Dylan – A personal history

  On a busy afternoon I received a text message on my phone from my friend, which I thought was a prank.  Bob Dylan wins the Nobel winner for literature. Then there were frenzied phone calls from friends of college network. It took some time to sink in. I had a nice hearty laugh. All you magic realists, Polish/Hungarian writers with un-pronounceable names, the little known poets who make political statements in obscurity. Eat your heart out.  Your time has come and gone. It is almost as though one among us, shorn of pretensions, has won it, finally.

            This was the original vagabond who cast a spell on the grass-induced stupor of our youth. The listeners of Dylan were a niche crowd. Bearded worthies in jeans and kurta, who rolled joints, read Camus and generally led an aimless life full of existential angst. (Most of them could be spotted driving swanky cars and leading professional lives today: that’s a different story altogether) They were the cerebral ones with heightened musical sensibility. It was nice to belong to that crowd. It was also a means to escape from reality of a rural, conservative society.

   For a generation that has access to Youtube videos and internet, it may not be very easy to understand how difficult it was to collect Bob Dylan songs in early 80s living in the outback of a Kerala town. I remember getting hold of an NRI friend who had the LPs of Dylan songs. I got them all recorded using a microphone in a cassette tape recorder. The quality wasn’t great, but our expectations of audio quality were pretty basic. Lossless audio was unknown to us. But we would listen many times and get a hang of the lyrics, which didn't make much sense.  

          But the Tambourine Man defined us. There was wild imagery, symbolism of a lost generation. The early songs were iconic. The lyrics were quoted in casual conversations, basement hash parties, love letters etc.  My mom would enter my room, listen for a while to that nasal, rheumy voice and ask me “Is he singing or saying?” Many unsuspecting mothers might be led to believe so, as he crooned “It aint me, Babe” or “All along the watchtower” that he was really just saying something against the background of guitar, harmonica and cymbals. If it was easier to listen to the melody of a Beatles song or the harmony of a Simon & Garfunkel, it took some time for Dylan to grow on you.

     Unbeknownst to most of us at that time, Bob Dylan would be reborn repeatedly in our life time. He had already gone electric when I started listening to him. But I would like to think of him as the rebel who crooned “The Times they are a-changing” at Newport folk festival with an acoustic guitar and a harmonica hung around his neck. A one man band, truly. The unwashed phenomenon who strayed into my life, said Joan Baez of Dylan, in that greatest love song “Diamonds and Rust”. What kind of man would leave a dusky attractive woman who wrote a great love song like that?   He is the one who is too good with words and keeping things vague, according to her. And her poetry was lousy , he said. I must have heard “Diamonds and Rust” a thousand times and imagined how this romance between two bright, talented minds blossomed and died.

       Years later, I would read his autobiography (Chronicles, Vol 1) and would be surprised to learn that he was always breaking the rules. Somewhere he talks of Picasso, who wasn't just loafing about on crowded sidewalks. He had fractured the art world and cracked it wide open. He was a revolutionary and Dylan wanted to be like that.

        He wrote some of the greatest Love songs. “Sara” (from the Desire album) “If you see her, say hello” (Blood on the Tracks) were some that carry that tinge of sadness of Love, unrequited or broken. There was a strong political sub-text in “The times they are a-changing, Desolation Row, and Blowing in the wind. There is the signature stamp of a hash-induced message when he says “Everybody must get stoned”or  Biblical overtones in the Slow Train coming. Dylan could come from nowhere and surprise you.  But then unpredictability was his forte. One could never slot him into the silos in the minds of listeners. Dylan would always break free and reinvent himself. Religion, war, Love, life itself, was a rediscovery for him. He reincarnated in many avatars that the rest of us took time to catch up. I had grown out of my obsession for his music by the time he won the Grammy award for “Modern Times”. I listened briefly to the album and decided that I am too old to keep pace with this 70 year old man.

   Leaonard Cohen next ?

Caste and Kerala History

          If you believed in the grandeur and majesty of your ancestors, then it must have been derived from the many stories your Mom told you when you were young. As she made you look at the moon and deceived you into opening your mouth, swiftly inserting that bally concoction of rice with curd and curry into your mouth, telling you stories of Gods, kings, wars and ancestors.... You held those stories dear to your heart and with each rendering, some shine and sheen was added to the glorious past.

     I had been waiting to read a period history by P K Balakrishnan on the caste system and Kerala History. Like all interesting off-beat books, this one is also out of print. The moment I found it with a circulation library, I snagged it. I still keep it and read excerpts from it as the imminent date of return is nearing. Now I have a deal with the travelling librarian who promised me that he will get it from me the day someone else requests the book. So I get to keep it for sometime(Why do interesting books always go out of print ? The best book on the Kashmir issue is written by Sisir Gupta. The book apportions blame equally on Indian and Pakistani sides and can be called a most objective assessment of the various dimensions of the issue. It may not be palatable to hawks on both sides of the border. Although published in India in the sixties, today it is not available. Only used copies are  available in Amazon US)

   Coming back to Kerala History, one could call this book a subaltern history which demolishes many popularly held myths and notions. These notions may have come from a mish mash of poorly made period movies, Ravi Varma paintings and a warped history that recites the stories of Kings.  History, as they say is written by the Victors of brutal wars. Our mind fills with images of grand three storied castles, golden finery, women wearing anklets and clothes that flow from breast downwards in a single whole. And men, with their hair tied to the sides, brandishing thick mustaches, broad shaven chests and jewelry. There is delusion of wealth and prosperity all around.

       The Mughals and other Deccan kingdoms derived their revenue from rent from agricultural land, which was later usurped by the East India Company and eventually the British Raj.  This was a rich resource which went into building fortresses, treasures and patronage of beuty, arts, music and dance.  The Book (Jathi Vyavasthithiyum kerala Charithravum) puts paid to all such elitist notions of Kerala's past.The kings of Kerala were no rentier class. Their income was not derived from agricultural land but from various sanctions and permissions.Women needed approval to cover their breasts, homes to adorn them with tiles, men to keep moustaches.... So one could imagine the leakage of income that could occur by a weak enforcement machinery and a populace that cared two hoots for taking permissions for such trivia. So all the rulers had was a false sense of self importance while the rest of the world mocked at them (much like bureaucrats of our day....)

    And there were no grand buildings....two thirds of the landscape was occupied by deep forests. Even the reasonably wealthy class lived in low ceilinged houses with thatched roofs, which could be reduced to nothing in a flood or strong wind. The caste system cast its long shadow. The elite had the means to keep servants in large numbers. The Zamorin of Calicut would be preceded by a 100 Nair women who would carry brooms and clean the area as the king walked on it. . The Nambudiris are thought to have originated from Mangalore. Ezhavas from Sri Lanka. Nayars were a mish mash. All of them settled in a comfortable mad house that prescribed and maintained distances between each other.

     The book is harsh on the elite castes, especially the Nairs and Nambudiris, and with good reason. Somewhere he describes the sight of men carrying lanterns and fire torches walking about to nest with their paramours, mistresses and wives in the dead of the night. While society imposed sanctions on whom one could sleep and have sex with, they appeared less moralistic on sex per se. The great wars by the martial race of Nairs were nothing but minor skirmishes. In other words, they were a bunch of poorly paid mercenaries, flexing muscles and tending to themselves. When called to war they would take their weapons and leave where duty beckons. And the evenings were spent with their loosely defined bed partners.

     This book is a bit chaotically written. But a lot of effort has gone into its making. Historical works, gazettes and court proclamations are quoted to sustain the central theme of the book. The theme being that we have nothing much to be proud about.....The author is not an accomplished historian. But he has an engaging fictional style which brings the world before him alive. He has the ability to engage the writer and question his beliefs. I had read a biography written by M K Sanu about this immensely talented but under-appreciated writer. I only wish DC Books, the publishers, would come out with a new edition....

     

Another Pay Hike

                    There is this buzz that the Babus are getting another pay hike. This happens once in ten years. According to well informed Babus (hmmm...well informed only on the subject of pay and allowances to themselves!!)  that this hike is the lowest ever in history. Meanwhile pink journalists have gone to town comparing the pay of Govt drivers viz a viz private ones, Govt clerks vs private ones, Govt blue collar workers vs private ones (with the Govt ones trumping the private ones). At the other end of the spectrum are comparisons PSU Bank chief executives (who are, incidentally, not covered by Pay Commissions...  our journalists are really as lazy as Govt Babus) vs Private ones. At the higher end, the private sector executives are paid indecently high amounts while senior Babus have to make do with a couple of lakh Rupees per month. (the equivalent of about 2500 dollars)

                      This blogger has been maintaining that Government Officials are not in need of periodic pay hikes which blow a huge hole in the Govt exchequer. What they need is a total overhaul of their terms of employment, working environment and several other things. The theories that I propound in casual conversations enrage my fellow bureaucrats. I am often castigated, branded a maverick and a traitor to the cause. The cause being the lofty one of enriching ourselves with more pay and more allowances with minimal work. If you are a masochist, you can read other posts of mine in this blog.(The Great Indian Oversight system &  Awards and rewards)The basic strands of my alternate thinking go as follows
           For one, Government has long forgotten to empower its' executives to apply discretion. At the same time Babus have been made accountable to more and more rigorous standards with every passing year. If a Babu fails to achieve his target but follows every rule in the book, he can get away with it. Conversely, if there is someone follows the rule in paper, but violates the spirit of the rule (and maybe lines his pockets in the process), he may also get away with it. Hence Govt works more on the principle of appearing to be right rather than being right. In short, the Government has built a huge oversight and justice system that it lost sight of its' primary objective- that executives ought to be empowered to get things moving on the ground.  It is not easy to remove anyone from service without bracing up for a huge battle in courts/media etc. Most of us do not have to stomach for it. So we have a system where we work with what we have.

            In most developed countries, Govt Offices with public dealings are well laid out, bright, well-lit with instructions displayed everywhere. Walk into an RTO Office or Govt Hospital in India. You will be shocked at the pitiful condition in which it is maintained and the lack of signages and guidance to unsuspecting visitors. There are a few touts who hang around and offer to facilitate your business for a small consideration. We have created a complex maze of rules to spend govt money that the focus is not on the effectiveness of our spending but on plugging the possibility of misuse. As a result, even well meaning Babus avoid the trouble of expenditure for fear that they might be wading into controversy. Babus in lower rungs are paid well enough to afford air conditioners at home, whereas their workplace is dinghy, smelly, hot and dirty. We need to give ourselves a decent working atmosphere, and not just limit it to changing curtains and carpets of senior Officers every six months.

       Thirdly, we need to be empowered to work fearlessly and effectively. Life time employment in Govt service doesn't facilitate that. Contractual employment for five years at every level, temporary appointments of domain specialists for duration of specific projects etc can speed up results considerably. We seem to be content to do minimal recruitment in Govt and outsource services to private sector. Most of our senior Babus have no domain knowledge and know only enough skills to contract-hire consultants, service providers etc. A poor reflection of state of affairs in Government
             Lastly and most importantly, we need to build capacity in Government services to provide services. We need to build institutions that function well, enhance domain knowledge, institutional memory and training of personnel. We have a huge success story in the Indian passport office modernization. I renewed my passport some time back. The application was submitted online and an appointment received. The passport Office was bright and well lit with a decent waiting area. The staff handling capture of biometrics and scanning of documents were from a private sector software major. The second and third stage verification was by MEA (Ministry of External Affairs) staff. The entire process of capturing biometrics and verification took 40 minutes. When I left the passport Office, I received a SMS in my phone that my new passport is being despatched !! Phew!! It really blew my mind. Can't we replicate this model in say, public distribution? Government Hospitals? RTO Offices?           

Lit Fest

      I was, for the first time in life, in the midst of a literary festival. The Hindu Lit for Life 2016 coincided with my non- holidays - days when the rest of the world enjoy holidays and I will be ...ahem...(loosely described as) on duty; ie., I am on call and expected to attend any impending crisis in Office).  Anyway, here I was with the Missus and a bottle of water, setting out in an Ola cab (since the personal car had submerged in the floods).

       We listened to Omar Abdullah first. He spoke brilliantly. He is good with words, has a great sense of humour and doesn't sound like a politician. Then came a panel discussion on the floods in Chennai. What the panelists had to say was the worst kept secret in Chennai; that the floods were man made, created by a confluence of factors like real estate greed, apathy to town planning and waste management practices which clogged the sewer lines. We were none the wiser and we knew that the story will be recounted; until the next floods......

      Then came Sanjay Subramanyan, the man who kindled my interest in Carnatic music, by his passionate and lively performances. He too spoke brilliantly; a man whose success sits lightly on his shoulders and looked like the boy next door. He exuded honesty and sounded very down to earth and practical.

   The next day we saw Lionel Shriver and Anuja Chauhan in two separate sessions. The lady who interviewed Shriver (Nilanjana Roy, whose book "The girl who ate Books" I am reading right now) sounded a bit stilted. But Shriver is one author I am going to read.She had several interesting insights into the human condition. Anuja Chauhan, an author I love for the sheer lighthearted romantic comedies she writes, came next. The interviewer was better this time and got her to open up.

     I saw some Pazham poris being sold outside the venue. The stall was awaiting fresh stocks. The discerning pazham pori lover will testify that there is nothing like a hot steaming pazham pori as against a cold and limp one. (Call it banana fritters with a coating of flour with a dash of sugar fried in loads of oil...) As a result we missed the first part of a session which had Shiv Kunal Verma, who has written a book on India's China War. A book that I have already ordered on Amazon but am yet to read. Anyway, listening to him, I felt I would have to re-read from the many books that I possess on the subject, especially on events relating to the battlefield  in the 1962 war. Then came the charming politician Shashi Tharoor, which saw some crowds. Suddenly there were people, young and old , filling up the chairs and even sitting on the aisle, on the floor. Shashi Tharoor uses a lot of visual imagery and captures the attention of the listener. Typical debating club tactics, but he surely knows how to engage an audience.

                   It felt nice to be in the midst of a reading generation; and not among devious Babus, caught up in their struggle for power, pelf and petty animosities. There were many youngsters milling about the place, which gave me some hope that there are still readers among the youth.

The deluge

  On the 2nd of December 2015,  I woke up rather early to the screaming alarms of cars parked in our colony. I noticed that power had gone off. It was very dark at 330 AM and I couldn't figure out what happened. I peered into the darkness outside my window. I noticed that the streetlights had gone off and knee deep water had entered everywhere. I went down the stairs from my second floor home. I could see families being evacuated from the ground floor apartments. Residents in the first floor and above were opening their homes to perfect strangers and families. Children, pets, old and infirm moved into all houses.
           What followed was a mixed bag. Firstly the floods didn't spare the rich in their tony homes in upscale neighbourhoods. Secondly every citizen rose up to be a volunteer,  working to mitigate the sufferings of fellow citizens. Thirdly, the entire relief operation was being coordinated by social media like twitter and facebook. (Yours truly was also relying on it in spite of belonging to the Government, Central, although). A disaster so vast in scope ought to have been coordinated by the State Govt. authorities. One would expect the Mayor of Chennai to come before media and give inputs on where relief is needed in terms of food, drinking water, medicines, clothes, blankets etc. Instead social media kept bouncing off these messages through day and night.
     We were cooped up without electricity or water for 2 days. Phones had stopped working, food supply was running low.At last we made an exit and moved into the house of my sister who lives in a relatively unaffected area. Neighbors with whom I shared barely a nodding acquaintance had turned solicitous and friendly in those days. I lost a car to the floods.  On a working day, I and the Missus are ferried to and back from Office in Govt issued cars. Nevertheless, a small personal car was handy to drop Chathu at the Bus stop, take a drive to my sister's house or just to drive around in an emergency. And now, the bridge near my home is broken, which makes it a longer drive to get to the Bus stop.
            Life is limping back to normal. Rebuilding what's lost, picking up the pieces and moving on...But a disaster opens your eyes to the frailty of human existence. There was a time during the solitary confinement that I started wondering if this is the end. Was it all going to end in water ? There are families which have lost their homes, their belongings, documents everything. A ground floor resident in my apartment block, an old widower, I see him stand everyday before the ruins that was his home.  He had lost almost everything.
    In the aftermath of the floods, there have been recriminations and mudslinging galore amongst politicians, bureaucrats, media and others. There have been reports of how lakes have been usurped by real estate mafia and further regularized by politicians. How waterways have been encroached by the homeless, who could not be evicted since they constitute vote banks. How trees have been cut to accommodate concrete monstrosities. How sewage lines have been left in a mess. All in all, it is not a pretty picture. The ordinary citizen is hoping that this disaster will open our eyes to tighten public management. But the cynics know that this too shall pass..... And things will be as before.