Lessons in survival

I walked into the shop in Jamison centre in MacQuarie, Canberra, where my son’s school uniforms are sold. I was accosted by a saleswoman in her mid thirties, grinning from ear to ear.
“Hi“ She said, “ How are you today?”
“I am good“, said I
“ What can I do you for you Honey? She asked
I swallowed hard, suddenly at a loss for words… Honey? The she turned around to another lady customer of African origin and said
” Just a moment sweetie, I’ll be with you in a while” .
I sighed. Must be her way of familiarity and friendliness with all customers, I thought. I told her that I had given my son’s uniform for embedding the school emblem. I couldn’t come earlier to pick it up.
She said :"Wow … That’s wonderful” still smiling
I failed to see what could be so wonderful about such an ordinary thing. “What is the name of your son?” She asked.
I told her Chathu’s real full name, which is quite a mouthful.
“ That’s fantastic“, she said.
I failed to see what was so fantastic about his name which ought not to have made any sense to her. Except that it rolls off the tongues of Caucasians much easier than mine does. She went in, picked up the packet and gave it to me.
“Is that the one, dear ?” She asked. I confirmed, yes.
“ That’s great. Have a wonderful day“, she said and I stumbled out in a daze into the afternoon sun. That is a strong dose of Australian attitude- peppy, lively, reaching out and putting others at ease...

Now, I have always been a modest guy for two important reasons. (a) I like modest guys and I like to help them out. I believe that there are many out there like me and by being at my modest best, I would like to be benefited by their kindness and
(b) I have much to be modest about.
Life in Delhi could make one seriously rethink that philosophy. Three years in the Capital of India and I am convinced that the meek shall be crushed to the earth; far less than inheriting any of it. Body language, good tailoring and attitude counts for much in Delhi. It is how you walk in to a place that will determine the treatment you get from anyone. This is true as much for the power corridors of South Block as it is for the flea market in Chandni Chowk. Australia looks like reinvesting me with a belief in the essential goodness of people.
There have been times when I was wandering around, puzzled, looking for a place, when someone would ask me whether I am alright. The Bus drivers smile and wish you as you get in. A brief chat about the weather follows to the regulars as they swipe the card. It is the same driver in our route and even passengers are more or less the same. There is no hurry as the driver waits for passengers to search for their card/ coins/cash. When we thank them as we go out, they might respond with a deep “No worries mate”. That’s Australian for "You are welcome" or "don’t mention it"…
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The greatest development of Australian life is that Chathu now is a responsible citizen. In Delhi we had a host of maids keeping us going round the clock and I suspect he used domestic help to get the socks off his feet as he came in from school. Now he opens the house, heats the chapattis, microwaves the curry, eats, washes the plates, helps to hang up the washing. I am impressed. He is chilled out about school. Says he is treated like an adult out there. That scares me. No homework, not much pressure…He won’t be fit for the Great Indian School rat race when he gets back. In any case I have serious doubts about him making it to the IITs and IIMs. You can see the pictures of him washing the plates and putting out the clothes to dry....

Australia Day

Two hundred and twenty one years ago a seven ship flotilla led by Capt Arthur Philip landed on the Coast of a strange continent, carrying 1500 odd men and women accused of crimes ranging from stealing a book on Tobago, cucumber plants to drunkenness, prostitution and habitual gambling. One ought to remember that those accused of capital crimes were given a swift dose of English justice which put an end to their incarceration in English jails as well their tenure on mother earth. So, we are left with petty criminals, who were led to crime by either by circumstances or by design. Not even one who would figure up there in the hall of fame of crime.
Almost the first thing I do before I travel to any other country is try to find out if Bill Bryson has written on it and if he has, to read it. How I would love to commission him to write a book on India. It might take a lot more persuasion for him to put up with the dust, heat and unsafe drinking water. But it will be a roaring read, I am sure. It was Bill Bryson’s “Down Under” that gives me several nuggets of information that might look silly but falls into the big picture perfectly . Like the following
a) Did you know that a French Ship commanded by Count Jean Francois de La Perouse had also approached the coast of Australia at the same time as Arthur Phillip did? They did a gentlemanly retreat seeing that the English had got there first and were surveying the land ashore. (Thus condemning Australia to two hundred years of English cuisine, says Bryson). Think about the consequences if the French had got there first. Apart from driving cars on the right side of the lane, we would have had a republic not so fun loving and boisterous people. Not a pleasant thought having rather boring French nobility with guttural sounds and soft consonants, constantly worrying about seating arrangements at every meal. The cargo of petty convicts could have then got dumped elsewhere in South East Asia, New Zealand or India adding to the general complexities existing in such places. Or did the French Count decide to beat a retreat after seeing the cargo of convicts that the English were carrying ? One would never know. One might laugh about the origins of this country but from such beginnings they have built a law abiding citizenry, as we, with 5000 years of culture and heritage are slowly sinking into chaos and lawlessness.
Did you know that Australia is the only country where a serving Prime Minister was swallowed by the sea ? Or that it is the only democracy which has a head of State in another continent ? (it is not a republic and the Queen continues to reign) Politicians are the same everywhere if one were to discern from the kind of questions that are raised in their Parliament. Australian politicians are much better dressed than Indian ones and hence one is inclined to pardon the inanities that fall out from their mouths. One wouldn’t be so forgiving with the pajama clad cow belt politician, or the communist MP in bathroom slippers saying pretty much the same thing in a different setting. This city is full of streets named after dead Prime Ministers and politicians. In that respect they have outdone us.
After hitting these shores, I have been straining to finish Manning Clarke’s short History of Australia- a history in colourful language not without the author’s personal view points, peppered with inconsistencies. Also Stuart Mc Intyre’s “A concise History of Australia”- more a people’s history. The unruly convict-passengers of the seven ships set up home on Jan 26th 1788 in Sydney cove. In Manning Clark’s words “On 26 January the convict transports moved into their new home as a handful of Aborigines on the shore set up a horrid howl and indicated by angry gestures with sticks and stones that the white man was not wanted. That night after the convicts were landed, the British flag was unfurled at Sydney cove, shots were fired, and toasts were drunk. It has been celebrated ever since as the day on which European civilization in Australia began”. It also signified the rapid displacement of the people of the land ; the aboriginal people who occupied the vast continent in vast numbers for over 100000 years, but now constitute 2 % of the population. I remember reading Bruce Chatwin’s “Songlines” a long time ago which sets forth the survival of this ancient race in a vast but cruel land. Much later in 1900s came the White Australia Policy which actively discouraged the immigration of coloured people into the country. Also the stolen generations- the policy of separating aboriginal kids from their natural parents to give them a civilized upbringing and education. So this is one country with much embarrassing beginnings.
I went for Australia day concert which was held on the eve of Australia Day on 25th January 2009. It was held in the parliament grounds at the heart of the city .The names of the bands which were playing sounded strange to me. I started my journey in a local bus .The bus was full of youngsters(mostly girls). Many of them were carrying crates of beer. Some of them looked sozzled with drink even before they reached the concert venue. It was a hot summer day. We got down at the commonwealth avenue and started walking towards the grounds. I could see hordes of scantily clad youngsters wearing Australia flags and striding purposefully to the venue. Many families were carrying picnic baskets, lounge chairs and crates of wine and beer. A few policemen were hanging around the place keeping an indulgent eye on the frolics. A neatly dressed cleaning crew was going around picking up empty beer cans and cigarette butts. The bands were up there playing loud music, but very few were listening or cheering. The stage was set for a night of revelry. Although the crowd looked reasonably sober at 6 pm it looked as if things would go out of control pretty soon. We made a quick exit. As we reached the road, a group of punks in a car with shaven heads shouted at us exhorting Indian F* ers to go home. I was tempted to shout back that this is not your home either….
My thoughts went back to the Indian republic day which is held on the 26 th January in Delhi- (Some coincidence, I must say). Delhi would have become a fortress. It would be a foggy winter morning. My colleagues and I would be busy with arrangements since it is a Defence Ministry function. Nothing could be carried to the venue- not even a glass of water. No mobiles, key chains. Every visitor is subjected to “Delhi Police Massage”- The Delhi Police would crudely run over a metal detector and gloved hands over your body before entering the venue. And one is left to stay in the morning chill of Delhi winter for hours as the tri services parade goes on. The geriatrics of the day, holding the reigns of power could be seen in the front rows cavorting with equals. The services band begins the music with a roll of drums. Although the atmosphere is colourful, it is a sombre, serious affair. Too humourless and a far cry from celebration of a republic. So what if Australia had convict antecedents. They celebrate nationhood in style. With crates of beer and rock bands of the day playing on the grounds. Where would you wish to be ? The choice is a no brainer.
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The pay of a babu may not be much. It still affords me a decent lifestyle in India. With the salary of the Missus bundled, it may not be luxury but it still keeps one’s head over water enough to buy lots of foodstuff, store it in the fridge, only to throw it all away uneaten weeks later, take a holiday once in while only to stay in Govt guest houses instead of hotels, buy a regular dose of books and music CD s only to leave them near the bedside unread and unlistened.
Life just took a turn for worse. We left India cleaning out all bank accounts and borrowing money to sustain us and educate our son. Efforts to sell the 7 year old to Maruti Zen partially fund this enterprise didn’t bear fruit. Our class mates are mostly from Pacific Island countries, SE Asia, Pakistan, SriLanka, Bhutan and Bangladesh. All of them on AusAid scholarships which makes education of children free in Australia. India and China do not accept Aus Aid and hence we have to pay dearly for an Australian Sarkari education in the ACT (Australian Capital Territory- often referred to as the state where Canberra is located; much like our NCR) Schools- nothing really much to write home about. Chathu is happy with the scene. No homework, no rat race to score well in exams, while we suffer trying to make ends meet. So many things which we take for granted in India cost a lot of money out here: Like cable TV, broadband internet and mobile/ landline services. I realize that these service providers have outsourced their marketing wings extensively. Each of the marketers have designed complex packages which would take hours for ordinary customers to understand. It is now about two weeks since we moved into the new home. We still don’t have broadband at home. I depend on the wi-fi at the University campus to connect. I also bought this brand new Asus Ee PC with a ten inch screen since my other laptop is too heavy to lug around in Canberra‘s public bus service. An expense that understandably the Missus fails to appreciate.
So we are scrounging our way. Eating out is expensive. The scholarship barely covers rent, utilities and chathu’s schooling expenses. So here we are, buying only what we need, not eating out much, travelling public transport (not exactly cheap) and looking for bargains in everything. We live frugally.
Surprisingly - it feels good…..Having only sandwiches packed from home, an apple and a bit of yogurt makes one feel good at the end of the day. In South Block, the endless cups of tea and a packed lunch could make one feel uneasy by late hours. I feel healthier here.
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My arrival in Australia coincided with Leonard Cohen’s tour of Australia. As luck would have it, he is not playing in Canberra. Apart from two concerts in Melbourne, he mostly plays in private vineyards on the way to Sydney. And the ticket prices are steep. (Of course that isn’t too much of a dampener). Maybe it was a lifetime opportunity for a Cohen fan like me. But I decided to let it go. Let’s see. If he and I live long enough and I am wealthy enough to travel and pay for the concert tickets, I might still get to see him live one day. Till then I’ll hear him on and on……

God is Barry, a white Australian....

The handful of readers of this blog are convinced that I am a heretic, godless creature whose past sins will revisit him in world yonder. Happy to announce that I am convinced that God not only exists, but he is a white, stockily built Australian called Barry, who chauffeurs a car for a living..
The last few days in Delhi were a flurry. Affectionate farewells from colleagues, bills to pay and things to attend to kept me busy. I was wistful and sad as I left the familiarity of Delhi and took a leap into the unknown. I landed in Canberra on the 13th of Jan with the Missus and luggage. No, I didn’t carry any pickles, Dal and fried Malabari prawns: Australians have strict quarantine rules. We also were subject to a limit of luggage of 20 kgs- The fact that we were going to be in Australia for a full year merits no consideration by the Government of India. So we chose to wear layers and layers of winter clothing so that it is not counted towards the baggage allowance, only to arrive in Canberra on a hot and sunny day.
We were taken to the accommodation which we had booked almost two months ago. We were earlier supposed to arrive with Vasu aka Chathu. Luckily we found someone else who was flying to Melbourne later in the month to accompany him so that our one and only son can continue in India in the pampering care of his maternal grandparents until schools reopen in Australia. We had been paying rent to keep the place vacant until we arrive. Contrary to the promises of the landlord we found the room we had was too small. We were sharing the Kitchen with a Bhutanese couple, who were out mostly during the day. There was hardly place for three members more. Moreover the loo was away from the room and didn’t have a latch to bolt it from inside. We had to hang a board which said “engaged” to prevent unsuspecting visitors from stumbling inside in a hurry. We made it clear that the loo has to be exclusively for our use.
The neighbourhood is wealthy upper-class Australian with many old people walking the dogs or watering the plants. Trust them to smile at you and say “hello” or “Good morning “sweetly. The nearest shops were at least half an hour’s walk. The high school which Chathu was expected to attend was also far away. Considering the number of senior citizens doddering about, probably the last boy from the neighbourhood went to high school in the 1950s. Not really the kind of place to raise a Delhi teenager full of energy, attitude and chutzpah.
We started off on the house hunting almost the very next day onwards. Soon we realized that it is a seller’s market. The landlords sort of fix rentals by throwing darts at a Monopoly board choosing the amount depending on whether the dart hit Piccadilly or Eastham in London. Quote high if it is Piccadilly and chances are that they get what they quote. It is a good time for Jai Mata Di and Khurana ‘Praaapty’ dealers in Dwarka to shift base to Canberra. If you have seen Boman Irani in Khosla ka Ghosla, you will know what I mean. The scene where Boman Irani acting as Khurana adjusts his private parts as he gets down from his huge car rather publicly is a classic. Either the Director or Boman Irani had been watching Delhi property dealers very closely …. I digress.
The guys working at Canberra’s property agents are normally very young and not very well informed. It is basically a holiday pursuit to earn quick money. The houses on rent are normally open for inspection for a princely 10 minutes on a Friday or Saturday. You could land up there to find 100 guys waiting in line to have a look at the house. You then make a formal application citing previous references; ie a recommendation letter from earlier landlords showering encomiums on your conduct as a model tenant. Now where would a couple newly arrived from India get that? From among the successful applicants one is short listed-Rumored to be by a process of throwing all the applications in the air near a wide mouthed garbage bin and plucking one from the air before it lands in it. I soon saw that we don’t stand a chance. The other option was to get a house far away from the Australian National University where we were studying or far from where we could admit Chathu. We would then be spending most of the time reading thrillers while waiting for or riding in Canberra’s rather infrequent public bus service.
So it happened that Anita (my diplomat sis in law) arrived from Melbourne the very next day to check us out. Like all the privileged foreign office types, she came in a large chauffeur driven car driven by Barry, an archetypal beefy white Australian driver- Quite polite for an Australian… Comes from driving embassy cars, I suppose. Anita had gone to the High Commissioner’s residence to drop off something. I sat and chatted with Barry for a long time about my housing predicament. Barry promised to keep an eye open for anything that comes his way. He noted down my mobile number too.
The next day I received a call from Barry in the morning. He said it sort of struck him that his sis in law had a vacant house in the suburbs lying empty. He told me that it pained him as a long-time Canberra resident that the city could be so unwelcoming to students from other countries. Rhonda, Barry’s sis in law is quite a busy professional The house was primarily built for her mother as an extension to her house. The said mother passed away before she could live in it. It has been lying vacant for the last one year or so. He said that we could move in immediately since she has no plans to let it out until Christmas 2009. By that time, we would have winged our way back to India. Suited us just fine.
We saw the house on a Sunday when Rhonda was around and we loved it. It is a fully furnished, brand new house with two bedrooms, central heating, lovely minimalist furniture and all modern conveniences. Rhonda, was kind enough to ask us how much we could afford. We told her to fix it slightly below the market rent so that she also doesn’t lose much. Although the rent is huge by Indian standards and it almost drains away our combined allowances by almost half, we thought it was worth it; considering that it was a beautiful house in a tony neighbourhood. She could get a much higher rent. But she sort of expects us to just keep the house clean and occupied. After we finalized the home, she even drove us down to check out Chathu’s School and she showed us the nearby markets. Quite sweet of her.
Chathu arrives on 28th Jan at Melbourne. We hope to go there, spend a couple of days and drive down with him. We expect to move into the new house around 1st Feb. It is slightly far from the University but there are Schools nearby for Chathu to go to. We have been going around Canberra; a small beautiful city; but with too many norms of acceptable public behaviour. It is rather vexing for the average Delhiite. So here I am with a place to rest my head with family in the capital of Australia, thanks to God, who actually is someone called Barry, a white Australian who drives the embassy cars for a living.

Adieu to Hindustan, briefly

Sorry about this long absence: I owe an explanation to my three readers. I am busy packing up to leave India for a year. A flurry of farewells, visitors and loose ends remaining to be tied up keeps me busy these days. Have been eating and drinking at places I haven't heard of before:(The Chilly seasons in Defence Colony and The kitchen in Khan Market takes the honours for good affordable cuisine- run by the same guy I heard). Also been eating at the Gymkhana Club- an indicator of upward social mobility in Delhi where my friends are members. Also at a couple of five star hotels I 'd rather not name or comment on- since I just don't belong there.

I am wistful and sad as I leave. When I was young I yearned to leave the country and make a life elsewhere. I thought I was doomed to remain here. Now I feel lucky to have been part of the change that is sweeping all over India and don't want to miss a moment of the excitement. I am much travelled now. I can hold a wine glass and make sensible conversation with important people. But my heart yearns for home.

I might be able to find more time to contribute to this blog (hopefully) since I will be having some free time when I am not seriously pursuing a Master in Public Policy in Australian National University. I am leaving on 12th morning with the missus who is also going to be my class mate.(Not really excited at that prospect). Chathu follows after a couple of weeks. Bye

Monsters bred by Men

This is an old story…. circa 1999. The land of the pure had recently been rid of self serving politicians and a General in jackboots was running Pakistan. Each new General thought democracy ought to be trimmed, watered, manured and groomed like a Bonsai plant. So the land of pure is blessed with a bonsai democracy with many smart generals with great body language pouring scorn on bumbling politicians. When the Kandahar hijack happened in New Year’s eve 1999, we had Pakistan TV beaming live into our living rooms in Chennai. Its’ discontinuance could be ascribed to lack of viewer ship owing to unimaginative programming than the diktat of India’s soft state apparatus. Expert after expert in PTV held forth on how the hijack is a RAW plot and how Taliban has shown maturity etc (Taliban has been variously credited with an overdose of piety not maturity by even Pakistan media until then). I remember feeling outraged at a nation gloating over the misfortune of Indians and propagating wild theories that Indians have done it unto themselves. Pakistan and Saudi Arabia were incidentally the only two countries that recognized the Taliban and Indians were at a loose end; not knowing how and with whom to negotiate. Pak TV also came out with this theory that a senior Indian Intelligence official is also present in the plane.
Meanwhile relatives of the hostages paraded before Indian TV asking questions and demanding answers as to what would they have done if a Minister’s daughter was inside the ill fated plane. As expected the hijackers got the release of terrorists in Kashmir’s prisons and India got its’ hostages. It was a day of shame for many of us who watched a nation brought to its’ knees. Pak TV was full of praise for the Taliban for handling the situation tactfully. Stories circulated about how the hijackers treated the hostages mercifully. US Officials commended India for showing restraint in the face of extreme provocation.
Comeuppance came sooner than expected. 9/11 happened. Musharaff, with equal felicity joined the war on terror. ISI (the infamous Pak intelligence agency, the abbreviation once stood for a form of quality certification in India- good thing they did away with that) was now at the front end fighting jehadis in the west and aiding them in the east. Distinctions were drawn as to how freedom struggles were different from terror. Stories were circulated in the western media as to how the ISI chief who went to negotiate the release of Osama actually advised them to dig their heels in- also about how Daniel Pearl’s killer (who incidentally was released from Indian prison in return for the hostages) was in ISI protection before he was turned over when the heat got too much.
Earlier we were talking about split personality of ISI itself. Now we are talking about how the Pakistani state is distinct from ISI. We know that all Intelligence agencies play dirty games. But imagine this. A glamorous gangster, basking in media attention in India, seen with lissome actresses in Sharjah is finally implicated in Indian courts for terror attacks. Going by the track record of the inefficient Indian courts that is saying much. There is also an Interpol alert against him. Well, ISI is said to have given him asylum. (Their media says this as much as ours do.) We always knew that Military Intelligence is an oxymoron. But Pakistanis take the cake for brazenness and suicidal strategy. The world be damned; we will do what we please….
I recently read Ahmed Rashid’s book Descent into Chaos. The role of ISI and their minders have been chronicled well. To think that a Pakistani can be scathing in his criticism of such a fearsome state institution is quite credit worthy. I admire the Pakistani media and civil society greatly because it has matured in circumstances not very propitious for its’ development. (While India’s is turning jingoistic with uninterrupted democracy) Rashid says the Americans have been led up the garden path by the ISI. I don’t for a moment think the Americans were fooled. They have immense capabilities to see through crap. But I wish they would spare us the commendations for showing restraint after Mumbai attacks. We have seen the restraint showed after 9/11. You can build your fortresses and sit smug inside them- Wait until they hit you.
The Americans love the Pakistanis for more reasons than one. The world’s oldest democracy has little patience with other lesser democracies. History shows that they have been comfortable with tin pot dictators and banana republics. While any proposal in the US system has to go through a rigorous vetting system (remember the nuclear deal), they can’t wait so long for answers from other countries. We can’t give them short speeches on how something ought to be debated in the Parliament or passed as a bill or has to go through the courts or regulatory agencies. So Generals in jackboots have an edge over us while dealing with the US system. Answers are fast; action swift, what if some arms and aid go down the drain?
Now the struggle in Kashmir- Indians could be accused of many sins; of rigging elections, of thrusting unpalatable state governments etc. But Pakistan has shot themselves in the balls by diverting the leadership of Kashmiri movement to Jehadis in the nineties, especially when they had a good thing going due to the incompetence of the state. Look at this; All they have to do is put Syed Ali Shah Geelani (the only Kashmiri separatist leader to openly demand accession to Pakistan) on national television in fur cap and white beard swearing to run Kashmir according to Allah ki hukumat. (Islamic rule) and not Fauj’s(Indian army’s). Even a dyed in the wool secularist, watching this mid sip of evening vodka, would vow that India shall hold on to Kashmir for a thousand years, if necessary, to prevent takeover by these jokers. He would say the same if a leader of any other religious persuasion said the same thing. Losing the sympathy of liberal Indian secularist and media takes some effort. - Pakistan, a split personality state, has seemingly achieved the impossible.
States go into denial when they don’t acknowledge the obvious. We, with sixty years of noisy democracy and free press should be able to acknowledge the obvious. There is a fringe group in every state. History is replete with the stories of monsters nurtured by Intelligence agencies. Theirs is particularly more lethal, remains state sponsored and hence more dangerous. Earlier only Indians were shouting hoarse about the ISI. Now the whole world does…
In the context of Malegaon blasts, we have seen the Nationalistic leaders repeating what we have been hearing only from minority leaders & vote bank politicians in the past- That the apprehended terrorists are being denied human rights, they are tortured in custody, confessions are extracted by force etc. When the majority hits back it is a reaction to terrorism. With minority it is just terrorism which has been fed by alienation and social deprivation. At the bottom of it all, violence begets violence. But to expect the Indian Muslim to show his patriotism is unfair. For a moment I imagine myself an atheist born in a Muslim family. I would be furious at any insinuation that my sympathies lie elsewhere and that my loyalties are put to test. Where do I go, for instance? The famous Vaikom Mohammed Bashir, one of the great Malayalam writers was once asked’ What would you do if all Muslims were asked to go to Pakistan?’ He said that he would adopt a Nambudiri (a high caste in Kerala) name and pass himself off as one. No way he is going to Pakistan. I speak Malayalam, not Urdu he said.
As an ex refugee from a liberal Islamic state (Malaysia- which could be ranked right up there as one of the most progressive Islamic state), all I can say is that all forms of chauvinism are bad, while chauvinism of the majority (religion/ race or whatever) is worst. It doesn’t give you a choice. If you are born with an identity, you are doomed to live with it. Criminal acts could be legitimized in the name of popular wish. Such a move could certainly find popular support especially in trying times like these. Malaysians believed that the economic backwardness of Bumiputras (sons of soil- yeah even their language has many common elements with ours) needs affirmative action. Hence medium of education changed to Bahasa Malaya, reservations started in higher education, businesses could be started only with Malay partners etc. The country we left behind had a multiethnic soul. When I went back 30 years later, I could see broad highways, tall buildings: but the soul had gone to sleep.
Our diversity is our strength. A few monsters with spitfire guns cannot kill our soul….