Thursday 31 December 2009

Losing Symbols

Detectives are passé. Symbologists are in. Apart from the novelty of handsome academics cracking convoluted crimes, it gives the reader pleasure to be in the know of twists contained in ancient scriptures, works of art located in remote churches & famous museums and about religious sects with pagan practices. And there are attractive women, who seem to be integral parts of the plot. But nothing seems to happen between the handsome academic and the pretty damsel; I mean no sex. The pretty damsel seems to do nothing much except clutch the hero’s hand and run amid fires, explosions, murders and general mayhem. Occasionally she gives unintended clues to the handsome hero on where to look for clues. And occasionally she turns out to be the direct descendent of none other than the son of God who walked on earth, the one and only Jesus Christ.

The formula is getting tiresome. When the Lost Symbol was published amid great fanfare, I borrowed the book and read it. The twists in the story and the linkages to Freemasons were sounding wearisome and repetitive. It stretches credibility but the book has got away with a million plus readership. When did the CIA get interested in something as nebulous as the key to ancient mysteries buried in old buildings in Washington DC? Isn’t the CIA busy tackling terrorism in Middle East and South Asia? A chain smoking lady CIA operative of Japanese origin chasing a symbologist and secrets buried in old Washington monuments seems farfetched. It is one helluva way of investing scarce resources of the prime intelligence agency of the sole super power.

I saw the movie ‘Angels and Demons’ (adaptation of another book written by the same author- Dan Brown. I had read it some time back) on a flight. How does one seek hidden clues in ancient scriptures to future man-made tragedies? Throw in some science and a lot of mythology and you have a sure recipe for a winner. The writer seems to be doing well. With clever packaging, sale of movie rights and by courting controversy, he has made a fortune.

I am not reading the next book by Dan Brown, unless he desists from flogging the same dead horse again to produce a stereotypical novel with our famous symbologist hero. If symbology be his forte, why not an Indian astrologist and a complex plot of political manipulation in which the clues are hidden in the Brihad Samhita? Or a Telugu film producer’s fluctuating fortunes buried in the science of Nadi Shastra? Heh? Heh? A little research and a tight plot should do the trick.
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I remember writing about P.D James sometime back. I also recall mentioning that she is knocking on the windows of the great detective novel in the sky and at a ripe mid eighty we may not see her next work yet. A slim volume called “Talking about Detective Fiction” landed in my hands. Published in 2009, it is an appreciation of the best detective fiction writers of this century. Surprises never seem to end. In true P D James style, her views of her peers and long dead writers display the keenness of observation that characterizes her novels. We might yet see another Adam Dalgliesh novel from P D James. Dalgliesh is undoubtedly one of the best fictional detectives of its genre.

Great works are often unappreciated. I remember reading a book called the Mandala of Sherlock Holmes a few years back. By Jamyang Norbu, a Tibetan exile living in India. I was quite impressed. It was about the legendary Sherlock Holmes’ fictional Indian sojourn, narrated by a character out of Kipling’s book. The book didn’t go places; it never created a sensation. It made a strong impression on me. I still recommend it to the discerning reader.

Talking of discerning readers- I am not too possessive about the books I buy. I share them freely with friends and appreciative readers. Some of my best possessions have been borrowed and have never been returned. “The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich” by William Shirer, an excellent reference book for World War II buffs, has been lost twice to friends. Last year I bought it for the third time from a second hand book shop. The seller wanted Rs 200 for the well thumbed volume. I was willing to settle for Rs 150. While hectic bargaining was going on, the Missus intervened and said it is OK- pay 200. The seller immediately said- see good readers understand the value of good books- Considering that I was buying the book and not the Missus-(who is not a great fan of WWII stuff) I put on my best injured look. Do I look illiterate? Do I look like a guy who is going to off load this book to the garbage collector? Am I buying it just to display in my book case? I promise myself that I am not again going to lend this copy of Shirer to anyone again.

Wednesday 30 December 2009

Constip(n)ation

I have well-wishers who advise me not to continue this blog. I have others suggesting that I stop taking pot shots at Babus- the class to which I belong. There are some who are waiting for my next post claiming that it is oxygen for their souls. (I find that hard to believe). All in all, life changed so much in the past two months and it is hard to find time to keep this going. The sensitivity of my job calls for high discretion. The pitfalls ahead suggest that I maintain a low profile. Some say that I could always write on non-controversial subjects- but I am not really cut out to be a good food/music/art/book critic. And I am sure my readers are not dying to hear what I have to say about such exquisite things in life. So I plod on, impervious to the dangers…

But I just can’t help being harsh to Babus- in spite of being one for the last 19 years of my life. I am no Minister whose tweets are read by millions. For the handful of readers, I can afford to open a window to my thoughts, I am increasingly irritated by the hierarchical, divisive and ossified Delhi Babu culture. Delhi's Babudom is almost a constipated republic by itself!!! A dialogue between two Babus is as complex as a medieval mating ritual. Sample this…. I get a call early in the day. It is from the Personal Assistant of an ex-Babu, who took voluntary retirement and is presently earning megabucks in the private sector. The PA explains that the worthy gentleman who is about to condescend to talk to me is actually a retired government official who belongs to (a) a certain ancient batch of the civil services (b) a three letter elite service (c) a certain state cadre. In other words, the name of the service, year of allotment into civil service and an abbreviation of the state which he lorded over are appendages to his name and are expected to open many doors in Delhi. I am supposed to feel privileged and tickled by the fact that this grey eminence has deigned to talk to me. The reason for this roundabout way of introducing oneself is simple- he expects a rebuff from me if he approaches me directly, as a private individual.

Every conversation in bureaucracy is preceded by foreplay ( yeah there is something intensely sexual about the whole thing- the restless anticipation, excitement, the fear of rejection, the heart-thumping sense of risk are all part of it) which seeks to establish power equations between the two participants. The swagger in your walk, the clothes you wear and the sheer confidence that you permeate makes a lot of difference to how you are treated. Add a dollop of weighty introduction and expect things to go your way. I wouldn’t say that this is typical of Delhi alone. It is prevalent in other societies too, albeit in more refined and sophisticated forms. It is just that in Delhi, it is all too brazen. Hence in this heartland, we have elderly police officers molesting 14 year old girls- and to top it all, goes on to persecute the family, drive the girl to suicide etc.

In Australia, my economics tutor was a well known head of a government- funded think tank. His classes were peppered with wry sarcasm and double entendres. Every other example he gave was from the distant past when he was a gas station attendant. You won’t hear a Delhi Babu talking of his humble origins. Most appear as if they are born to royalty, with a serious look plastered on their face. Every government office in Australia that I went to, was well-lit, clean and those at the counters were doing their best to explain things clearly- a bit too clearly when they see someone with a dark skin. Walk in to any government office in Delhi and try to find your bearings. Instructions are not clear, you don’t know whom to approach and most probably it will take a few visits just to achieve some familiarity with the system. There are just too many people hanging about; mostly service seeking citizens at a loss as to what to do, with touts, agents and swindlers trying to facilitate their interaction with government and take a commission for it. We have completely ignored the training and development of the Babu at the cutting edge-The section officer or Assistant who actually deals with the public. We ill-treat them, pretend as if they don’t exist and we don’t equip them to deal with masses. They make all the difference to the image of the government. It might be a good idea if self-important Babus try to get government business done like the Aam admi once in a while- waiting at the counters…it would be eye- opening.
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After a long time I did some frenzied reading- Swedish crime fiction by Steig Larsson. It is also popularly known as the Millennium series. The first book,” The Girl with a dragon tattoo” is a classic. It makes sense to read these three books in the same order in which they were written. The author is said to have died after turning in the manuscripts. The books turned out to be a sensation in the publishing world. The protagonist of this series, a thin girl called Lisbeth Salander, makes a deep impression on the reader.

Monday 14 December 2009

Subaltern narratives

Ramlal drives a three wheeler in Lutyen’s Delhi for a living. This blogger was without personal means of transportation for a few weeks and was relying on three wheelers ( aka autorickshaws or eshcooters in Delhi lingo) for transportation. The difficulties of getting around in Delhi on Autorickshaws are that (a) you need to find an auto which is in need of a passenger (b) you need to convince the driver to take you to your destination and (c) you need to agree to the rate demanded by him. It helps not to be turned out in suits, but in sweaters. A well dressed passenger always gets a higher tab. I found Ramlal looking for a passenger around South Block- he reluctantly agreed to take me to South Delhi and wanted Rs 80 for the piffling deed. I can’t count in Hindi after 25, and I recognized the figure that he mentioned as something below 100. I agreed quickly and got into the auto. At every traffic light some car or bike would sidle up to him and ask for directions. Ramlal would give detailed directions.
I started chatting with him. He said that these guys presume that an auto rickshaw driver knows his way around- clearly a supposition that is not backed by evidence. Secondly some of them ask for directions as if they are owed an explanation by humble auto drivers. Ramlal regularly diverts such arrogant direction seekers in the wrong path. These Saab log (big guys) think they own you and hence they deserve to spend a few hours locating their destination. The auto is owned by Ramlal- no, it is not a hired one. Although CNG (fuel used in public transport in Delhi) is cheap, the autorickshaw with permit costs almost 3-4 lakh rupees. He has to earn at least Rs 500 a day to pay the interest on bank loans and for his sustenance. So don’t be surprised that he doesn’t charge by meter and occasionally has to overcharge passengers for short trips. He lives with his wife and two sons in Palam Gaon. No, he doesn’t cheat. He asks upfront for a high charge and usually gets it without a murmur. People seem to have plenty of money these days…..
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Sukhwinder Singh runs an auto in the Andrews Ganj area. He is an elderly Sikh, with a big wart on his nose. I could smell liquor as soon as I got in. He drives very fast. I clutched my heart and hoped to reach my destination. Usually he is seen cleaning his auto in the market along with a few other younger Sikh drivers. They invariably refuse to come wherever you want to go. Sukhwinder agreed to take me to South Block at an astronomical rate. (I’d rather not mention it here. I was desperate to reach a meeting and had to agree) As soon as I got in, I asked him why do you guys stand there polishing the autos without taking any passengers? I have tried several times to take an auto from Andrews Ganj. He said these youngsters are all badmashes (Rogues) who have no inclination for hard work. They have some prefixed rides to take school children and Memsahibs here and there and they earn enough to decline every other offer. No, he doesn’t own this auto. He pays Rs 150 per day as rent to the owner who lives in Badarpur. Hence he has to take every ride to earn enough and maintain his family. He has a grown up daughter who has to be married off. So he can’t charge passengers as per meter and they have to pay what he demands….
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Chathu and I were standing in front of the opticians shop in Lajpat Nagar. The Missus had gone to buy some winter wear. We were gazing at the crowd of shoppers on the street. A pretty young girl was crossing the road. Suddenly I could hear the loud squeal of brakes and a big car driven by two elderly Sikh gentlemen hit her. She screams and lies on the road. People come and lift her up. While she was being attended to, the car leaves nonchalantly. Chathu was so distraught. Couldn’t these monster-drivers at least have attended to her? He demanded to knowhere his mother was; worried that she might also be knocked down while crossing the street. The girl was finally helped into a cycle rickshaw by passers by to go to a hospital…Nobody went with her.
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I have a car now and I don’t travel in autorickshaws anymore. Preet Singh is a business man’s son. A young twenty something with fire in his veins- In these tough recessionary times he makes do with a Mercedes C Class Kompressor- Porsches are, alas, out of his league. He has an attractive girlfriend in GK 1 and spends Friday & Saturday nights out at a disco. He had a drink too many that night and with his girl friend by his side drove over five labourers sleeping on the pavement at 2 AM in the morning. Newspapers went wild next day. Channels kept harking back to the infamous BMW case where the son of an arms dealer rode over sleeping pavement dwellers. The media frenzy has died down in two days. How many such stories can they run? How can they sustain viewer/ reader interest in the peccadilloes of these poor sons of rich businessmen? Are there any lessons to be drawn from this incident? Yes- but no, it has nothing to do with safety, drinking and driving. Work hard in Delhi, wallow in the dust of the construction sites, let your children roam free in the concrete jungle, earn your pittance, drink hooch, go to sleep and live happily… but never, ever , ever, sleep on the pavements…Wild ones are on the rampage…

Thursday 10 December 2009

Home again

Home again! I landed back in Delhi on a winter night. The sky was a smoky haze and the teeming humanity outside the airport hit me hard. At midnight, the Rao Tula Ram Marg was clogged with traffic. Suddenly I felt boxed in by the whole atmosphere. The air was thick, with the collective egos of self important babus and politicians pitted together against the man on the street. There were more cars on the road and everyone seems to be in a hurry. My friend, Nandikesh from the old Victorian network had come to receive me at the airport. He had been living in my house the past one year and had gone to great pains to keep it inhabitable.
Almost immediately I felt that I have been living in a cocoon all this time. I had got used to the garbage strewn around, filth on the streets and the cows grazing on busy roads before I left. Reality hits you hard when you are back after a long break. Almost as soon I fell ill. Stomach problems and a debilitating lower back pain. I have been trying to overcome my condition and get back to work. Getting back to work meant commuting and I no more have a car. I am reluctant to call up my old associates and ask for a chauffered car for my commute. Like the common man I depend on auto rickshaws.
I tried to go by bus one day. It was a very harsh initiation into Delhi’s reality. It was a creaky Blue Line bus. The conductor kept tapping aggressively on the door. The crowd consisted largely of metro workers in helmets going home after a hard day’s work. I booked a car and took what was immediately available.
I am back at work. Seems like a strange world- in a job that is not half as enjoyable as my earlier stint. My friends tell me to be careful and that I could land in trouble with the kind of stuff I am dealing with. I no more sit in South Block but in Sena Bhawan that is undergoing modernization. There is a lot of dust all around and the rooms are dinghy and airless. My work days are much longer- partly due to my unfamiliarity with the nature of work and partly due to my apprehensions of blundering on the job. Shall find time to post something soon. Ciao