Sabre-rattlers, shut up

Sabre-rattlers, shut upLet me repeat for the umpteenth time: there must never be another Indo-Pak war. If, god forbid, there is one, there will be no winners. Both India and Pakistan have long-range missiles that can ruin both countries. So let us tell the sabre-rattlers in clear terms, be they Pakistanis or Indians, that war is too serious a matter to be left to soldiers or politicians. Only common men, women and children who will be most affected by its impact have the right to take this decision.

If necessary, make human chains extending from Kashmir to the Arabian Sea, one on the Pakistani side, the other on the Indian. And let the tanks and armoured cars run over the chains before they start firing their guns. There are people of peace and goodwill who will gladly volunteer to stake their lives for their countries.

We have our Kuldip Nayyars and Swami Agniveshs to lead them; they have their Asma Jehangirs, Najam Sethis and Jugnu Mohsins to lead them. This is what Gandhi would have done. This is what Ghaffar Khan, the Frontier Gandhi, would have done. This is what you and I should be doing.

So what are the options when our relations come close to breaking point, as they did after the attack in Mumbai on 26/11? We proved to the world that the perpetrators were Pakistanis. Since the crime was committed with military precision, we proved to the world that the criminals were trained by professionals on Pakistani soil. Pakistan’s rulers were reluctant to admit that because it would reflect on their inability to control subversive elements. I’m convinced that in their hearts they know our charges to be true and in due course will concede it.

We have also proved to the world that Pakistan is ruled by important men whose writ does not run beyond a few miles around Islamabad, and that its social norms are dictated by demented mullahs who close down girls schools, force women to wear burqas and impose medieval codes of conduct on the masses. They also preach hatred against Indians. We have to jointly wage a relentless war against them till they are stamped out of existence. If we succeed, we can live in peace as good neighbours.

The good die youngWhenever a young person close to me dies, my first reaction is to ask why he or she had to die without enjoying life to the full. This happened recently when my nephew Binny’s wife Happy died suddenly one morning. She was in good health. The evening before I had seen her playing with the children of the mohalla. You would not mistake her: a mass of grey-black hair cascading down to her waist and a diamond sparkling on her nose. Full of vitality and happy laughter.

Early next morning she had acute pain in her chest. Instead of waking up her husband sleeping next to her, she rang up a friend. The friend insisted she wake him up and take her to a hospital. At first, the doctor did not think it was serious and told her he would have her up and about soon. That was not to be. They brought her back in a glass coffin. I got the news from my daughter. I was stunned with disbelief.

Though the mother of a grown-up daughter Sanam, working in Dubai, I regarded her as a girl. I only knew her nickname Happy — and happy she always was. Happy had the unique distinction of being liked by everyone in our extended family in which outward bonhomie often conceals backbiting and bitchiness. She was not interested in petty squabbles and was more inclined towards spiritual matters. While others spend their evenings in the Gold or Gymkhana clubs, she did the rounds of bookstores in Khan Market. On her way home, she occasionally dropped in to chat with me.

“Mamaji, I am not interested in politics or fiction, I’m into metaphysics,” she said to me once. I didn’t understand what she meant by metaphysics and asked her to elucidate. “Religion, love, other-worldiness, spirituality and that sort of thing, you know,” she replied. I didn’t understand but nodded my head. It was a strange preoccupation for a woman who was the niece of a famous soldier, General Harbaksh Singh, and moved in high society. She did most of the talking during the arguments she had with preachers of religion and their disciples. She always got the better of them as she was better read and had thought over problems of life and death. Some relations say that she had a premonition that her time was coming to an end. She had told them and arranged some of her affairs — ‘in case’. On her 60th and last birthday, she told her friends not to bring any presents. Instead, she gave them gifts in return.
I wonder why nature does not provide a fixed period of time for people to enjoy all that life has to offer before they go.
Most people are in reasonably good shape until their 70s. Then the body begins to show marks of deterioration — life becomes a burden to oneself and those around you. I ask Happy wherever she is, “Why did you have to leave us so early?”
Exclaiming Taj
When we see the Taj Mahal at Agra we say “Wah Taj!”. But when we see the Taj Hotel in Mumbai we say, “Ah, Taj”
(Contributed by KJS Ahluwalia, Amritsar)

To believe or not ?

To believe or not? God knows Our ancestors made a list of five deadly sins: kaam (lust), krodh (anger), lobh (greed), moh (attachment) and ahankaar (pride). Of these, four take a deadly toll on the one who indulges in them and marginally on their family and friends. However, greed (lobh) not only diminishes the greedy in the eyes of his fellow-beings, but also deprives thousands of others of their hard-earned livings. Greed is the deadliest of the five sins.

These thoughts crossed my mind when I read news of the Satyam scandal in Andhra Pradesh, Shibu Soren’s downfall in Jharkhand, Mayawati’s birthday bashes in Uttar Pradesh and the charges of corruption levelled against Vasundhara Raje when she was chief minister of Rajasthan. I have little doubt similar cases of greed leading to corrupt practices exist in all the states of our god-forsaken land.

What makes a person who has over hundreds of crores worth of assets — eats the tastiest of food, drinks the headiest of wines, lives in a large mansion with a retinue of servants, has a fleet of limousines and gets everything he wants — want more land, real estate and more money in different banks? He should know he can’t take it with him when he dies. Perhaps he wants to provide for his sons and daughters, grand-children down many generations. He should know inherited wealth is unearned wealth and is soon frittered away in contentious litigation. He would die a happier man if he spent what he cannot use in building schools, colleges or hospitals for the poor.

I am not sure what penalties will be imposed on these people if found guilty. Our judiciary has limited options: imprisonment for a limited period or a heavy fine. It has no corrective measures. Perhaps the guilty should also be given psychiatric treatment and asked in detail why they did what they did without there being any plausible reasons for doing it; or they should be made to sit in a dark room, shut their eyes and in their own minds, go over their doings. If they themselves come to believe they have done wrong, their minds would be cleansed and this would enable them to become better citizens.

O bligh me in Blighty
It is estimated that around 40 per cent of the population of England question the existence of god and do not go to any church. The figure of doubters in the younger generation is much higher, around 60 per cent. From the little I know of Europe, I would hazard a guess that the situation is the same in the Scandinavian countries and the Netherlands. The rest of Europe is largely Roman Catholic or Greek Orthodox. Amongst them doubters do not come out openly, but it can be presumed that attendance at churches is significantly lower than it was 20 years ago.
Now the doubters in England have come out in the open. On four of London’s bus routes, buses carry huge sign-boards reading, “There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.” Doubters appealed for funds to step up their publicity. They expected to get around £5,500. They received more than £140,000. They plan to put up hoardings on underground stations, public places and all bus routes.

My estimate of doubters in India is around 2 per cent of the population. I belong to this miniscule minority. I am not an atheist but an agnostic. I accept the possibility of god’s existence but since there is no proof of there being one who creates, preserves and destroys life, and is at the same time almighty, just and merciful, I keep an open mind.

Belief in god and religion is a kind of passion which generates both noble works and evil deeds. It has produced great literature, music, art, architecture and sculpture. It has also produced intolerance, civil strife, wars, cruelty and persecution. On the one hand it provides a crutch for those who are stricken with sadness, disease and adversity — solace denied to atheists and agnostics; on the other it creates delusions of hope and betterment for which there is no basis. Men of faith believe in miracles, which those without faith do not accept. However, you can have a good time and enjoy life whether or not you believe in god. I enjoy the good things of life — tasty food, single malt Scotch, vintage wines and the company of the fairest of the fair.

At the wrong end Two elderly ladies met every Saturday morning in a café to chat and have coffee. One of them was hard of hearing, used a hearing aid and suffered from constipation, requiring glycerine suppositories to clear her bowels. One morning she turned up with a suppository in her ear. She could hardly hear what her friend was saying. The friend shouted: “Mary, you have a suppository in your ear.”

Mary took it out and replied: “Now I know where I put my hearing aid.”
(Contributed by Amit Tuteja, Washington D. C.)

A first lady for all seasons

Gursharan Kaur released Songs of the Gurus (Penguin/Ravi Dayal) by Arpana Caur and me at Delhi’s Le Meridien. It was the third book to be launched by Gursharan that week. As expected, there was a large turnout, not because of the book but to have her darshan and hear her speak.
She spoke very well. The audience had a hearty laugh when she said something about my boorish manner. She had come to visit me and apparently after 15 minutes or so, I told her, “Gursharan, now you go — toon hun ja.” I said so because I felt a prime minister’s wife had more important things to do than to waste time making polite conversation with an old man.

I returned home happily exhausted and served myself a hefty Patiala to re-charge my battery. I began to muse over the work of wives of men in positions of power. In Western democracies they play positive roles. Besides looking after their homes and children, they receive visiting heads of States, sit beside them at State banquets and join their husbands at social functions.
Not so in India. I went over the names of past presidents. Not one of their wives — with the marginal exception of Begum Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed — played any role in events at the Rashtrapati Bhawan. It was the same in the cases of our prime ministers.

Nehru was a widower. Shastri’s wife remained unknown during his brief tenure. Indira Gandhi’s husband was living apart when she was PM. Sonia remained largely homebound during her husband’s time as prime minister. No one heard of the wives of Morarji Desai, Charan Singh, Deve Gowda, V.P. Singh or Narasimha Rao. And Vajpayee was a bachelor. Inder Gujral’s wife was a minor exception — a poet in her own right and evidently not an enthusiastic participant in her husband’s official activities.

Gursharan Kaur is the first woman who has performed the duties expected of the wife of the prime minister of India.
I don’t know much of her background and the Internet data on her is very scanty. She was born in Jalandhar in 1937. Her father worked for Burmah Shell. At the time of Partition, he was posted in Lahore where she had her primary schooling. They migrated to the Indian Punjab. She joined Guru Nanak Kanya Pathshala and went on to do her degree from the Government College for Women in Patiala.

Then she moved to Amritsar and got a BT from the Khalsa College, evidently intending to be a school teacher. She married Manmohan Singh in 1958. It was an arranged affair. Both are Kohlis, one of the sub-castes of the Kukrains, comprising of Anands, Chadhas, Sahnis and some others. They prefer marrying within the biradari. It was a happy union, which produced three very bright daughters who earned distinctions on their own.

Gursharan is devoutly religious and has a melodious voice. She sang keertan and songs for All India Radio several times before she accompanied her husband who took up a job in the World Bank in the US. It was in America and later in Bombay when her husband was Governor of the Reserve Bank of India that she imbibed a Western sophistication.

She was not so much in demand as the wife of the finance minister as she is now as the wife of the prime minister. She acquits herself with great poise and dignity. Perhaps wives of all our future presidents and prime ministers should do a course in a school that teaches the proper deportment for ladies in positions of importance.
Let this man go
If you can’t remember who he is, let me jog your memory — and your conscience. He is the product of the Christian Medical College, Vellore where he was given the Paul Harrison Award in 2004 for being the most outstanding student. He could have set up a lucrative practice in any city.

However, he chose to train villagers in rural centres in Hoshangabad district of Madhya Pradesh, largely inhabited by tribals suffering from malnutrition, malaria and tuberculosis. He and his wife Iliana have been doing so for the last 30 years based in village Rasulia. He is the first Asian to be honoured by the Jonathan Mann Award in 2008 for his work in health and human rights.
He did not care to distinguish between ailing villagers on the basis of their political allegiances: Naxalites or Salwa Judum. If they were sick they had to be healed.

His clinic is named after Indira Gandhi. He was arrested on charges of treason for siding with the Naxalites. He has been in jail for 18 months. His bail application has been rejected. More than 20 Nobel Prize winners have appealed to our president to intervene on his behalf.

Dr Binayak Sen continues to languish in jail. It is a slap on the face of Bharat Mata. Raise your voice against the miscarriage of justice: Write to the president, prime minister, home minister, L.K. Advani or Rajnath Singh (Chattisgarh is ruled by the BJP) to release him and allow him to resume his noble mission in life.

Gimme four!

The digit ‘4’ appears to be significant in US president-elect Barack Obama’s life. He was born on August 4, 1961. H was elected president on November 4. He will be the 44th president of the US.
(Contributed by KJS Ahluwalia, Amritsar)

A rare mehfil in troubled times

It’s almost two months since it happened. The shock and anger have subsided; the pain remains. Just as a person with a toothache rolls his tongue over the tooth that hurts, I go over what happened in Mumbai on November 26 last year and the pain returns. Despite the flood of accusations based on facts known to us and the naïve pleas of innocence made by Pakistani leaders, I am still at a loss to find answers to my questions: Who exactly were the perpetrators ? Why did they do it ? Who put them up to committing these horrendous crimes? Did they know that it would bring India and Pakistan on the brink of yet another war — a war that could not be won but only lost? Meanwhile, corpses of nine murderers rot in Indian morgues because Indian Muslims would not allow them to be buried on Indian soil since almost 40 of the victims were Indian Muslims. And Pakistan will not take them because it keeps denying they were Pakistanis. And the one assassin, Kasab, caught alive is in our custody, spilling the beans. There can be no doubt that what he revealed about his father and his village was of his own free will. About approaching the Pakistani High Commission in Delhi to provide him legal aid was probably prompted by his custodians to pin down his Pakistani connection — to be replied by red-faced silence.
We should not expect honest response from Pakistan’s leaders. The writ of their government barely runs over half the country. The northwestern half is firmly in the grip of backward looking mullah-mentors of jehadi gangsters. Pakistan’s army, prodded by the Americans, wages a half-hearted war on them because they are fellow-Pakistanis and fellow-Muslims. They would rather engage in battles against Americans and Indians, neither of whom are Muslims. Nobody is quite sure of the role being played by its Intelligence Services which is often accused of patronising jehadis. We are even less sure of who is in control of Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal and who has the power to press the fatal button. The scene is so utterly confusing that it is impossible to think clearly besides concluding that if there is another incident like the Mumbai blasts, both our countries have had it.

Zila comes calling
Zila Khan is the daughter of Ustad Vilayat Khan. In his time he was the most famous Sitar player in the country. Today, she is as her father, grand-father Ustad Inayat Khan and great grand-father Ustad Imdad Khan were in the times they lived. 42-year old Zila Khan is currently amongst the best of our country’s singers of classical and light classical Hindustani music specialising in Sufiana and rendering ghazals of great poets of Urdu and Hindi. She was put through a rigorous mill of singing eight hours a day while still a child in school in Calcutta. She was not allowed to study beyond the 10th standard in order to devote all her time to music . She was the first girl in seven generations to become a professional singer. She did me the honour of singing at one of my mehfils. It was a memorable evening.
There were a few surprises in store for me. I was expecting her to come alone. She came bustling in, followed by her harmonium and tabla players, a photographer and a lackey. I expected her to be a demure and reserved young lady; she kissed my beard or both sides as I sat wrapped up in my shawl by the fire-side. I offered them sharaab (Scotch): they declined and asked for tea. The first thing she did was to keep her mobile with her while sipping tea. I am allergic towards mobiles in mehfils.
The session started with the harmonium and tabla players warming up. Zila sang a few notes to get the harmonium to the right notes and slapped her thighs to indicate the beat for the table. In between she answered my questions in fluent English and Urdu: Her mobile rang. Call from New York. She confirmed her date with the caller. Then back to singing a note or two for the harmonium, thigh slaps for the tabla, answering my questions and pressing buttons on her mobile. She was on line to Kochi telling the fellow at the other end to change the date of her performances in Kerala till after she had fulfilled her engagements in the States. She was like a six-armed goddess doing six things at a time. I lost patience and pleaded with her “Switch off that damned mobile before you start. “She did not take offence. ‘I’ve finished with it,” she replied as she put it in her hand bag. She turned to me with a bow, for permission to begin “Ijaazat?” I nodded my head: “What would like to hear first?” she asked. I was not prepared for the fermaish, so came out with the first ghazal that came to my mind : Muddat hoee hai yaar to mehmaan kiye hooey (it has been a long time since I entertained my beloved in my house).Then she broke into full throated song — arms and hands emphasising meanings. At the end of every couplet she turned to me rather than her note book for the next — whether to test me or flatter me. Fortunately, I did not let myself down. I was able to show off my memory and was mighty pleased with myself.
So it went on from Ghalib to Hafeez Jalandhari, and others she interwove lines of poets to give her songs a theme, which ghazals rarely have. I was transported into another world — as was everyone else in the mehfil. Long after I had retired for a night her voice kept ringing in my ears and her animated gestures dancing in my eyes.

Talibani translation
The phrase ‘criminal courts’, apart from its ordinary meaning of ‘courts in which criminals are tried’, has, in view of the recent reported initiatives of the Taliban in north-western Pakistan, acquired the secondary, sinister in north-western Pakistan, acquired the secondary, sinister meaning of ‘courts set up by criminals’ !
Contributed by Preetam Giani, Abbotabad (Pakistan)

Biting the ballot

By Khushwant Singh

There are a few lessons to be learnt from the recent state elections. First, calls for boycott were ignored. The turnout was healthy, between 50-70 per cent in all six states including Kashmir. Two, elections were free and fair. There were no cases of booth-capturing, intimidation or bribing voters — a little free booze didn’t hurt anyone. It was as clear an example of people’s voice as we have ever had.

You may well ask, so what had the people to say? It would be wrong to assume that what mattered to them were how their state governments tackled regional problems, and issues of national importance were not on their minds. Or, that they were not influenced by what national leaders of political parties had to say. It was a mixture of both regional and national issues and leaders of parties were listened to before people made up their minds which side they would vote for. 

They were less swayed by class, caste or religious affiliations than ever before and more by achievements like the nuclear deal with the US, planting the tricolour on the moon, increasing number of cars on roads and visible signs of prosperity. Consequently, what Sonia Gandhi, Manmohan Singh and Rahul Gandhi said made more sense to them than what LK Advani, Rajnath Singh or Arun Jaitley repeated. 

All this, clearly, came out with the spectacular victory of the Congress in Delhi. Sheila Dikshit had much to display in the way of positive achievements — she proved herself as the best Chief Minister Delhi has ever had. Vijay Kumar Malhotra’s image suffered from his performance in Parliament. He reduced himself to being the cheerleader of the braying brigade that has almost ruined our parliamentary system of democracy. Millions of voters watched this on their TV sets and were appalled, especially the young voting for the first time. They voted en masse against the BJP. 

A parliamentary democracy needs a healthy opposition that keeps the ruling party on its toes. But it must rise above the negatives, nit-picking and focus on the real shortcomings of the government — the slow pace of development, failure to clean up the environment, little use of solar and wind energy, ever-mounting logjam of cases pending in the courts. And, much more. 

The BJP needs to be reminded that we are now about to enter 2009 and do not live in the middle ages. It must rise above the mandir-masjid disputes, stop carping about minority appeasement, lack of proper facilities for pilgrims etc. They are of secondary importance. Take the government head on over things that matter. What you need are younger leaders with a modern outlook. 

Or, you are doomed forever. 

Goodbye to all that 

The world media have been unfair to the outgoing US President. It has portrayed him as a brash, boorish, brainless buffoon who wrecked the prospects of peace in many parts of the globe. 

India has been no exception to the general trend of Bush-bashing. Now that he is retiring, I feel we should take another look at his tenure in office. Those who had pinned their hopes on the United Nations to maintain peace have been badly disillusioned. The UN is a divided house in which the smallest and the poorest of countries count as much as the big and the powerful. Moreover, UN members are known to gang up on ethnic, religious and political affinities at the cost of equity and justice.

Bush has been accused of waging a war against Iraq because America needed its oil. This is far from the truth. There were — and are — other oil-rich countries like Saudi Arabia willing to sell all it needs. Bush went to war not against Iraq but against its dictator, Saddam Hussein, who had waged an undeclared war against Iran for many years, annexed Kuwait and persecuted Iraqi Shias. Bush had 35 other nations, including Britain, to support the US intervention. When Saddam was executed, not many tears were shed over him.

America is at the frontline fighting al-Qaeda, the Taliban and other militant Islamic groups operating from the no-man’s land on the Pakistan-Afghan border. In both these countries, the governments are heavily reliant on America for financial and military aid to combat terrorism. The fact that Osama bin Laden and his mullah-minded supporters have failed to destroy Afghanistan and Pakistan is largely due to the presence of US troops and armour.

India’s relations with America have never been as friendly as they were during Bush’s regime as president of this country. He spearheaded the nuclear deal from the American side and Manmohan Singh did it from the Indian end. We hope to meet our energy requirements during Barack Obama’s tenure as president. We have much to be grateful for to George Dubya Bush.

No business like bad business

Four friends decided to start a motor garage business. A month passed without a single client because the garage was on the third floor. So the three converted the garage into rooms to be let out. A month passed without any takers because they had forgotten to change the signboard: ‘Garage tolet’. They did not give up hope and decided to ply a three-wheeler. They got no passenger. Reason? Three of them occupied the seats and one drove vehicle.

United we stand, divided we fall

By Khushwant Singh

My son Rahul who lives in Colaba rang up at 9.30 pm on November 26 to tell us of the bomb blasts and assure us that he was safe. I switched on my TV. I saw flames billowing out of windows of the Taj hotel and its dome enveloped in smoke. I had lived close by for many years and was a daily visitor to its health club. I saw the Oberoi, where I had stayed a few times, surrounded by Indian commandos and guests looking out of windows. I saw the devastation caused to the Jewish enclave, Victoria Terminus, Cama Hospital and the airport. I was numb with disbelief. I had spent many happy years in the city. My first reaction was of impotent rage: ‘Hang the bloody bastards on Marine Drive and let the world see how we deal with murderers of innocent people.’ 


I cooled down and watched scenes repeated over and over again. They had no leads about the perpetrators. All I could gather was that they knew their ways about Mumbai very well, had been fully trained and equipped with the most lethal weapons. They must have also known there was little chance of their ever getting back to their homes. By the time I switched off the TV, the death toll was over 90, including two police officers investigating the Malegaon blast case. They also reported that one of the culprits had been shot dead. I hoped and prayed that the examination of his body did not reveal he was a Muslim.

Alas. He was a Muslim. So also were the rest of the gang. All Pakistanis. From the meticulous way the operation was carried out, it was evident that they had been rehearsing it in minute detail for many weeks, if not months, on Pakistani soil. Pakistan’s rulers have a great deal to explain to the world as the victims include many foreign nationals.

We should be unanimous in our response to the Mumbai attack. It has dealt a heavy body blow to those who have been trying to build bridges between the people of India and Pakistan. This process must continue. At the same time we must do our very best to put down those who are likely to exploit the murderous assault in Mumbai to spread Islamophobia. Many Indian Muslims were killed; all of them condemn it, as do other Indians – Hindus, Christians, Sikhs, Buddhists and Parsis. If we do not stand united in our reactions to what had happened in Mumbai, the murderers will have achieved what they wanted to achieve. We must not allow this to happen. We are one nation. We must give them one answer: to hell with you! You will never succeed in dividing us.

Do we need god?
Bageeshwari Devi is a disciple of Kripaluji Maharaj and principal spokesperson entrusted to spread his message abroad. Born in Mysore, she graduated from Mumbai and got a doctorate from Agra University. She was recently in Delhi to deliver a lecture at the India Habitat Centre on ‘Do We Need God’. She also dealt with related subjects: Whether god exists; Does he matter; what difference does his existence or non-existence make to us. 

Since I am no longer able to go out, I’ll try and get the text of what she said. Though I am not a disciple of Kripaluji Maharaj, I listen to his programmes on TV. Also, though I do not understand his ecstatic chanting of ‘Radhey,Radhey,’ what he has to say makes a lot of sense even to an agnostic like me. I also believe that everyone should find his or her own answers to the questions that Bageeshwari Devi deals with.

Do we need god? Most people feel they do, as he fills a vacuum in their lives. I am not sure whether or not I need him. At times I feel I am missing out on something other people have and I do not. Most times I do not miss him.

Does god really exist ? The vast majority of people insist he does; a growing minority do not believe in his existence. I belong to the minority — with the addition that I do not accept what is attributed to him. I am not sure if he is the creator, preserver or destroyer of life. If he is almighty, he is certainly neither just nor merciful because there is so much injustice and cruelty in life. 

I think the only honest answer to this question is to admit that we do not know. Nor do we know what happens to us after we die. All the theories about heaven, hell, re-birth etc. are pure conjectures without an iota of evidence to support them. I reject all of them and add that no one has the foggiest idea where we go after we breathe our last.

You may well ask after rejecting our cherished beliefs what is the purpose of life? Once again I crave forgiveness for my inability to reply in the positive. We live on because we were given life and have no choice but to go on living. Osho Rajneesh put it succinctly:
Kal bhee jeeyey thhey, aaj bhee jee rahey hain
Jeeney kee aadat see par gayee hai, Jeeyey ja rahey hain (We were alive yesterday; we’re still living today. It’s become a habit to be alive; we keep on living)

Getting under Yankee Hindi
An NRI lady returns from the US to India and is window-shopping in Delhi. Suddenly, she realises she is late for an appointment. She isn’t wearing a watch. So she asks the owner of a nearby shop in an American accent: “Wot’s the tyme?” 
The shopkeeper hates desis who put on foreign accents. He replies in an American accent: “Bra-panties” Confused, the lady asks again, “No, no. Wot’s da tyme?” The shopkeeper repeats his answer. Seeing the confusion between the two, a Sardarji comes to the rescue of the lady and says “O paaji, tusi samajh nahin paaye. Kudi twade ton puuchh rahii hai, kinna time hua: The shopkeeper answers back ‘Oye’ paji, main bhi tan ohnoo hee das rahan: ‘Barah-payntis — (12.35).
(Contributed by Paramjit S.Kochar, New Delhi)

Of iffy gurus and mystic sufis

By Khushwant Singh

I was reading Paul Johnson’s Intellectuals for the second time. It’s a highly readable series of essays on the role of intellectuals in Europe and the United States. The writings of some of them like Karl Marx, Friedrich Nietzche, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Leo Tolstoy, Jean-Paul Sartre and Bertrand Russell had a profound and lasting effect on generations of Europeans and Americans. India also produced intellects like Rammohun Roy, Sri Aurobindo and M.N. Roy. It has also some highly educated and perceptive thinkers today. But their impact on Indian society has been, and is, marginal. Why ?

I can assign two reasons for the failure of our intellectuals to change society. One is that all of them wrote in English that barely 10 per cent of educated Indians can read and comprehend. The masses never get to know about them. The second, and the more important factor in isolating intellectuals was, and is, the fact that the vast majority of our countrymen look up to their gurus or godmen for guidance because they speak their language. 

It is oral and not written communication. Gurus have massive following but their learning is limited to churning out accepted religious concepts unaffected by occidental learning. Most of their pravachans (lectures) are accompanied by hymn singing and at times dancing in ecstasy. Their congregations return to their homes contented and at peace with themselves because they do not have to wrestle with new ideas. That is why caste distinctions persist, foeticide is widely practised and we continue to breed at a suicidal rate. Our gurus never deal with such social problems.

I am not sure if my reading of the ineffectiveness of Indian intellectuals in changing social attitudes is correct. I hope to have readers’ reactions.

Rumi, with a view

Ten years ago a lady moved into a flat in the block next to mine. The entire complex of apartments was lit up by her presence. We had not seen a woman as beautiful as her. I spread the word around to my friends. Soon everyone was saying “that cranky old Sardar has gone bonkers. He refuses to meet people but if you want to get anything out of him, all you have to do is to ask the lady to speak to him. To him she is like heroine of Rider Haggard’s novel She, who must be obeyed.” Unfortunately the lady in question visits Delhi only for a few weeks in winter. I won’t mention her name. I call her ‘Heart’s Joy’.

She has hardly ever asked me to do anyone a favour. However, very recently she gave me a copy of a periodical published by the Rumi Foundation of India, called HU which is Arabic for God, or the One God. This third issue of the journal is on sufis and rishis of Kashmir. (She is Kashmiri by marriage). I promised to mention it in my column as I am intrigued by the recent outburst of interest in Rumi as well as the special brand of Islam prevalent in Kashmir. 

Then I noticed that the man behind the project was Muzaffar Ali. We are allergic towards each other. So I suspect he entrusted the job to my neighbour. I know Muzaffar to be a handsome go-getter with pretensions of zamindari aristocracy and interest in vintage cars. He made one good film, Umrao Jaan, starring Rekha with songs that will live for ever. For the last many years he’s keenly telling everyone he is filming Zooni. He hasn’t even started on it and is now telling people he is going to make one on Rumi. He is also into dress designing. 

Meanwhile, he has acquired an other worldly, soulful Sufi look with graying curly locks and a beard. He along with his third Hindu wife are regular Page 3 characters. He has no problem with money. Delhi Chief Minister Sheila Dikshit has been generous in her endowment to his ventures. He does a commendable job organising functions. I envy him, but have little time for him.

Rumi is all the rage in ‘pseud’ circles the world over. Jalaluddin (1207-73) born in Balkh, Afghanistan, settled down in Konya, Turkey, then called Rum (pronounced Room). He became a teacher and came to be known as Maulana Jalaluddin Rumi, Sheikh-al Akbar (the Great Master). His six-volume Masnavi in Persian is a masterpiece. He was a founder of the Mevlevi order of whirling dervishes based in Konya where he is buried. 

Rumi wrote on a wide range of subjects extending from the sublime to the very earthy. He had no single-religion obsession. For him all of them were the same. He could be ecstatic as well as bawdy. He wrote about union with the Creator as well as farting donkeys and over-sexed women who tried copulating with them. His worshippers don’t talk about his earthiness.

It is the same with HU. Karan Singh writes of the unique blend of Islam and Hinduism in Kashmir. Actually, it is true of the majority of Indian Muslims. They go to mosque to pray and to dargahs where pirs are buried, to beg for favours. He believes in miracles and how much his erstwhile Muslim subjects revere him. When the Valley was in turmoil over the disappearance of the hair of the Prophet, he and his Maharani went to pray at the Hazrat Bal shrine. And lo and behold, the next day the holy relic was back at its place. 

The magazine has articles on Kashmiri poets and holy men. It is hard to read them, as all pages are in shades of sepia or dark brown. It is in fact a collectors’ item to be admired rather than read. It is not priced presumably because it is meant to be priceless. For me it is so as it has a lovely picture. Of Heart’s Joy.

No teething troubles

Banta: Santa, I am thinking of making my son an eye-specialist. I am told eye specialists earn a lot of money doing eye-surgery and making spectacles. What do you think? 

Santa: I think you should make him a dentist. After all people have only two eyes while they have 32 teeth. So naturally a dentist gets more work. 

(Contributed by JP Singh Kaka, Bhopal)

2008: A wind-up chronicle

By Khushwnat Singh

It is New Year’s Day, 1st of January 2008. It is bitterly cold — one point above freezing point. I sit huddled by the dying embers of my fireplace and turn the pages of my diary of the year about to end. Every other page records a bomb blast in some city or the other with the numbers killed and injured along with wild guesses about organisations which might be responsible for it. Conclusion — spreading lawlessness, outrageous defiances of authority by the Thackeray trio of Mumbai, Bajrang Dal’s attacks on hapless Muslims and Christians with leaders of saffron brigades promptly speaking in their defence without bothering to get the full story. L.K.Advani’s weekly forecasts of the imminent collapse of the Sonia Gandhi — Manmohan Singh led Congress coalition; Prakash Karat’s senseless opposition to a nuclear deal between India and the USA and at the same time warning us of the perils of resurgent Hindu fundamentalism and joining hands with the same fundoos in the hope of toppling the government. All to no avail. Thank God!

Before I go over the balance of the good versus the bad, it would be proper to record the names of eminent people who passed away and therefore beyond bothering about our wretched state of affairs. In February died Russy Karanjiya, editor of the Blitz at 96, Maharish Mahesh Yogi at 91 in Holland; Baba Amte 94, Sheila Bhatia of the National Theatre and Justice H.R.Khanna at 96. In April departed the Sarod maestro Sharan Rani. In May, the Gandhian Nirmala Deshpande at 79. In June, Field marshal Sam Manekshaw at 94. In July, Chief Justice Chandrachud at 86. In August, the Industrial tycoon K.K. Birla. In September, H.Y. Sharda Prasad, life-time personal secretary to Indira Gandhi and Salauddin Qwaisi MP from Hyderabad. In November, film producer B.R.Chopra at 94 and ex-minister Ajit Panja. 

Besides these celebrities, there were many others who perished in man-made disasters. In August, a dam burst changed the course of river Kosi which drowned thousands of villages in Bihar. In a stampede in Naina Devi temple in Himachal over 150 were killed. Another stampede in a temple near Jodhpur around 250 lives were lost. We still have to learn how to get off and get in trains — so stampedes are no surprise. The Gujjar agitation cost around 50 lives. The Naxalites continued their depredations across the country attacking police posts in Uttar Pradesh, Orissa and Andhra Pradesh. They even shot down a helicopter.

Enough of disasters. We had the mildest May on record and the monsoon arrived 15 days before schedule. Six states went to the polls. The BJP extended its domain by annexing Karnataka. It looks set to win more states. However, it failed to dislodge the Congress coalition at the Centre and the Nuclear deal with America went through with Prime Minister Manmohan Singh winning the vote of confidence with flying colours. Our crowning achievement was to plant the Indian tri-colour carried by Chandrayaan-I on the moon.

Kashmir Valley had its first Railway train. Good show: was one gold and two bronzes. However, Vishwanathan Anand regained his place as the world’s Chess Champion. Jeev Milkha Singh became Asia’s Golf Champion. Our cricketers got the better of the series against Australia, England South Africa and Sri Lanka. Tendulkar became the greatest run scorer in Test cricket, Kumble and Ganguly retired from the Test Cricket. We still have Dhoni, Sehwag (he scored three centuries in one match) Yuvraj, Gambhir, Harbhajan, Zaheer, Irfan and others to keep us happy.

Aravind Adiga won the Booker Prize for his novel The White Tiger. Bhimsen Joshi was awarded the Bharat Ratna. I think this highest honour should be restricted to social workers and creative people like scientists, musicians and artists and never given to retired politicians or civil servants.

As I write this, a few weeks of 2008 remain unknown. Another six states are going to the polls. Next to cricket, we are prone to election fever. How Obama won the US Presidency without our vote, was a miracle. Next year we will have our general election. I look forward to the emergence of new leaders — young men and women with a vision of the future. I put my money on two, Rahul Gandhi and Omar Abdullah.

Obama and Mayawati

A man can do what a man had done

How about a woman ?

If he is not entirely black, she is not exactly White

If Obama is Brilliant, Mayawati is naughty and bright

If he ousted high-end Hillary, she is taking on Mrs Gandhi

If he is calm and witty, she is catish and gritty

If he is a man of vision, creator of history

She is the mother of Taj corridor, plotting dream victory

Because mainstream parties have failed the country

For the darkened community and the downtrodden race

A minor revolution is taking place-

So, the people of India, please mind

If Obama comes, Mayawati may not be far behind.

(Contributed by Kuldip Salil, New Delhi)

Wrapped in ochre, damned in deed

Khushwant Singh

We are told that India is the homeland of sants, mahatmas, rishis and sadhus. We believe we are guided by those who have spent years introspecting or meditating to find out the truth about themselves and the world. After that, they achieve peace of mind and are qualified to become gurus entitled to preach peace and love for humanity. To show that they have no worldly ambitions, they wear saffron or ochre robes, symbolising renunciation. Does this hold good in today’s India?

I give three instances of women who wore saffron and style themselves as Sadhvis. One is Rithambra. Sudhir Kakkar, India’s leading psychiatrist has quoted her speeches spouting hate against Muslims. She is also the author of the slogan ‘ek aur dhakka’ — one more push — to bring down the Babri Masjid. On TV channels, she preaches love and understanding. She is also seen with children, to create the impression of being a loving mother. 

Then, there is Uma Bharati, who does not call herself a Sadhvi but wears saffron. She has not made up her mind whether she wants to be a politician or a spiritual leader. She celebrated the demolition of Babri Masjid by embracing Murli Manohar Joshi. She has been the Chief Minister of Madhya Pradesh. She is also seen hugging cows and calves, a living image of a gau-rakshak (protector of the cow). We saw her sitting in the front row in one of Asaram Bapu’s congregations and proclaiming in English, “I love you”. That was before Bapu lost his aura and was accused of amassing property. Whatever her other achievements, she is unable to control her temper. We saw her fling her papers and storm out of a meeting of the top-brass of the BJP. And recently, in full view of thousands of her admirers she slapped an important supporter. Realising what the political outcome would be, she ran after him to apologise and kissed him (on the forehead). 

Most of all I am disillusioned by the charges laid against Sadhvi Pragya Singh Thakur. Her doctor father is a member of the RSS. She was an activist of the Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad (ABVP), the student wing of the BJP. She evidently has a personality problem: a girl with masculine tendencies. She wears a turban, rides a motor cycle, and ticks off strangers she thinks are making passes at girls. What she needed was psychiatric guidance. What she is accused of is being one of the gang that planted bombs in Muslim localities, which took six lives. She is in dire trouble if she fails to clear her name of this diabolical conspiracy. She has shaken my confidence about saintly men and women in saffron or ochre robes. We may have to change the name of our beloved Hindustan to Pakhandistan — the land of humbugs. 

New lingo

India and Pakistan have invented a new language that I have named IPA, short for Indo-Pak Angrezi. In Pakistan, it is English mixed with Urdu and Punjabi. In India, it is English mixed with Hindi, Punjabi and Mumbai Hindustani. In both countries, grammar is ignored, as is spelling. In India, the pioneers were the late Devyani Chaubal of Bombay and Shobhaa De of Mumbai. In Pakistan, it is Moni Mohsin. Her weekly column in the Friday Times of Lahore is the most widely read in IPA in both countries. She is the maharani of this bastard language. She made her name to fame with her novel The End of Innocence (Penguin), based in a country estate close to Lahore. Now, a selection of her articles in IPA have been published in India: The Diary of a Social Butterfly (Random House). It makes hilarious reading for those who know a little Urdu and are not fussy about spelling. I give a few samples. This one is on her organising a protest march against the US-British intrusion in Iraq and her family’s reaction. “I’ve chup karaoed everybody — The Old Bag, the Gruesome Twosome, Janoo, even Bush and his English chaprassi, ‘Tony the Phoney’ as Janoo calls him. I’ve chup karaoed them with anti-Iraq war jaloos, which has come on CNN, BBC, even Fox. After all, five thousands women and children marching through Gullberg is no joke, And all khaata-peeta khandani types who are doing it for their principles and not for the hundred rupees the rent-a-crowd types get. Nobody can say after this that we Gullberg-wallahs don’t stand out and speak out — or was it stand up and speek out ? Khair, whatever. Sab ko hum ne impress kar diya hai, and that’s that.”

Again, this is from the impending visit of the Indian Polo team to Lahore: “So much of mazza!! I’m tau going off my rocket with all the parties-sharties, shaadi-vaadis and khannas galore. And the Polo: voh tau even more better. So many polo functions, and all by special invitation only so that no aera-vagheras could get in. Serves them right, I tell you. Trying to muscle in where they don’t belong.

But what a pity keh no glam Indians showed up at the polo. Itna main look forward kar rahi thi, na, to entertaining Shahrukh Khan and Salman and Hrithik in my new sun room with its pink wall-to-wall and apple green velvet curtains. Chalo, next time.”

Gujarati common sense

One day, many years ago at a school in South London, a teacher said to a class of five-year olds, “I’ll give $20 to the child who can tell me who was the most famous man who ever lived?”

An Irish boy said: “It was St Patrick.”

The teacher said sorry Alan, that’s wrong. 

A Scottish boy : “It was St Andrew”. 

“That is not right either,” the teacher replied 

Finally, Jayant, a Gujarati boy, said, “Jesus Christ”. That is right, Jayant and the teacher gave him $ 20. But he said, “You are Gujarati, so I am surprised you said Jesus Christ.” 

Jayant replied: “Yes, in my heart I knew it was Lord Krishna, but business is business.”

 (Contributed by Vipin Buksey,New Delhi)