It's Spring!!!

The long hard winter is over. It was a time of chilly mornings, and icicles on the grass, interspersed with some pleasant afternoons, when the warm glow of sun bathed everything in gold. Winter, in a way summarized my mood. Despondent, sullen and cooped up at home with the central heating on. The night time temperatures would often dip down to minus 2. For a tropical creature like me, it has been a difficult time.

It is spring at last. The world around here is splattered with a profusion of flowers. Violets, hyacinths, daffodils, tulips, daisies and marigold are in full bloom. The Ginenderra Lake near my house is placid and the trees and strips of grass around it look greener. There is still a nice chill in the air, a distant reminder of the harsh winter. The sun burns bright and there are white wisps of clouds in the sky. The air we breathe is clean and pure. I realize what a beautiful small town this is. There are only 300000 residents and there is a forest in the middle of the city. If it weren’t for noisy automobiles zipping around in tearing hurry, I’d rename it as heaven.
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A few years back the Missus suggested that I read a book called “Foreign Correspondence” by an Australian author, Geraldine Brooks. She had got it from a library. I have hazy memories of the book. It was about the author’s lonely childhood filled with books and penpals. I saw a bit of myself in her. I too passed eventless days in my village walking by the river, staring at the endless greenery of paddy fields and reading whatever I could lay my hands on. An occasional letter from a pen pal in Czeckoslovakia, Morocco or Philippines was a big event and I would look forward to the postman’s arrival everyday. We liked the Geraldine Brooks’ book so much that we wanted to buy it. We couldn’t find a copy in the bookstores so we did something very unusual. We took a photocopy of the book, bound it and kept it with us. It still lies in our Delhi home. I just finished reading another book called “Nine Parts of Desire” by her. She is now a highly successful Pulitzer Prize winning Middle East correspondent of the Wall Street Journal. This book is about her journey to understand women in Islamic lands. She travels through Iran, Egypt, Turkey, Saudi Arabia and many other countries to discover the women behind the veil. She tops her journey by belly dancing in a Cairo restaurant to an audience of highly appreciative Arabs in head clothes and Egyptians. There are tales of women fighting all odds and spinning tales of success in the most oppressed & liberal countries. There is a chapter on the Prophet’s women, which is a storehouse of information. The book’s name comes from a saying of Ali ibn Abu Taleb (husband of the Muhammad’s daughter Fatima & founder of the Shiite sect) that Almighty God created sexual desire in ten parts and he gave nine parts to women and one to men. Geraldine Brooks has branched off into fiction also; and has written a couple of novels. She is really a writer to watch out for.
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What we are

Imagine a tall hairy brawny Sikh, brought up in Scotland, holidaying in India. No, he doesn’t go to Taj Mahal with a video camera strapped around his neck or the Golden Temple in Amritsar to offer prayers. He doesn’t try to catch up with Pinky Aunty whom he knew as a kid or Bunty uncle who taught him how to ride bicycles. He visits cities in India and cooks English cuisine at the most unlikely places. Why English cuisine? Well I couldn’t quite appreciate his reasons, except for a strange belief that to understand a people you need to understand their cuisine. Well, we didn’t understand the English even after 200 years of English rule. Why bother to teach us? I thought they adopted our cuisine and went back. Imagine Karuppusamy’s thatched restaurant in Mahabalipuram in Tamilnadu. Imagine a Sardar with a clipped Brit/Scot accent cooking shepherd’s pie and stovies there to feed the customers. I can imagine the uncomprehending looks on the dark faces of people gathered around him. He must have been the source of amusement for many days. The book is ‘Indian Takeaway’ by Hardeep Singh Kohli, a broadcaster and newspaper columnist. It is a fun read but a bit poorly edited- could have done without the repetitions of phrases at many places. The descriptions of railway journeys and his observations of every day Indian life are truly hilarious.

Often we see ourselves better through the eyes of outsiders. The other book I am reading is ‘Holy Cow- an Indian adventure’ by Sarah Mac Donald. It is written by an Australian woman who courageously lived a life of sin with her fiancée in India and lived to tell the tale(living together outside marriage is not yet considered kosher in polite circles in India…although we get by with worse sins like bride-burning and female infanticide). There are tales of Delhi male bravado, the ogling and pinching of female flesh, the dirty water and polluted air, and the loathsome public habits of men with fingers in nostrils, constantly re-adjusting their crotch. She experiences all this in a secluded and tony neighbourhood in Delhi, reasonably insulated from the dark side of the cruel city. I wonder what would she say if she had to experience the middle class existence of Indian babus in Government Colony Delhi?

Surprisingly I wasn’t offended by the descriptions of unjust Delhi. We are often caught up so much in our daily lives that we fail to see what is apparent. We are a highly hierarchical society and our importance flows from our exclusivity. It stems from how many people do we manage to exclude from our cozy circle. We snap at drivers, we scoff at servants, we heckle clerks, we abuse fellow drivers on roads and we violate the queues at movie theatres. Our membership to exclusive clubs, our family lineage, our position in the bureaucracy, and the garish furniture and drapes in our living rooms, all scream for attention to our exclusivity. We revel in this importance and turn up our noses at all the unwashed people on our streets. I could understand Sarah. She sees us for what we are… a people smug in our exclusivity. And this exclusivity is constantly redefined by excluding more and more people from it. All this while our politicians talk of inclusive development. Might be a good idea to start some inclusiveness from Delhi and from within the government….

I still yearn to go back to the melting pot that is Delhi, despite all that. But I dread going back to work. I have enjoyed much of this past one year, on the couch, reading, browsing, studying a little and day dreaming. The good time is running out and the show is about to begin... I try practicing the evil look of a self important Babu before a mirror every day…
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I am hooked onto the song’ Heads in Georgia’ from the J J Cale & Eric Clapton album called ‘The Road to Escondido’. It has a dreamy, laid back beat to it. Wonderful blues music!!

Songs for the road

It is bad enough writing a funny babu-blog without Indian politics. It is something like wrestling Dara Singh with one arm tied behind your back. You start with a huge handicap since the biggest source of entertainment is taboo. Any opinion on it in this blog might violate service conditions of Indian bureaucrats. In spirit I don’t belong to the steel frame that is Indian bureaucracy Proof lies in that I have not cultivated that look of heightened self- importance even after 20 years in it. But nope; I shall not risk my job; though I run a serious risk of losing my sense of humour after a few more years in Indian babudom.

I read Indrajit Hazra occasionally ((columnist in HT). This thought comes from his recent column on the crisis in a major political party. Like he, I also had many suggestions recommending songs appropriate to be played at Chintan Baithaks of BJP, Congress Working Committee meetings with nice bolsters on the floor and CPM conventions held under huge khaki tents. You can take your pick between a Malayalam semi Reggae/ Hip Hop number called Lajjavatiye to the ‘Times they are a changin’ by Bob Dylan and ‘bend me shape me anyway you want me’, a 1968 classic by the American breed. I can laugh till my sides split, imagining kurta clad Netas doing a jig to popular numbers of yesteryears. But I shall refrain from setting forth such crazy ideas here.

American politics seem much better. The campaign starts with an important campaign-song choosing and a slogan choosing round. The slogans could sound variously like ‘where’s the beef’ (which had a lot of Hindus scratching their heads wondering what the forbidden piece of meat has to do with choosing the President of USA), ‘read my lips’, ‘shit gives’, ‘stuff happens’ and other such inane one liners which, if heard in isolation, make no sense. Only contemporary Americans can divine the deep, evocative messages that are contained within them. Before you start selling the $1000 a- plate dinners, booking airtime, appointing PR firms, sexy interns and other celebrity cheerleaders you need to choose a song that needs to be played incessantly on the campaign trail.

Fleetwood Mac is a great band to listen to while walking or jogging. The drummer, Mick Fleetwood (after whom the band is named) can make an ordinary beat sound exciting and lift your energy levels. ‘Go your own way’ is a wonderful song to have playing in your ears as you walk a few miles and slowly trot into a brisk jog. But who thought that the Clinton campaign team would dust off their old song ‘don’t start thinking about tomorrow’ and play it continuously in the campaign. I wish we could also do theme songs for important occasions. For anniversaries, campaigns, party politburo meetings and cricket coaching camps. I am given to mouthing lyrics of favourite songs all the time: as I walk, run, work, eat and while in toilet. Although a non believer, I have silly superstitions- like it’s gonna be a good day if I sing ‘I can’t tell you why’ by the Eagles in the shower every morning. Even the name (‘Helplessly Hoping’) of my blog is from the famous classic vocal harmony by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. I can tolerate a load of crap; when accompanied with a soothing tune or lusty beat. Give me a song any day……
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I am teetering close to insolvency. Life is expensive here. The scholar ship amount is not sufficient to run a family. The Australian Government has given us student visa which contains permission to work 20 hours a week to supplement scholarship income. The Indian government forbids its’ officers from accepting financial support from other sources. I have borrowed a few thousands from my sis in law which is being repaid from my salary back home. The exchange rate being about Rs 40 to an Australian dollar, the said salary which would have given us a comfortable life in India, has rapidly vanished. Don’t be surprised if I am driven to working in a checkout counter of a supermarket (the only kind of jobs available for the asking) out of sheer necessity…. It is wages of sweat after all, not sin…. Some plight for a Babu who can sheepishly claim to have directly or indirectly controlled resources worth billions in the past. Another two months to go. Maybe this could be my last official foreign sojourn. It has been a great experience. But something tells me that it is not worth it if you don’t have enough of the green stuff. Scrounging was fun when young. Not any more…