The letter I might never write

Our son Chathu is getting married. He has given many anxious moments to his parents all these years. There are days when we had speculated about his sexual orientation, virility and hormonal imbalances which have led to an unexplained disinterest (perhaps mutual) in the opposite sex. While I had always ascribed it to the rather unsuccessful track record of his father with women and thereby dismissing it all as part of his genetic makeup, his mother has been making several futile attempts at matchmaking.  Finally Chathu has found a partner of his liking who is, incidentally not from our community/religion/state/nationality. We, his parents cordially extend this invitation to attend his wedding.

This is a marriage with a difference. It will be conducted at an Old age home near our village in Kerala, where old parents of many grown up kids are spending the last days of their lives, some scorned and unwanted. There are some who live there out of choice also, for the rather fragile security environment near their original place of residence or due to the extreme feeling of desolation and loneliness. You, dear friend, with your presence, would be making their lives interesting for a day. Be prepared to hear boring stories from a distant past related at a meandering pace.

     After having witnessed several weddings, where humans look like moving mannequins decked up in pounds of gold and acres of silky finery, I am issuing this small warning. If you wear gold, do it at your peril. It will be confiscated and donated to the Old age home. Gifts are not accepted. If you still feel like giving something, I would be happy to receive a token amount, not exceeding Rs 500, in the form of a crossed cheque drawn in the name of the Old Age Home.

             A meal consisting of one Sabzi, one Daal and a sweet with Rice, chappati and curd will be served. No plastic tumblers and packaged food will be served and you are expected not to waste any food. You will be enjoying this meal in the relative discomfort of a non- air-conditioned hall and in the company of old people residing in the home. There won’t be chanting of Shlokas or a ceremony around holy fire. I, the father intend to declare them married, much in the style of declaring open the Olympic Games. After the brief function the couple are expected to proceed to a civil office to register their marriage and thence to their city of work. There won’t be any honeymoon in Maldives or Malibu. Neither Chathu, nor I can afford it. I don’t expect the bride or her parents to pay for it either.

     You may be wondering if I had gone crazy in old age. Well, it is true that old age has brought with it insecurities and a certain inexplicable frugality. Add to it the long years spent in an ill paid Govt job and you have the perfect makings of a cranky, miserly old man. Hence,I will scrounge on the money a little. The Missus and I are extremely shaken by the display of wealth and vulgar expenditure on the marriages that we have attended. Hence we decided to make a small difference. Of course Chathu has expressed his deep displeasure at this embarrassing venture of ours. He has reluctantly agreed to lend his presence for this formal function to satisfy an old man’s whims and eccentricity. He will be partying with his friends separately and, understandably, wants none of his friends to see what an embarrassment his parents have become in old age.

PS: I, along with Missus, are moving into the same Old age home after the wedding. You are welcome to drop in whenever you like. It would make our day a wee bit brighter.

The God business

          This blogger earnestly believes that, to be a secular state, we ought not to be sensitive to religious beliefs of its’ citizens. Instead we need to be brazenly indifferent about it. The state ought to display its supreme aversion and condescension to religion. How do we go about it? Considering the complications that our pluralism brings about, we need to go one step ahead of France and start offending sensibilities associated with faith. As a first step we need to demolish places of worship that are built on encroached land.

        If we study the history of religions, it is easy to see that new Gods have not been discovered or broken out of nowhere. It is the cruelty and injustice of the priests, mullahs and other sundry intermediaries of God which have led to revolts and spawned new religions. Even today these very intermediaries create divisiveness through media, politics and other platforms. In matters of faith, everyone, turns serious, morose and sensitive. How can the State call their bluff?

                Very easy, in fact….Any individual may be permitted to submit a declaration in a stamped document that he belongs to a certain religion. Those who do not submit such a document may be treated as a non-believer, ambivalent to religions. The stamped document can be of value Rs 1000- (let us not miss an opportunity to garner some revenue to the government out of this farce called religion). Those who do not submit any such document can be treated as who either doesn’t subscribe to any religion or who are believers but choose not to spend Rs 1000 to a (arguably) corrupt government and hence choose not to be publicly seen as belonging to any. If those who aren’t enrolled officially into any religion are banned from visiting the place of worship or propagating their religion and can only pray in the privacy of their homes, then we would have become the first country in the world to have cleverly nailed one of the most ludicrous rackets (of God’s agents on earth) in the world. In other words, we would have successfully carried out dis-intermediation of the God business, reduced entry barriers and facilitated easy exits too.  Priests and Mullahs will have to look for alternate occupations like selling lottery tickets or becoming tea vendors. They might even migrate to the underworld and pose an existential threat to Bhai log in Mumbai.    

     Let us think further. What are the benefits of those who declare, say,  Hindu? He gets to follow the Hindu succession Act, Hindu Marriage Act (if at all you see that as a benefit) and get to be burned, not buried on death. What if you choose to convert to Islam? You get to follow Islamic personal law. You can keep a few more wives (if you can afford them & are not particularly keen on a career in Government which has a precondition that you cannot have more than one wife living), you get to follow Muslim succession rules, you don’t get interest from Banks and get to be buried on death. Those who do not enroll in any religion get to follow secular personal laws, which do not permit more than one wife, get to be burned or buried or thrown into sea as they deem fit and get to follow secular succession Act. There could be all kinds of trivial reasons for conversion. Someone might choose to convert to Sikhism for the hilarious excuse that he needs to save money on a hair transplant and can spout a turban to hide his bald pate. Or he might just like to be known as a Sardarji. Proselytizing religions might sponsor mass conversions with Rs 1000 stamp papers using petro-dollars and church funds, but since the whole thing had deteriorated to a farce, wise citizenry might be unwilling to convert unless something more substantial is offered. Like a home, livelihood or hard, solid cash. Do you see a rush of individuals queuing up to subscribe to Christianity, Hinduism or Islam? No Sirree. Even a believer might choose to pray in the privacy of his home and choose not to flaunt his religion. No one will care a toss about religion.

           Hmm… sounds interesting. Can we extrapolate this to the caste system also? Can we submit the aforesaid stamp paper and claim to belong to any caste we want? I foresee a queue of upper caste individuals waiting to declare as SC/STs to garner the benefits of reservation. Hence let us put a rider there. Once you submit such a document, then the person ought to be permitted to marry only from that caste. That settles it. Within a few years we will have the oppressive Hindu caste system reduced to a similar farce. All sorts of marriages of convenience might take place. Wealthy lower castes will declare themselves Brahmins and marry poor Brahmin girls. Poor Brahmins may aspire to move up the economic ladder by marrying someone rich from the backward castes. The benefit of reservation can then be given only to the offspring of such unions. There goes caste politics for a toss. It will be chaos in the beginning and an enforcement nightmare. In a few years we can claim to have broken the back of many divides and fissures in our society. What if two forward castes submit a document claiming to be backward and reap benefits? We might think of some safeguards to prevent such unions.

   The seed of this idea was planted by one of my favourite columnists, Late M P Narayana Pillai, who proposed that anyone may be permitted to declare himself a Nair by submitting a stamped document. If you think I have a good idea or want to propose some changes to the above idea, I would be interested to hear about it. Or do you think I am crazy? Please tell me …

Garbage Nation

Very few readers have missed my presence in this space. A few thought of asking me why I am irregular. No excuses for the long silence. Didn’t feel up to it; period. Meanwhile I continue to get mails on the Naxalite Story…

        If one lives in Chennai, it becomes very clear that India ought to first learn to deal with garbage before building Aircrafts, Tanks and missiles or wiping out corruption. This blogger humbly contributes to the production of hi-tech Battle Tanks for the Indian Defence Forces. India is about to test fire Agni-5 which can hit targets 5000 kms away. We have achieved a great deal of sophistication in manufacture of fighter aircraft and helicopters too.  If all that fills you with a sense of pride, just pause for a moment and look at the way garbage is strewn everywhere in Chennai. Near my apartment complex, which houses about 500 flats, there are two big rubbish bins. I notice that the garbage bins are of ‘x’ height, the garbage collection trolleys on quadricycles are of ‘x-1’ height. As a result much of the garbage is first deposited on the ground and then piled into the bins. A lot of transmission loss occurs. As a result of this about one tenth of the garbage is strewn carelessly on the road itself. 

        There is no segregation of waste into organic and recyclable. My entire drive to Office is dotted with the unseemly sight of heaps of garbage. There are flies everywhere and the smell of rotting organic waste overpowers you as you drive by; even with windows up and air conditioner on. The garbage bins are huge metallic structures which do not render themselves to easy maneuvering or for lifting and dumping into the huge garbage trucks run by a firm called Neel Metal Finalca. They are collected infrequently and their trucks are parked near the junctions where the huge garbage bins are placed. The traffic is blocked for a few minutes as the collection truck comes for emptying the bins. They almost always never bother about the stuff that is lying outside the bins. The workers who are involved in this operation do not wear any gloves. 

          Are we so incompetent that we cannot run a good garbage collection and disposal system? I have seen some of our best Babus doings things they do not know anything about. They carry their knowledge about sanitation to Defence and Telecom to Finance seamlessly. One would almost be persuaded to think that this country is not only run by politicians without domain knowledge, but also by Government Officials of the same kind. Hence this open offer. I, who has spent a life time in Defence Production and Acquisition, hereby offer to work for Municipal garbage removal. I do not offer magical, instant solutions. Give me some time, existing resources and half my present salary. Let me make a humble effort to sort out the garbage before I plunge back into making hi tech Battle Tanks. I make this offer knowing that there will be no takers for it. Somehow, Civilian administration is an elite preserve and the likes of me would never be welcome. At least the guys who are doing it should wake up and smell the garbage.

***************

What I am reading:         “Dead Reckoning” An alternate history of the 1971 Bangladesh war written by Sarmila Bose. An interesting insight struck me as I read it. Did you know that Yahya Khan, the Pakistani General, known for his drinking/ womanising ways, was the only Military Dictator who earnestly tried to hand power back to the Civilians in Pakistan? Reminded me of Schindler’s List and the many virtues of those of who are not stuck up about middle class morality. The rest of the usurper-Generals, full of piety and nationalistic fervour, went out kicking/ screaming, were booted out or were killed in mysterious air crashes. Sarmila Bose says that most accounts of the Liberation war are peppered with untruths/ exaggerations. 

     I have also started on with two detective fiction writers. R D Wingfield, who has written novels which have become the popular TV series, A Touch of Frost. I am also reading Peter James who has written the Dead series with Roy Grace as the Detective. “Reading the Quran” by Ziauddin Sardar, a British writer, is another book that I read in fits and starts. He tries to dispel many of the popular myths about unpopular practices and beliefs in Islam. I also read “The Man who loved Books too much” by Allison Hoover Bartlett. 

            I managed to read The River of Smoke by Amitav Ghosh. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it as soon as it was released. Watch out- this man is going to win the Nobel someday. He tells a story well, his stories are well researched and he knows how to keep the reader engrossed.

Guruji Answers MAGLs

Guruji,

Why do Gadget magazines carry pictures of scantily clad women?

Good question. I wish Guruji could answer this metaphysical query like the Super Computer which took aeons to calculate the answer “42” in response to the question ‘what is the meaning of life/Universe/Everything?’ (If you have read Douglas Adams’ “Hitchhiker’s Guide to Galaxy”, you’ll know what I mean). Scientific studies suggest that increasing desire for gadgets as age creeps on is proportionately set off by a decrease in libido, which the MAGL (Middle Aged Gadget Lover) is loath to admit. The display of pictures of pretty babes is often a sad reminder of lost youth and recompense to eternal virility. Don’t be surprised if the Missus bans the display of Gadget magazines in the living room lest unsuspecting guests are led to believe that she has married a sex fiend. If you are really an honest to God MAGL with no pretensions, you ought to cut out the pictures of bikini clad babes from the magazines and donate them to your teenage son.

Dear Guruji,

My interest in internet porn has reached its’ nadir. Do you suggest Viagra?

Priya Shishya…It is but the natural step in the progression of things that the Good Lord has ordained. Welcome to middle age. But help is at hand. You can delude friends into thinking that you are still a testosterone filled male. You can download old issues of Penthouse/ Playboy and demonstrate them to everyone on your ipad or Android Tablet in ePub or PDF format. You can brandish your Apps and games with sexual innuendo. When no one is looking, you can watch Satsang Pravachans in Morning TV and pray to God Almighty for swift, painless death.

Dear Sir,

Android or Apple? Which way to go?

This is but one brief historical interlude in the evolution of the gadget world. This debate is often compared to the great intellectual/civilizational debates like church vs reformists, atheists vs Jews, Islam vs the rest, Buddhism vs the Hindu Clergy etc etc. The discerning MAGL can find the answer to this question in a dozen different ways. Android it is, if you have the time to experiment. Guruji recommends Apple, if you want a smooth interface. But the iPhone 4 is indecently priced in the third world where all the gadget-spirituality resides and hence I would advise that you experiment with a good Android phone. It has everything except the super smooth, buttery interface of an iphone. Tool around a while and you shall find the answers you seek. If you are already a Blackberry user, don’t migrate unless you have a strong reason to do so. Android still hasn’t got it right with tablets. If you are really itching to own a tablet, ipad is the way to go. A year from now, things might turn out differently.

Whatever platform you use, Guruji advises that you carry chargers with you. I kid you not. Keep one near the bedside, in study, at office, in travel bag. All the smart asses who made the smart phones exponentially better each year hadn’t reckoned on the slow, glacial pace of growth of energy storage technology.

Dear Middle Aged Wacko,

Could you suggest interesting Apps for lovers of the liquid of eternal Life? I mean booze?

From your question I get a sense of the fond attachment you hold for the bottle of distilled grain, which has brought joy to mankind and ruin to the house-wife-kind. There are thousands of apps of cocktail mixes, bartender’s guides and other such trivia out there in the cyber world. In the rare event of your being sober enough to spend quality time before the screen, you could brush up on such knowledge, instead of hitting the bottle at an early hour of the day. I also propose that you shouldn’t be masquerading as a MAGL; instead join AA (Alcoholics Anonymous)

Sadguru Pranam,

I own an Ipod Touch, Iphone, iPod Classic and iPad. Is it worth going for the iMac and Macbook pro as well and make the Apple collection complete?

Not unless you have started praying to the Living God, Param Poojya Guru Sri Steve Jobsji instead of Maryada Purushottam Sriramji, the warrior-God of ancient gadgets like Bows, Arrows and Turbocharged Monkeys. If you think your home ought to look like a holy Shrine of Apple Inc and you are sworn to dedicating a decent portion of your annual income and light many candles to the Saint of Cupertino, go ahead and do it. But Guruji advises readers to make informed choices and control your destiny. If it is Apple’s time time now, Android can’t be far behind. Who knows? Symbian might make a comeback next year.

Namaste Guruji,

My wife has left me for another guy. She said she can’t stand my gadget fetish. What should I do?

Are you prone to fondling your gadgets with paternal affection when no one is looking? Do you wake up in the night and check your mail in the Blackberry? Do you chill out on Friday nights with nerds from the gadget world?  No wonder she left you. But worry not. Help is at hand. It is a good time to go out and celebrate. To get over this spectre of gloom, I suggest you walk into the nearest electronics store and buy that little something that you always wanted to own. Isn’t it wonderful? A high maintenance liability has just upped and left? Leaving you with all the time in the world with your darlings? Cheerio.

The Shrinking Left

I plead guilty. For the handful of readers of this blog who look to kill time with inanities, my disappearance from these pages has been sudden and without warning. Many things have happened in the meantime. I read several interesting books. Sonia Faleiro’s Beautiful Thing, Novels of Deborah Crombie’s Gemma James/ Duncan Kincaid series that I hadn’t read before and also Battle for Bittora by Anuja Chauhan. Yes, I am an unabashed admirer of women writers and woe befall  V S Naipaul who thinks that women don’t cut ice as writers…..

                 Then there were agitations against corruption. I always thought that the general incompetence of Babus is a much bigger scourge than corruption. And there came Mumbai bomb blasts and the outcry over it. But the subject closer to my heart is the ouster of the left governments from two states. The final frontier of the Left has been breached in Bengal. In Kerala, we saw the Left making a serious attempt at comeback by practising old fashioned bourgeois methods of leader worship- An attempt that almost succeeded.

                    Should we rejoice? Now that the lumpen cadre will no more hold industrialization to ransom? Now those administrative changes will not emanate from all powerful local area committees of the party? Now that head load workers need not be paid for tucking up their lungis and desist from working? Now that organized sector Trade Unions might think twice (hopefully) about bringing life to a halt? Now that people like us (PLUs) have come to power?

      I fear that the space that the Left had occupied will soon be cornered by Yoga gurus, environmentalists, NGOs, Maoist sympathizers and sundry writers. Many of them have no ear to the ground. The left frittered away its’ constituency by taking positions which are largely impractical and dictated by mass appeal. They did not foresee the need for change in a networked world. They got cornered into segments like organized sector trade unions which were a vested interest by themselves. They became oblivious to the changes wrought by free trade, internet and aspirations of the educated class. In the eighties, the Left had variously fought against computerization, private sector’s entry into professional education, introduction of Plus Two system in High Schools. On every one of these ideas, they had organized agitations, road blocks, Hartals and Dharnas, only to swallow their words much later. Left can outsmart any political party in the sloganeering department. In the early years, they had implemented game changers like Land reforms and education reforms. Years in power had made them sloganeers without a clear action plan for implementation. New world, experimental  ideas like decentralisation and village level planning which are pursued by some of their leaders are met with protests from within their ranks. The traditional apparatchiks of the party have managed to run the show with grassroots support from a rapidly shrinking constituency. The last straw was a desperate attempt to run a campaign on the basis of an individual in typical US Presidential election style. With that, the slide from mass based politics to individualized bourgeois politics was complete.    

       The scourge of identity politics is gathering steam in our country and it soon threatens to snowball into unmanageable proportions. Gujjars block roads, Jats fight for reservation, Telengana and Gorkhaland ask for separate states. Kashmir asks for independence. The Left in India is an idea, a perspective to understand why these identities gather steam and convert their sense of deprivation into agitations that threaten to render our country into an ungovernable mess. And the vacation of the political space by the Left might restrict our understanding of these issues. The idea of Left is a potent force to fight communalism and identity politics, which is difficult to replicate under the umbrella of Yoga teachers- even if they count bearded Muslims among their followers. It still contains the seeds of an idea that helps us understand reality in a country with explosive diversity.

    No, I don’t celebrate the demise of the Left. I wish the Left would transform into an idea in tune with our times. I wish they would play a key role in the evolution of a fourth world where local governments hold the key to development and amelioration of poverty. I wish they would fight the rapid commercialization of education. I wish they would resist the pillaging of our environment by construction and consumerism. I wish they would expand the shrinking space for informed debate on communalism, filled with hysterical TV anchors and internet vigilantes. I think it is not too late to dirty their hands yet again- to take up the cause of a large number of unorganized sector employees and to bring them the benefits of social security. I think it is not too late to bring the fruits of explosive development to those construction workers who find refuge under the flyovers. The Left can move on from being a party with legacy harking back to Soviet communes and Cultural Revolution of Chairman Mao. The Indian Left can cultivate itself as a uniquely Indian movement that seeks to merge the multiple identities behind common deprivation and seek innovative solutions within our democratic polity- instead of perceiving imagined threats of a bygone era and organizing bandhs and hartals at the drop of a hat. Good Luck…

Anglo Saxon Justice

Was a billionaire
Had several wives
Bred many children
Watched himself on TV
Sent threats to enemies
Had Viagra
Watched occasional pornography

Osama Bin Laden almost sounds human and hm... incredibly lucky to have lived the life he did. (And maybe is presently enjoying the many soothing comforts of beautiful virgins in paradise. I, an agnostic, will give that theory a skip) Finally there is a lot of jubilation over the death of the man who was smoked out of his lair in a midnight operation. How the dreaded guy could have lived comfortably in a Pakistani cantonment town remains a mystery.   The Indian media has been going to town over the inefficacy of the Indian state. An allusion is drawn to Ajmal Kasab, who, after heinous slaughter of innocents is fed biriyani in an Indian jail, while the Yankees just took out their enemy from what everyone now believes is an ISI safe house. The Indian media has gone to town about another high value target ensconced in Pakistan for the last 20 years. Even Pakistani media writes about his presence there. There is an Interpol alert on the man. And we watch helplessly. There is grudging admiration for the Americans who were not gullible enough to let the Pakistanis in on the intelligence they had - Fearing that the target might be tipped off.  Also for being daring enough to fly in and out of Pakistan to achieve their objective.

The Pakistani media is crying hoarse over the attack on their sovereignty. They have redirected their anger at India. If Indians ever try that we will give them a fitting reply, they say. There is anger at the US for the humiliation heaped on them. How could the Indian Army chief dare to suggest that India is also capable of such an operation? (What did you expect him to reply to a pointed question? Well, hmm, we could also do it, in the fullness of time and under propitious  circumstances?). In Indian TV, every night talking heads appear to gleefully suggest that our subcontinental neighbour is a failed state, waiting to implode. This space is not going to be used to further such theories; although the 26/11 assault is fresh in every Indian's mind.

We learned About Anglo Saxon justice system from books of the West. We were taught the principles of the English justice system and the centrality of the principle of natural justice which affords an opportunity to defend one's case. The criminal,be he a serial killer, murderer, rapist, is always read his rights. He is always protected by the wonderful legal system that allows him to seek legal help. He need not say anything that might implicate him in a court of law. He was always innocent until proven guilty. We read tomes of legal thrillers of Erle Stanley Gardner, Scott Turrow and detective fiction by Michael Connelly, John Sanders and others to know how the justice system worked. We always sneered at the apology of the justice system in Indian courts where justice moved at snail's pace. When our Courts gave rulings, the system always found means to subvert them.

Anglo Saxon law also taught us that an unarmed enemy ought to be captured, read out the charges, produced in court, evidences presented and convicted. Against Osama, we always thought that the Americans had tomes of evidence. He was also, allegedly, unarmed at the time when the commandos broke onto his room. Then why did they kill him first? And gave him an anonymous burial in the sea? And claim that justice has been done? No wonder that the Pakistani media is replete with stories that the guy who was killed was not Osama, and also that the Americans stage managed it for an excuse to exit Afghanistan  etc

For a moment, we look back at ourselves. We caught an armed Ajmal Kasab alive. (with valuable human lives sacrificed in the process). We convicted him to hang. He is in jail.  We feed him biriyani with loads of English justice....Don't we have reasons to be proud ? We just might rename the whole process as Indian justice system  instead of Anglo Saxon....And give a few valuable lessons to the rest of the world!!!

Promises

 I finally went looking for him. My carpenter has been evading me many times. Whenever I called his mobile phone, I have been regaled to a dialogue by Rajnikanth. Something to the effect that "don't trust a woman who is overambitious or a man who is angry beyond adequate measure". While I could recite the entire line without passable mistakes after several such futile calls, I just couldn't get to  talk to him. And I just couldn't get the connection between a woman's ambition and a man's anger. Meanwhile the fragile peace at home was occasionally shattered with complaints of broken windows, doors and other wooden stuff which need repairs. I decided to track him down and  maybe personally persuade him to come. Nothing like a wee bit of personal touch, y'know, even if it entails a trip to the nearby mass housing colony in sub-optimal conditions (er......slum). And maybe, if time permits, seek a clarification on Rajnikant's blood  curdling lines on a woman's greed and a man's  temper. Maybe advise him to migrate to a latest romantic Tamil song as his caller tune. It just might soothe some frayed nerves of persistent callers. 
 

              It was sunset when I saw him. The music was blaring and the residents of the mass housing-whatever had come out in large numbers. They gathered around the dry water tap shooting  the breeze, picking lice from random hairs (women)  swilling booze from  random pint bottles (men) and throwing balls of various sizes (kids) and all this while watching reruns of old Tamil movies on the 14" TV  kept in the courtyard of the mass-housing for sub-optimal conditions- the tiny TV came as a rare fulfilled election promise. Looked like a microcosm of  happy Indian society with food to eat, place to sleep, clothes to wear and  old Tamil movies to watch on a 14" colour TV. They haven't started aspiring yet for power, roads and other small luxuries like Jimmy Choo shoes.

     On TV, a guy with huge sideburns, cakes of makeup, hair puffed up, sporting a pencil - thin mustache and  wearing an overcoat with large checks, was dancing with a buxom woman who appeared rather scantily dressed for the snowy locales. Discrimination in the Tamil movie business, I muttered. Let the woman freeze while the guy is snug and cosy in an overcoat.
            
        His eyes had that glazed look in them. He reeked of that magic potion which comes from tiny bottles from TASMAC shops (as the liquor shops are known in Chennai) . Did his speech slur? For a moment he didn't recognize me." Saar, you here?..." he asked. I told him  jovially  that I wanted to see him in person and ask him about those lines from Rajnikant. He missed that Hi-ho well-met humour and started explaining the deep twists and mysterious meanings in Rajnikant's lines and the mistakes in my rendering of it. I interrupted him and asked him when would it be convenient to turn up at my humble abode of the creaking windows and jittery doors. "Tomorrow is election: day after tomorrow I am going to Gummidipoondi.I will come the day after that" He checked his virtual organizer implanted in his brain cells and recited. Except that I knew that he never makes good a promise, unlike the chief minister who gave 14"colour TVs to his subjects after winning a landslide election. That was one major, visible, in-your face election promise fulfilled  and the streets and homes are full of reruns of old Tamil movies as a result of that. I told him that his promises are not like Kalaignar's (the Chief Minister-  a  man  sporting dark glasses eternally).

             To those who are out of the entertainment loop called Indian politics,- This State, Tamilnadu, makes no bones about the fact that politics is entertainment. Entertainers are politicians. They come in all shapes and sizes. Erstwhile scriptwriters,  sex kitten- heroines, comedians, movie producers. You don't have to look far towards Bihari politicians with earthy mannerisms for your daily dose of humour. They are all out there, one feet in the entertainment business and the other in politics- if not entertaining masses in movies, then doing likewise in politics. The average Senthil living in Mass-housing in sub-optimal conditions is thrilled and tickled to the bones at this outpouring of entertainment from everywhere.

         He then started an involved discussion on Politics, producing blockbuster movies , erstwhile actors, telecom scams and sundry other topics in an election  cauldrom in an eclectic and unstructured fashion.  I couldn't make the connection between these diverse issues- Much like Rajnikant's baritone lines on greedy women and angry men. What about money, I asked. Are you paid to vote? Aren't you given Rs 500 notes in an envelope along with pint bottle and biriyani for your valuable vote?

          He said why call it buying votes? Aren't cricket players owned by IPL teams?  Aren't politicians  sponsored by businessmen? I have something they need and they pay me for it. Well, that was a strong piece of logic, I said. But why are you content with a bottle of liquor and a biriyani? I asked. Can't you price your vote higher? Can't you ask for better roads, uninterrupted power, water supply and regular clearing of garbage which seem to have inundated your colony?   "Saar that is for you people. Our  dreams  have a lifespan of three days. They are imminent and last as long as the elections. After that things will be back to normal."

                  This conversation wasn't going right. I said goodbye. "See you in two days: Whom are you voting for?", I  asked. Well, he said he is weighing his options. There have been sundry promises this time. Of mixers and grinders, of laptops to 11th standard students. Chathu is going to 11th and these promises are timely, I thought. I started wondering  about possible configurations of the promised laptop which, I suppose, would be of mass-promise standards. One party has even promised cows and buffaloes for every home, he said. Do they provide parking space for cows and buffaloes, I asked. He said they don't need parking space . Unlike the car you own, cows are self propelled. They move in the colony, block traffic and live off the streets. Good for you, I said. I promised to give him the cow I get  and shall make do with the laptop for my son.

Election are over and results are awaited. I am still waiting for him to make good his promise and turn up for the repairs.

South Asia's Adrian Mole

One of the endearing characters in modern British fiction is Adrian Mole. Adrain Mole's diaries are a cynical look at modern British society. The protagonist, Adrian Mole, born in a poor, dysfunctional British family, blunders through life. The secret diaries start at the ominous age of 13 and 3/4 and goes on into the forties in a series of books.Written by Sue Townsend, the books are a hilarious read.Through the eyes of Adrian Mole, one gets to see the ironies of British life. They have been made into a TV series also.

    The South Asian answer to Adrian Mole comes from, strangely enough, an immensely talented Pakistani woman writer called Moni Mohsin. I read the " Age of innocence " by her when it was released. Like any first book, It had its highs. I presume it must contain a good part of the writer (first books are like that, I suppose). It harked back to the growing years when little girls read Enid Blyton and Mills and Boons. An adolescence tempered by love, longing and the dark clouds of war in East Pakistan

         The "Diary of  a Social Butterfly came after that. It was nothing like her earlier book. It was a satire of modern Pakistani elite through the eyes of a woman who married rich. The protagonist's life is probably diametrically opposite to that of Adrian Mole. She is a social butterfly from high society, where Begums of the leisure class wear diamond encrusted jewellery, designer clothes and sunglasses. Their lives are dotted with kitty parties, foreign holidays and bitching about other women.  It is a nice book which will easily have you in splits. Butterfly's malapropisms are hilarious. Every chapter starts with a headline news of the day which could be gruesome like terrorists blowing themselves up and the chapter would go on detailing the rich Begum's life which revolves around absurd trivia.
       Tender Hooks, her latest book takes off where she left in the Diary of a social butterfly- only in a more violent Pakistan. Apparently, the book appeared as a column in Friday Times, a newspaper edited by the writer's brother-in-law, Najam Sethi, of the jailed- by- Nawaz- Sharif- fame.The book is full of endearing characters, like Aunty Pussy, Janoo (the husband) and Jonckers (the cousin for whom Butterfly is doing a due diligence of eligible spinsters to marry). The end of the book shows an uncharacteristically soft side of Butterfly, that is humane as husband Janoo.
         The book is aimed at a larger audience of Hindi / Urdu speaking populace that inhabit South Asia. Someone who lived in Tamilnadu/Kerala all their lives might miss most of the double entendres and humourous asides of Moni Mohsin.
  With lines like "I am tau so depress so depress, I can't even tell" one could picture identical upper class women in high society Delhi,a few hundred kilometres east of Lahore, mouthing the same lines in westernized Hindi/Urdu.  When a famous social commentator recently said that Pakistani media is richer in content than India's we raised a few hackles. I have always held that view. But I always thought we had better writers.  After reading Moni Mohsin's delightful book, it felt nice to see Pakistani writers with a great sense of the the absurd in modern South Asia. We become better humans when we learn to laugh at ourselves. A lesson here for young confident Indians who are all of a sudden preening about, full of themselves. It also strikes you that the lives of elite in South Aisa with all material riches, are as empty as Adrian Mole's British youth life devoid of luxuries and struggling for livelihood.

     

The Love Queen

               When “My Story” by Kamala Das (aka Madhavi Kutty) was being serialised in a Malayalam weekly, it shook up the somnolent, cosy and staid society of Keralites in general and the elitist Malabar Nairs in particular. Having lived there in those times, these ripples did not escape me. There were furrowed brows, wrinkled in distaste  and revulsion among the elite. There were knowing winks from those not part of the high society. She had broken a few taboos. Considering that she was born to a famous poet and was the grand niece of a famous writer, it took immense courage to speak of things which her class always did but never mentioned.

          For me, a 15 year old adolescent then, it was different. I would quickly rush through the magazine to spot any ‘scenes’. The scandalised looks of readers convinced me that the book contained erotica that was close to pornography. She unabashedly describes her body, its’ development and her nudity. I was flummoxed by the depictions of paper flowers, colour of walls, snake shrines and clothes and other general descriptions of trivia but very little of the real hot stuff that we were looking for. 

     I followed her life closely. She was always surrounded by controversies. I forgot what contained in “My Story”. She became many things to many people. Still a heretic to the elite, she was variously the lover, mother, sister, niece, poet, celebrity, wife and enemy to Hindu hardliners (for converting to Islam during the last lap of her life). I remember looking for Yasunari Kawabata’s works after reading an interview by her in which she mentioned his works with great admiration. Then one day she died after a long bout of illness.

  

       I read “My Story” again- in Malayalam. I also read “The Love Queen of Malabar” by Merrily Weisbord, a story of the friendship of a Canadian journalist with Kamala Das. Merrily has tried to be as honest to the subject as she could. She finds her stories of sexuality alternating between delusions and a smattering of reality. In "My Story", there are places where the reader might pause and think”could this be true? Or is she making it all up?” Kamala Das describes her literary career as a search for words all the time, in the dark night, during lazy afternoons. Her words were simple yet effective. Her humility struck me as a wisp of fresh air in a world of literary pretenders- filled with writers  who try to obfuscate and make reading an intellectual instead of an emotional, soul stirring exercise. She was humble about her abilities but was greatly successful in her craft.

              Her life had been a quest for elusive love. Where she found it, she gave it unconditionally. She was ahead of her times. Things that continue to mildly shock us- like live-in relationships, open marriages, homosexuality and bisexuality-  You could find all of these in “My Story” and remember, this was the 1970s Kerala and not the swinging 21st century. Years from now, tomes would be written on her literature and the social milieu she lived in. Maybe a couple of Phds would be awarded on the impact of her literature in society and much else.

    But doctoral studies might  miss the enormous reservoir of love within her. Love flowed within her  like a wild choppy ocean, or to borrow a term from her, like a river in spate- brimming at its’ seams and threatening to devour all it came across. There was no animosity in her tortured soul. She approached life with a rare honesty. She disdained hypocrisy. Her body was just a vessel to contain her love.  The only real love affair of her life, she claims was with a much older man (her husband’s boss, to whom she was pushed) with whom she never had penetrative sex. Somewhere I have read that once when the private love letters of a famous literary figure (in Malayalam) were stolen and published in a magazine, she called him up to say how sad she was that no one wrote her such beautiful love letters.

        There is this small vignette from “My Story”. One of the youngsters who lived in the neighbourhood rapes her one night in a drunken stupor. She sees him many months later. He passes a very crude remark about how sexy she looks. Her answer was a long nerve racking laugh which scared him away. Her young son kept telling her not to laugh like that. Her answer to this whole world filled with masks and pretensions  was a long deranged laugh.

             She converted to Islam for a man’s love. If you heard that man speaking, one would perfectly understand her. It was love she found in old age, while bones creak, varicose veins sprout and joints ache. A time when one would be soaking in the presence of children, grand children and others dear ones. Love came at a heavy price. She found it not too high to pay in her eternal quest for it. A decision she made and faced social ostracism and (albeit briefly) the overpowering love of a whole new world. The symbolism contained in her religious conversion is not lost on the reader.  Isn’t religion just  an invisible cloak or a purdah, isn’t  love the ultimate gift at the end of the rainbow?

kindle

    I may not qualify as a High Net Worth Individual (HNI in financial parlance) but I am a regular book buyer who often splurges rashly on books. (What innocent vices… in these times when Babus are talking of owning high rise, sea facing properties in Colaba!! I am talking of buying measly books!!) But the salesperson in Delhi’s Midland book shop in South Extension treats me like I am the richest guy who patronises his shop. I have often seen foreign diplomats and some famous faces browsing for books there. But in terms of expenditure per month, I top at least some of them; and hence the special service. The Missus who comes with me on these shopping expeditions, also buys a lot of books. Among book buyers who spend  a proportion of monthly disposable income, probably we must rank somewhere up there. (I am not sure if the Ambanis are reading much. Anyone with good taste in books wouldn’t be building Antilla.)

           I am not particularly known for preserving books. They lie inside a small room in my house in no particular order. I have fixed a nice music system (more about that later) and try to spend as much time in this cozy little den. But the busy life here affords me very little time to do that. Hence the number of unread books and unheard music keeps piling up.

                    I own a kindle now. For the benefit of those who look askance at the mention of it, let me explain. It is an e-book reader with a 6” screen. It has no touch screen interface and no colour display. It has a rather intrusive keyboard which can interfere while reading. It is light and easy to carry like a book or diary. With a nice leather cover (to be bought separately) it can be held like a book. It uses the E- Ink technology (Electronic Ink- the screen does not light up like an LCD screen) and hence causes very little strain on the eyes. The charge lasts almost two weeks and hence you need not worry about the screen dying on you and the frequent need for charging. The Kindle uses a format called mobi for storing books. Books stored in Kindle takes very little space since it doesn’t support colours. If you were thinking of reading the latest Playboy magazine in multicolour splendour, forget it. This is strictly for the printed stuff. It doesn’t work well as a web browser but has a smooth interface with Amazon website from which you can pay and download books into the Kindle. 

    Well, if you are reading this from a third world developing country I wouldn’t advise you to do that. If you are located outside the US of A, even free books might cost you $3 a pop if you download it from Amazon. There are smarter ways to do the same thing through a method which my son taught me. Since it may raise questions of copyright, ethics and legality, I shall refrain from elaborating further. (We might yet learn to be seasoned criminals from our sons!!)

   Someone close to me brought it from the US. If you buy it in India you might end up paying a lot of extra on customs duties. (Ipods and TVs sell in India almost at international prices but not the Kindle- shows that we are not a reading country). It is cheap in the US ($139 for the Wi Fi only model and $189 for the 3G model). A nice leather cover might cost a few more dollars and bingo you are ready to go. Surprisingly I found the best write-up for Kindle users in a blog by Shekhar Govindarajan, an Indian software professional. I was impressed with the range of questions that have been answered there.   I have also downloaded free software called e-calibre which is a good interface for storing and transferring books to your e-book reader in any format. There is also Gutenberg.org which contains most of the books on which copyright has expired. I have now a lot of books that I always wanted to read. In the first few days I kept downloading a lot of stuff without much thought. Now I am careful and download only stuff that I want to read in the near future. I am reading “Obama’s Wars” on the kindle right now. It is a well written book. But as always, the journalist’s (Bob Woodward) insight into the workings of power could be a bit over-dramatized.

    It is not exactly easy to switch between books on the kindle. I do that a lot with the printed stuff. I try to go back to Tariq Ali’s latest tome on Pakistan. Then I try to catch up with Sue Grafton’s latest alphabet series novel (U for Undertow) and Michael Connelly’s “Reversal”- All this without paying a cent.