his Vikalphin Nahin Hai Duniya, New Delhi:Rajkamal, 2000, p 87.])

______________________________

* One can counterbalance this with Max Weber's idea of puritan ethics and developement of capitalism in Western Europe but that's for some other time.

** Lohia also recognizes the fact that the 'greatness' of modern Western civilization owes to spiritual dynamics of faith, which has been ultimately undermined by an unbridled cult of 'industrialism'.

Women's Day: Little Poetry, Little Pondering

2010-03-08T23:00:00.015+05:30

It's Women's Day today. Women colleagues at the office were cajoled to treat us with some dhokla and gulab jamuns. But there must be more to this day of the feminine. Wife is away, so the second-best thing is to celebrate it with poetry. Maya Angelou's "Phenomenal Women" is a hit with most women. I am immediately drawn to few poems of my own liking. I think of Nissim Ezekiel's "Poet, Lover and Birdwatcher" in which the "woman slowly turns around" as "myths of light/With darkness at core" or twists frantically in pain as the mother in the "Night of the Scorpion", who is grateful even after having been bitten by the scorpion when she says "Thank God the scorpion picked on me/And spared my children". The sensuousness of the former, in particular, has transfixed me every time I read it. This to me is one of the ultimate "woman" poems, besides some Neruda.

But then, also follow lines from Jayanta Mahapatra's "The Lost Children of America" (the text once available online is now only found in fragments), in which the poet makes a reference to a horrific event:

In the Hanuman Temple last night
the priest’s pomaded jean-clad son
raped the squint-eyed fourteen-year fisher girl
on the cracked stone platform behind the shrine
and this morning
her father found her at the police station
assaulted over and over again by four policemen
dripping of darkness and of scarlet death.

Oh! I wanted to concentrate on the positives. But tragedy is quite inextricably woven in the acts of reflection on contemporary times. How I wanted to identify with Ezekiel the aesthete but am not able to shake off the crude reality of violence that's so much a part of men's psyche. Wait! Why only men's psyche? Sujata Bhatt interrogates the revered figure of mother in "Voice of the Unwanted Girl". Extracts from the poem follow:

Mother, I am the one
you sent away
when the doctor told you
I would be
a girl – In the end they had to
give me an injection to kill me.
Before I died I heard
the traffic rushing outside, the monsoon
slush, the wind sulking through
your beloved Mumbai –
I could have clutched the neon blue
.....................................no one wanted –

No one wanted
to touch me – except later in the autopsy room
when they knew my mouth would not search
for anything – and my head could be measured
and bent and cut apart.
I looked like a sliced pomegranate.
The fruit you never touched.
Mother, I am the one you sent away
when the doctor told you
I would be a girl – your second girl.

These are the first two paragraphs; the actual poem is slightly longer. It is from Sujata Bhatt's anthology My Mother's Way of Wearing a Sari (New Delhi: Penguin, 2000).

As I had a baby, a son, recently I can in a strange way relate with this poem. The instinctive actions and reactions of a child (my mouth would not search for anything) are so vivid in my mind that it breaks my heart to read this poem. I am also aware of unspoken yet tremendous pressure created by family, society and part of our inner selves to bring forth a son, that I think I will always feel tender for a girl child.

Confession of a selfish father

2010-02-28T21:27:00.005+05:30

Tomorrow is Holi. Sonny will spend the festival of colours with his mother's side of the family. He will be there for a couple of months or so. Wife was looking forward to this period as this is her first really extended stay with her native family, especially her mum, after our marriage. It was amazing to see the way she and mum-in-law confabulated about so many things, from the correct posture and position to feeding the child to number of layers of clothes to wrap him in, to decide how hot the water should be before bathing him. Mum-in-law was here for all these 17 days, besides my own sister who had come down with her two kids for spending winter vacations with us. It was great to have them here, as well as my own parents. Though I did change and wash nappies occasionally, it would have been too much for me to do that sometimes as frequently as thrice in five minutes and that too at about 3.30 in the morning.

But these days were busy for me in so many other ways and to be honest, I don't quite mind this break.

Tomorrow may be a different story, though!

Effective Fixation

2010-02-04T14:36:00.006+05:30

Psychologists shouldn't get involved with their patients. Teachers shouldn't fall for their students. Editors shouldn't get obsessed with the books they are supposed to be only making ready to go to print. In the last case, there's nothing overtly ethically dubious, or so I think, hence, I'll continue to read after lunch, Chapter 3 Learning, Motivation, and Performance from P. Nick Blanchard and James W. Thacker's Effective Training: Systems, Strategies, and Practices, 4th ed, (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 2010). Why am I so hooked to this chapter is perhaps because of some contextual reasons. It is that time of the year when we get to know the result of our yearly performance assessment as reflected in the increment letter we get. That of course makes one nervous, excited, disappointed, elated, but on the whole, I think, this gives us a time to self-evaluate honestly without being influenced by any external seduction of a raise or a bonus. Also, as I start a new year and new projects come my way, I want to be more deliberate about all that I do this year and, thus, find myself interested in theories of motivation, learning, etc.

No, there must be another reason too. As I read this, I also recall my years in teaching, both in formal and informal settings. I was eligible to teach after my MA, but except the fact that I cleared an exam, I didn't have any formal training in how to teach. It is interesting that those of us who teach undergraduate or postgraduate students did not have to bother with teaching methodology or theories of learning. We did it with a gut feeling. I think why I am enjoying this chapter is beacause I an subconsciously comparing how I taught and how teaching/training should be done. I am thinking of things I did right and things I didn't.

Anyway, can't spend too much time pondering over this. Lunch time is over. I need to get back to business.

Acknowledged Christ, Unacknowledged Disciples

2010-01-28T20:36:00.011+05:30

I had always wanted to read this book and this evening as I met a friend at his house and shared a bit about my trip to UTC, Bangalore, haunted by spectres of Bangalore theologians, I asked him if he had a copy of M. M. Thomas's The Acknowledged Christ of the Indian Renaissance. He immediately pulled out a copy. I was pleasantly surprised to see the original 1970 edition published by The Christian Literature Society, Madras. I expected some kind of photocopy, originals of such books being rather rare, more so in my city, which is very far from Bangalore, in terms of distance as well as in nurturing theological reflection (I, in fact, remember once glancing through a photocopy of this title long time back).

The blurb of the book reads as follows:

A good deal has been written in recent years on the 'hidden' or 'unknown' Christ of traditional Hinduism. Mr. M.M. Thomas deals here with 'acknowledged' Christ of renascent Hinduism which was integral to the total Indian awakening. He surveys how some of the great spiritual leaders of the Indian renascence—leaders like Raja Rammohan Roy, Swami Vivekananda and Mahatma Gandhi—sought to understand the meaning of Christ and Christianity for the new India that was emerging. And he studies, as part of his theological evaluation, the salient features of the dialogue that went on between these men and some of the Christian spokesmen in India.

In the preface, Thomas lays out his thoughts behind writing this book:

..I am deeply concerned with men's reflections on the truth of Jesus Christ in the context of their grappling with the meaning of life in concrete situations of history ... The theological fragments of this book relate to one historical situation, namely the awakening of Indian nationalism in the nineteenth and the early part of the twentieth century.

What I have done in this study is to survey how some of the foremost spiritual leaders of the Indian renaissance, especially of Neo-Hinduism, sought to understand the meaning of Jesus Christ and Christianity for religion and society in renascent India...As part of the survey, I have also tried to study how the Indian Church, in the thought of some of its theologically-minded representatives, has attempted to enter into dialogue with the ideas of these leaders and to formulate its own faith in Christ and the meaning of Indian nationalism.

This must be the most important book to be rediscovered by both Hindus and Christians of India, and of Karnatka in particular, a state that has witnessed some of the ugliest expressions of communal and cultural bigotry. I wish more people read and discussed this book and its author.

It's going to be a slow read. I am a slow reader. And given the battered condition the book is in (it's a 40-year-old paperback) it needs to be carefully handled. It needs to be carefully handled because it belongs to a friend and in a strange way the book belongs to the history of my city. It originally was part of Mr J. S. Dethe's library. On the full-title page there is rubber-stamp mark, upside down, that gives the particulars of its first owner, his name, designation, address and a three-digit phone number. Mr Dethe was one of the senior architects in the team that planned and developed the city of Chandigarh. I am intrigued to know that an architect was interested in matters theological. One wishes one could meet and talk to late Mr Dethe about his ideas about developing structures for human habitation and also his notions about developing a framework for biblical theology in India. Mr Dethe was also a member of a small group that got the church built in Sector 18. It would have been interesting to know what he felt about this book and how much did Thomas, who himself wasn't a trained theologian, influenced his efforts in community building. That church today is called Christ Church and is part of the Church of North India's (CNI) Diocese of Chandigarh. I have been told that Pratap SinghKairon, the then chief minister of Punjab, wanted only one church, one temple, one gurudwara and possibly one mosque in the newly built capital city of Chandigarh. For that reason Dethe and others had aimed to build this one church as an interdenominational/non-denominational church, where Christians from all doctrinal backgrounds may come and worship. Ravi Kalia, the author of Chandigarh: The Making of an Indian City, mentions the fact that Maxwell Fry had a 'Quaker background' and Le Corbusier had a 'Calvinistic upbringing' and these affected the work of these two architects of Chandigarh। In this context too, it would too be interesting to know Dethe's church background.

(I am grateful to the publishers of The Herald of India for accommodating this write-up on their news portal. The editor's little note adds a great value to it. I am humbled)

Krishen Khanna reminisces

2010-01-11T11:16:00.005+05:30

(I found this IANS piece on the Yahoo! Web site this morning. There are not so many stories out there on Indian painters and on modern Indian art in general. So wanted to save this one here. By the way, that he is a Punjabi and painted Jesus is not incidental to this act of preservation. The original story is found at http://in.news.yahoo.com/43/20100111/812/tnl-i-ve-gone-back-to-childhood-in-lahor.html. The image above is a painting by Khanna titled "Christ Carrying His Cross" found at www.artnet.com)

I've gone back to childhood in Lahore: Artist Krishen Khanna

Mon, Jan 11 08:45 AM
New Delhi, Jan 11 (IANS) In his new series of works, leading Indian contemporary artist Krishen Khanna has travelled back in time to his days in pre-partition Lahore, which today lies in Pakistan.

'They are mostly a recollection of events that I have seen in my early childhood - when tension between the British rulers and Indian freedom fighters was escalating,' Delhi-based Khanna told IANS in an interview.

The 84-year-old artist is preparing for a retrospective exhibition at the Lalit Kala Akademi Jan 23 to be organised by the Mumbai-based online gallery Saffronart.

Khanna has completed five large format oil compositions in monochrome, which he says are an extension of his memories of Maclagan Road in Lahore, where he lived in a cosmopolitan neighbourhood 'with Parsis, Sikhs, Christians and Muslims'.

'The series begins with an oil drawing of Gurbaksh Rai, an old homeopathic doctor saying goodbye to his family after being arrested by police. He was an ardent Congressman. I have used monochrome because if there is something I want to say, it is best to avoid the dynamics of colour. Then you are not dealing with the man - the subject matter - any more,' Khanna said.
The artist then moves on to terrorists 'trying to find a target in the way Bhagat Singh scouted for one' and also 'reminisces about an English lady who taught his mother how to read and speak the language'.

'One of my canvases depicts my uncle going to Pakpattan, a neighbouring town, with his family. He is stopped by the police, who threaten to shoot him. Fortunately, they don't.

'Another composition is about the ethnic cleansing that took place soon after partition where a woman finds herself at the bottom of a horse cart during the ethnic cleansing and a former Parsi armyman turned dentist in Lahore,' the artist said, describing his new body of works.

The retrospective spans six of Khanna's works from 1943.

'One had to be choosy about the art works, but several of my compositions - especially the black and white series - are abroad in the US and Europe. There are a lot of holes in the chronology,' Khanna said.

Walking down memory lane, the artist said he enjoyed working on his black and white series of ink sketches that he started on while in Honolulu.

'I worked in a bath tub because I feared messing up the room. Most of them were shapes that I saw at the bottom of the tub. I used to pour water through the sides of the papers in rivulets to smudge the colours on the surface for a blurred look. It was a convenient method. I took most of my black-and-white works for an exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art in New York and at the Charles Egan Gallery,' Khanna recalled.

'You can see five of them at the National Gallery of Modern Art in the capital, which is also planning another retrospective,' the artist said.

Khanna lamented that 'his friend Tyeb Mehta, who grew up with him Lahore, could not manage a retrospective'.

'I am lucky that I did,' he said.

Born in 1925 at Faislabad in Pakistan, Khanna grew up in Lahore. He studied art after graduating from the Mayo School of Fine Arts. In 1947, his family moved to Shimla after partition. It found a way into his early works.

Most of Khanna's works are figurative. 'I used to do abstractions earlier, but now I have moved to human forms,' he said.

Khanna has always 'loved connecting to the masses through his art'.

'In the 1970s and the 80s, I painted a series of trucks ferrying workers - and coloured them with the shades of people and goods the vehicles were carrying. They were mostly monochromatic pictures,' he said.

Around the same time, the artist started working on Christ as a subject. 'I was looking at Jesus Christ as a holy and otherworldly person striving and going through existence. He was a carpenter's son and the state rose against him,' Khanna said.

'I know the Bible,' he added.

'If you look at my series on the Bandwallahs - whom I remember from my days in Lahore where the sahibs and the memsahibs used to listen to them - there is something sad about those people despite the colourful compostions. I have always tried to capture human emotions in my compositions - not make life studies,' Khanna said.

The artist, who has exhibited all over the world in his career spanning more than six decades, has been bestowed several honours, including the Lalit Kala Ratna from the president of India in 2004 and the Padma Shri in 1990.

(Madhusree Chatterjee can be contacted at madhu.c@ians.in)
Madhusree Chatterjee

My New Year's Eve Meditation

2009-12-31T21:28:00.004+05:30

Are ye not as children of the Ethiopians unto me, O children of Israel? saith the LORD. Have not I brought up Israel out of the land of Egypt? and the Philistines from Caphtor, and the Syrians from Kir?

(Amos 9:7, KJV)

In the context of the Old Testament, this verse is quite stunning. The Old Testament is an exclusive record of God's special favour on the chosen people, the Hebrews. The way their history unfolded was the result of how they responded to the loving-kindness and guidance of Jehovah. In time, they began to believe that their being chosen by God meant that all the others were rejected by Him. But this verse shows that the historical experiences of other peoples too were guided by God's favour and mercy. God did choose to reveal Himself more fully to the Israelites but He did not disappear from the scene as far as the other nations were concerned.

Is there a message in this for the Church today, or am I on the way to a heresy?

Not a bad scripture to reflect upon as one year, no, a decade, comes to close and the other one begins

Christmas emotions!

2009-12-25T23:13:00.006+05:30

Christmas this year was a solemn affair. Grandmother went to be with her beloved Father on 22 December 2009. She was very old and died at the ripe age of, going by my father's estimate, 104 years (my own guess is 97). She passed away peacefully in her sleep. All this meant that life would go on as usual. I thought I would be able to celebrate Christmas like I generally do, catching up with friends and extended family from next day onwards. But on 23 morning I knew it wouldn't be the case. I woke up not wanting to socialize. Didn't even go to the church for Christmas worship service, simply because I couldn't visualize myself mingling well with people. On Christmas eve, my celebrations were limited to listening to some Christmas carols (many versions of "Silent Night" and Boney M's "Mary's Boy Child") on Youtube and singing "Make me a channel of your peace" with wife. Later in the night, I spoke to my sister on phone and told her that I didn't feel like going to church and she agreed with me that the old women did deserve a period of mourning.

This Christmas I also miss my older nephew a lot. Since last few Christmases, I had gotten used to listening to him singing at full throttle "Mary's boy Child". He being the first child in our family has always been a bit special, especially because, I think, he replaced me as the youngest child of the family. He was also a trend setter for the kids who followed. During last two years he must have become a better caroller; he is part of his school choir In England, I heard. But he should know that his best audience is back here in India.

Melancholy and nostalgia were dominant emotions for me for this Christmas.

Indian Christianity on a furlough

2009-12-17T20:13:00.003+05:30

(The article was originally written for The Herald of India and was published under the title 25, yet no Christian)

THE WEEK, one of India's leading current-affairs magazines, has a cover story on 25 most valuable Indians. This Independence Day Special issue aims at celebrating, in the words of Shobhaa De, who wrote the opening note on values, "people who have impacted one billion lives directly or indirectly during the past one year". Whether they did have an impact on the entire one billion and also if these are truly the most eligible 25 valuables are questions that I wish to put on hold for a while.

Though the publication of this list wasn't supposed to be an Independence-Day event we have in schools, where all major religions are needed to be adequately represented in a show of 'unity in diversity', the ideal behind our national ethos, what I found intriguing is the absence of a Christian from the list. And one shouldn't be too hasty in pointing out the inclusion of Ashis Nandy. To be fair to the publishers, they seem to have conjured a 'facts-based' list, where the religious backgrounds hardly mattered. But on the eve of the sixty-second anniversary of Independence, this might give something to Christian communities of India to think about.

Christianity claims to have been around in India for over two millennia, but it seems it took a break for entire last year; perhaps it was too nervous about Madam Sonia Gandhi's Catholic connection resurfacing in the election year, or perhaps too shocked since killings in Kandhamal last August.

Had Mother Teresa been alive, she probably would have made it to the list, if nothing else then perhaps just for the sense of balance, religious as well as that of gender. There are three women as compared to 22 men in that list. And though T.N. Seshan believes Mata Amritanandmayi is a great soul too, he chose to pen the paean for Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, whose educational work in rural areas he highly appreciates and whose Sudarshan Kriya keeps the 76-year-old former Chief Election Commissioner 'energetic'.

For far too long, the Nobel Peace Prize winner, the Blessed Teresa of Calcutta, had been a sole representative of the Christians, for the Roman Catholics as well as non-Catholics, and definitely within the media. I remember, once a friend wanted to work on a documentary about the nurses in India, and he asked a reputed Indian journalist, a liberal Muslim, for some clips he had, which my friend thought he could use. Apparently the journalist replied that if it were something involving Mother Teresa, he would have given it but not now!

One of our most celebrated artists, M.F. Husain, paid glittering tributes to the diminutive frail nun from Albania by painting her as Mother Mary nursing the bruised body of the crucified Christ, a symbol of the sick and the poor dying uncared for on the streets of India. On the flip side that also means legitimising only one aspect of Christian faith.

Christianity in India cannot merely remain a religion of uncommitted piety, uncommitted to social, political and economic changes, that is. The poor and the suffering of the country need impartially dispensed compassion, but they also need ethically inspired intellect dedicated to press for structural changes at all levels of our shared life. The hand of compassion must be joined with the hand of critical engagement in a gesture of service to the nation. The task of moral and spiritual regeneration of the country that was visualised by every concerned Indian in that watershed year of 1947 could not be wished away by Indian Christians.

And today when we celebrate the anniversary of our Independence, the burden of the promise of new India must weigh heavy on the Christian chest.

In the year 1971, when the nation was still in its 20s, Nayantara Sahgal published her, if I remember correct, sixth novel, The Day in Shadow. The novel was inspired by real events in the author's life and like her other novels, this one too is imbued with her concern for emergence of a more humane India, which is fast sinking into a stupor generated by corruption in high places, petty politics and cruelty in human relationships. The reason I am reminded of this novel is because it is one of those rare ones where you find a 'Christian' character unbound by stereotypes. Raj Edwin Garg, who though doesn't share his father's religious convictions, brings Christian values, and occasionally Christian 'language', into public discourse. He is a 'brilliant, rising Member of Parliament', an independent, who seeks to find ways to propel the country out of the impasse between the 'Reds' and the 'reactionaries.'

He often enters into a good-humoured banter with his mentor, and father's friend, Rama Krishna, who in the last pages of this open-ended novel seems to have come terribly close to resolving the conflict between Hinduism and Christianity and finding a way to harness the energies of these two mighty streams of spiritual energy for the regeneration of the nation. Even though a work of fiction, this novel testifies to a time and occasion, or at least a possibility, when Christian thought was neither considered alien, nor marginalised, nor a minority view in relation to the so-called mainstream. Most importantly, it wasn't a dialogue between a Western Christian and an Indian Hindu. Here you have Indians on both sides examining the problems from two different angles and towards the end more sympathetic to the other view.

After all, the object of their concern was the same. Just as a note for those who think that the depiction of Christians in novels is not really a matter of particular concern and this novel by Sahgal is not a special achievement, one only needs to look at some of the recent novels, for instance, Tarun Tejpal's The Alchemy of Desire, where the only achievement of one Christian character is the number of bottles of whisky he has piled up in his backyard, or one can look at M.G. Vassanji's The Assassin's Song, in which the blind drunk presbyter of the Shimla church, tumbles into the protagonist's room, and has to be escorted home by his son. That is indeed the image of a Christian in many a mind, a jolly good fellow fully committed to having a good time till the Second Coming, untroubled and unmindful of any such list.

As for Ashis Nandy, the only hardcore academician in that list, he will agree that my observation, which set me off, is not that flimsy. Ashis Nandy comes from an elite Bengali Christian family; he really makes it look that he has come out of it.

Nothing sentimental about college education

2009-12-15T19:42:00.004+05:30

I just came across an interview Tarun Tejpal gave to a career magazine. The interview had a rather catchy title "India's rich fund temples, not educational institutions", but what was of interest to me was his recounting of his college days. I felt a bit lofty that he did his BA from my city, though not from my college. DAV College in Sector 10 would too be proud of its alumnus. There is only one problem—Tejpal admits that he did not attend a single class in those entire three years! That obviously means that his "education" happened outside the institute and his college was merely a document-provider, giving him an official-looking piece of paper, a testimonial that he is a graduate. And barring some elite institutions, which mostly teach sciences, colleges in India are perfect breeding grounds for autodidacts. Two of my classmates immediately come to my mind, one has ended up being a bureaucrat while I saw the other selling vegetables in a mandi, sitting alongside men, most of whom, I am pretty sure, never had the chance to see how a degree college looks like from inside. College education was incidental to life pursuits of these two classmates of mine. I am increasingly of the opinion that for most of us Indians, it is not the education system that decides what we will end up doing in life but other things such as our family background and the web of social relationships we are part of. In this sense, perhaps, Indian education system is still a bit medieval if not ancient, where things like caste and class limit one's vocation in life. This, of course, is not to generalize, individual freedom does exist and perhaps in many other cases children find it easy to slip into the role their parents once performed (talking about roles, Shah Rukh Khan and Hrithik Roshan are examples of individual freedom and family legacy respectively), but there have been umpteen number of cases where undeserving candidates get selected at the cost of people really cut out for a particular position. We do meet such professionals who are there because of a plug and not because of merit alone.

Sunday that Splintered Humanity

2009-12-06T22:24:00.002+05:30

(The article originally written for The Herald of India, published as Black Sunday)

In 1992, just like this year, 6 December was a Sunday. We got up early morning to claim a cricket pitch before some rival teams came and denied us the chance to have a game on a much-awaited weekly holiday. We won the spot but I think we lost the match; and, when we got back home in the evening we heard the news that Babri Mosque has been pulled down. The news did not have much meaning for me. I was neither a Hindu nor a Muslim and lived in a largely non-politicized city. There weren’t any Muslims among our playmates and, as hindsight, we were saved the exchange of uncomfortable glances. Most guys I played with were Hindus and Sikhs but they seemed not too interested in this news item either. Those were the days when Sikh terrorism was still palpable in our parts; Hindu–Muslim conflict belonged to the Partition era. In any case, all of us teenagers loved our cricket more than anything else and were more interested in India playing first one-day international cricket match against South Africa the next day. I was fascinated by the Proteas; by the fact that they were no minnows though they had just started playing international cricket. I had fallen in love with that electrifying fielder at backward point, Jonty Rhodes and worshipped White Lightning Allan Donald. The historic match was played on 7 December 1992 at New Lands, the first ODI to be played in South Africa. India lost that match, much like our team the previous day. India’s best fielder and captain, Mohammad Azharuddin, another of my idols, dropped not one but two catches. Catastrophic as it was, it was a sort of thing that happened on a cricket field and an Indian fan had learnt to make peace with such debacles.

Meanwhile, the reports of Babri demolition and subsequent analyses were multiplying every single day. For a brief moment, next day, I listened to a panel discussion on the same. What caught my attention was what one panelist said. If my memory serves me correct, he very categorically declaimed that that event had disconcerted each and every Muslim in this country; how else could one explain Azhar grassing those straightforward chances. Is this true? Or is it just a fantastic conjecturing—I asked myself but could not decide. This was something far more disturbing than India’s capitulation in Cape Town could ever have been. In fact, it was at that moment the name Mohammad Azharuddin began signifying the notion of Muslim to me. Before that it only meant a dashing middle- order batsman and a supremely agile fielder to me, whose feats I secretly wished to emulate.

As a child, after Indira Gandhi’s assassination, I had learnt to neatly divide humanity in three—Christians, Sikhs and Hindus. After Post-Mandal agitation, as a pre-teen, I became aware of another set of categories to divide my friends and acquaintances—General, SC and OBC. While I was knocking at the gates of adulthood, in December 1992, humanity further splintered.

These divisions were real as I once found a younger man explaining to me the difference between Hindus and Muslims. We are so different—he said to me—We worship full moon and they worship new moon; we pray with our palms joined together but they keep them apart; we pay obeisance to the rising sun looking east, they turn towards west to pray.

Surface differences like these became creeds of separate nationalities.

Those who wanted to begin a movement of one people only gave birth to unbridgeable differences between one individual and the other. Those who thought they had won that spot in Ayodhya on Sunday, 6 December 1992, lost their souls bit by bit, category by category.

The house I left behind

2009-11-25T20:40:00.007+05:30

I forget the context but wife said, "It seems we have been living in this house for a long time." "Yes," I said, "in fact, to me it seems that we never lived in that old house." That old house is a government accommodation where we spent first three years of our married life and where before that I had lived about seven and a half years of my bachelorhood. That was a house from where we married my sisters. The house my nephews and nieces fondly called 'nana home' and my mother's side of the family, 'guddi da ghar'. Nearly eleven years of my life were spent in that house and about another seventeen in that same, what we call, colony. But I do not miss it. Why? Why am I not nostalgic about that house? I only think about it when I am thinking of changing address in one document or the other. And even then I only think about the combination of some numbers and letters that comprised our address line. Nothing more.

Perhaps, we always knew that we had to leave it one day. Perhaps because my peers had all gone (one of them from this world), their nurse mothers having retired or, at least in three cases, died. Perhaps it was simply that we were at last able to move out from the unmindfully architectured and hurriedly fabricated dwellings. I use the term fabricated deliberately, because these belied the idea of decent housing.

But those houses shaped us. Gave us invaluable lessons in space management, for example. We were taught to be thankful for what fate (State) bestows upon us. And in turn, we continually shaped them. We tried and made those our own by experimenting with things like furniture and paints, doorhandles and commodes, by constructing extra rooms with corrugated-iron roofs, by growing a mulberry tree in the backyard, where we often saw some of the most exquisite birds stopping by to amuse our kids and make us adults curious.

After all this, if I am not nostalgic, am I ungrateful? I don't think so. Individuals in the service of the State deserve respectable housing for themselves and their families. The architects, the builders and the contractors must be sensitized to the needs of people who, though will not personally commission them and whom they will perhaps never meet face-to-face, inhabit the city envisaged by that savant of an architect, Le Corbusier.

Maybe, by nature I am not sentimental about places. But I do feel strongly about the arrogance, and callousness, with which government houses are constructed. And this strong feeling overpowers any amount of nostalgia my old abode can hurl at me.

My Orkut "Today's Fortune"

2009-11-06T20:51:00.004+05:30

I am no sucker for those trite thought-of-the-day quotes, though I have begun to enjoy the occasional "Today's Fortune" on my orkut page. There was one I quite liked some time back and I had sent it to some of my friends, especially the ones suckling gloriously on Facebook, which incidentally, with some notable exceptions, gathers every triviality under the sun under its imbecile aegis. Well that day the fortune was:

Watch what you say — of those who say nothing, few are silent

But what I got today made me write a blog post. I did send that one too but without any catty design. It was, in fact, I must admit, a moment of edification. Some friends did reply. Here are some of the responses:

I miss orkut :(
Couldn't agree more. Thanks for sending it my way. Here is something similar: Imagination is the reality waiting to be created. Or, Imagination is reality-in-waiting.
Fabulous quote. True and liberating.

I was glad that these words did have a power to lighten up quite a few of us. It seemed to provide a key to some of the issues we continue to grapple with inside ourselves. It did give us a reason to be hopeful. It spoke gently and confidently to something deep inside us that refuses to surrender to hedonistic cynicism of the times. And most importantly, it became alive because we shared it among ourselves. By the way my orkut "Today's Fortune" read:

The best way to predict the future is to invent it.

First blogger's park

2009-11-04T22:34:00.009+05:30

Five of us met for the pretentiously named "First Blogger's Park" on Tuesday, 3 November 2009. I was glad that we all could make it despite it being a weekday. We already have one blog post on that meeting. Fellow bloggers it was great to spend time with you! Writing has meant so much, and so many things, to each one of us. I am sure we can have a series on this one topic alone—what has blogging done to, or done for, me. There were many things that we randomly picked and mostly left unfinished but perhaps that's a good sign; we all are brimming with ideas, which would sooner or later be turned into "written expressions". And while I hope we are encouraged to spend more time in solitude tapping on the keys, I also want to make some time in coming months to sit and unwind in the same company. Looking forward to meet you more and grow together with you all. One regret! We did not click any picture. So I am putting this painting I came across by chance on the Internet, by "a professional quilter, author, fabric and pattern designer". (Picture: http://valoriwells.typepad.com)

Dirty education!

2009-10-29T19:52:00.013+05:30

A little distance from the new house we have recently shifted to is a slum. Our house is in Mohali and the slum technically belongs to the union territory of Chandigarh, the quintessential modern city that was supposed to be "unfettered by past" especially the filth that that past has accumulated over centuries. While I drove with my wife this morning past that slum, euphemistically called a "village", we wondered what happened to the residents in the monsoons, for some houses were actually built over the sewers while a channel of dirty water flowed below them. And as we were trying to clear the scenes of that obscenity from our minds, I caught sight of two little girl students of a local school relieving themselves in the open. They were in their uniform so they couldn't have been two urchins who were never taught the rules of propriety and the need of hygiene. Their classmates played close by and some of them would have taken a "bathroom break" sooner or later. Yes, it was a school.

A naïve question. Is one allowed to run a school without a bathroom? Schools are being run without libraries. Schools are being run without classrooms, furniture, blackboards. Schools are being run without teachers. Who gives a damn about bathrooms when schools are being run without conscience? The conscience of a nation is dead when two little school-going girls have no option but to sit on a garbage heap close to their playground to pee. The conscience of a nation is dead when the poor are deceived with empty rhetoric of Right to Education. The conscience of a nation is surely dead when, quite literally, the filthy rich businessmen begin running the education show, and that too with only one aim—to find ways to fish for another rich man's fortune through the fishing rod of his child with a bait of "world-class" education.

This is not a one-off incident. Today itself I found two reports in the city edition of The Tribune about abysmal conditions in our schools. One is about a school in another "village" around the city of Chandigarh, where 200 students share one toilet and about four are locked for the use of teachers. Another one is a story about a school in Fatehgarh Sahib where fire-fighting equipments are thought to be as useless as bathrooms in our neighbouring "village".

(Pictures: From the two news reports)

Before I lose more

2009-06-14T13:25:00.004+05:30

While clearing my table this afternoon, I came across a piece of paper on which I had scribbled something while I was in Goa in April. On the last day of our national sales meet, just before the closing, I wrote this in a jiffy. I might lose the paper sooner or later, so posting this here.

I thought I lost my pen
But what I lost were
My thoughts
A 24-hour journey from Delhi to
Goa was spent
Playing cross and noughts
Without the pen, of course

The mind was at work
Though it couldn't quite work out
The whole point of journeys
Of life, the mystery of
Lost clout
A pointless discourse

Many things were going on
Were all put on hold
One thing went on unstoppable
You see, couldn't help growing old
Nothing else got worse.

— 9 April 2009, Cidade De Goa, Goa

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly of Elections 2009 – II

2009-05-31T18:56:00.006+05:30

The good was, of course, the freshness of youth. Young MPs have been in focus and to many this is sure sign that politics of this country will change for the better. But this optimism is paradoxical. The good and bad are not that distinct perhaps. Vir Sanghvi has made a point. Most of the young MPs are actually second- or third-generation politicians, heirs of a family business. Commenting on this he says, "A disturbing proportion of them were born into political families." Disturbing indeed, as he goes on to name the political heirs running the nation. And mind you, not all are young : Farooq Abdullah, Prithviraj Chavan, Salman Khurshid, Dayanidhi Maran, Selja, G.K. Vasan, M.K. Azhagiri, Parneet Kaur, Ajay Maken, Bharatsinh Solanki, D. Purandeshwari , Tushar Choudhary, Jyotiraditya Scindia, Sachin Pilot, Jitin Prasada, R.P.N. Singh, Prateek Patil, Agatha Sangma, D. Napoleon. And then Sanghvi goes on to name other dynasties. Naveen Patnaik, Chandrababu Naidu, H.D. Deve Gowda and his son. I think he gave a special thought to this sentence when he wrote about the Badals: "In Punjab, the Akali Dal is a family business run by Chief Minister Prakash Singh Badal and his millionaire son, Deputy Chief Minister Sukhbir Singh Badal." I found that truly amusing. He points out dynasties in BJP: Vasundhara Raje, whose son Dushyant Singh is an MP, Manvendra Singhand so on. Towards the end of his Counterpoint in today's Hindustan Times he makes a chilling observation:

But family-dominated politics is a closed shop. Entry is open only to those with the right credentials of birth. Outsiders are banned from entering. And slowly but surely, true democracy is replaced by a kind of feudalism in which the peasants are given the right to choose between various aristocrats. The peasants can never enter the ruling class because the wrong blood flows in their veins.

Good and bad are in front of us. Intertwined. Can we begin a process of untangling the two? Sanghvi pins his hope on the "dynast" to free politics from the clutches of "dynastyism". But shouldn't the reviver search for talent beyond the obvious quarters. Maybe he is doing his best. But maybe the aam aadmi shoudl do his bit. Perhaps there is a way the youth of this country can serve in politics despite the lack of the dynastic patronage. That will be good indeed.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly of Elections 2009 — I

2009-05-14T20:21:00.004+05:30

Let's start with the ugly. That's easiest to spot. While in the NDA rally in Ludhiana on 10 May, Nitish Kumar clasping Narendra Modi's hands was a slimy sight, what was uglier than that was Badal Junior, Sukhbir, hugging the Gujarat chief minister. As a member of a minority community that suffered state-sponsored pogrom, one wonders how Sukhbir could embrace that shameless trader of death. What values, or lack thereof, does this espousal exhibit? That's for students of politics to decipher. I would go back to poetry. To a poem to be exact that my friend Laltu wrote after the Gujarat riots of 2002. The poem was in Hindi. Here is my English translation that I discovered recently on my hard drive.

It's too late

Little black drops can be seen from afar
Sitting in the bus we overlook them
Assured no matter how difficult the journey may be
In the end each one will get back home

The cold that freezes on the windowpanes
Pushes us close together
We don't know that what rains out there
Is clotted blood; even the blood of the real
That burns
And we still smell it in coals of memory
No longer startles us
Suddenly the bus turns on a bend
And with a start we wake up

The sound must be of the clouds
We think and our bus
Plunges in chemical smoke
It's too late
By the time we see
Gujarat
Written on each other's faces.

© Laltu

Key to the Deadlock

2009-05-11T18:25:00.009+05:30

Deadlock is a curious situation. The whole universe is caught in a state of an intriguing impasse. Nothing is really happening. Nothing of consequense, that is. Yes, there are terrible things happening, like the massacre in Sri Lanka, but if one looks closely, this is a stage in deadlock where one contending faction has made a manoeuvre and the other is going to respond soon to neutralize it. And by factions I don't mean Sri Lankan Army and the LTTE. In old-fashioned terms, in T.S. Eliot's words

The world turns and the world changes,
But one thing does not change.
In all of my years, one thing does not change,
However you disguise it, this thing does not change:
The perpetual struggle of Good and Evil

There is a fight of principles. Each has a bag of good and evil mixed, out of which they hurl the sin-stained clusters of their innocence on the other. A lot is happening in Nepal, Pakistan, the general election in India too and far off three ladies (four, if you count his mother, or some failed love affair) have pushed the success of one man in South Africa. But is there a breakthrough in sight? There is a seeming movement though. People are wanting to get married. Houses are being bought. A friend is graduating in the USA. Another one is going for poetry reading in Europe, despite the fact that poetry makes nothing happen. Now the latter phrase is W.H. Auden's who was a 'committed' poet himself and wrote that line to commemorate another 'committed' poet (W.B. Yeats). Poetry does not break the deadlock. Poetry, in fact, is the mainstay of any deadlock, promising deliverance, yet not delivering on the promise. It is the opium of the aesthete. It gives hope. It defers the fruit of that hope. Yet in this janus-faced relationship with deadlock and hope, poetry performs a useful function. It helps survive in the deadlock, in the eye of the storm. Auden comes to mind again as in his "Musée des Beaux Arts", he highlights the co-existence of suffering and indifference, the deadlock of apathy and tragedy. This record, this recognition compels endurance, the grandest virtue for this age. There are few things possible, perhaps, only in poetry.

It's 11 May today and by sheer coincidence I chanced upon this little gemstone of a poem by Joel, which, incidentally, he wrote on this very day many years ago, when 'existentialism' was in vogue and people typed not on computer (which means I exercised my editorial discretion while italicizing "can" and "may" at the end).

can/may

Always, of course
One chooses: the eternal
Curse of the blessing of free will.

One may praise
If one wants to,
Though
One may not die
If one wants to

One always can
But not always may

© Joel V David

A poet and a friend

2009-02-17T22:50:00.012+05:30

One function of the poet at any time is to discover by his own thought and feeling what seems to him to be poetry at that time. — Wallace Stevens

I am not a poet. And, if one agrees with a poet's function as Stevens puts it, I am certainly not one. But then recently I have this urge to engage with poetry. Not read poetry but engage with it and of course that includes reading of poems. I wonder what is behind this urge. Perhaps it is a thought of a poet friend who has long left writing poetry and who now is moving out of this city. But as he shifts base, I sense the poet returning, or rather reawakening, in him. He feels it too and the other day we did talk, perhaps for the first time in thirteen years, at some length about his poetic self. And that poetic self is perhaps—I have my fingers crossed—becoming prominent once more. He is non-commital about being a writer of poems again. Even if it is so, I suspect that there will be a dash of the poetic in most things he does. Joel David published his first collection of poems, The Bowl of Silence, with the Writers Workshop in 1991. It is a slender volume of nineteen poems. Talking to him I realize how seriously he once persued the art and craft of poetry. He is an image of the poet Stevens had in his mind when he wrote that sentence quoted in the beginning. Stevens, as a matter of fact, is (was?)one of Joel's favourite poets. As an undergraduate commerce student in Baring Union Christian College, Batala, Punjab, Joel once gave a three-hour long lecture on poetry of Wallace Stevens to the postgraduate students of literature. In the recent conversation I had with him he spoke enthusiastically about his keen interest in the technique of poem and how he thought that one poem creates its own world beyond all theories about what poetry is. He is not preoccupied with that at the moment. But there's something else poets need. To be in touch with their inner selves. And Joel is lingering there. In solitude. That's the beginning of poetry anyway. The first poem in his collection gives the anthology its title and goes like this:

THE BOWL OF SILENCE

Where is the bowl of silence now
the one we dipped into so often, and emerged
with a sudden face brought up, upturned and lit,
speaking new words, words spoken, spent and born again:
food and drink you know not of.

When we but lisped, did we say and did we hear,
did voices come to us from flaming bushes?
Or, caught in the rush of words, did our stumbling tongues
pick and choose wrong ropes and tangles: did we know
food and drink the world knows not of?

To be born and be moulded—did we ask
for crafted lives, manufactured ideals—were we cast
in bronze—did we search our minds, sound our depths?
Now, floundering, blind in the floodlit blaze, do we eat
food and drink we know not of?

What of our souls, when in the troubled midnight watch
something rises like mist, clings and softly curls?
Invisible, barely felt, the hand of someone touches me.
Who comes? A gentle spirit longing for home, bringing
food and drink I know not of?

© Joel V. David

A favourite picture

2008-11-10T21:27:00.004+05:30

Drawn by my 5-year-old niece.

Wisdom of the years ... so far

2008-10-21T18:33:00.002+05:30

John Milton lamented the missing "inner ripeness" in On His Twenthy-Third Birthday. I moved away from that milestone ages ago but full blooming of creative, and even mental, faculties is nowhere in sight. I told a friend this morning that the wisdom of my years is (I am not telling my age) that I can still be fooled.

At my age
You are no longer a child
..................And being wild
At birthdays ought to be a thing of the past

It’s time to realize only a child jumps
At the sight of a gift
And teenagers are given birthday bumps
..................................These joys never last

But when you still can be fooled at my age
You must know you’re not yet a wise sage

You are still prone to deceptive art
Because a believing child still lives in the heart

Sunday Worship

2008-08-31T14:47:00.005+05:30

I went to attend Sunday worship service at the Chandigarh Bible Fellowship this morning. I have been an erratic attendee at this fellowship. An SMS from a friend in the fellowship inviting me and my wife to join them for this service made my dithering self decide what I wanted to do with this Sunday morning.

It does help to seek God's face in a company.

The opening passage that was read from the scripture did exactly what scripture is supposed to do to a parched, cracked, yearning human heart.

16I heard and my inward parts trembled,
At the sound my lips quivered
Decay enters my bones,
And in my place I tremble
Because I must wait quietly for the day of distress,
For the people to arise who will invade us.

17Though the fig tree should not blossom
And there be no fruit on the vines,
Though the yield of the olive should fail
And the fields produce no food,
Though the flock should be cut off from the fold
And there be no cattle in the stalls,

18Yet I will exult in the LORD,
I will rejoice in the God of my salvation.

19The Lord GOD is my strength,
And He has made my feet like hinds' feet,
And makes me walk on my high places.

These are concluding lines from the book of Prophet Habakkuk. They grabbed my attention as I saw myself in that image of fig tree failing to blossom. The thoughts of failure and unproductiveness had plagued me since the weekend began. The Word restores me somewhat.

It does help to hear the Word in a company.

Indian Wrestlers

2008-08-22T12:18:00.003+05:30

There was this very interesting compilation of facts about Indian wrestlers in yesterday's Hindustan Times. I just loved it.
And many congratulations to Sushil Kumar for winning a medal for India in Olympics. But it was very sad to hear that he did not have masseur and then there was a story in Express about dismal conditions these Oympians have to live and practice.

Jason Lezak: The Hope and Glory of Michael Phelps

2008-08-11T18:47:00.011+05:30

Will he? Won't he? The million-dollar question about Michael Phelps winning seven gold medals in these Olympics would have been answered in negative rightaway but for the 32-year-old Jason Lezak, who almost single-handedly quelled the French challenge in 4 x 100 metre freestyle relay. BBC website had the headline Phelps wins second gold in relay. It was the team event that could have spoiled the party for the young American, but as it turned out, it was the adrenalin pumping through his oldest teammate that saved the day for him. In this picture above, BBC did capture the rapture of someone who is sure to become legend in the sporting annals of the world. But I would have appreciated a picture of the old—old by the standards of average age of swimmers—warhorse Lezak too. He deserves to be seen as much as Phelps. I had to look for three other websites before I found this group picture, in which Lezak is second from the left. The members are, from the left, Cullen Jones, Lezak, Phelps and Garrett Weber-Gale (AP Photo/Thomas Kienzle). Phelps, of course, is the star and one that will hog the limelight in days to come, but for me this race and this day belongs to Lezak. This not-so-young swimmer has certainly proved right what his woman compatriot, Dara Torres, 41, said a couple of days earlier, "...the water doesn't know what age you are." What a phenomenal woman she is! Her team has won the silver.
Meanwhile, Lezak did manage to make headlines, even if he missed his share of photographers' flash!

What a race! Lezak keeps Phelps' hopes alive (Associated Press)
Phelps can thank wingman Lezak for this one (Fox Sports on MSN)
Brilliant Lezak keeps Phelps on Olympic target (AFP)
Teammate Lezak is lifesaver for Phelps (news.xinhuanet.com)
Jason Lezak made sure Michael Phelps still has a chance for 8 golds (International Herald Tribune)

Abstract Art: A Shot in the Arm

2008-08-11T16:48:00.006+05:30

I loved this one! Recently, as a promise to a friend forced me to rekindle my interest in art, this little comic strip gave me some valuable insights into the philosophy of abstract art.

Change of look!

2008-08-07T17:32:00.004+05:30

I gave a new look to my blog. It's first time in more than two years that I tried a new layout and design to arrange my variegated mental emissions. And it's not bad. The sans serif font gives it a neat, typical Internet look and blue is the colour I can live comfortably with. I have also added a cricinfo widget, though I am not sure if I want to keep that forever.

How many other people are trying something different these days? Sehwag, I heard, is practicing switch-hitting a la Pietersen. Pietersen is in the midst of change himself as he captains England for the first time in a Test match.

Hockey needs to change. Indian hockey team will not feature in this year's Olympic games in China. They have been adviced to follow Korea's example and adopt a more European style of play. By the way, China needs to change its Human Rights record for the better.

Out there is Zimbabwe Mugabe is in talks with his rival Morgan Tsvangirai. But is the old fox going to change?

Ban on SIMI is not changing.

Abortion law in India is not changing, as pronounced by Union Health Minister Ambumani Ramadoss.

What has certainly changed—without any controversy—is the look of my blog.

This Is Not A Tribute To Aleksandr Solzhenytsin

2008-08-04T21:41:00.011+05:30

The reports of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's death were obviously the big news of the day. I had tried a few times, unsuccessfully, to read him in the past. I tried reading his One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich at least twice and suspended it even before I was halfway through. Too much for me to handle I guess. This might have been a compliment to his writing. The cold—the way it is cold—in that book left me too uncomfortable. Perhaps, living in north India made it difficult for me to imagine that kind of cold but the real power of the pages that I did manage to read was in the description of the grinding manual labour, the hopeless schemes to get close to the fire, the conspiracy to hide a piece of bread. All this demanded too much from me.
I also started reading his The Gulag Archipelago once. I left it because I thought I needed to train my brain muscles by reading the smaller one first. That never happened of course. But I did start reading it. I am reproducing some lines out of what I read from the opening chapter, "Arrest":

But the darkened mind is incapable of embracing these displacement in our universes, and both the most sophisticated and the veriest simpleton among us, drawing on all life's experience, can gasp out only: "Me? What for?"

And this is a question which, though repeated millions and millions of times before, has yet to receive an answer.

Arrest is an instantaneous, shattering thrust, expulsion, somersault from one state to another.

We have been happily borne—or perhaps have dragged our weary way—down the long and crooked streets of our lives, past all kinds of walls and fences made of rotting wood, rammed earth, brick, concrete, iron railings. We have never given a thought to what lies behind them. We have never tried to penetrate them with our vision or our understanding. But there is where the Gulag country begins, right next to us, two yards away from us. In addition, we have failed to notice an enormous number of closely fitted, well-disguised doors and gates in these fences. All those gates were prepared for us, every last one! And all of a sudden the fateful gate swings open, and four white male hands, unaccustomed to physical labor but nonetheless strong and tenacious, grab us by the leg, arm, collar, cap, ear and drag us in like a sack, and the gate behind us, the gate to our past life, is slammed shut once and for all.

That's all there is to it! You are arrested!

And you'll find nothing better to respond with than a lamblike bleat: "Me? What for?"

The grim passages recounting utter helplessness and dislocation demanded discipline, and resolve, I was incapable of rallying. I left this one and pursued—and not perused—One Day.

I once browsed through his Cancer Ward in the Russian section of the A. C. Joshi librabry in Panjab University. I had read a reference in some other book of the moral dilemma one of the characters faces. I picked up the mangled copy—mangled not because it was a popular book; just neglect and insensitivity—and read through some paragraphs. The patients there had some very sharp discussions going on. But then there's so much you can read between stacks, even if the sick are making some telling comments about damaged bodies and souls.

I have pulled out the two novels I had bought long time back from a second-hand bookdealer. The sombreness that accompanies his death might have an effect on my efforts next time I get down to read him.

The paranoia-makers, the Maoists of Nepal

2008-08-03T00:38:00.008+05:30

The king has abdicated the throne in Nepal. That's good. Maoists have become a major force in the mainstream political scenario. That's not good. That's bad. Very bad. Recently, in a magazine, they have come up with this accusation against the Dalai Lama that he is brainwashing the Nepalese children of Tibetan origin in the schools run by Tibetans. The Maoist publication go on to say that he is raising an army of Tibetan-Nepalese against China. And this he is doing on America's insistence. Maoists are going to be as bad, if not worse, for Nepal as the erstwhile king. The superstition of king-as-god will be replaced by Mao-as-god. Is Nepal moving from one dark age to another?

I like sports!

2008-08-01T11:25:00.005+05:30

Roger Federer lost in the third round of the Cincinnati Masters. Croatia's big-serving Ivo Karlovic sent down 22 aces to overpower world No. 1 7-6, 4-6, 7-6. Federer, however, still keeps his cool and calls it a good year so far, and thinks that winning gold in Beijing and US Open will make it a great year. Is he the only one, who is not getting it? Anyway, one must give it to him for his composure and optimism. Perhaps, he will deliver what his fans so desperately want him to. As for the ongoing tournament, can anyone now stop Rafael Nadal from going into the Olympics and the US Open as the top-ranked tennis player in the world? Novak Djokovic meets him in the quarters. Let's see how he holds up against the marauding Spaniard.

Meanwhile, in Galle Test, the great Sehwag-Mendis show is on. Ajantha Mendis has 4 wickets till now out of 6 that went down. Virender Sehwag has scored 181 out of India's total of 302, that's about 60 per cent of India's total score. He has hit Mendis out of the ground four times, who otherwise has terrified everyone else. Murali doesn't have a single scalp to show. Will the tail hold on to allow Sehwag to go for a double century? Will Sehwag hold on? RECENT! Murali got Kumble stumped. Mendis got his five-for. Sehwag is eight short of a two hundered. Jayawardene needs two wickets.

Freddie Flintoff comes out with an inspiring performance after England caved in for 231 in the Edgbaston Test. South Africa are 256 for 6, not too far ahead of England. That's the kind of Test match I love to see. Freddie has 4 for 68 so far. If he gets another wicket and a 50 plus score in England's second innings, he will be back in the spot that he so richly deserves, the best all-rounder in the world.

On Judas and the like

2008-06-30T15:17:00.012+05:30

Somebody has decided, based on the set of answers I gave in an online quiz, that I have character affiliations with Judas, the disciple who betrayed Jesus. I took this quiz on Facebook that purportedly reveals which biblical character you most closely resemble. The conclusion: apart from being left-brained I am also depraved. It told me I am like Judas, and the caption runs: traitor to Jesus. I never gave it a second thought; until I saw a note on my Facebook home page that such-and-such friend of mine is like Solomon. Wow, so in my case too the breaking news must have been flashed on the home page of all my contacts. Well, this might have caused many to gloat, "we always knew, it was coming to that" but some others must be just scandalized. Some kind friends may have avoided talking to me about it to allow me to save face. I went to my profile page and this is the picture I find there . Not very pretty, huh? Even if you consider it a joke. Anyway, this character analysis was based on a set of about six questions, one of them being, what kind of music do you like? Now does, say, being a rock and roll fan make me Judas? Did rock and roll music make Judas Judas? I am reminded of a Cliff Richards song. (The excerpts from the lyrics are given at the end.) The questionnaire never questioned my use of money or concern for the poor. Neither does it judge how easy it is for me to fall for few pieces of silver. It asked me my hobbies instead! I wonder how easy it is for people to be judgemental. How easy it is to apply formulas to complex human personalities. And how easy it is for people to fall for these.

Moving away from this inane quiz designed by some fanatic daft let me turn to Judas Iscariot. For every serious and thoughtful student of Bible Judas is a mystery. Recently, in the light of ongoing revisionist project in biblical scholarship (or what passed as scholarship), some experts offered a completely new picture of Judas. The story was run on National Geographic and the viewership was second to the 9/11 coverage. It was about Judas, the dedicated disciple, the most loyal disciple. The disciple who had too carry out the most arduous task. And this Judas was Jesus' closest companion. The story, however, was almost discredited. Read this article for more details.

The possibility of a different Judas has always fascinated human mind. Nikos Kazantzakis's The Last Temptation of Christ (1951) has a very interesting viewpoint regarding Judas. Here Judas resembles the Judas of Gospel of Judas, though it is not based on it. In the film version Judas is a nationalist, a zealot who wants to free his country from the clutches of the imperial Rome. He is the one who is sensitive to some special vocation of the carpenter Jesus. He expects Jesus to carry out his messianic duty and deliver Israel. He is upright, and violent, and also caring towards. He persuades Jesus to start a revolution and also warns him that he will kill him if he betrays the revolution. Harvey Keitel has portrayed a wonderful Judas in the film version. In the picture above he is on the right.

The classic question is what could Judas do? It was prophesied that Christ would be betrayed by one of his own. After this clear divine fiat how could a mere mortal challenge it? And by challenging wouldn't he be obstructing the way of salvation for mankind? Let me not step on the territory of theologians and carry on with my impressions of Judas.

Judas and Judas-like characters are fascinating. Japanese writer Shusaku Endo relentlessly pursues the question of silence of God in his modern classic Silence (1967). The story is as much about the search of Sebastian Rodrigues for his former teacher who has now apostatized as it is about the many failings of Japanese convert Kichijiro. Kichijiro is modeled on Judas. Like Judas he rats on the priest for 300 silver coins. In the novel he has lost his family because they refused to apostatize; he alone agrees to do that by stepping on the image of Christ, the fumie. But he keeps coming back to the priest even in his confinement and keeps asking for forgiveness. And then keeps on betraying. The dilemma of Kichijiro is why should God make weak people and then expect heroic things from them. But even as an apostate he remains most constant companion to the priest, who later abandons the faith himself. Endo's writes to examine whether the betraryers and the traitors, the apostates and the "backsliders" are able to capture and experience some attribute of God that never becomes real for those "holier-than-thous" who never had to make difficult choices in their lives. Sebastian Rodrigues had to give up that triumphant, and hence lopsided, version of Christianity. Godliness is not an imperial creed. Devotion is not a all about singing victory songs. Believing in God is not about knocking the opposition off but sometimes laying down the most prized-possession you have, even your creeds.

Now here is that Cliff Richards song I mentioned above. Great lyrics and some neat ideas to think about.

I want the people to know

That He saved my soul

But I still like to listen to the radio

They say that rock and roll is wrong, we'll give you more chance

I say I feel so good I gotta get up and dance

I feel good every day

'Cause Jesus is the Rock and He rolled my blues away

Well now they say to cut my hair

They're driving me insane

I grew it out long to make room for my brain

But sometimes people don't understand

What's a good boy doing in a rock and roll band

And I feel good every day I refuse to lose it

All I wanna I know from all of you is

Why should the devil have all the good music

The Sport of Marriage

2008-06-19T18:42:00.004+05:30

My wife thinks I am relishing Federer's fresh failure at Roland Garros. When Rahul Dravid's Bangalore .. umm ... what was it called? Royal Challangers were being clubbed one match after the other during IPL, her thoughts were much the same. According to her womanly instincts I harbour deep jealousy for every male sportsperson she likes. It is wrong in Dravid's case and doubly so in Federer's. I was never a fan of Dravid. Neither did I dislike him. That's how I feel pretty much about everyone in the Indian Cricket team. That's something that often exasperates my father, besides his daughter-in-law. However, after Boris Becker the only tennis player I have followed is Roger Federer. Anyway, she is right in being suspicious of my apparent lack of sympathy and even some form of outrage at Rogers' rout. She might think that I am deprived of elemental humanity . I might as well be from another planet. From Mars? I want to explain the phenomenon to myself! I would like to suggest to myself that I have attained some enlightened state of cosmic detachment. It doesn't bother me much when my heros bite dust. I guess, I am finally shedding last of the remaining scales of youthful passions.
While Bjorn Borg thinks Nadal is going to win at the All Englad Club this year, Greg Rusedski, in a bright analysis, echoes the same note. By the way, Djokovic is beginning to figure in these kind of analyses, which clearly points towards more problems for Federer and, of course for Nadal. More for Federer, whom he defeated in Australian Open Semis, than for Nadal, I guess. Nadal is one of the strongest players on the circuit and is constantly improving. There is this nagging feeling that I must adjust my expectations, rethink my hopes and arrest my ardour. Sampras, on the other hand, sees no change of crown at the Wimbeldon. How I wish Sampras is right! So am I waiting for Federer to bounce back? I am. I sure am. And after that annhilation in the final (Federer lost the last set in a jiffy, 6-0) I am waiting for a resurrection, for the underdog to do well. (After Dravid's team had lost 9 matches against 2, I sincerely wanted him to win last couple of ties). I hope Sampras is right. And I hope Federer gives me a chance to prove to my wife that she hasn't married an alien in the literal sense of the word.

French Open 2008 Men's Final

2008-06-08T19:34:00.007+05:30

Nadal and Federer are into the second set of the French Open final. Nadal is leading 2 games to 1. He absolutely destroyed Federer in the first set; Fedex lost 6-1. That's not the kind of match I had expected. And right now with a drop shot Federer levelled it at 2-2. Everyone cheered for him for just holding his serve! Federer lost his first service game in this set. He managed to break Nadal's later. I wonder if this is going to be Roger Federer's most humiliating finals defeat ever!
This is an interesting coverage. Apart from the two gentlemen sweating it out in the middle--it was cloudy to begin with, sun has just come out--there are two women whose nervous selves are frequently showcased by the camera. Mirka is one. Who is the other one? Nadal's best-kept secret? Nadal goes ahead 3-2. Federer serving. He's got to 30-0 easily. Is this a sign of a revival? Rafa returned a powerful forehand. No chance for Roger to even move. 30-15. Roger's girl Mirka looking at the floor. Caressing her brows. Her prayers are answered. Scores level 3-3.
Federer is hitting the ball into the net too often. He is having to work hard. There's another long one. Nadal leading 30-15. It goes to 40-40. Federer had the advantage. He hits it in the net. Again. It's 40-40. Now avantage Nadal. 4-3, Nadal holds. Federer gives it to the net. 15-15. Federer tries different thing. Comes closer to net. Nadal hits another powerful forehand. 30-40. Avantage Nadal. Federer must be nervous. He runs close to the net. Rafa hits it long. Federer finds the net AGAIN. Avantage Nadal. Everyone is clapping, cheering Fedex up. Merci. Federer makes it 40-40. Commentator says "Well done, again" Everyone is so desperate for him. He is desperate himself. Finds the net again and screams. Wipes some sweat off. Nadal moves quickly and doesn't let go of the advantage. Deep volley and Rafa breaks the serve. Nadal serving for the set. 5-3. A very long rally at 15-0. Nadal gets more and more precise with each shot. 30-0 for Nadal. Another long rally before Federer tries something cute. Plays it with soft hands and deposits the ball in the net. 40-15. Rafa gets first two sets. 6-1, 6-3.
I gotta go! Have an errand. Will miss the moment when Nadal equals Borg's record!

Rememberance of Things Past: In Short

2008-06-03T19:49:00.003+05:30

I wonder if I don't have anything to say anymore. It's been more than five months since I last posted anything. Indolence, indifference, apathy? Or have I lost confidence in my readers. Ok, the last one was plain vanity but there has to be a reason for not writing. They call it writer's block, but to claim that would be a sacrilege. I am no writer nor was meant to be. Anyway! Let's reminisce. Just snapshot of months gone by.
January--Goa, dogs in the pictures, dog basking in the sun.
February--a friend announces decision to emigrate.
March--Reunion of family in bits and pieces, Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Holi, huge tax deduction.
April--Banaras, Sarnath, The Art of Getting Left behind, Krishan Chander "Luck is a residue of design", Tagore, Kailash Kher's Ya Rabba.
May--New Jersey, New York, off centre, old friend, G. K. Chesterton, Raymond Carver, Akreit, Scent of a Woman, French Open, Yahoo Answers, House hunting,

Tale of a Dark Priest

2007-12-31T18:24:00.000+05:30

I bought this novel about two years back but only now got the time to read it. It was short novel, 130 pages, so I was able to finish it quickly. It also helps me overcome the guilt that I keep hoarding the books, without actually reading them. Kala Padri a Hindi novel by Tejinder (the novelist just uses his first name) is set in the tribal areas of Chattisgarh and follows the growth of James Xaxa, a young man of Uraon tribe, who is studying to become a Roman Catholic priest. James is a 'talented' and intelligent young man who is expected to make it big, go to Rome, meet the Pope in person and spent three years studying theology. But he is also acutely sensitive to the socio-political upheavels that are happening all around him and which prompt him frequently towards poltical activism. There is also Soselene Minz, a young woman friend who gradually becomes more than a soundboard for his ideas and thoughts. The novel goes into the intricate details of the lives of tribal Christians and brings out rich and complex narrative of India's social, economic, political fermenting. The narrator of the novel is a young man called Aditya, a bank official who has recently been posted in Ambikapur. The working of the bank, especially the corruption disenchants him and he often spends time with his somewhat idealistic friend James Xaxa and Soselene Minz. And it's with them and through them that he's able to clear the cobwebs of prejudice and ignorance, and allows the novelist an incisive narrative.

(काला पादरी, तेजिंदर, नेशनल पेपरबैक्स, नई दिल्ली. 2005)

Back to reading ways

2007-09-24T11:45:00.000+05:30

After a long hiatus I have resumed my reading. These are a few books that I recently finished. The first one is biography of a Marathi poet-reformer written by J. C. Winslow and the next three are novels by Japanese writer Shusaku Endo:

1. Builders of Modern India: Narayan Vaman Tilak
2. Scandal
3. Deep River
4. Silence

Apart from that I have read a couple of short stories by Laltu. The first one is "Jab Brazil Mein Suraj Sir Par Tha" (When the Sun was Overhead in Brazil) and second is"Nitai Bhikhmanga, Premika Aur Kavita Ek Maut Ki" (Begger Nitai, Lover and Poem of a Death)

Both of these stories by Laltu have a male narrator, in the first one he is a narrator proper, while in the latter he is writing a letter. The stories are a richly complex mix of a male yearning for meaning, a dream of social equity and longing for the woman increasingly drifting apart. Both the stories are a fascinating study of educated middle class urban male who has excelled in academics with tenacity, overcoming crippling effects of economic disadvantages and who has nurtured a vision of social transformation. A host of Indian men are cast in this mould. There are so many of them, who have gained higher education, dream of change, so many of them have found that it is not easy as the structures of inequality and exploitation have percolated very consciousness of our nation. And so many of them cannot let go of the dream either. Fighting personal problems, relationship issues and professional disappointments so many still want that dream transformed into concrete reality.

Writerly Question

2007-09-09T20:15:00.000+05:30

There are things that I want to write about. Things like the upcoming US Open final between Roger Federer and Novak Djokovic. Things like novel of Endo Shusaku that I have been reading. About Vir Sanghvi's polemic against Mother Teresa in today's newspaper. The first fills me with excitement. I am looking forward to it. The second one requires me to be solemn and meditative. The third makes me melancholic. I wish I had the patience (and more importantly, skill) to integrate these three events seamlessly in one piece of writing. Sometimes I wonder if it is possible to write about life fully.

Some Books on Shelfari Shelf

2007-09-06T23:31:00.000+05:30

Stuck in the Schindler's Lift

2007-08-27T22:03:00.000+05:30

I am glad I am not claustrophobic. Since the day we got the lift working in our office I have often had one thought—What if the lift gets stuck in the middle? I never actually answered, or sought to answer this rather morbid flash of fancy. Today, I seem to have gotten an answer—if the lift develops a glitch, press the alarm button and the lift operator will do something.

.....There was a power breakdown as I just boarded the lift this morning. I was alone in the lift and no sooner did it reach the first floor than the lights flickered, the fan ceased to hurl the tepid air and the lift stopped. I caught myself smiling gleefully in the full-length mirror. No, I am not claustrophobic, it is confirmed. My phone was fully charged and so I could spend a day talking to the reporters from the news channels if need be. I called Jagdeep, my office mate and told him how I was stuck. We both were amused and we hung up. He didn't think necessary to come down and it didn't make sense to me to call him. It was physically impossible for him to come anyway; the lift was stuck and all of us hate stairs (Jagdeep and I especially, even though our waist sizes are beginning to become unavailable in the market). In the meantime the door of the lift slid open but instead of the passageway there was a wall in front of me. I was on the first floor and the lift is not meant to stop there so that logical opening is walled up. I didn't feel like Anarkali and I didn't bother wondering who decided this and why. I was only too happy relishing the prolonged moment of my fortitude. Then I heard some commotion overhead. Our security incharge and the lift operator were executing a plan to rescue me. With soft jerky movement the lift began to ascend. I overcame the wall and a new dawn was setting in through what seemed like a skylight in my prison cell. As I moved up, the passageway of the second floor became a skylight, then a window and then a big window.

.....In this picture on the right you can see the floor level of the second floor. I was thinking to climb up and go over but didn't want to do anything unless asked to. No movement without instructions. Our security guard, Shiv Shankar ji, came to check and then shouted to pull more and then ran up to, I think, do the pulling himself. The hiccupy motion of the lift continued. And the big window began to grow into a proper door, a welcoming gate to glory which awaits people who have endured much in life. I was thinking that my whole office would have come down to give me a hero's welcome but as you can see in that picture there was no one, oh! heartless world. Anyway, Shiv Shankar ji, came back. By the time the lift had moved few inches up. I was still not stepping out. Not before somebody had noticed my travails. Only Shiv Shankar ji was there, the man with Bholenath's dual eponym. He couId at that moment burn me to ashes by his supernatural third—Sir why don't you come out. More than request it was an order, actually admonishment. He perhaps wanted to say—You fool what the heck are you still doing there? Who are you waiting for? For me to play on my damru so that you to start your monkey business (This should not be taken as a reference to the company I am working for, or to the work I do there). His veiled annoyance was justified because I could just step out of the lift now as easily as mounting on a single step. In the second you can see the difference in floor level of my lift and the second floor. And that foot that you see is of Bholenath's. Only one foot is visible because he is now the Natraj, getting into his most iconic posture. Come up sir—his voice thundered. And I meekly climbed up to his level. The level which is more awesome than the Olympic pedestal. And I trudged, unmindful of the fact that this little misadventure has had been a double blessing to me. One I have found the answer to what happenes when a lift gets stuck and secondly, nobody seemed to notice that I have come half-an hour late to the office.

Theme: Delay

2007-06-17T01:59:00.000+05:30

Continuing with the same theme, of delay, I am reminded of few lines that I wrote many-many years back, in 1999 to be precise.

--एक--

एक अलसाई कोंपल देर से फूटी
एक पत्ता देर से हरा हुआ
साथ वाले
.........और
साथ की टहनी वाले
झूमते हवा के साथ
गाते थे चिड़ियों के साथ
वो दोस्त थे सारे

नया पत्ता
कुछ देर से पैदा हुआ

न हवा का रुख़ समझता था
न गीत चिड़ियों का पहचानता था
उसका कोई दोस्त न था
उसने बहुत देर कर दी पैदा होने में
या शायद
...............बहुत जल्दी

--दो--

वो उगा
उस टहनी पर
उसी पर उसे उगना था
वो पैदा हुआ
क्योंकि उसे ही पैदा होना था
हरे रंग पर हक़
............उसका भी था
हवा का रुख़ उसकी मजबूरी न बना
चिड़ियों का गीत
........उसके गुनगुनाने को दबा न सका

वो टहनी
वो पेड़ वो साथ वाले पत्ते
उसके थे
क्योंकि ये उसी के होने थे

Distraction: A Double Edged Sword

2007-06-16T16:17:00.000+05:30

Looking at my last couple of posts I have become painfully aware of how much catching up I need to do. I haven't gone back to the books I bought as far as four years back. The "latest" music I bought hit the charts three years ago. Gadgets people are about to discard have come to my notice only in the most recent past. LATE. LATE. LATE. I am late while catching trains. My colleagues panicked last time when I was travelling with them. (Aside: Mention of colleagues brings to mind that I am often late for the office. Hope my boss doesn't read this).

Time oppresses me. Clocks, watches and calenders are my worst tormentors. Every year my birthday gives me jitters. I am reminded of John Milton's ode he wrote on his twenty-third birthday. I don't think I will be able to write anything like that even on the twenty-third anniversary of my resurrection. Those who know me know how John Keats rattles me. He died at the age of twenty six, having written some of the best verse ever composed. Nietzsche published his first book at the age of twenty-eight.

Last night I watched the movie Lola (1981) by the German director Rainer Werner Fassbinder . The man died next year, at the age of 37. By that time he had made about 43 full-length feature films. That's more films than he was old. The movie, by the way, was hugely engrossing. From the first frame where Marie-Louise aka Lola (Barbara Sukowa) is combing her hair till the last shot there was no let up. The dialogues, the visuals, and of course the performances were all class. One scene that stays with me is von Bohm (Armin Mueller-Stahl) passionately playing on his violin.

But of course, I am getting distracted here. I am not supposed to be discussing the movie but my struggle with the relentless march of seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades. That's a whole legion against a solitary me. And this solitary me cannot afford to be distracted in the face of this formidable opponent, guided by veiled or perhaps a faceless commander. Distraction is snake in the grass. Wish I were more disciplined, even like Fassbinder. On the other hand, it's possible that distraction is my most potent weapon against a single-minded obsession. On my MSN blog, Mindscape, I changed my introduction. Till now I had this written there: Looking at my life I am increasingly becoming convinced that God sends some people to be drifters. Floaters. My nickname there was DrifterAshish (I have changed that now).

Even this blogwriting is a kind of distraction. I had decided to utilize the off today to write the book review I have been planning for quite sometime. However, this distraction is endearing. I'd rather make a provision for diversions and digressions in the life-and-death battle of purposefulness.

Come Away With Me

2007-06-16T13:01:00.000+05:30

Bought this grammy award winning album by Norah Jones a few days back. The title song is one I have enjoyed the most though Don't Know Why was the award winning record that year. Also bought Kailash Kher's Kailasa.
Meanwhile I have also updated my Mindscape. Updated my profile, changed the "More About Me" box, added two playlists.
It's Saturday today and though a long to-do list is throbbing in my head--adding a separate rhythm to Norah Jones's dulcet voice--I just don't want to get away from my comp. Its a pleasant, very unlike-June day today, and perhaps the best day to get over with the errands. But to sit here and go tap-tap on the keys seem to be the most important thing to do.

Ummmm ... I better get going.

I have to return the DVD, which didn't play last night.
Visit the bookshop and find out if the books I had placed an order for have come or not.
Buy some M-seal to mend the cracks in door.
Order lunch.

Anniversary

2007-04-15T17:21:00.000+05:30

I am four days late in celebrating this.

11 April 2006 was the day I started putting together this motley collection of my thoughts. I haven't been very regular in updating this. But that just reflects what I am, I guess. Begin with a bang and don't worry how it ends.

Having said that, I am not going to let it end with a whimper.

Blogging has been a great experience to say the least! I have friends stopping by and occasionally leave a comment. Some of them started their own blogs. Hope they continue. There have been some exciting conversations. And I realized that even maintaining a casually written diary also require a huge amount of carefulness, even research. Not to mention, what a fantastic way it has been, in many ways, to discover my own self. I think, poets derive the same kind of pleasure writing poems which I have extracted from this exercise of blogging.

This morning when I talked to Laltu--one of the inspirations behind starting this blog--he asked me immediately if I had added something here. I am adding it now Laltu. Hope you keep adding stuff at your space too. Voices of sanity are few and far between.

To celebrate this anniversary I must mention a most flattering incident. Last Sunday Joel talked to me saying that the previous evening as he was driving from one end of the city to another to deflate some stress, he realized that he needed to speak to someone. At 2.00 a.m. he thought of giving me a call. Call me selfish, but instead of knowing what bothered him, I was just too glad to know that he thought of me at that moment.

On this blog I want to confess that the most flattering thing in life is to be of use to people who have always been a strong support to you. People you have learnt from. People who invested in you and patiently (even painfully) waited for you to grow. Being rememberd by someone like that is an awesome feeling. I was so overwhelmed by this feeling of gratitude that today I called people who made difference in my life. I called Laltu. I called NKO. I called Akshaya. I will be calling a whole list of people now.

Meanwhile, Joel, I wish that you activate your "Thought Spot"

Remembering Brahmabandhab Upadhyay

2007-02-05T22:05:00.001+05:30

2007 is the year of death centenary of Brahmabandhab (Brahmabandhav) Upadhyay. This 11th February is his birth anniversary. Some of us are trying to organize a discussion around the life and ideas of the man. I just wrote a small introduction which we intend to send along with the invitation, since we don't expect many people to know about him. Here is what I wrote

Brahmabandhab Upadhyay: A Very Short Introduction

Upadhyay’s short life of 46 years or so spanned one of the most creative periods of Indian history, when India as a nation was in the making. A number of the key-figures of the nation-building process – Debendranath and Rabindranath Tagore, Keshabchandra Sen and Pratapchandra Majumdar, Annie Besant, Ramakrishna Paramhansa and Swami Vivekananda, Bipinchandra Pal and Aurobindo Ghose – to name but a few, encountered his forceful personality. Upadhyay was in the thick of the struggle to form the soul of modern India - Julius Lipner

Upadhyay is one of the enigmas of modern India and … a potential embarrassment to those who invoke him – Julius Lipner

Brahmbandhab Upadhyay was born on 11 February 1861 in Bengal. A fiery intellectual – Vivekananda-like in scope of his vision of spiritual revival of India, like Aurobindo a nationalist to the core, and a comrade of Tagore as the latter materialized his idea of Shantiniketan – Upadhayay was a trailblazer in many ways. An editor of religious as well as political journals; an itinerant preacher challenging most cherished ideals of his day; a nationalist who sought self-respect for his motherland; an educationist; a sannyasi. He treaded on a terrain with no guidance from the past, and made possible creative synthesis of knowledges arising from East as well as West. But sadly the hero of cultural awakening lies forgotten by a large majority of Indians. A genius like him is not necessarily popular, as the comment above suggests. However, those who wish to give the hero his due, those who seek integration of experience and faith, those who wish to understand the soul of twenty-first century India must get into conversation with the ideas, the ideals and the life of Brahmabandhab Upadhayay.

1861 - Born as Bhabanicharan Bandhopadhyay in a Brahmin home. Comes under the influence of Keshabchandra Sen in his boyhood.
1887 - Initiated into the Church of New the Dispensation of Keshab
1888 - At the age of twenty-seven goes as a Brahmo teacher to Hyderabad in Sindh, and there chiefly through his friendship with two missionaries, Redman and Heaton gradually became convicted of the truth of the resurrection of Christ and his co-eternal Sonship. Reads Faa di Bruno’s Catholic Belief
1891 - Baptised in February by an Anglican, affirming at the same time that he did not thereby join the Church of England. In September becomes a Roman Catholic.
1894 - In January starts Sophia from Karachi. Dons the ochre robe of a sannyasi. Takes the name Brahmabandhab, the friend of Brahaman (Theophilus in Greek).
1897 - Emphasizes the potential of ‘Vedantic Theism’ and formulations of Shankara
1898 - Writes in Sophia, “We are Hindu so far as our physical and mental constitution is concerned, but in regard to out immortal souls we are Catholic. We are Hindu Catholics.”
1899 - In March, monthly Sophia is discontinued. Followed consecutively by two short-lived journals – the weekly Sophia and The Twentieth Century. Both publications include political discussion on topics of the day. Adopts a nationalist stance and becomes unsparing in his criticism of the behaviour of foreign Christian missionaries and of various actions of the British Government.
1900 - Works closely with the poet Rabindranath Tagore in developing the famous ashram at Shantiniketan
1902-03 - Pays a visit to Europe. Disappointed with the west.
1904 - Starts a daily Bengali newspaper Sandhya, culturally and politically anti-British.
1907 - Undergoes prayashcitta, the penitential rite by which the excommunicate formally returns to the Hindu fold. On September 10 arrested by the British Government on a charge of sedition. On October 27 dies while recovering from a hernia operation. Cries “Thakur, Thakur”

Christmas wish for the newly weds

2006-12-27T22:03:00.000+05:30

I really enjoyed watching this video. Hats off to Nippy who found this!

एक प्रिय कवि का अध्ययन

2006-12-19T12:18:00.000+05:30

"आपका प्रिय कवि कौन है?"

जब भी यह प्रश्न पूछा जाता है तो असद ज़ैदी का नाम सहज ही ज़ुबान पर आ जाता है।
आज ही उनकी कुछ कविताएं बीबीसी की वेबसाइट पर पढ़ीं। एक उठा कर यहां चिपका ली है।

मेरे ब्लॉग का भाव कुछ तो बढ़ा।

नृतत्त्वशास्त्री
नृतत्त्वशास्त्र! इस काम में दिक़्क़त यह है कि अक्सर लोग इसकी बारीकियों को समझते नहीं. मोटे-मोटे सवाल पूछते और ख़ुलासा करते-करते आम आदमी तंग आ जाता है. आखिर क्यों नृतत्त्वशास्त्र? जवाब में एक रोज़ नाटकीय अंदाज़ में मैंने कहा : माट सहाब, जब तक इस दुनिया में नर और नारी हैं, जब तक नृ और तत्त्व हैं, तब तक शास्त्र रहेगा और शास्त्री लोग भी. पास खड़ी देहातिन बोली : ‘ तो शास्त्री जी, कछु शादी ब्याउ भी कराऔ?’ और अपने टूटे-फूटे दाँत दिखाती हुई हँसने लगी. उसकी ननदसे भी रहा न गया : ‘अरी भौजाई, यो तो खुदई कुँआरे एँ. ये का करांगे शादी-आदी!’ कई लोग सस्वर हँसे थे : हा-हा, हो-हो, हा, हि-ही, हू! तो इस तरह परिहास के बीच चल रहा है अपना काम, फ़ील्ड रिसर्च. लोग मेरा अध्ययन ज़्यादा कर रहे हैं, मैं उनका कम.

आखिर की पंक्ति ही शायद इस कविता के अपहरण का मुख्य कारण है।

रिटर्न टू इनोसेंस?

2006-12-17T14:01:00.000+05:30

पहले सोचा कि एक हिंदी का ब्लॉग अलग से लिखूं। Excusively in Hindi। लेकिन हिंदी और अग्रेज़ी का लिखने वाला मैं तो एक ही हूँ। हिंदी बोलना पहले सीखा। पहला प्यार हिंदी है। हालांकि अंग्रेज़ी से भी उतना ही प्यार करता हूँ। और यह स्थिति दो नावों में सवार होने जैसा दुस्साहस बिल्कुल भी नहीं है। After all I Am Plural।

वैसे हिंदी के लिए एक अलग जगह सुरक्षित रखने से यह बहुलता समाप्त तो नहीं होती। बिल्कुल नहीं। आने वाले समय में शायद अलग ब्लॉग बना भी लूँ। Let's see.

हिंदी में लिखने की इच्छा काफी समय से थी। ठीक एक हफ्ते पहले लाल्टू को पहली हिंदी ईमेल लिखी। उसके बाद से हर रोज़ सोचता रहा कि लिखूंगा। और आज इतवार के दिन छुट्टी को भुना रहा हूँ। परिवार के बाकी लोग बाहर दिसंबर की धूप का मज़ा ले रहे हैं। इस पोस्टिंग के बाद थोड़ा समय उनके साथ भी बैठूंगा।

दरअसल हिंदी में लिखने के पीछे एक कारण लाल्टू का ब्लॉग भी है।

दूसरा कारण जो कि शायद पहला कारण है और जो मैं उपर बता भी चुका हूँ वह है हिंदी से प्यार। या शायद तुलनात्मक रूप से हिंदी से थोड़ी अधिक घनिष्ठता। मातृभाषा पंजाबी है। ईश्वर ने चाहा तो कभी पंजाबी में भी ब्लॉग लिखूंगा। पंजाबी में कुछ अनुवाद तो किया है परंतु मुक्त रूप से, अपना कुछ भी नहीं लिखा। हां, कुछ एक चिट्ठियां ज़रूर लिखी हैं। मुझे याद कि जब मेरी सबसे बड़ी बहन अपनी पढ़ाई के लिए लुधियाना में थी तो मैं उसकी अंग्रेज़ी में लिखी चिट्ठियों का जवाब पंजाबी में दिया करता था। मैं शायद पंजाबी में ही अपनी भावनाओं को ईमानदारी से अभिव्यक्त कर पाता था। लेकिन अंग्रेज़ी या हिंदी में बेईमानी है ऐसा कहना सरासर ग़लत होगा। घर में बचपन से पंजाबी ही बोली जाती रही तो मैं चिट्ठियां किसी और ज़बान में कैसे लिखता। गैर-हिंदी भाषी, गैर-भारतीय मित्रों के साथ अंग्रेज़ी बोलते हुए भी बहुत निकट अनुभव करता रहा हूँ।

तेरह-चौदह साल कि उम्र में अपने एक बहुत ही करीबी दोस्त को हिंदी में ढेरों चिट्ठियां लिखीं। आज भी कई बार चैटिंग करते हैं तो रोमन हिंदी में ही करते हैं।

अब शायद हिंदी - पंजाबी में लिखने की दिशा में सोचने से अपने बचपन और अपने आप को और अच्छे से समझ पाऊं।

"Bachelors, it's your call now."

2006-12-08T20:23:00.001+05:30

Bhartesh wanted to know if I am on Orkut. Of course I am, though I still have to gauge its utility. He said he didn't find me when he made a search. "Your location is Chandigarh, right?" "I guess so." I logged in to see if it was. It was. However, there was one change that was needed to be made in the profile.

In fact I had been wondering how would I declare it here, in the cyber world. But it wasn't much of an issue. Jesse had announced it long before I got the chance to proclaim that I am married. So I am not exactly breaking news in the virtual world. But still ...

Pooja and I got married on September 28, 2006 in a civil ceremony.

As I clicked on the radio-button preceding "Married," I did feel a tinge of nostalgia.

But before you read too much into the signifier let me put on record my two months ten days old experience: "The mystery of marriage far outweighs the brouhaha, the bravado and even the blessings of bachelorhood"

So when you hear it said: "Its not good for man to be alone" Pay heed. That's God speaking!

Nostalgic teacher!

2006-09-05T15:44:00.000+05:30

Time: 4:07 PM

The archives of my teaching days in colleges and the university are already beginning to get dusty! Or so I thought until this morning when Bhartesh called me to wish Happy Teacher's Day. The first one to do so. Then as I reached my Bible college and we began the worship, Muskaan's sms came :-)

At 10:30 Pritika called. Besides the felicitations we talked about poetry scene in Bombay and in the North. Then Nishu came out of her self-imposed exile to pamper her haggard pedagogue.

That wasn't all ... Muskaan has sent an e-card with some terrifically flattering lines...

And if you know Muskaan, she wasn't finished yet ... there was a bouquet waiting for me as I went home to lunch. WOW! Chennai and Chandigarh are not exactly twin-cities ... Thanks!!

Akshiptika a former student of mine studying Sociology in JNU sent another lovely sms. She amazes me.

In the Bible college Rashmi Ranjan was the first one to shake hands with me. Isha, Rajkumar and Naveen followed. Anil caught me on the stairs. My collegues Sampath and Aying reaffirmed our collective calling as we wished Happy Teachers day to each other.

Gursheek, my dear friend and a former collegue was the latest one to wish me.

Thank you all!

UPDATE:
Time: 11:51 PM

I reached home at 10:45. There's another bouquet waiting for me. From Bhartesh and guess who ... Muskaan.

The charm of 786

2006-08-07T22:45:00.000+05:30

7 August 2006

Many of us remember the number 786 etched on the miraculous insignia that saved Amitabh Bachhan's life in that definitive cinematic achievement called Deewar. The insignia, Billa no. 786, was seen again in Coolie, another Bachhan starrer. When the date reads 7/8/6 something as magical as the movie or as block-busting as the Big B himself is sure to tantalise our appetites for bliss. Bachhan's magic and human penchant for fetish combine to give us a great metaphysical succor. Muslim scholars may continue the debate weather the number itself is authentic, and hence blessed, or not, the population on the subcontinent, Muslim and non-Muslim alike stays mesmerised with the number. There are people, we've heard, who have made it a minor goal of their lives to collect currency notes whose numbers end with 786. Lakshmi bearing the mark of Bismillah is certainly a good omen; paisa, somehow, becomes more permanent. Its purchasing power remains the same but its significance is not in the mundane, material, monetary value. It becomes a spiritual sign.

The charm of the date however is countered by the day; MONDAY. Monday morning blues almost faze out the confidence the date conjures. Mondayne morning versus blessed Bismillah.

Notwithstanding the meanings we ascribe to it, hope this day inspires us to make new, non-mundane beginnings!

Thumbs up! Thumbs down!

2006-07-18T12:05:00.000+05:30

There's so much happening within and without, that this blog going mum seems like a deception, a betrayal, almost a character flaw. What calls my attention most frequently these days, however, is something most people would find rather ridiculous: a mosquito bite on the inner left side of my left thumb just below the knuckle; on the top of the second finger bone - the proximal phalange. I often find myself pressing the red bump between my right index finger and right thumb, and then, with their left hand counterparts, just to get a sense of comparison, I feel the right inside of my right thumb. At other times I find myself bringing the two thumbs, the twins separated at birth, together to see how far one is disfigured. It seems that one side is permanently distorted. Sore beyond cure. And when the two are together, left thumb looks like a present being mocked by the right past. Right thumb thumbing its nose at the thumbed pages of left's biography.

Mood Mystique!

2006-07-03T18:57:00.000+05:30

In my previous post I added the tag in the end to be contd. Now I am not very inclined to write anymore on that subject. But then it seemed like a promise, not least to myself, that I would write something more. What more can I write?
Not enough provocation ... Later sometime ...
Meanwhile ... here is something I enjoyed recently ...Go ahead and try it :-)

This was supposedly my mood when I did!

Your Mood Ring is Blue-Green

Inner emotions charged
Yet, somewhat relaxed

Mood Ring Generator

Kavi: Poetics of Sacred Sex

2006-06-18T20:31:00.000+05:30

Da Vinci bandwagon chugs along its final lap. Having begun on a high-speed journey with publication of the novel and refueling at the "illustrated edition" stop it is finally breaking the celluloid speed barrier. Now after this people can't get much out of it; materially speaking that is. However, there are some who still want their joy ride: The thrill of a new ideational capital. And they want it quite seriously.

Ashok Row Kavi is the latest groupie on board.

This morning's HT edit page had his scholarly sounding article (Da Vinci is Da Truth?) which completely endorses Dan Brown's thesis. With such elan he discusses issues surrounding biblical scholarship that for once you think that he's a goldmedalist from a foremost German seminary specialising in higher criticism of New Testament documents and an uncontested authority on Church history.

But just one look at the history of how some Indian intellectuals tackle the biblical scholarship and one can see a deep prejudice and an agenda to tear down biblical faith. That's not what one objects to. In a highly contested arena of textual criticism and historical research one expects heated debates and bruised convictions. Scriptures can be and must be subject to scrutiny. It is the manner in which some Indian scholars exclusively deploy second hand scholarship of clealrly anti-Christian writers of the west, which puts one off. The debate that should be academic in nature turns mere ideological propaganda.

In July 1913, the monthly journal of the Arya Samaj Vedic Magazine made an attack on the Bible based on John Stuart Mill's criticisms. C F Andrews who was a close friend to Samaj's Mahatama Munshi Ram wrote to him that his publication which is a mouth piece of a religious reform movement must refrain from using the "accusations of atheists and agnostics." (Builders of Modern India: Charles Freer Andrew. Benarsidas Chaturvedi and Marjorie Sykes. Govt. of India: New Delhi. 1971. 99.)

In more recent times these kinds of accusations have been made by Indian godmen to woo western converts. Rajnish (or OSHO as he is now called) did that magnificently. Even now one may hear the discourses where covert statements are made deriding biblical narratives.

Arun Shourie uses Thomas Paine to buttress his arguments against the Christian Scriptures, and believes (needless to say mistakenly) that he has found supporters in Hans Kung and Schillebeeckx. (Missionaries in India, Harper Collins: New Delhi. 1997. 211)

Ashok Row Kavi is another in the list of these critics who rely on the outdated (at least 50 years old) and second hand scholarship.

Arya Samaji's continued faithfully the work started by Swami Dayanand Saraswati namely protecting the Arya Dharma, Arun Shourie did his bit to give intellectual credence to BJP's anti-minority stance and Rajnish wished to swell his ranks with white skinned converts, Kavi too has a particular goal to achieve.

As a man on the forefront of sexual revolution in India he needed a partner to knock out "Christian morality." He's gone on record saying that anti-sodomy law in IPC is a legacy of Victorian bias against sexual freedom. West only recognises two genders: man and woman, whereas Indian sacred texts have sanctioned at least ten kinds of sexualities. He admires The Da Vinci Code for its emphasis on female worship, but one must recognize this female worship is not what one finds in a nationalistic text like Bankimchandra's Ananthmath but a validation of religious prostitution, glorifying sexual orgies.

(to be contd.)

Road, Numbers and Silly Games.

2006-06-16T11:37:00.000+05:30

I have this habit of observing number plates of the vehicles as I drive. This gives me an illusion of doing an intelligent thing. I'll tell you how. As I look at the four digit numbers I do a calculation which can be presented in a statement. E.g. I see this scooter going in front of me. The number is, say, CH01 A 3321. My mind changes gear. "The sum of extreme two terms and the sum of middle two terms are consecutive numbers." :-)

Extreme two terms 3 & 1. 3+1=4
Middle two terms 3&amp;2. 3+2=5

4 & 5 are consecutive numbers.

Another example. The number is PB10 C 6537.

The statements (in fact more then one statements!):

The difference between alternate digits are consecutive numbers (6-3 = 3, 7-5=2)
The difference between extreme two terms and middle two terms are consecutive numbers (7-6=1, 5-3=2)

Can I indulge and give one more? (I choose these numbers randomly)
UP80 AB 5845

The statements:

The difference between first two terms and the second two terms are consecutive odd numbers
The sum of extreme two terms and middle two terms are consecutive even numbers.
The sum of alternate terms are alternate odd numbers.

Well, isn't this is a classic example of bending facts to fit in your frame of interpretation? Some poststructuralist and the nihilists would find vindication here. Nietzsche is said to have made that amazing statement "There are no facts only interpretations."

But obviously there are problems. You can't play it to your advantage all the time. What do I do with a number like CH03 A 0025?

Easy way out: "The product of extreme two terms and middle two terms is same"
0x5 = 0x2 = 0
But that's not exciting. Even in a silly game like this this is unacceptable. Sheer escapism.

More circumventing statement.

The sums of alternate terms are alternate prime numbers!

Well this was manageable too!

Ok let me think of another number.

HP02 A 8830

I am sure I can make some intelligent statement out of this too. But then I reach my destination. And in any case, if I overdo this, it will become boring and perhaps I would not want to be on the roads ever again!

I would like to post a number I could not make a statement out of.

Oh! by the way, this game has a rule. Arbitrary of course. You have to take numbers in pairs.

I wonder if this is sign of a pathological, prodigious or just a puffed up mind!

Anyway for the last number the statement is - "The quotient of first two digits and sum of second two digits make consecutive odd numbers."

Horrors of this day!

2006-06-06T10:18:00.000+05:30

This morning I was awakened to the insidiousness of June 6, 2006 by a mail. A friend of mine had sent the story she has done for the IANS, recounting the rumours and popular perception about what this date signify.

Removing the zeroes and separaters (/,-,.) 06/06/06/ reads 666. Now the biblical reference to the number has demonic underpinnings. This is a mark of the devil.

I went to the cabin of the principal of my Bible College and asked him what was his take on this. Reclining back on his chair (he covers the entire length of his cabin when he does that with his hands folded behind his head) he said, "I have no take on it" and added "In these matters I'm a scientist."

I came back to my corner to muse on it. But before long I was back in his cabin, and this time we got into talking the serious issues of interpreting apocalyptic literature in the Bible. In fact after I returned to my cabin Nick, my principal came to my cabin and we continued talking about the related issues. The technical nature of the info that I got cannot be repeated here (as quite a bit went over my head too), but let me write what I think of 06 June 2006 AD .

The superstitious would exaggerate mysterious appearance of any phenomenon; making it extremely evil or extremely ecstatic. The rest of us can carry on our daily vocations encountering simple joys and manageable tragedies, knowing that AD means Year of the Lord.

He's got this day in His hands!

(The story is on http://www.ians.in/ titled On Tuesday, Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobics beware! However it is open only to the subscribers)

By the way, my mentor had 666 as the first three digits of his phone number. What effect has that had on our conversations? I wonder!

On The Da Vinci Code. Finally

2006-06-04T19:09:00.000+05:30

Despite Christians constituting barely 1.5 percent of the country's population and frequently being targets of radicals, Pakistan has banned the controversial movie "The Da Vinci Code". This is strap of the story on MSN India today, a follow-up of another story that appeared on the same website a few days back.

After what the so-called Christian countries did with the cartoons of the Prophet this is quite amusing, especially when Bahawalpurs also happen in same Pakistan.

Our South-Asia is such a fascinating place to be in. Idiotic and illuminating. Like a love story.

Well this post began with a mention of The Da Vinci Code, and that's what I want to talk about. I have resisted writing anything about it since I came across the novel a year or so back. I read it from cover to cover, notwithstanding its limited literary merit. Initially I wished to enter the debate and try to defend the position which has come to be called Orthodox Christian Faith, but then, first, I was advised by some mature believers not to waste my time on this. It is just another pop phenomenon which will run out of steam as soon as it gathers some, and second, I realised that since the age of rational discourse is well past the attempt to begin one will not avail much. Thirdly, I knew if I would try to defend the canonical Gospels I would be dismissed as one from interested party.

Hence like rest of the people I waited for the secular writer/scholars to give their opinion. Of course Abraham Lincon's adage is true. You can't fool all the people all the time.

So when Meera Nanda, the scientist came to Panjab University and lambasted organised religion, she pointed out that west can be as irrational as east in matters of religion. One excited journo, who was evidently gripped by the DVC syndrome, jumped up, "Yeah! look how Da Vinci Code has to say." Nanda was crestfallen like a music teacher whose best student was singing off key. She said in no uncertain terms that the book is a hoax, a work of fiction. She was agitated with people messing up facts; scientific or religious.

The flip side of the coin. A previous vice-chairperson of the Knowledge Commission, Pushpa Bhargava, wrote early this year in The Tribune, something to the effect that Dan Brown is a real historian! (Sins of the Clergy Jan 2,2006. Sunday edition).

Another twist. Vir Sanghvi in Brunch, the HT Sunday magazine (sorry the story is not online) in his column summarizes the story of DVC and gives his view (hope I don't get into copyright problems to having quoted him so profusely!) :

If you have been on planet Mars for the last three years or so, here's what Brown claims: he argues that Jesus married Mary Magdalene, who fled to France after the crucufixion and that they had a daughter, Sarah. The Church decided,around the fifth century or so, that Jesus was not to be regarded as a mere mortal with earthly desires, a wife and a child but was to be treated as the Son of God. So it suppressed all evidence of the marriage and of the child.
However, a sect called the Knights Templer knew the truth and preserved Jesus' bloodline (Sarah went on to have children of her own). The Knight Templers were replaced by a shadowy society called the Priory of Sion ... The Church killed as many members of the Priory as it could find and that trend continues to this day ... The Grail was never a cup but was a reference to Mary Magdalene's womb.
All this is quite fascinating - but it is also rubbish. The Grail stories have no place in the Christian literature of that period and emerged only in medieval times as mythological tales. The story about the Priory has been traced to a 20th century hoax by a Frenchman who confessed all before he died.

I think I should stop here. There are couple of things that I still have to say but perhaps next time. But before I publish post, a disclaimer :-)

This is not about using the authority of secular writers/scholars to validate matters of faith. Though I respect these writers the testimony of the biblical scholars is certainly preferable.

Ironies of the protest!

2006-06-01T15:42:00.000+05:30

So the agitating doctors have started returning to their wards. Patients and their families must be so relieved. Hopefully these medicos would concentrate on job at hand now.

Some of the images linger in my mind:

One protestor got this written on the back of his T-shirt: "I am sacrificing my today for a better tomorrow." Sadly he had a narrow vision for a tomorrow which can only worsen the conditions. Better tomorrow cannot be built on the obscurantist vision about the past. India has been a deeply oppressive society, if the experience of the backward castes is anything to go by.

Another one had a picture of Bhagat Singh drawn on his. Now Bhagat Singh, the Marxist revolutionary, if alive today, would definitely not be sitting with the anti-reservation band, especially when these protestors have a backing of capitalist business houses. Here is a story in which a Brahmin doctor is heading pro-reservation lobby and alleges that the opposing stir is sponsered by the corporate houses.

Is Shiv Khera part of the package? Unwittingly or otherwise, he is. Khera who in typical fashion of self-help gurus helps people to discover and actualise potential within, utterly fails to see that caste is all about broken spirits, demolished self-esteems which need not just his pep-talks but a robust framework of social upliftment programme.

And then there is Navjot Sidhu, who has gone to show his support for the anti-quota agitators, thus betraying his party's caste-character. This may well be the worst PJ that he ever cracked.

To lift or not to lift

2006-05-30T23:27:00.000+05:30

On my way back from college yesterday evening I saw this very old man on the road asking for a lift. The guy on scooter in front of me wanted to stop but by the time he pulled over (it was a busy hour) he had already gone very far, so he again sped up and left. Now the old man waved at me. I had a moment of hesitation; I have never given lift to anyone. And by the time I decided to oblige him I myself had gone quite a distance and turning back in that traffic was unthinkable. I continued driving.

I wish I had pulled over immediately.

Getting nostalgic about Eliot's "Prufrock"

In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse

By the way that's not all!

Today as I drove back from sector 22 and reached the T-point from where I was to take right to come home, I had to stop at the traffic signal. As I slowed down another old man, though not as old as the one I mentioned above, walked upto me and asked for a lift till the traffic lights in sector 17. I told him that I wasn't going that way and would take a left from the round-about to go to 15. He said, "Today you can take a different route to 15." I was a bit surprised by his audacity. Anyway, I said, Ok, come. As soon as he ensconsed himself next to me he said,"Why aren't you running the AC?" Now I was zapped. I said, "It seems you have walked a lot today, had a strenous day." I still hadn't switched on the AC. I was trying to hint that such a demand is not very polite. "No it's just too hot today," he said,"I went to these small shops in 22, they are so suffocating." And in the same breath he said, "Aren't you putting the AC on?" When he mentioned it the second time I was actually amused. So guess what? I did put the AC on for him. As I drove him upto the traffic lights I was wondering if he would ask for any more favour. He didn't and got down at the lights.

Morals of the story:

Your indecision almost always confounds you.
When someone else makes a decision for you it may not be that bothersome after all.

(PS: Morals to this story are tentative and are subject to change)

Taking a slip on the slip road

2006-05-21T20:33:00.000+05:30

Out of all the confessions that I have to make the one about my poor driving skills is the least mortifying. So let me tell you what soup did I get into this evening. I had been to the St. Stephens School to arrange for something for tomorrow (SDC begins tomorrow!). I had parked my car on the side road, the one marked as the cycle track. So when we were done, I drove down this track. I took a left turn and suddenly my car took a jolt. I had gone over the embankment. As I tried to manoeuver my car out of that bother, I heard the chassis making an uneasy grating sound. Oops! I got down just to see the front left tyre deflating right in front my eyes. It seemed that the car was whistling as it settled fixedly on the pavement like an obstinate animal.

This was enough to totally unsettle me. I could sense people gloating around me. Aur chala gaadi cycle track par. Ab kharha reh yahan par. Hee hee hee!

I immediately called Joel, who had left just ahead of me. He said he would come back. Meanwhile I steal a glance at the people around, seeking some kind of sympathy. I see the man on the other side of the road selling cigarette, bidi and such stuff glaring back at me. What did he think of me?

Two guys went past me, looking at the car. I thought they were jeering but they weren't. In fact as they went across the length of my car, they turned and told me to get someone to fix the punctured tyre. It felt nice to have someone make an effort to help. In their haryanvi accent they guided me to the place where I could look for someone.

I got hold of this young chap, who quickly finished his cup of tea and came along with a spanner.

Joel had arrived by then. He looked around my car and did the talking with the young rescuer that I had brought. As I stood flummoxed there wondering how I managed to do this, my tiny helper suggested we should get a crane!! Or let's put a stone under the rear tyre reclining on the pavement and try to take the car over, he further advised. Joel asked him to get some people so that we could actually lift the car and put it on side. The boy went on the other side towards where that cigarettewalla was sitting. Meanwhile few people had gathered around my car. And before long I found that Joel and these five guys were lifting the front of the car and moving it. Then they moved towards the rear of the car and moved it completely. Wow!

Out of the four the two went on their immediately. I shouted 'thank you!' and one of them turned to wave at me. The other two guys kept standing there. Both Sikhs. They had struck a conversation with Joel as I oversaw that young resourceful rescuer of mine changing the tyre. I paid him and offered those guys some fruit juice there but they already had had. In fact its only while having it that they spotted me and came over.

Joel told me where to get the tyre fixed and we parted ways.

One silly thing. As soon as I heard the impact my car made and I decided to came down to look I took off my gaudy sunglasses (the only sign of my vanity). Why did I do that? Is there a relationship between a show of austerity and a crisis? I think I just got very self-conscious.

Summer Day Camp

2006-05-20T12:00:00.000+05:30

For the next one week my mornings are going to be pretty hectic. Well for this Children's Camp, I have to report at 8:20 am! 8:20 guys is no joke. I hope I am not dazed through the whole camp. I hope my cast (I am incharge for the daily two-part drama) will be alert at least. These guys have been working really hard.

Prashant who plays the scientist Doc is a Colonel in the Indian Army. On a sabbatical for sometime he has very graciously agreed to participate in the play. He says that this is his way of saying thank-you to the Chandigarh Bible Fellowship for providing Sunday School to his eight-year old son Sam. Prashant is a busy man. Carrying his briefcase he moves about in the inimitable flourish of an army man. An avid follower of the stock market, he is taking this time to fulfil filial duties: taking care of his mother, looking after the houses, dropping and picking the son from the school, an occasional outstation visit. Phew! Lots of appointments to keep. His lunches are all pre-arranged. And then he takes time to memorise and rehearse. Jai Hind to this firm commitment.

Talking about commitment you have Mayuri (I almost wrote Basanti). She plays Casey, the detective. Casey ho! this is how I greet her. Mayuri not only has a major role in the drama she is also incharge of the singing. So while most of are struggling with our one engagement she is hitting two birds with hardly any stone (complaint). And by the way she has a professional job to do as well. She is a postgraduate in psychology and is currently working as a counsellor. She loves reading Max Lucado's books and presently is interested in knowing how was the Bible compiled. Word of God or words of men!

Then we have Ravi. He comes from Ambala to rehearse almost everyday. (And you thought the great stories of commitment are over!) However, right now he has gone to Delhi for his admission in a post-graduate management course. He plays Ried, the adventurer. He recently got a new pup. A golden retriever, I guess. They already have one at home. Two years old. Ravi once told me that his dog understands French. (Aside: Is the French world going to dogs?). He also coaches the football team of his school in Ambala.

Blade, the superhero is played by Ashwin. The young associate pastor of the CBF has the most comic role. Preparing for the play he has already delivered two sermons and it seems he is going to speak on the Sunday after the summer camp as well. He thought after 21 he will be free to concentrate on the play memorizing the lines and all, but there is no let off in sight. He sure is the upcoming superhero for the CBF; sermons and summer day camps all piled up on his fresh SAIACS-graduate shoulders. Yesterday he told me that he made his own breakfast. Tried to cook the ommlette without using oil! And of course then it would not come off from the pan. Finally when he did succeed in scraping it off, the ommlette (or whatever was left of it) indicated that salt of the earth was used rather abundantly. Super effort.

The other two cast members working from behind the stage would be Abby and Dia. They are going to manage the puppet, Bubbly (FKA Becky). The only thing I knew about these two girls was their craze for the Harry Potter books. But I am impressed with their felicity with the job at hand.

Ravi, Ashwin and I are going to manage rest of the puppets.

For the puppets, more then the voice we need to work on our arms. Aaaah! it hurts man! Holding the puppet for so long.

Gita Updesh

2006-05-10T16:54:00.000+05:30

Know that in all cases
whatever in existence is
powerful, glorious, and beautiful
issues from but
a spark of my splendour
(Ch. 9 Text 41)

I received this most beautiful and very portable copy of the Bhagvad Gita from a sparkling light of His splendour. The first thing that we read together appears as the epigraph of this posting.

This initiates me into the choir of the Song Divine.

I had bought a copy of the Gita many years ago, never got down to reading it though and then someone borrowed it never to return. A couple of years ago I borrowed another copy - of the same kind that I had bought - from Joel (wow, he appears second time in my blog on a single day) but again somehow wasn't able to read it consistently.

Now with this extremely handy copy (measurement in cm: 6 x 4.5 x 2.25) I am sure I can read it fairly regularly

My mind goes to Paul who exhorts us to concentrate on the poweful, glorious and beautiful in Philippians 4:8

Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honorable, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.

Statements of Faith

2006-05-10T12:37:00.001+05:30

I don't quite remember what set me and Joel talking about the statements of faith the other day. He was explaining his problem with such assertions. These statements are meant to define what you believe in. But in reality what they achieve is they define boundaries; deployed to keep the "other" out. This has been part of the western religious experience and tradition where one Christian denomination had to rigourously distinguish itself from the other. The statements of faith were meant to provide a uniform identity to the adherents of a particular religious group. They were to select friends and foes by replaying these statements in their mind.

Historically speaking this was an exercise in community building which responded to the needs of burgeoning democarcy. Like rise of nations in the west in post-Renaissance period the religious denominations also had to develop secure borders.

In the world where definitions of democracy and nation are being rewritten there is a need to revise the rationale of statements of faith.

In the pluralist world in general and in India in particular Christians have to be wary of such heavily westernised concept of "statement of faith."

My mind goes back to Brahmbandhab Upadhyay, the dynamic intellectual and a Christian theologian in Bengal, the editor of journals and later a nationalist revolutionary who was disowned by the Church in early 20th century. Upadhyay instead of confining himself in the historically conditioned statements, took a bold step, a heroic decision to call himself a Hindu Catholic, instead of a Roman Catholic.

Indian spirituality is embracing. However this is not to say that everything goes here in India. The sharp debates in the Indian intellectual history between Sankara, Ramanujan and Madhva give an example that debating and clarification of postions is an important ingredient of Indian tradition.

Upadhyay carries on that tradition.

The dynamic process of "exclusion and embrace" (a term courtesy Miroslav Volf) will give regenerative impetus to our communitarian journeys. The fossilized statements of faith can impede the progress.

Kierkegaard's birthday & Marx's

2006-05-05T12:09:00.000+05:30

Since yesterday I had been feeling that there is something special about 5th May. But what? I wasn't able to recollect. I had a vague feeling that perhaps it's a birthday of a childhood friend, long forgotten but whom I have been longing to meet.

It's Soren Kierkegaard's birthday today. Born in 1813 AD.

I remembered that last year I remembered him by reading two short pieces about him written by W H Auden.

This year I decide to approach him more directly.

To begin with I read the "Preface" and "Prelude" to his Fear and Trembling.

The preface is a little gem about issues of faith and doubt. Here he calls attention to the fact that Descartes has been so grossly misused by the subsequent doubters. He reached a particular position after a strenuous exercise in honest thinking. The contemporary doubter, on the other hand, doesn't struggle with issues of knowing or having faith but, in fact begins with doubt.

Descartes - the rationalist par excellence, Kierkegaard says, arouses "deepest emotion," primarily because he was a "quiet and solitary thinker, not a bellowing night-watchman." In Kierkegaardian estimation that seems to mean that Descartes was finding his own way in the labyrinth of philosophical thinking upto his time. He did not intend this to become an easily aquired public attitude.

"Dexterity in doubting" is cultivated over a long period of time. Like the way it happened with Descartes, who maintained "equilibrium of doubt" and never became a nihilist or a hedonist.

When people invoke Descartes to justify their scepticism, they are doing something that Descartes never did. They begin from where Descartes arrived.

And he further says tha just like dexterity in doubting is not acquired in a few days or weeks, "dexterity in faith" is a "task for a whole life time".

Descartes, he says, never wanted to "make it a duty for everyone to doubt." He needed to use this particular method for himself because it "was justified in part by the bungled knowledge of his earlier years."

I need to reflect on these issues (faith, reason, doubt) which pertain to my new vocation Kierkegaard, I hope becomes a good sparring partner. By the way some of his insights compel me to say that he is a most contemporary writer with a piercing sense of irony. His diagnosis of modern condition does not leave out the postmodern enigmas.

It is Karl Marx's birthday too. Born in 1818 AD.
An estranged friend of fiery youthful days.
Must get back to him too.

Daily News and Brother Lawrence

2006-05-03T14:59:00.000+05:30

In Baroda a 2000 strong mob burn a man alive in his car.
Terrorists kill 22 innocent people in Jammu & Kashmir.
Pramod Mahajan's condition grows worse.
Suryanarayan beheaded by barbarians.

Man against man.

Not to mention, man against woman.
Woman against man.

Explosions of hatred.
Implosions of guilt.

Mankind stands condemned.

In the melee of debilitating images, the memory of Brother Lawrence:

"He said that as far as the miseries and sins he heard of daily in the world, he was so far from wondering at them, that, on the contrary, he was surprised there were not more considering the malice sinners were capable of. For his part, he prayed for them. But knowing that God could remedy the mischief they did when He pleased, he gave himself no further trouble."

I take lead from him. Trusting in goodness of God is the first step towards a postive action to bring change in the life of the nation and the society.

Karl Barth said somewhere:

"The clasping of hands in prayer is the beginning of an
uprising against the disorders of the world."

Brother Lawrence was not a practitioner; a socio-political activist that is. But he does help to form a perspective from which a practitioner can approach his vocation. A vision of hope in the fallen world.

Table tennis and making of gods

2006-04-30T06:59:00.000+05:30

Yesterday was a busy day and in the evening, to unwind, I and Charles decided to have a game of table tennis. I lost 15-3 to my friend from Gujarat. Anyway let me not talk about my embarrassment. Here I would like to recollect some very curious things I got to hear. Both of us were talking about our respective states. He told me that in Gujarat, an interesting phenomenon is seen. In that part of the country if you render service to the public, do good to the masses, you are not just remembered as a good, generous man. Within a generation you are deified. In the popular imagination you would become a kind of god. Even temples would come up commemorating the apotheosis. He mentioned about a man called Jala Ram, who, it is believed would generously give to whoever came to him for monetory help. He would put his hand in the pocket of his ganji (a kind of handspun vest, the one you can see Paresh Rawal wearing in Hungama or few other movies) and empty it for the person asking for help. Now in the popular imagination he has achieved a status of a demi-god. Another man Bhathi ji who was skilled in sucking poison from someone suffering a snake bite has a temple built in his name. And it is believed that if leaves from a tree near that temple are rubbed on to the victim's wound he would be all right.

Charles asked me if this was true of Punjab. If it was as easy for people here to appoint and accept someone a god. Thankfully that doesn't happen here because if that were true of Punjab, there would be more gods here then men to pay obeisance to them. The sardars of Punjab are generally very generous in that sense. Anyway, the reason I felt that it is not such a prominent phenomenon here is because of a general religious atmosphere created by specific teachings of the Sikh gurus, who forbade apotheosis of men and designated the scriptures as the last and the true Guru.

I wonder if my assessment is correct.

By the way Charles next time we have a game be sure of a tougher resistance! This Punjabi would not so easily let a Gujarati become a local table-tennis god.

More on reservations

2006-04-28T22:37:00.000+05:30

A call for a nation wide stir has gone out. Unfortunately the people who are participating and those who are encouraging such a confrontational stance are hardly aware of facts? Here is a story that might put some sense in the agitators.

Young India!

2006-04-27T13:14:00.000+05:30

The students are beginning to protest on the streets against the proposed hike in reservation quota. This morning's newspapers carry that moving picture of a young doctor in her white overall braving the gushes of water. A question however looms large in the background of these images. Why weren't these young students, studying to make it big in the global job market, ever outraged knowing that they are part of a system where young boys and girls born in a certain category of social hierarchy would always grow up to clean their toilets and wipe their floors? That they would grow old doing this. And then their children would carry the baton . Why don't they ever see beyond their own jobs? Merit is only a smoke screen behind which they can solidify the foundations of caste oppression.

Why don't these students speak up when a high caste student despite his low marks gets seat in an engineering college by proving that his trader grandfather had been part of some nondescript protest against the colonial merchandise, which gave him a stiff competetion, in pre-independence India? Thus depriving a more competent student who comes from a lower social wrung, but who could not conjure any such certificate for the simple reason that he is not connected through caste strings to those people who matter at the issuing agency.

An immigrant at the Post Office

2006-04-26T12:14:00.000+05:30

The man standing in front of me in the queue at the post office would occasionally look at the telephone bill and the cheque I held in my hand. He was making the payment in cash. And since the line wasn't moving fast enough- and it never does when you are number three and beyond - he was throwing quasi-curious, somewhat nervous glances all around. After a while he asked me if my bill was too high to be accepted in cash. "They don't accept cash for an amount more than 5000," I said to him, "though my bill is not that much." A look of satisfaction appeared on his face as if this was exactly the information he wanted standing there at that moment. Talking to someone can ease the nerves so much. Daunting places become bearable. And we renew the strength to persevere. Meanwhile, the line moved on.

"How many pay orders are you booking?" The voice sounded like a school teacher's admonishing an erring student who forgot to do his homework. It was coming from the other side of the glass-window. The young woman receiving the payments was not happy with something about the man who was handing her the money order forms. Till now she was working rather efficiently and, of course, quietly. The dark, short man, young and unshaven, was rattled by the imperious tone of the question. "Two." He barely managed to utter the word. "Then why are you not giving both together?," she said almost chiding him. Sheepishly he extended his arm from under that glass edge. She counted the money and in the same abrasive tone revisited the flummoxed man,"Upar ke paise kahan hain?" The man had not yet handed her the service charges. He could not understand her instantly and was quiet. The man standing behind her who had earlier asked me about my bill told him what she meant. The payorder man only had one 500 rupee note which he passed on to her. She seemed to have some doubt about the note. She gave it to Purshottam ji to pass it on to "Sir" who was busy rummaging through many envelopes and files. Meanwhile she started keying in the data. "Anjali what?" she asked not being able to read the addressee's name. The inflexion in her voice suggesting that Anjali for her is the most despicable name on earth and what is the word she thinks should be deleted from the dictionaries, precisely because she needed to use it with this man. The man told her what of Anjali. By this time "sir" had had a look at the note. Mumbling something he threw it back to Purshottam ji who passed it back to our lady of the cash-receipt. "This won't work. Give loose two hundred rupees," she amazingly maintaining her contempt. He didn't have any other money. "This is all I have." The woman had had enough of this man by that time. She flung the forms and the money back at the man who for a moment thought that the job is done. He looked at the forms and the money. "It was for four thousand, wasn't it?" saying she stretched out her hand for the next payment. The man thought she was having a second thought about what she had just done. He wanted to give his forms again but soon realized that he has to find another note and then begin again at the end of this line because by this time man next to him had already handed over his bill and money.

Universal Church and Pigeon Holes of Perception

2006-04-11T19:58:00.000+05:30

I wonder what Cardinal Roger Mahony of Los Angeles would have to say to the accusation that "his outspoken views [on contentious US migrant law ] were an attempt to increase Latino numbers in Catholic churches faced with dwindling attendances." The media which otherwise is sympathetic to the migrants, would pick the church apart if it stands with the victim. Even though the cardinal is only stating the basic biblical position i.e., to "stand with "the poor, the stranger and the least among us"," he cannot escape the vitriolic attacks from certain apostles of liberal humanism.

The situtaion for the church, it seems, is same all over the world. It faces similar kind of criticism in US as it does in India. Here the church, extending support to the downtrodden: the dalits and the tribals, is percieved and portrayed with suspicion. All sorts of motives are attributed to the work of church in India. The communists suspect the church because to them Indian church is a direct beneficiary of the CIA money, which it uses to create trouble for the communist movement. The extremist organization try to garner political support publicising the idea that the church is trying to undermine nation's unique and pristine culture. The liberals want the church to limit its activities in the areas of health and education, but they also subscribe to the theory that church's evangelistic efforts only disrupt the society.

I wonder what our ecclesiologists have to say about it?