Where Does Urban India Get Educated?

Those days are becoming rarer when I am not left aghast, shamefaced, or repulsed at the demeanour of my fellow countrymen in surroundings demanding civilised behaviour. These countrymen (and women) are dressed in expensive attire, generally with a cellular phone clutched in their hand, and look educated.

As you walk towards the exit after the end of the performance at a theatre, they push you. If you look back, they order you to move ahead. They get irritated at the slow movement of a wheel chair. They violate the yellow line and the zebra crossing. They honk in the middle of the night on an empty road. They play loud music in their car and home. They scratch their genitals and pick their nose in full public view, and have the audacity to offer the same hand for a handshake. They speak loudly in a public area, train and aircraft, disturbing others. They expect you to clear the way for them when you are stuck in a traffic jam. They jump the queue. They shower spit as they speak. They encroach. They abuse. They demand to be served first. They ...

Once it was proudly declared that though we Indians behaved in an uncivilised manner in 'Hamaaraa Pyaara Hindustaan'; we were the most law abiding people abroad. Sadly, it is not true. We clutter streets, bypass fire alarms, spit when not likely to be apprehended, speak loudly, ogle at women, and display such poor social etiquettes abroad that finding a house in upmarket neighbourhoods is a challenge for us in many countries. Indians have formed ghettos in such countries, which the natives are wary of entering.

Why is it so that in spite of attending some very good schools and paying through our nose for that coveted degree, educated urban Indians practise pathetic civic sense, circumvent the law rather than follow it, dominate and exploit the weak, change colours like a chameleon and pay obeisance even to their sworn enemies in return for a favour?

The fact is, these 'Indians' were children some years back. Their parents, their first teachers, taught them to come first in class. And of course, the parents expected them to come out tops if they played a sport or danced or sang or played some musical instrument. Coming first became a way of life. You can come first only if the others are behind. You can either race ahead or push others behind. The lesson was learnt.

Most children took the school bus or some other conveyance to reach the school. The driver became their next teacher. The driver, who announced his arrival through continuous honking while still some hundred meters away from the pick up spot in the still dark wintry morning. The driver who showered profanities on anyone who dared to share the road ahead. The driver who took pride in scaring rickshaws and small cars away and snatched the right of way from them. The driver who was smart and adventurous enough to risk his life by driving on the wrong side. The driver who never cared for the zebra crossing and the traffic signals. The driver, who, in spite of treating the police with contempt, managed them well if caught! The situation was not much different if the child was dropped by the parents or a relative. The children spent the most formative ten years of their lives under this teacher, and became street smart. Being selfish became a second nature.

I wonder if any parent discusses the routine travel of the child to and from the school. I wish we start doing it. If we wish to inculcate values. Otherwise, we should be prepared to raise another generation of Indians who may know coding, but may not know how to earn respect in a civilised society.

Misplaced Patriotism

“Be proud that you are an Indian,” we hear often. Nothing wrong with that, but what next? Should I, in my pride, start judging, berating and punishing people who appear to be less proud than I am? Does patriotism end with badmouthing others, sharing jingoistic messages over social network, buying national flag on independence day, claiming that we are superior to citizens from other countries - specially Pakistan? I am afraid, these acts have little to do with patriotism. Patriotism is not window-dressing. It is not superficial.

It is said that we should feel proud because we were born in India. For those who were born elsewhere, a sub-clause is added – such people should feel proud because they are of Indian origin, which means that at least one of their ancestors was born in India. Fine! By that logic, one should also be proud of the state, the city, the street and the house in which one was born. For example, a person born, say in jhopadpatti 333/44, Dharavi, Mumbai, Maharashtra, India, should feel superior to his neighbour born in, say, jhopadpatti 333A/44; and vice versa! What a flawed logic that would be! Unfortunately, that logic has been applied a number of times on the regional level, causing rifts and divisions amongst innocent citizens. It has also been applied on locality basis, leading to bloodshed.

I do feel proud on being an Indian when I learn that India launched the South Asia satellite, funding it entirely, to provide communications services to its neighbouring countries. But I don’t feel proud when I learn that we have made the Mumbai coast among the dirtiest coasts in the world by flowing 20,000 L of muck into it every day.

I do feel proud about the absolute impartiality of Lord Ram. But I do not feel proud when I  read about judges of the Supreme Court and the High Court releasing orders against each-other.

I do feel proud when I consider how an average automobile maker Suzuki became strong in India as Maruti Suzuki. But I do not feel proud when I see fellow road users being put to danger with road rage and irresponsible driving.

I do feel proud when I see Indians climbing the ladder of success all over the world. But I don’t feel proud when I realise that Africans hesitate to visit India due to crimes against them in the country, and even Indian citizens from the North East are forced to brave racism.

I do feel proud when I think about our heritage of treating guests as gods. But I don’t feel proud when I read that even as their plane was crash-landing, rather than evacuating the aircraft at the earliest, Indians chose to collect their baggage from overhead bins, thus exposing the passengers behind to great risk.

I do feel proud when I read about efforts to keep our surroundings clean. But I don’t feel proud when I notice Indian dominated areas littered in otherwise squeaky clean cities in the world, and the Indians subjecting all to risk by switching off the fire alarm in their kitchens.

I do feel proud about the priority placed on education by Indians. But I do not feel proud about the quality of education in India.

I do feel proud about the sophisticated fine arts in India. But I do not feel proud about the lack of etiquettes and basic civic sense in India.

The list can continue. You would have got the point. Pride in our origin is necessary to accept us as we are, without getting intimidated by those who appear to be better off. This pride is necessary to ensure that we do not begin with an inferiority complex. But it does not mean that we close our eyes, declare others as inferior, and make no attempts for spiritual and physical growth. It does not mean that we do not conduct a sincere introspection, increase our strengths and reduce our weaknesses. The need of the hour is to stop believing in false patriotism and to behave sincerely. The need of the hour is to re-master the Indian arts and science which the foreigners have started teaching us. The need of the hour is to adapt suitable technology and practices for our growth. The need of the hour is to stop blind imitation. Can we do it? 

Religion and Punctuality

The meeting was scheduled from 6:00 AM. The venue was the parking lot of our building. Eight more residents were invited to the meeting. I reached the venue and found it deserted. Even the host had failed to make it.

I checked the place again after twenty minutes. Still vacant. There was no communication about a postponement or cancellation of the meeting.

I came back without a protest. I didn’t expect anyone to be there. It was just the sheer force of habit that had propelled me to the venue.

Over the years I have accepted that punctuality is treated differently by different people. I remember meetings being scheduled from 9:58 AM at the multi-national Ingersoll Rand. The intent was clear. A delay of even one minute was not acceptable. Mail was responded to in time, projects were finished in time, and customers were served in time. It is not that Ingersoll Rand did not commit mistakes. It did, but solutions were provided efficiently and quickly.

At the other extreme lies my experience with some Indian companies catering to the domestic market. Reminders were common, whether for a response to mail or for participation in an event. All these companies were dominant players in the Indian market, but had negligible presence elsewhere.

Religion is a weak spot with us. We sacrifice our life for its sake. We can make it our strength and empower our life by delving deeper into religion and practising it in its true sense. The Sanatan Hindu Dharma, Islam, Christianity or other prominent religions do not recommend procrastination. Still, generations after generations grown with an overdose of religion find nothing wrong if the completion of a bridge gets delayed by years, if the transfer of a provident fund file takes months, if the correction of a government bill takes weeks, if a long distance train runs behind schedule by a day, or if an across-the-counter transaction takes hours instead of minutes!

We get hurt if we suspect that a particular animal is being harmed or a place of worship is being desecrated; but we find it absolutely alright to waste time and subject other humans to inconvenience due to inaction or delayed action on our part.

Aren’t our priorities misplaced? Isn’t that a larger contributor to our sluggish progress than the oft-maligned political parties?

Film Star Politicians

Manoj Tiwari is a rising star today in Delhi politics. I am not so sure about the future.

I have not been able to crack the secret behind the failure of Hindi, Bengali and Bhojpuri film stars to grab the coveted chair. They pull crowds, orchestrate wins, fall behind, and ultimately get lost in obscurity.  Someone told me that the stool examination parameters for South Indians are different from those for ordinary Indians. I do not know whether the information is correct, but the parameters in case of the chair seem to be definitely different.

I feel that more often than not, materialistic success is obtained and sustained with crookedness and manipulative people skills. Whether one is a scientist, a teacher, an artist, a lawyer, a sportsperson, a journalist, a film star, an industrialist, a politician or a commercially successful Guru – whether one reaches and remains at the top depends upon the presence of these two elements in progressive order. I fear that Hindi, Bengali and Bhojpuri film stars fall short somewhere when the time comes to grab the chair.   

Talking of film star politicians, the death of Vinod Khanna shocked me. This hugely admired and envied star looked pathetic in his last days. Everyone must die, but this way? Though I neither liked nor disliked him, his departure left me sad. Life need not be devoid of grace, even for film stars and politicians.

Morning Musings

One

A man is walking his dog. It is jet-black, somewhat ugly. It belongs to one of those dwarf species that cost a bomb. The dog comes near a car. The tyre, much higher than the dog, draws its interest. The dog lifts a hind leg and sprays a shower of urine on the tyre. The man waits patiently for the dog to finish its business. The car doesn't belong to the man, but what is a splash of urine between two cohabitants of a locality?

I enter the park. An old man is teaching yoga. Many elderly people, mostly women, sit in front of him. All sit with their fingers on their closed eyes. That is, all but one person. He removes the fingers and looks around. Satisfied that everyone has the eyes closed and fingers on them, he sits straight and places his fingers on his eyes. He has formed slits and looks through them.

Two

The park has a tiled area near the entrance, marked Gau Seva. It doesn't appear to have been cleaned in months. The water tub is filled with filth. I enter the park. A man walks from one bench to another, chanting 'Jaye Shriram, Jaye Sitta' in a classic tea-seller tone, coughs, spits, and begins the return journey in the same fashion.

A group of three men overtakes me. The tallest one declares, "Lifecycle Mein Bohot Sara time railway station, airhport Aur taxi Mein Beet Jaata Hai." His companions remain silent. He emphasises, "Bohot Sara!" They still remain silent. The man says, "Railway station, airport Aur taxi Mein!" I exit from the park.

Three

I hear the music of small bells. The tinkle approaches closer. No footpath being available, I walk on the edge of the road. I hear the warning of a man.

"Is it a bullock-cart trailing me," I wonder. 

A donkey emerges on the road. And then, another. Both have tiny bells tied around their neck. A man rides the rear donkey. A dog performs an excited dance in front of the donkey. The donkey takes no notice. It moves on, business-like. 

I enter the park. A man is teaching yoga. Ahead, an RSS shaakha is being held.

I continue walking. Just as the donkey did!

Four

Clutching my copy of the daily Hindustan Times, I walk past the speed breaker. A bicycle waits here. It has black tyres with green border. The chassis is green. Two ten-year-somethings are on the bicycle. Both wear red T-shirts, and both wear shorts - one white and the other black.

One of them seeks my attention. "Uncle, Woh Aage Jo Kutte Hain Woh Kaattey To Naheen?"

I confidently reply, "Naheen!"

Seeking reassurance, the boy asks again, "Ek Bhi Naheen?"

As if the question is about me and not about the dogs, I reaffirm, "Naheen!"

The boy whispers, "Dekha, Maine Kahaa Tha Na!", and starts pedalling.

The dogs watch them. As the bicycle comes near, an e-rickshaw comes between the bicycle and the dogs. 

The dogs lose interest. So do I.

Five

The first step out of the building, and I notice the brown dog. It is a female. I admire it for the grace with which it accepted the death of its little one last year in a car accident. I also admire it for the ferocity with which it tackled another dog which unnecessarily went to the accident site to examine the remains. Clearly, the admiration is one-sided. The dog does not respond to my greetings. On my return I spot another dog, a white one. This one appreciates my greetings with warmth. We walk in opposite directions. A few steps, and I feel a nudge on my hand. It is the dog, bidding goodbye to me. I become happy and wave at it.

Six

I enter the bathroom and stand under the shower. I enjoy the flow of cold water on my body and begin lathering with a bar of soap. I realise that I must shampoo my hair as well. I look for the shampoo on the bathroom cabinet. No, the fancy black bottle cannot be that of shampoo - it has Tresemmé conditioner printed over it. I look hopefully at the two small transparent tubes. They are of Nature's Fusion shower gel. The fourth large bottle, too, cannot have shampoo in it it; it has the label of Nivea care shower. The shampoo must be in the dressing table drawer.

I call Rani. No response. Old age! 

I call her again. Again, no response. 

I try to whistle. Even I have difficulty in hearing the whistle. 

I shout her name. She is in the kitchen, frying fish, but still manages to hear me.

"What do you want?" she asks.

"Give me the shampoo, please!," I demand.

"That large bottle on the bathroom cabinet is that of Garnier shampoo," she points.

I look at the cabinet. The shampoo bottle is right there. I start using it. 

Old age!

Seven

The temple at the corner of the road keeps blaring Kirtans sung by old women in a fatigued voice. You can't decipher the words but can catch the tune. The present one is being sung on the lines of 'Aayee Ab Aantee Ki Bari'.

Your English Betrays Your Age

I was struck by the ‘to-morrow’ and the ‘to-night’ in the Bram Stoker classic, Dracula. ‘To-morrow’? What kind of spelling is that? Well, the answer is, Dracula was published in 1897, in English as it must have been prevalent then.

1897 happened more than a century back. No wonder, the syntax and the spellings underwent sea change in these 120 years. What perplexes me more is that the language used these days is already so different from the one taught to us, the Nesfield and Wren & Martin disciples. I find it strange saying, “I have been receiving your emails”. What is ‘mails’? Doesn’t ‘mail’ remain ‘mail’, whether singular or plural? Same goes with ‘thrice’. Why it can’t be a more gentlemanly ‘three times’? I get absolutely floored when someone sends me an ‘invite’. What happened to the good old system of sending invitations? Or, is it so that people now ‘invitation’ by sending ‘invites’? If I pinch myself to be sure about the reality, it is to see ‘if I were awake’ and not ‘if I was awake’!

I rise at ‘6:00 AM’, which is old fashioned. These days it is ‘6am’, something that I find difficult to adjust to. The same is true with all other units which are now shown immediately after the digits. Should I write ‘10ohms’?  I will, if you insist upon it, but I prefer writing ‘10 ohms’.

I fail to understand ‘360 degrees apart’. Would you not be exactly in the same direction if you rotate by 360 degrees? An advertising man once asked me to send my ‘coordinates’. For a while I seriously thought of sending him the readings of the longitude and latitude of my location.

I prefer to keep ‘anyways’ and ‘anywheres’ nowhere near me. However, I have given up protesting when someone says, “I enjoyed the movie!” Puritans insist upon placing an object after the verb ‘enjoy’.

The more a language evolves, the stronger it becomes. As the younger generation modifies the language, it moves farther away from me. My English betrays my age. Days are not far when after reading my piece you will react, “What kind of writing is that?” And someone will answer, “The aged write like that!”

The Case Of The Missing Mobile

I was running.

I do not run. Though I can gain several kilos without becoming overweight, my 58 years old knees demand retirement benefits. I tested them only the last fortnight over the treadmill, and was greeted with pain that lasted more than a week.

So, I do not run.

Yet, I was running. Behind a taxi. A taxi available for hire. Only, I did not want to hire it.

I had just alighted from the taxi. My wife and daughter had followed me. As the taxi had departed, my daughter had announced that her cell phone had slipped from her pocket onto the seat of the taxi. The phone that she had purchased just fourteen days back. The phone that was the most expensive phone of her life.

The taxi had taken off on the taxiway, had already moved about ten metres, and was gaining speed. I was not sure whether it was the one just ahead, or the one ahead of the one just ahead - passengers keep dropping from taxis at the Dubai Mall like winter dandruff. There was no time to think. I ran, waving hands frantically. My daughter joined me seconds later. We ran together, gesturing, slowing down the traffic behind. The taxis ahead of us took a left turn and vanished.

We returned to the spot where we had alighted, and where my wife waited with my granddaughter.

“Police, let us complain to the police”, I exclaimed.

The police post at the Dubai Mall has three desks. There were two persons in uniform, a gentleman in a black suite, and another gentleman in the traditional white costume, only one occupying the desk.

“I left my phone in the cab,” my daughter cried.

“Do you have the number of the taxi,” the gentleman in the suit asked.

She replied in the negative. “Don’t worry, relax,” he said.

“Did you engage the taxi from an authorised taxi stand,” he asked.

My wife replied in the negative. “Don’t worry, relax,” he said.

“Do you remember the colour of the top,” he asked.

I replied in the negative. “Don’t worry, relax,” he said.

“Did you hail it through some service,” he asked.

We replied in the negative. “Don’t worry, relax,” he said.

“Did you pay through the card,” he asked.

We replied in the negative. “Don’t worry, relax,” he said.

I realised that we were not helping the police at all. I informed, “The driver is an Asian, perhaps a Bengali.”

“Can you call the number,” he asked.

We replied that we did not have another phone. Could we use his phone, we asked hopefully.

He gave his phone, chuckling, “Do not take this phone away.”

My daughter dialled.

“If it rings, no problem,” he said. “If it doesn’t, hmmm …,” he added.

I know that. I lost my phone two years back. It was switched off within seconds of my noticing the loss. I never found it back.

What if the driver had switched it off and removed the SIM card? What if the next passenger in the cab had pocketed it? What if …

It rang!

“Answer the phone, answer the phone, pleeeaaase,” we prayed.

Someone answered. It was the driver. He said that he had taken another passenger and could not return to the Mall for at least an hour. Would it be okay if he handed it over to us at Al Nahda, where we had engaged the taxi, he asked.

“No, no, no, pleeeaaase return to the Dubai Mall and give the phone at the police post! We will pay you the fare and something extra, pleeeaaase,” my daughter pleaded.

I requested the officer to help.

“Hella, come to the Mall.”

Pause.

“What is your number?”

He started noting down the number.

“Don’t disconnect. I am calling you on this number to cross check.”

His colleague dialled the number – 0 - 5 - 0 - 8 - 9 - 6 - 4 - 4 - 2 - 3. The number was correct.

The officer looked at my daughter, “Don’t worry, relax! The driver will come in an hour and return your phone. I am going now, actually my duty hours finished 45 minutes back”, he said.

An hour passed. There was no sign of the driver. We waited at the police post.

The officer on duty called the driver, “Hmm … when?”

He looked at us, “He is coming.”

Two minutes later he said, “He has delivered your phone at the Lost & Found office.”

We ran to the Lost & Found office. There it was, the phone. The phone that my daughter had purchased just fourteen days back. The phone that was the most expensive phone of her life. Intact.

“Oh, the driver didn’t meet us. How shall we reimburse him,” we asked with guilt.

The case of the missing mobile was resolved without becoming a case.

Satyamev Jayate, But I’ll Stick To The Untruth

The state emblem of India carries a quote from the Mundaka Upnishad, Satyamev Jayate. It means, truth alone triumphs.

Truth, unfortunately, can be unpalatable. I have seen doctors and close relatives of the terminally ill hiding it from the patient. My 85 years old mother-in-law fought cancer for eight months hoping to get well some day; but succumbed to the disease within a month on being told what she was suffering from. Had someone kept the mouth shut, she might have survived for some more months.

According to a Sanskrit verse, truth must be spoken only when it is pleasing to others; though untruth, howsoever pleasant, must never be spoken. This is the path of eternal morality, sanatana dharma. Here is the verse or shloka:

Satyam Bruyat Priyam Bruyat Na Bruyat Satyam Apriyam
Priyamcha Nanrutam Bruyat Esha Dharmah Sanatanan

So, one must exercise discretion in disclosing the truth.

What about telling half-truths to gain unfair advantage? 

The rule of the cease-fire at sunset was set aside on the fourteenth day of Mahabharata. Dronacharya was splendidly commandeering the Kaurava army. He was spreading fear and destruction through his relentless attacks. Even Ghatotkacha, Bhimsena’s famous son by his asura wife, was killed. Ghatotkacha and his troops of asuras, being strongest at night, had destroyed thousands of Duryodhana’s men that night.

Chakravarti Rajagopalachari writes in Mahabharata: “O Arjuna,” said Krishna, “there is none that can defeat this Drona, fighting according to the strict rules of war. We cannot cope with him unless dharma is discarded. We have no other way open. There is but one thing that will make him desist from fighting. If he hears that Ashwatthama is dead, Drona will lose all interest …”

Ashwatthama was the son of Dronacharya.

And so, Bhima killed an elephant called Ashwatthama, and went roaring, “I have killed Ashwatthama!”

Dronacharya asked Yudhishthira, “Is it true that my son has been slain?” He believed that Yudhishthira would never utter an untruth.

Yudhishthira’s response was: Ashwatthama Hatha, Iti Narova Kunjarova.

It meant: Ashwatthama has been killed. Not the man but the elephant.

While the first part was heard, the second part of the statement got drowned in the din. Drona threw away his weapons and sat down on the floor of his chariot. Dhrishtadyumna swept off the old warrior’s head with his sword. The half-truth led to a sequence of events, finally resulting in a win for the Pandavas.  

Many a times we hear half truths while in an aircraft – “we are third in the take off priority assigned by the air traffic controller” or something to that effect. The statement leads the passengers to believe that the delay is not due to the carrier but due to external factors; the fact that the aircraft should have reported earlier is not disclosed. The US President Bill Clinton indulged in half truth when he said, "I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky." Here he engaged in an equivocation fallacy to deliberately indicate one particular meaning of the phrase "sexual relations", while intending another meaning, in order to deliberately mislead the court while still being able to later claim that "my statements were technically correct."

Now, what about half-baked truths? I.e., truth based on insufficient facts.

The Hindi litterateur Vidyabhushan Shrirashmi describes beautifully such a situation in his story ‘Siddhant Ka Prashna’. Senior research officers in a research centre get agitated on noticing four visitor chairs in a new colleague’s cabin. They object, complaining that an additional chair deceptively enhances the status of the colleague. A drama follows, leading to the resignation of the newcomer. It is revealed that the fourth chair, a broken one, belonged to the peon assigned to the newcomer, and the peon was on leave that day.

Claims about success in curbing black money, success of the demonetisation scheme for Rs.1,000 and Rs.500 notes, growth in GDP, inflation rate, are largely half-baked truths. Add some more facts and data, and the claims appear hollow.

And then, there are plain untruths. Once Akbar gave a horse to Birbal, asking him to teach flying to a horse in six months. Birbal avoided incurring the immediate wrath of the emperor by accepting the task. When asked why did he indulge in the untruth, his response was, “Six months is a long time. I may die in six months. The emperor may change his mind in six months. Or, who knows, the horse may actually learn to fly in six months!”

Plain untruths are the norm with workmen such as carpenters, tailors, mechanics, plumbers, masons, etc. Politicians take the cake here. I have nothing personal in favour of or against any party or individual, but BJP being the party in power and Narendra Modi being the Prime Minister, some of their untruths are mentioned below:

1.    Every citizen of India will receive Rs.15 lakh in his bank account within 100 days of the BJP assuming power.

2.    2,00,00,000 jobs will be created every year.

3.    Inflation in the price of food grains will be reversed.

4.    Black money stashed in Swiss banks will be brought back.

5.    Dawood Ibrahim will be brought back to India.

6.    The cash crunch will be over in 50 days, and if not, Modi should be hanged from the neck!    

Whether you handle HR, operations, sales, or any other responsibility involving people interaction, chances are that you, too, manage the situation using ‘tact’, speaking more untruth and half-truths than real plain truth. Believe me, on most of the occasions your departure from truth would have been noticed, if not objected upon.

In my 35 years long career, whether I handled sales, operations or headed something else, I made it a point to never lie. Customers, students and colleagues became more agitated when I presented the facts to them, but finally appreciated that I was someone they could rely upon. It is amazing – while we expect others to be honest with us and tell the truth, when it comes to us, we seek the comfort of untruth.

That leads us to the beginning of this article – what about disclosing unpalatable truths? For example, what should be told to a terminally ill person? I would prefer you to answer that. However, when I met my terminally ill mother-in-law two months before her death, I avoided the topic of illness, drawing her attention to the good things happening in the family and likely to happen in the near future.

When I left her, she was happy.