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.

Dubai and Delhi – A Tale of Contrasts

Today’s Khaleej Times reports about the approval of Dubai budget for 2017. Today, i.e., December 22, 2016. Can the implementation begin in less than ten days? Obviously, yes! Since Dubai budgets in the past have been implemented successfully, there is no reason to think otherwise.

Ok, so let us look at the Dubai budget. The total outlay is Dh47.3 b. Converting into Indian rupees, it amounts to 85,140 crore. Delhi’s current budget is for Rs.46,600 crore. So, the Dubai budget is 45% greater than the Delhi budget.

A quick look at the Dubai budget reveals that the 45% amount by which it exceeds the Delhi budget is allotted to innovation and welfare in Dubai. Yes, innovation and welfare. And, do not confuse it with infrastructure, for which a substantial 17% is allotted separately. In other words, a total of 69% of the budget will be spent on innovation, welfare and infrastructure. In comparison, the Delhi budget has 35% towards educational infrastructure, facilities and welfare.

Admittedly, Delhi cannot be compared with Dubai. Delhi was established in the year 736; if one ignores the mention of Indraprastha in ancient epics. Dubai, on the other hand, would not be older than 200 years or so.

Delhi thrived on natural bounty – fertile land, Yamuna water and pleasant weather. Dubai started with desert, sea water, and hostile weather. In spite of having a head start and natural advantages, Delhi lost to Dubai. Be it law and order, power supply, garbage management, education, health services, quality of goods and services, improvements, freedom to practise religion and follow culture – Dubai is far superior than Delhi. Dubai has even a minister of happiness!

Think about it, and all the pointers lead towards superb governance. It was efficient governance that brought laurels to Singapore; and it is governance that is making the world treat Dubai with envy. I have not seen anyone leading a protest march or staging a dharna in Dubai, though almost every other face here is that of an Indian, largely from Kerala.

The contrast between Dubai and Delhi, and other Indian cities for that matter, can be closed if we stop misunderstanding democracy and misusing freedom. Freedom should not be to shirk work, seek bribe, damage property and hurt others. Can we practise such disciplined freedom in India? How will the politicians survive then?

When the Dream Shatters

As the Tamil Nadu chief minister J Jayalalithaa battles for life, police has been put on high alert to prevent the mass hysteria, should the tragedy occur. Suicides, arson, looting – there are no holds barred on the demise of popular figures these days. Prime minister Rajiv Gandhi justified the horrible carnage following the death of Mrs Indira Gandhi, declaring “when a big tree falls, the earth shakes”.

What does a person gain by committing suicide on the death of a popular figure? Why does he become so weak to end life at the death of a person with whom he presumably had no direct contact? And that too, when we carry on with our lives after the death of our closest relatives and friends?

The clue lies in the habit of blind idol worshipping. MK Gandhi insisted throughout his life that he was no saint but a politician; but his followers would have none of it. He was a ‘mahatma’, a great soul, for them. Atal Behari Vajpayee called Mrs Indira Gandhi ‘Durga’, a Hindu Goddess; MF Husain drew her as Durga in his painting; and the Congress President Dev Kant Barua said, “Indira is India and India is Indira”.

You can face very unpleasant consequences if you dare to  differ in opinion with Narendra Modi these days. Be prepared to be shouted out, heckled, or interrogated by the police if you voice an intelligent but different opinion. He, being the current rage, cannot do anything wrong, he is the ultimate authority on everything - believe his followers. They do not realise that Modi, being human, is as susceptible to committing errors as everybody else is. Modi has provided enough proofs of his vulnerability in his speeches. In spite of being a politician, he mistook the 16^th Lok Sabha as the 14^th; in spite of vying for the post of the prime minister he said that the rupee was equal to a dollar in 1947 whereas it was equal to 30 cents then; in spite of being a Gujarati and a BJP leader he assumed that the Bharatiya Jan Sangh founder Shyama Prasad Mookherjee was a proud  son of Gujarat and died in 1930 while actually Mr Mookherjee was a Bengali and died in 1953; he placed Chandra Gupta Maurya in the Gupta dynasty and not the Maurya dynasty; he announced that the August 15 speech is delivered from Lal Darwaza while it is actually delivered from the historical Lal Quila; and to top it all, he referred to the father of the nation Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi as Mohanlal Karamchand Gandhi.

Humans are humans. They commit errors. They become old, fade and die. The first superstar, Rajesh Khanna, was spotted crying at the Kolkata airport in his later years. Some Indian considered MK Gandhi not worthy of worship but of being felled by his bullet. Ditto with Mrs Gandhi. Her staunch followers turned against her. The Narendra Modi magic is also bound to end one day. But till that happens, the sycophants will butter their bread.

We can either groom the public figures as humans, and get the best of them for everyone’s welfare. Or, we can treat them as idols, worship them, and ultimately immerse them in water.