Friday, June 25, 2010

Nationally yours

Change is inevitable.
Without much further ado, here are a few things that should change about India keeping in mind our sensibilities.

  • National sport: Spitting-->Move over hockey. The new sport that's taken the nation by a storm is spitting.It's not just paan mind you, spitting saliva, spitting wrappers just about anything and everything. The golden rule being what is in must come out. Spit when you're bored, spit when you're not. All the road is a spitoon and all men (and women) are mere spits-men.(Mr. Shakespeare, please don't turn in your grave at this humble attempt of mine in trying to imitate your inimitable style). And remember to add sound effects when you spit, "Aaaaak-thoo" is the most common example. And a country that's obsessed with freebies, the bonus deal that it gets with this is free Tuberculosis and redder roads. Amazing right?!

  • National animal: Mosquitoes/ Houseflies-->Why have an animal of which only 1411 specimens are left, as your national animal and then go through all the humiliation of not being able to safeguard your national animal. Try conferring the coveted status to Mosquitoes or Houseflies. They're in abundance. You'll never have to face a crisis of fussing over how to save your national animal. And "Makkhi the club" sounds better than "Stripey the club" naa? And your new tagline could be 'Save the Makkhis-only 1411 billion left!'

  • National bird: Crows--> They're everywhere. I had to wait till I was 7 years old to see a peacock. But I'm sure I had seen a crow in the first week of my birth. And they work brilliantly as morning alarms, help is boosting the detergent sales (Read: bird shit) and making Ram Gopal Varma's movies seem slightly eerie. Way to go Crow! (Did that just rhyme?)

  • National language: Facebook/Orkut/Chat lingo--> Now with states having issues over the use of Hindi because it is way too "North-Indian" a language and with English being the language of the Queen and a mark of British superiority over us, the question arises as to what the national language should be. The answer is simple. "Dudes/Dudettes Y dun ya try da chat lingo. 'Tis Kewl nd u'll be kewler if u use it." And everybody all over the country knows it and none of our politicians will have a problem with it!

  • National anthem: Dhan te nan--> I've seen the lines of distress on people's faces when they're supposed to stand for the national anthem before the start of a movie. And before you hear the last 'Jaya He' people are already plonked back onto their seats. However, the Kaminey song can sure make them stand in respect (and sway a little too).

  • National flower: Cauliflower--> Why should lotus get the coveted status of being the national flower? Just because it's pretty, eh? Nobody, ever thought of the humble 'gobhi ka phool'. What would our Mother's ever do without it's versatile existence? I hear a kitchen crisis! Love it or loathe it, you're sure to have had it! :|

  • National song: Beedi jalaiyle--> A lot of people aren't even aware that Vande Mataram is our National song and the Sanskrit lyrics are way too complicated for most. So how does the prospect of Beedi Jalaiyle sound? Very hum-able song, nothing complicated about the lyrics, connects with the classes and masses alike AND everybody knows it already!

Disclaimer: For those who are a little slow, this post is intended to be sarcastic.




Saturday, June 12, 2010

My First Job That Lasted Four Days.

Your first job is always supposed to be special right? The one that you'll remember forever? My first job lasted 4 days. But I had experiences that I'll remember over a lifetime. They weren't very pleasant, mind you, but surely interesting anecdotes which I can narrate to my grandchildren.

I wont name lawyer who I interned with lest they file a defamation suit against me which will entitle me to end up in one of those shabby courtrooms again. So without taking any names, here it goes..

Oh, before we proceed here are a few Facebook status updates over the past few days:
  • If they made a movie about my day today it'll definitely be called 'Unhappy Feet'
  • Five courts in 3 days! Phew.
  • Its only been 4 days. I'm fed up of the monotony already!
  • Been to the most elite and shabbiest courtrooms. Lesson learnt: Never enter litigation
So as you would have guessed unless there's some serious disorientation happening in your grey matter, it wasn't a very enjoyable experience. My purpose of taking up the internship was that I'll learn a thing or two about law which I've been unable to learn inspite of studying in one of the renowned law schools of the country for two years. However, this was not to be.

So over the past few days I've done jobs ranging from that of an office boy(75%) to a secretary(10%) and an intern (5%). And by now, I know every nook and corner of the Bombay High Court. I'm wondering if I should become a guide in the chaotic court.

So, my first day involved me going to the High Court and meeting with the lawyer's junior. Let's call her Advocate SR. I was given a number by my ex-boss of 4 days and was told to call on the number and ask for his assistant. I dial the number and the caller tune that wafts out, brace yourself, is "We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year". Christmas and new year in the 2nd week of June! You must be kidding! Then this woman answers the phone in a strange accent and goes like "Hello Meidum, aap kaun bol rahe ho" Me: Uh, Hello, sir ne kaha hai aapse milne ko." SR: "Toh third floor pe aa jaaiye na meidum" (Left me wondering if main was dumb to land myself in this place). So then I go to the third floor, climbing about 4 dozen stairs puffing and panting only to realise that the weirdo wanted me to go down to the first floor to some courtroom.

I entered the courtroom and was almost jumping with joy on account of the fact that it was airconditioned. Little did I know that my happiness would be shortlived. She then tells me that we have other important work to do and we need to go to the third floor yet again. This time we could use the elevator. And as a random ice breaker I happened to ask her the name of the judge in the courtroom. She looks at me stunned. "Tumhe nahi pata!" "Tumhari community ka hi to hai". So I'm wondering how is it that a surd belongs to my community. "Oh, tum Punjabi nahi ho?" "Toh fir tum kya ho?" Me: "Err..Marwari" "Ohhhh Marwari, Gujju Ben huh?" Me: "Huh...Nahee..Rajasthan" "Marwaris are Rajasthanis also?"
So, now we reach the third floor finally and I get to meet my boss. A 45+ crescent bald, pudgy person reading a newspaper. Welcome. It's lunch time now.

The junior advocate enthusiastically showed me a 6ftX4ft room embellished with rusty lockers and dusty files where they had lunch everyday. I was convinced that I would die of asphyxiation by inhaling excessive dust. I survived to tell the tale. Then she told me as softly as she could that there were washrooms on the ground floor, first floor and third floor. Yes, as if the odour and signs weren't good indicators. But anyway, she was being courteous and kind I thought. Then as we go to the Bar Association Room she remarks about the fact how hot it is. And I go like "Yeah it is, you're sweating so much". Then she grunts while laughing though I never intended it to be a joke in the first place. The joke was being played on me all this while. Then I am told to take down a few dictations and type out a 10 page report and submit it by tomorrow. I take it in my stride, thinking this would have been the busiest first day in anyone's life. I back home. Happy. My feet were ridden with shoe-bites. And for once I was able to sympathise with Victoria Beckham for being able to wear those 5 inch heels. Mine were 3 inch BTW.
*End of day One*

Next day I was supposed to go to the Bombay City Civil Court (BCCC) and reach there at sharp 11 a.m. The only problem was I didn't know where the blessed place was. She told me to ask people about it. Anyone would know after all. And it was walking distance. So, I reach the High Court and ask one of the policemen deployed there where the BCCC was. I asked several policemen in succession. The only answer I got was "Pudhe" (which means 'ahead' in case you don't know). So after walking about 2 kilometres and encountering a dozen lawyers who looked like ciggy addicts, I reached the BCCC. Now, the problem with BCCC is that the place doesn't get any network. So unless you know beforehand where a person is there is no means by which you can find someone. After scouring 3 floors (on foot, mind you) I finally found her only to know that the work in the BCCC was complete and we were now required to go back to the High Court. Dude, WTF! So then I discovered a shortcut of going back to the High Court. The footpath was lined with coconut vendors and a bookseller who seemed to have second hand copies of every book I hadn't heard of. Now, on reaching the High Court, we were told to sit in a courtroom to keep a watch on the proceedings of the case of a certain elderly lady. After the 2 longest hours of my life, her case was taken up by the Honourable judge. Two minutes later, they realised that certain documents were missing, so the case had to be put up for hearing the next day. My job was to ask the 'Shirastidar' to let me have a look at the file submitted by the lawyers and allow me to take photocopies. Interesting, very interesting-Not! By now, it was 3 p.m. and my stomach had started groaning and protesting for lack of food. Who cares about the poor intern anyway? After getting the photocopies done, I was instructed to come to the Sessions court which mind you is in the same building as the BCCC. Again, it involved going through the shit laden footpaths accessorised with beggars, booksellers and unhygienic juice centres.
I reached the Sessions Court. Saw Justice ML Tahiliyani-yes the same person who handed over the death sentence to Kasab. Fascinating stuff. But my job was to go to court room no. 32 and find out to what date the case had been adjourned. I was told that the opposing party had gone to ask for a stay on the case. Another 1 hour wait in the sweltering heat of Mumbai city in a courtroom who's clerks were interested only in chewing 'gutka' When the opposing party finally came back, I was told something in a language I didnt understand. Had to wait for another half an hour to figure out what the adjourned date was. FML.
I came back to the High Court.By now I was sweating like a pig. The Junior tells me "Sangat ka asar hai, ab toh aapko bhi pasina aa raha hai". *khi khi khi* *grunt grunt*. I notice that there are more lawyers sitting with the boss. And the boss is sneezing like a maniac without as much of a courtesy as putting a handkerchief on his mouth. Rhinovirus inflitration. Arrrgh! A cold is the last thing I want in the sickly Bombay weather.
I was told that I had to go to the Metropolitan Magistrate's court the next day at this place called 'Bhoiwada'.I was supposed to meet the junior at the Elphinstone road station. Before leaving, the Junior again asked me whether I wanted to make a trip to the washroom before I leave. I said a polite no. Long day. It has started to get to me already. *Sigh*
*End of day Two*

It's a new day. I hope it goes fine. Bhoiwada court today. So I take a train to Elphinstone road station and wait there patiently for the Junior to come. She finally arrives and remarks how heavy her bag is and how there should be coolies on local train platforms. Yeah right. And you're the Queen of England. We get on to the pedestrian bridge only to realise that it has been flooded with mucky water. By now I was certain that Leptospirosis would never let go of this glorious opportunity. We finally got hold of a cab and asked him to take us to the court. A 10 minute journey later, we stop in front of this dilapidated building which had a HUGE 'No smoking' sign. On first look, it seemed like a rehab. It wasn't. We were greeted by a weird looking guy wearing a deep red but very evidently fake Abercrombie and Fitch shirt. I thought he was a pickpocket. I'm not kidding. So he guided us inside the court building. A flight of stairs leading to the court room on the second floor. The steps were made of wood and they would SHAKE! I was convinced that I was sure to make a hospital visit by the end of the day. Then, on finally reaching the 2nd floor, I realised the courtroom was no better. If only creams like Olay and Ponds could reverse the ageing signs of the courtroom. I could feel my lungs getting clogged with tonnes of dust while I patiently sat and observed the fans creaking irritably as they moved and the hundred LJ Soft calenders that adorned the walls which looked like pancake wearing off a hundred year old woman's face. Then, all of a sudden everyone rose and bowed in respect to a man who had red Henna dyed hair and seemed that he had just had a hundred pieces of betel nut. You guessed it right, he was indeed the Honourable Judge. After a series of monotonous statements made in Marathi which is like Greek to me by several lawyers, it was finally the turn of the Junior advocate to present her case. Thankfully, she spoke in English. All that she said was " We wish to present "hairs" on the next date of the proceeding". I was fascinated and started wondering if it involved some kind of DNA evidence-awesome stuff! But that was not it. She meant "heirs". Sigh. Next we were instructed to come to the High Court and eventually go to the sessions court.
My poor, poor feet.
Once we reached the High Court, this Junior again asked me whether I wanted to go to the loo and yet again I replied in negative. By now, she was extremely enamoured by my bladder's capacity. She looked at me so stunned that I feared her eyeballs may just pop out there.
I was later told to go to the Sewree court the following day. A place I had never heard of. So, I messaged and asked my friend the directions to reach that not so nice sounding place. My boss caught me messaging. Tells me that I should focus more on the work and less on the cell phone. Yeah right! All this coming from a dude who cribs a million times when someone calls him and on answering the phone would say "aur batao brother kaise call kiya".
*End of day three*

Next day, after about 10 Google searches I figured out a way to reach Sewree. By the time I reached Sewree station, my poor feet had been stamped over by atleast a dozen other ruthless feet. As soon as I step on the platform, I hear the familiar Psych theme song. Answer the call. It's my boss. He tells me that there's no point in going to Sewree because you don't have all the information and it'll be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Yes dude, didn't you realise that an hour back! "So now, Tanvi please go to the Bombay Small Causes Court near VT and look up for this case and then at 3 you need to go to this associate law firm and pick up a case brief". By now I had had enough. I had made up my mind that today would be the last day of my slavery. 10 photocopies, 5 trips up and down the stairs of the High Court and a few gyaan sessions later, I told him that I quit. Man! You should've seen his face! He just lost a servant who was working for free.
Excerpts from the gyaan session:
  • Tanvi, I suggest after you complete your law you should go abroad to do your masters. I've been to London. You can see yourself how much difference it makes.
  • I, alongwith 3-4 other lawyers in this bar association room have the most flourishing practice. Have you ever seen me read a newspaper? No. This is the sign of a really busy lawyer. The moment you see a lawyer reading a newspaper, you know he's out of work.
  • You have a good handwriting but I'm the handwriting champion.
  • What does your name mean? It doesn't have a meaning right? Sir, it does. Oh! All this while I thought it was a mere fashionable name.
Here's a quote from Grey's Anatomy that seemed so apt:
"You're interns, grunts, nobodies, bottom of the surgical food chain."
Only this was a legal food chain. Same situation.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Overheard.

I always wondered why beauty parlours were considered places for unwinding by so many women. I mean why subject yourself to so much physical (read: waxing, threading) and mental ( read: getting your precious tresses chopped and paying for it) pain for a few minutes of entertainment. And how would you be entertained, if at all.

Turns out my recent visit to the salon crushed my prejudices. It was hilarious to say the least.

So this elderly foreign national who has barely any hair (and the ones he did were longer than mine) is getting his hair shampooed. So this shop attendant who is a "bhaisaab tryna be mod" kinda fella with blonde streaks et all is busy massaging his head. And this is the little conversation they had.

Shop attendant (in a very weird accent basically an amalgamation of Hindi, Marathi and broken english) : Is it nice? (BTW the question mark wasnt that clear)
Firang (in a very firang accent) : Its lice?!! (he obviously didnt get the former's accent)
Shop attendent: Yes sir, its very nice! (he obviously DID not get the former's accent)
Firang (who again didn't understand this guy) : I've very lice!... Oh @#$&

{ By now the attendant was beaming with joy expecting a $10 tip and the firang was scratching his bald head vigorously}

After the shampoo was done:
Attendant: Sir, do you want mouse? (He meant mousse)
Firang (who heard it as louse): No why would I want it! Remove it! Get rid of it! Can you do something about it?
Attendant: Ok sir, Ill remove the mouse.
Firang (still hearing it as louse) : Thank you! Thank you so much!

In the meanwhile, I was trying hard to contain my laughter, lest my eyebrows get erased off! ;P

Friday, April 2, 2010

George Orwell' s Reflections on Gandhi

Saints should always be judged guilty until they are proved innocent, but the tests that have to be applied to them are not, of course, the same in all cases. In Gandhi's case the questions on feels inclined to ask are: to what extent was Gandhi moved by vanity — by the consciousness of himself as a humble, naked old man, sitting on a praying mat and shaking empires by sheer spiritual power — and to what extent did he compromise his own principles by entering politics, which of their nature are inseparable from coercion and fraud? To give a definite answer one would have to study Gandhi's acts and writings in immense detail, for his whole life was a sort of pilgrimage in which every act was significant. But this partial autobiography, which ends in the nineteen-twenties, is strong evidence in his favor, all the more because it covers what he would have called the unregenerate part of his life and reminds one that inside the saint, or near-saint, there was a very shrewd, able person who could, if he had chosen, have been a brilliant success as a lawyer, an administrator or perhaps even a businessman.

At about the time when the autobiography first appeared I remember reading its opening chapters in the ill-printed pages of some Indian newspaper. They made a good impression on me, which Gandhi himself at that time did not. The things that one associated with him — home-spun cloth, “soul forces” and vegetarianism — were unappealing, and his medievalist program was obviously not viable in a backward, starving, over-populated country. It was also apparent that the British were making use of him, or thought they were making use of him. Strictly speaking, as a Nationalist, he was an enemy, but since in every crisis he would exert himself to prevent violence — which, from the British point of view, meant preventing any effective action whatever — he could be regarded as “our man”. In private this was sometimes cynically admitted. The attitude of the Indian millionaires was similar. Gandhi called upon them to repent, and naturally they preferred him to the Socialists and Communists who, given the chance, would actually have taken their money away. How reliable such calculations are in the long run is doubtful; as Gandhi himself says, “in the end deceivers deceive only themselves”; but at any rate the gentleness with which he was nearly always handled was due partly to the feeling that he was useful. The British Conservatives only became really angry with him when, as in 1942, he was in effect turning his non-violence against a different conqueror.

But I could see even then that the British officials who spoke of him with a mixture of amusement and disapproval also genuinely liked and admired him, after a fashion. Nobody ever suggested that he was corrupt, or ambitious in any vulgar way, or that anything he did was actuated by fear or malice. In judging a man like Gandhi one seems instinctively to apply high standards, so that some of his virtues have passed almost unnoticed. For instance, it is clear even from the autobiography that his natural physical courage was quite outstanding: the manner of his death was a later illustration of this, for a public man who attached any value to his own skin would have been more adequately guarded. Again, he seems to have been quite free from that maniacal suspiciousness which, as E. M. Forster rightly says in A Passage to India, is the besetting Indian vice, as hypocrisy is the British vice. Although no doubt he was shrewd enough in detecting dishonesty, he seems wherever possible to have believed that other people were acting in good faith and had a better nature through which they could be approached. And though he came of a poor middle-class family, started life rather unfavorably, and was probably of unimpressive physical appearance, he was not afflicted by envy or by the feeling of inferiority. Color feeling when he first met it in its worst form in South Africa, seems rather to have astonished him. Even when he was fighting what was in effect a color war, he did not think of people in terms of race or status. The governor of a province, a cotton millionaire, a half-starved Dravidian coolie, a British private soldier were all equally human beings, to be approached in much the same way. It is noticeable that even in the worst possible circumstances, as in South Africa when he was making himself unpopular as the champion of the Indian community, he did not lack European friends.

Written in short lengths for newspaper serialization, the autobiography is not a literary masterpiece, but it is the more impressive because of the commonplaceness of much of its material. It is well to be reminded that Gandhi started out with the normal ambitions of a young Indian student and only adopted his extremist opinions by degrees and, in some cases, rather unwillingly. There was a time, it is interesting to learn, when he wore a top hat, took dancing lessons, studied French and Latin, went up the Eiffel Tower and even tried to learn the violin — all this was the idea of assimilating European civilization as throughly as possible. He was not one of those saints who are marked out by their phenomenal piety from childhood onwards, nor one of the other kind who forsake the world after sensational debaucheries. He makes full confession of the misdeeds of his youth, but in fact there is not much to confess. As a frontispiece to the book there is a photograph of Gandhi's possessions at the time of his death. The whole outfit could be purchased for about 5 pounds***, and Gandhi's sins, at least his fleshly sins, would make the same sort of appearance if placed all in one heap. A few cigarettes, a few mouthfuls of meat, a few annas pilfered in childhood from the maidservant, two visits to a brothel (on each occasion he got away without “doing anything”), one narrowly escaped lapse with his landlady in Plymouth, one outburst of temper — that is about the whole collection. Almost from childhood onwards he had a deep earnestness, an attitude ethical rather than religious, but, until he was about thirty, no very definite sense of direction. His first entry into anything describable as public life was made by way of vegetarianism. Underneath his less ordinary qualities one feels all the time the solid middle-class businessmen who were his ancestors. One feels that even after he had abandoned personal ambition he must have been a resourceful, energetic lawyer and a hard-headed political organizer, careful in keeping down expenses, an adroit handler of committees and an indefatigable chaser of subscriptions. His character was an extraordinarily mixed one, but there was almost nothing in it that you can put your finger on and call bad, and I believe that even Gandhi's worst enemies would admit that he was an interesting and unusual man who enriched the world simply by being alive . Whether he was also a lovable man, and whether his teachings can have much for those who do not accept the religious beliefs on which they are founded, I have never felt fully certain.

Of late years it has been the fashion to talk about Gandhi as though he were not only sympathetic to the Western Left-wing movement, but were integrally part of it. Anarchists and pacifists, in particular, have claimed him for their own, noticing only that he was opposed to centralism and State violence and ignoring the other-worldly, anti-humanist tendency of his doctrines. But one should, I think, realize that Gandhi's teachings cannot be squared with the belief that Man is the measure of all things and that our job is to make life worth living on this earth, which is the only earth we have. They make sense only on the assumption that God exists and that the world of solid objects is an illusion to be escaped from. It is worth considering the disciplines which Gandhi imposed on himself and which — though he might not insist on every one of his followers observing every detail — he considered indispensable if one wanted to serve either God or humanity. First of all, no meat-eating, and if possible no animal food in any form. (Gandhi himself, for the sake of his health, had to compromise on milk, but seems to have felt this to be a backsliding.) No alcohol or tobacco, and no spices or condiments even of a vegetable kind, since food should be taken not for its own sake but solely in order to preserve one's strength. Secondly, if possible, no sexual intercourse. If sexual intercourse must happen, then it should be for the sole purpose of begetting children and presumably at long intervals. Gandhi himself, in his middle thirties, took the vow of brahmacharya, which means not only complete chastity but the elimination of sexual desire. This condition, it seems, is difficult to attain without a special diet and frequent fasting. One of the dangers of milk-drinking is that it is apt to arouse sexual desire. And finally — this is the cardinal point — for the seeker after goodness there must be no close friendships and no exclusive loves whatever.

Close friendships, Gandhi says, are dangerous, because “friends react on one another” and through loyalty to a friend one can be led into wrong-doing. This is unquestionably true. Moreover, if one is to love God, or to love humanity as a whole, one cannot give one's preference to any individual person. This again is true, and it marks the point at which the humanistic and the religious attitude cease to be reconcilable. To an ordinary human being, love means nothing if it does not mean loving some people more than others. The autobiography leaves it uncertain whether Gandhi behaved in an inconsiderate way to his wife and children, but at any rate it makes clear that on three occasions he was willing to let his wife or a child die rather than administer the animal food prescribed by the doctor. It is true that the threatened death never actually occurred, and also that Gandhi — with, one gathers, a good deal of moral pressure in the opposite direction — always gave the patient the choice of staying alive at the price of committing a sin: still, if the decision had been solely his own, he would have forbidden the animal food, whatever the risks might be. There must, he says, be some limit to what we will do in order to remain alive, and the limit is well on this side of chicken broth. This attitude is perhaps a noble one, but, in the sense which — I think — most people would give to the word, it is inhuman. The essence of being human is that one does not seek perfection, that one is sometimes willing to commit sins for the sake of loyalty, that one does not push asceticism to the point where it makes friendly intercourse impossible, and that one is prepared in the end to be defeated and broken up by life, which is the inevitable price of fastening one's love upon other human individuals. No doubt alcohol, tobacco, and so forth, are things that a saint must avoid, but sainthood is also a thing that human beings must avoid. There is an obvious retort to this, but one should be wary about making it. In this yogi-ridden age, it is too readily assumed that “non-attachment” is not only better than a full acceptance of earthly life, but that the ordinary man only rejects it because it is too difficult: in other words, that the average human being is a failed saint. It is doubtful whether this is true. Many people genuinely do not wish to be saints, and it is probable that some who achieve or aspire to sainthood have never felt much temptation to be human beings. If one could follow it to its psychological roots, one would, I believe, find that the main motive for “non-attachment” is a desire to escape from the pain of living, and above all from love, which, sexual or non-sexual, is hard work. But it is not necessary here to argue whether the other-worldly or the humanistic ideal is “higher”. The point is that they are incompatible. One must choose between God and Man, and all “radicals” and “progressives”, from the mildest Liberal to the most extreme Anarchist, have in effect chosen Man.

However, Gandhi's pacifism can be separated to some extent from his other teachings. Its motive was religious, but he claimed also for it that it was a definitive technique, a method, capable of producing desired political results. Gandhi's attitude was not that of most Western pacifists. Satyagraha, first evolved in South Africa, was a sort of non-violent warfare, a way of defeating the enemy without hurting him and without feeling or arousing hatred. It entailed such things as civil disobedience, strikes, lying down in front of railway trains, enduring police charges without running away and without hitting back, and the like. Gandhi objected to “passive resistance” as a translation of Satyagraha: in Gujarati, it seems, the word means “firmness in the truth”. In his early days Gandhi served as a stretcher-bearer on the British side in the Boer War, and he was prepared to do the same again in the war of 1914-18. Even after he had completely abjured violence he was honest enough to see that in war it is usually necessary to take sides. He did not — indeed, since his whole political life centred round a struggle for national independence, he could not — take the sterile and dishonest line of pretending that in every war both sides are exactly the same and it makes no difference who wins. Nor did he, like most Western pacifists, specialize in avoiding awkward questions. In relation to the late war, one question that every pacifist had a clear obligation to answer was: “What about the Jews? Are you prepared to see them exterminated? If not, how do you propose to save them without resorting to war?” I must say that I have never heard, from any Western pacifist, an honest answer to this question, though I have heard plenty of evasions, usually of the “you're another” type. But it so happens that Gandhi was asked a somewhat similar question in 1938 and that his answer is on record in Mr. Louis Fischer's Gandhi and Stalin. According to Mr. Fischer, Gandhi's view was that the German Jews ought to commit collective suicide, which “would have aroused the world and the people of Germany to Hitler's violence.” After the war he justified himself: the Jews had been killed anyway, and might as well have died significantly. One has the impression that this attitude staggered even so warm an admirer as Mr. Fischer, but Gandhi was merely being honest. If you are not prepared to take life, you must often be prepared for lives to be lost in some other way. When, in 1942, he urged non-violent resistance against a Japanese invasion, he was ready to admit that it might cost several million deaths.

At the same time there is reason to think that Gandhi, who after all was born in 1869, did not understand the nature of totalitarianism and saw everything in terms of his own struggle against the British government. The important point here is not so much that the British treated him forbearingly as that he was always able to command publicity. As can be seen from the phrase quoted above, he believed in “arousing the world”, which is only possible if the world gets a chance to hear what you are doing. It is difficult to see how Gandhi's methods could be applied in a country where opponents of the regime disappear in the middle of the night and are never heard of again. Without a free press and the right of assembly, it is impossible not merely to appeal to outside opinion, but to bring a mass movement into being, or even to make your intentions known to your adversary. Is there a Gandhi in Russia at this moment? And if there is, what is he accomplishing? The Russian masses could only practise civil disobedience if the same idea happened to occur to all of them simultaneously, and even then, to judge by the history of the Ukraine famine, it would make no difference. But let it be granted that non-violent resistance can be effective against one's own government, or against an occupying power: even so, how does one put it into practise internationally? Gandhi's various conflicting statements on the late war seem to show that he felt the difficulty of this. Applied to foreign politics, pacifism either stops being pacifist or becomes appeasement. Moreover the assumption, which served Gandhi so well in dealing with individuals, that all human beings are more or less approachable and will respond to a generous gesture, needs to be seriously questioned. It is not necessarily true, for example, when you are dealing with lunatics. Then the question becomes: Who is sane? Was Hitler sane? And is it not possible for one whole culture to be insane by the standards of another? And, so far as one can gauge the feelings of whole nations, is there any apparent connection between a generous deed and a friendly response? Is gratitude a factor in international politics?

These and kindred questions need discussion, and need it urgently, in the few years left to us before somebody presses the button and the rockets begin to fly. It seems doubtful whether civilization can stand another major war, and it is at least thinkable that the way out lies through non-violence. It is Gandhi's virtue that he would have been ready to give honest consideration to the kind of question that I have raised above; and, indeed, he probably did discuss most of these questions somewhere or other in his innumerable newspaper articles. One feels of him that there was much he did not understand, but not that there was anything that he was frightened of saying or thinking. I have never been able to feel much liking for Gandhi, but I do not feel sure that as a political thinker he was wrong in the main, nor do I believe that his life was a failure. It is curious that when he was assassinated, many of his warmest admirers exclaimed sorrowfully that he had lived just long enough to see his life work in ruins, because India was engaged in a civil war which had always been foreseen as one of the byproducts of the transfer of power. But it was not in trying to smooth down Hindu-Moslem rivalry that Gandhi had spent his life. His main political objective, the peaceful ending of British rule, had after all been attained. As usual the relevant facts cut across one another. On the other hand, the British did get out of India without fighting, and event which very few observers indeed would have predicted until about a year before it happened. On the other hand, this was done by a Labour government, and it is certain that a Conservative government, especially a government headed by Churchill, would have acted differently. But if, by 1945, there had grown up in Britain a large body of opinion sympathetic to Indian independence, how far was this due to Gandhi's personal influence? And if, as may happen, India and Britain finally settle down into a decent and friendly relationship, will this be partly because Gandhi, by keeping up his struggle obstinately and without hatred, disinfected the political air? That one even thinks of asking such questions indicates his stature. One may feel, as I do, a sort of aesthetic distaste for Gandhi, one may reject the claims of sainthood made on his behalf (he never made any such claim himself, by the way), one may also reject sainthood as an ideal and therefore feel that Gandhi's basic aims were anti-human and reactionary: but regarded simply as a politician, and compared with the other leading political figures of our time, how clean a smell he has managed to leave behind!

1949

THE END


Disclaimer: The essay above echoes the thoughts of one of my favourite writers, George Orwell. It does not reflect my thoughts in any way but it sure does strike a chord with my sensibilities. I have never held "The Father of the Nation" in very high esteem. There is no doubt about the fact that he did help us do away with the British but to some extent I have always felt that he just happened to be at the right places at the right times and his gimmicks if I may dare say so seemed to work.He was sure blessed with sharp wit and the ability to exploit the sensibilities of Indians at that point of time. Mr. Gandhi, I feel would've made a brilliant Management teacher to say the least.

Peace.



Tuesday, March 30, 2010

A few Reminiscences

I've changed 6 schools in my lifetime as a school girl. The major transitions were brought about when I moved from Lucknow to Mumbai (wherein I changed 3 schools). I was never a very loud person though I was pretty much vocal about things I felt strongly about but it would take a great deal of effort to ruffle me up but in case you could that would probably be the end of you and I would hate you for the rest of my life and beyond. But when it came to things I was excited about, I would literally shout out from the rooftops so that the whole neighbourhood would know.
Then I was enrolled in a Convent school for the 8th, 9th and 10th standard. It was an academic institution but turns out that it was a secret finishing school too. So eventually we were taught to be more "ladylike" in our manners and behaviour. Be unruffled at all times, sit in a particular way, talk in a particular way, walk in a particular way and so on. Young ladies are expected to be mild in their manners and speak politely and softly.
So when I moved to a somewhat boisterous institution for my +2 I was initially taken aback by the kind of crowd. Needless to say I was on a different tangent altogether. There were times I wanted to run away from school. Little did I know that I would find my best friends for life here and would want time to freeze 2 years later.
The awesomeness of school life is that you are friends with people for who they are and not what they have and that is something you realise only when you enter college. I wouldnt mind trading the excess freedom I have now to go back to school.
Also, never in my life did I ever think I would miss my days of being a school girl. I do!

Friday, February 12, 2010

News 24x7

Don’t you miss the days of the good ol’ Doordarshan when there was something for each member of the family? The days when the Idiot Box wasn’t so idiotic after all because it treated information and entertainment as two separate entities?

With the advent of the new decade and the word ‘Infotainment’ being added to our vocabulary list. It is a mighty dangerous word if I may say so and it has hit the news channels hard! There seems to be skewed ratio in terms of the information and entertainment we get out of the 24X7 news on our television sets with the latter taking predominance. So we have the breaking news ticker beaming about how a famous celebrity couple broke up or why the elephant crossed the railway tracks in Honululu. And our daily soaps are not limited to the entertainment channels that broadcast them, the sob story of a family with a million relatives moves on to the primetime news as well. In the race for TRPs they’d rather show the misfortune of a fictitious family than focus on the plight of the people.

In the race to catch a billion eyeballs the news channels will now sensationalise the most trivial of issues and with sting operations in order everything just seems to be haphazard and well out of order. They feature everything right from warning you about your seemingly innocent neighbour who might turn out to be your murderer to a panel of socialites who discuss poverty alleviation in the country to spreading panic on finding an unclaimed bag in a public place.

In times when there is much happening around us we do need to stay updated. News 24X7 sure provided you the convenience of time but where is the real deal?

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Suckers!

I have always had a special disliking for Class Insecta and Class Reptilia. I haven't been really able to choose though which out of the two I hate more. On one hand it is the creepy crawlies and on the other hand there are slithery slimy creatures.
However, class insecta attracts special hatred because of the tiny little creatures that wreak havoc in my life. I feel class Insecta was created by Nature to see to it that class Mammalia doesn't get all the peace of mind it deserves. So while the poor cows caked in their own shit( well that's how I've seen them) struggle to keep flies away by whipping their tail in every possible direction, the poor stray dog has to roll on his back to soothe his tick and mite itch (thank god for the rough roads of the country) and though you may tend to refer to Homosapiens as the smartest of the lot they aren't smart enough to escape the blood suckers of Insecta. Inspite of killing gazillions their population never seems to turn extinct.
And they attack you from all quarters just the way they show it in the Mortien and Good Knight ads except for the fact that the machine seems to work only on animated mosquitoes and not the real ones. Probably they should write 'Machharon ka khatma' *conditions apply.
Mosquitoes are probably the only creatures which will neither let you sleep nor stay awake.
As for me its ab tak chhapan..the count is on!