The Ground Reality of Khaps

 

Every community in India has its own type of social organization. Minority religions have their unique systems regarding marriage, divorce, etc. These are so unique that some of them are even beyond the reach of civil and marriage acts in the constitution. It means the Indian constitution allows diversity of culture and thought. The Khaps should basically be analyzed with a belief in this very concept. If so many distinct customs of marriage, divorce, property rights, which are even in stark contrast to other uniform laws in India, are allowed then why are khap panchayats judged with an exceptional, exclusive judgmental hammer ignoring so many unique cultural traits they define and defend regarding the Jat community. We have to understand that these are basically units of social organizations just like any other community in India and having its own utility and flaws.

 

Those who sit in the studios and blabber about the issue of honour killings should come out and see the ground realities related to honour killings. Ask the family where such incidences have taken place. They will tell it was the fear of getting marginalized by the mainstream society and the fear of stigma that drove them into the gruesome act. There have not been outright cases where the Khaps ordain honour killings. There have been some incidences when some injunctions cutting individual freedom were unfortunately ordained from the Khap chabutra, but in those cases it happens when things somehow reach the larger domain of the community and get politically motivated. In such cases these criminal acts need to be punished as per the law of the land. Don’t individuals commit murders? Does that mean that all of us should be put under scanner for being possible murders? Every individual, every institution in the domain of social, economic and political framework has its own versions of criminal acts. Does that mean that we should raise questions about their existence itself? Civilization thrives on reformation, not termination. Even the Britishers thought of reforming so many unique customs instead of gross termination.

 

Right from the Muslims to the people in down south, marriage customs are different in India. If Khaps have a stand against same gotra marriages then what is wrong with that? Genetically it has been proved that the more you move away from the genetic line of your parentage, the better are the offsprings. On what grounds we get judgmental? From the yardsticks of Hindu marriage customs, some customs related to certain communities will appear unacceptable. So just targeting a particular community regarding its marriage customs does not sound prudent and justified.

 

The biggest undoing with Khaps has been their spokesmen! Jats are basically farmers and count very low when it comes to being diplomatically correct. If put prudently even a slap may sound like a logical act born of some justified grievance. And if not put appropriately, even a justified act may appear like a gruesome act. That’s what Khap leaders have done to their system. Their ill-calculated statements regarding reduction of marriage age to cut down on rape, not allowing women to use mobile, codes regarding dress, etc., have brought ill-repute to Khaps. On the practical surface there is hardly any negative change in the lives of the girls and the women on account of such instructions, but yes after getting overhyped in the media Khaps sound like Taliban ever trying to enslave women. Before getting panicked whenever there is such an injunction by some Khap, kindly visit the respective areas and find out if there is a change in the lives of women. You would not find any perceptible change. But yes Khaps will definitely get demonized. Khaps become just self-injurious in such matters. It happens just once in a while when some old patriarch of the headgear generation gets panicked possibly on ulterior grounds and ordains something funny which does not have any effect on the ground level. So Khaps should have diplomatically correct and educated people as their spokesmen who know what they are saying and what might be the consequences.

 

If we just strictly look from the prism of modernity then most of the unique aspects of different communities will appear redundant. We are here to preserve distinctness, not to smother down diversity. Doing that just against Khaps does not sound like treating Jats equally with other communities in India. So many customs and ways of life related to many other communities also repeatedly rub against the shoulders of law. So reformation is the key objective, not annihilation. In this regard Supreme Court’s observations on Khaps appear unjustified.

 

Every social system having historical roots has and will serve a role. So to say that Khaps have become redundant is quite farcical. Khaps are passing through a generational shift. The old patriarchs still clinging to its top leadership sometimes over buzz the panic button. It has to be understood that many things that are happening are beyond their imagination. So the reaction! But most of the times their reaction has not any effect at the practical level. Once this generation bows out, brighter young people who are more educated will take charge of Khaps. We have to facilitate this generational shift in Khap leadership instead of tabooing them the Taliban way,

 

Peacock, the Beggar

 

The fields around my village are splashing with as much green paddy as possible. Monsoonal sun across the corners of the flying lumps of clouds gives the best glimpses of nature's bounty. But the travelling shadows also try to cover up silent, invisible man-made tragedies. Driven by intensive agriculture, born of costly inputs and decreasing landholdings, the farmers just mindlessly dump poison in all forms of pesticides, weedicides and insecticides. So this lush green is a merciless stroke of brush on the canvas of nature, swiping away the natural world of many insects, worms, reptiles and rodents that make nature holistic and encompassing in its game of give and take across the food chains. So guys, it’s just green paddy and the poisoned soil below.

 

Peacocks thrive on insects in the fields. All insects gone to the killing effects of the agro-chemicals, where would the foodless poor peacocks go? A peacock's plumage swinging to gentle breeze in open surroundings of the countryside is a treat, and we were lucky to witness it so many times during our childhood. Now the last or second last generation of these destitutes, who rarely get an insect in the fields, has descended in the village. An irony: the poison giver is somehow better than the poison itself, at least in the short turn. In the foliage of neem and acacia trees, they just pew out their miseries. To the infants and younger lot it still gives a chance to get them acquainted with the national bird's sound, and of course help them in learning the initials of human language.

 

My mom has an almost regular bird visitor, who perches upon the neem in our courtyard and pews out its begging song as if pleading, ‘Mai Roti do!!' While she dispenses her routine chores across the yard, it continues to draw her attention. Roti delayed, it is forced to descend and enter the inner reaches of the house just to make its presence felt through its luxuriant plumage. Once the roti is put in small pieces before it, it has to chuck up the offerings as fast as possible because crows line up in their accusing harsh tones, blaming it for being a transgressor who has infringed upon their rights. Crows are very clever. Some of them get behind its plumage and take a pick at its feathers to distract it. One defensive look behind and a few pieces stolen by the other crows waiting in the wings. I call it the 'beggar peacock', my mother does not like the title though.

 

If that is the fate of the national bird, it’s hard to imagine the condition of others. Looking at this marvel of nature, whom mom sometimes accuses of being 'namakharam'--when it comes without its plumage, all the feathers having been shed somewhere, and mom cursing it for being so mindless to waste them somewhere and not shed them in the courtyard--I just feel sad on account of the fact that may be it is the last or at the most second last in its lineage!!!  

 

 

My Friend Peelu

 

Weekends in the village are sort of rejuvenating moments. These are fast changing times. But village and villagers still hold onto lot of the so called outdated, traditional stuff which is both exciting and objectionable at the same time.

 

There is this street dog named 'peelu' that is getting stronger on collective offerings at various doorsteps. It belongs to all and to nobody at the same time. It will acknowledge your acquaintance by swaying its tail as you pass through the street and barks through the nights as the unofficial watchman of the area.

 

Soaked in weekend spirits, I decided to have a stroll by the village pond and the loyal animal, its tail taut as a mark of respect and loyalty, followed me to this village-side bunch-grass and shrubbery dotting the pond's shoreline. There was this donkey, medium built and really docile looking that caught my attention. A village is a village. I can recall so many moments from childhood when we had rides on donkey backs, held them by ears, sometimes three boys riding the same poor thing. Those reflections caught hold of me. There was this innocently rascal urge to hold this innocuous being by ears and go for a ride. There is always a child in us after all.

 

I tried to approach as harmlessly as possible. But just as my fingertips said hello to the animal's ears, it got unjustifiably offended. After all it’s the duty of a donkey to carry load man. But like most of us forgetting duties, it started flailing its legs in four directions. Panicked I took an evasive leap. This is where the dog decided to intervene from my side. Peelu, the carrier of this tag of being man's best friend from ancient times, gave a few more twists to the emblem of its bravery and loyalty, its tail, and attacked.

 

One simple fact: One should not reach the flailing range of a donkey legs from behind, even if you are a lion. The effort will award you with at least a broken jaw or rib. But then overzealous Peelu had to prove that he is worth all the chapattis we offer him. These are bad times man. Loyalty fetches you many bruises and few trophies. The poor thing got a good shot in its flanks. The impact found it rolling on ground. Then boy O boy, all the ideological stuff out of its brain, it ran at unheard of speed, its tail between legs, and whining that sounded more cursing me rather than the donkey.

 

'Peelu you idiot, how can you leave a friend in lurch like this!' I felt like shouting from behind. But it had forgotten everything. Just vanished out of sight. From a distance I said sorry to the offended animal. Man these are the days of empowerment across species. Gone are the days of those rightless, mute, uncomplaining animals of the past who gave us some of the best moments of our childhood. 'Sorry boss, this craving to ride your back without your permission was illegal and you are within your rights to create repercussions of that sort!' I said from a distance. It snorted and gave me angry, offended looks. I increased the distance between us lest it should carry the notion of justice too far and set after me.

 

Back in the village I saw my run-away friend. It limped and walked with its tail free to hang in any direction. 'Peelu how are you!' I said. It did not mind me too much now. Just turned its head a bit in my direction and simply walked away as if it was no longer interested in such risky friendships. 'But a friend in need is a friend indeed!' I thought of saying it loud and make it more bearable for him. But my friend was already out of sight. Bad days, very difficult to keep friendships alive.     

 

 

The Dragon will Eat Dust in WW III

 

In a hostel he stayed in Delhi for his civil services preparations, he came to be called as bada bhai by many IIT and medical aspirants preparing for their entrance exams. All of them were normal boys having pleasant mix of vulnerabilities and directionless strengths as conditioned by their teen years. But one chap stood out as Godzilla. It was not just on account of his size, for there were definitely some others who may also have been christened similarly if only size was the only criterion. What made him the common enemy was his arrogance and his effort to portray himself as the exceptionally powerful for the ordinary bunch of schoolboys around. He had a strange swagger in his walk that cried, ‘It’s between you and me!’ So guys it became an issue between one versus many. Confrontation was inevitable. One night many smaller ones pounced upon the hated Godzilla. War cry was: ‘Maro saale Godzilla ko!’ It resulted in—as it always happens in a conflict between one versus many (or few versus many)—a terrible defeat and consequent loss of face for the giant.

 

Guys, moral of the story is clear: Thousands of nice acts of civility and good behaviour may not fetch you even a single genuine friend, but an act of arrogance and aggression is definitely bound to fetch you many enemies. There have been WW I and WW II. The trigger point was the power going astray in some aggressive form of nationalism that puffed out belligerent winds in four directions. Aggression wins you very selected friends. So in both world wars, the so called axis powers had lesser parties to their boasting kitty and the so called allied powers were able to muster up the support of many nations across the world. Whatever may be the amount of bloodbath, the result inevitably has to be in favour of the allied powers, like it happened in both world wars. The fireball escaping its burning guts is ultimately bound to douse the genie. Moreover, the leadership of the allied powers earns the right to take world leadership.

 

China is going much on the pattern of axis powers presently. Its inflated sense of chronic nationalism has made it blind to the bitter facts of the previous world wars. The way dragon is hissing fire around it has all the potential to trigger a third world war. But believe it, Chinese missiles and bullets might taste enemy blood in all the nooks and corners of this world, but its defeat is inevitable and ordained by the laws that governed the first two world wars. What Hitler let out through his individual manic personality, the Chinese leadership is doing it collectively. Result: They have all enemies in its neighbourhood and across the world. In South Asian context, only a failed state can be counted as its real ally. If by dumping cheap exports in poor African countries, Chinese leadership has come to believe that it has dozens of allies, then it’s a gross miscalculation of strategic facts. By crossing all the limits of diplomatic niceties vis-à-vis India through claiming vast Indian territories as its own, it has taken its art of statecraft 70 year back to the Nazi era. By stepping on the toes of smaller nations around South China Sea, it has created a sort of one versus many situation. If there is a WW III, it must be believed that the Chinese fate cannot under any circumstances be better than the belligerent axis powers.

 

In cooperation with America, India can play a great role in this coalition of forces against the arrogant and blinded-by-power Godzilla and beat it like those smaller boys beat the bully who ran down the stairs utterly terrified and may be even pissed in its pants. Every Chinese act of belligerence driven by madly chronic, expansive nationalism is going to earn it more and more enemies. USA beat Russia in Cold War because there was NATO. It never trumpeted its status as the sole decider of world’s destiny, even though it could have done so. It always kept many allies to its side, even though they played a marginal part in its campaigns. It was symbolic support, far weightier than the coldly indifferent and aloof substance on the Soviet side. So China can carry on with its enemy-making juggernaut, the Indians will meanwhile cooperate with the Americans and China’s ever-longer list of enemies to beat the Mickey out of the Chinese in the possible WW III.

 

 

Was Indo-China 1962 Confrontation in Fact a War?

 

The retired brigadier’s eyes light up with action as the topic of Indo-China war is raised. As a 20-year-old second lieutenant he had led his team of Gurkhas in face-to-face and hand-to-hand fight with the Chinese around the Gurung Hill in the Western Sector. It was late November in 1962 and his memory captures the scenes 50-year-back like he remembers this morning breakfast. They had fought bravely unmindful of the shortage in man and material. The Gurkha Jemadar had fought with his khukri to save his life and was shot in the chest. The young second lieutenant survived but not before having a full experience of the events and happenings, when Indian soldiers’ bravery fell short before a weak political leadership and tremendous shortage of weapons. After that he had done well in the army, having done PhD in military science and retiring as Brigadier, a very impressive rank. He was now writing for a defense research website. As a first hand witness to the action he always had his own opinion hammered down on the brutal and bloody anvil of his own experience. Writing for the latest issue of the online magazine he had definitely raised a few eyebrows.  

 

We lost the war to China in 1962. Was it worthy of being analysed as a war? And put up such Himalayan psychological, defeatist dab on our young and exultant sense of nationalism? ‘War’ is unjustifiably too big an expression for these basically poorly planned skirmishes in the barren Himalayan terrain, where hardcore war strategies and ironclad nationalism melted into the anonymous mists of those far-fetched undefined barren territories. We had no plan at all, except the vague idea about our boundary lines. They had a stronger idea about what they thought belonged to them. It was merely a school-boyish mad rush into uninhabited wilderness to find some larger meanings which no side had a definite idea about. So the anecdotes are full of chance skirmishes, futile bravados and disproportionate hoopla about the proportions of battle engagements.

 

As a newly independent country, we accepted the word 'war' to qualify on the scale of capability to defend the new-found sovereignty and territories. This mere acceptance of the expression 'war' for those rudimentary childish pursuits in the wild snowy trails has done us more psychological and historical harm than the real casualties on the battle field. The stage was too hazy and distant. In the wide nook and corners of India, we grew up with this massive war defeat scar that was in fact in terrible disproportion to the scale of real operations. Admitted, China rushed in to grab a considerable proportion of the territories in Aksai Chin where our claim of ownership was just stamped by symbolic patrols and traditional belief. But losing a chunk of land over which we never had the time and capability to fully stamp our ownership, does no justice to the fact of accepting some free runs in barren lands as a humiliating defeat in a full-scale war. We just lost a few not so pitched battles, that’s all! We ourselves get hyper about the word 'war' to somehow exaggerate the scale of military operations (we as the defendants of our territories and Chinese as the greedy grabbers) to legalize our victimhood and their crime act. And for this we just accept the insulting defeat in a bloody war.

 

More than fifty years on, what is the ground position in the actually held territories? We have all the reasons to smile and give ourselves a pat on the back and bury that scar, even if it means with a cosmetic sense of belated belief. The strength of any military unit is directly proportional to its real-life practice in the field. In mountain warfare we far outdo China. Thanks to Messer Pakistan and Co. we have been busy in mountain warfare for more than six decades. When you are fighting against the invisible enemy and try to keep your humanitarian records clean as well, it really gives you the bloodiest war drills. It has been going on against insurgencies at both the Eastern and Western fronts in the toughest Himalayan terrains. It has been at tremendous costs at the man and material fronts. But believe me it has put our forces through such fiery experiences that it can be really counted as one of the most battle-worthy force in mountainous regions.

 

Chinese military bragging meanwhile has been limited to nationalist gung-ho, hoopla and technological innovations. But there is a great difference between getting starry eyed over a new warfare gadget and getting into the real mess of a bloody situation where you have to kill the hidden enemy, spare you people and keep the thing of law in your mind in the snowy heights. We are a far superior military force, on account of our constant real-life drills, in the terrain that are in dispute with China.

 

Indian Navy still scores over China. It is not about having the biggest dagger in the world. What matters is that your dagger should be just long enough to reach the enemy’s heart and you should have, first, the intention, and second, the strength to push it that deep. I mean the nukes! Equipped with this deterrence, we are logically capable of engaging Chinese in--both limited and not-so-limited--conventional mountain warfare. We have invested so much money into air warfare equipments, at the cost of depriving millions of people of basic amenities of life. However, it at the minimum gives us all the reasons to practically maintain our supply chains in the toughest terrain. So Indians forget about a few skirmishes lost to China in 1962 and be optimistic about future.  

 

 

Rabbit can Beat Cobra!

 

Rabbit can beat Cobra! Yes, it is possible! Provided the rabbit gives only that much against the cobra as it would give in a deadly fight against a fellow rabbit for the girl rabbit. The crux of the matter is: All routine results and consequences are born of the meek acceptance of certain facts, i.e., a rabbit has to die or run away while faced against a snake. Even the snake attacks a rabbit under the instinctive presupposition that the rabbit has to get scared and get defeated. The rabbit on its part is most of the times driven to the extent of heart failure at the sight of a snake. But oddity is a great maker for the one and breaker for the other. If the blind supposition of certain cause and effect phenomenon is put to rest to test another angle of reality, it might give miraculous outcomes.

 

I saw a documentary in which these roles were turned topsy-turvy by the characters. A snake attacked a rabbit in a field. At the first strike the rabbit jumped back. Conventionally the snake should have been running after the scared creature, but the latter struck back. It was sufficient to break the snake's surety about the weaker status of the rabbit. It went on back foot. After this it was a sheer comedy. The big snake was running for life, while the brave rabbit was jumping at its tail all the way.

 

Moral of the story is: If despite being bothered about what lies in our face, we just give as much as in the face of some equal opponent, we can turn the tables on mightily weightier people, animals, situations and problems. The condition is just this: We have to give our best shot irrespective of the status of what confronts us.

 

Following the same principle a brave girl was seen heartfully slapping a fierce looking rascal. Believe me I have never seen such plain, hard slapping in real life! The rascal just did some mischief under the presumption that this rosy creature will not be in a fighting position against his rowdy appearance and he will go scot free even after infringing on her modesty. Unfortunately, this is what normally happens in real life. So the idiot was driven into misadventure by this blind presupposition. But man what repercussions! The brave lady just gave her best as she would have given against a fellow girl in a catfight. Amazing! He just stood spellbound under the shower of her slaps. It was just like watching a stony man being slapped effortlessly. Man, he was not even raising his hands to save his imperilled cheeks. Almost hypnotized! It was a great fun though!

 

 

We are the Beggary Owners with Leftovers

 

He is in his early eighties now. Robust old man! Definitely a sort of achiever at the property front! More so against the fact that when he and his family escaped from the blooded Pakistani soil at the partition time, after losing loved ones and all their property, they were even poorer than beggars. He started earning for the family at the tender age of 8 only. Then graduated onto become a truck driver and ultimately a transporter possessing his own truck.

 

His struggles took him to all corners of the country in all types of circumstances. I asked him about the guiding philosophies in his life. There was a light in his old, dim eyes and he peeped deep into the past for guidance: 'This fellow trucker of ours was really poor. All his worth was invested in this old, rickety truck. We were going in a convoy in the north east. His vehicle was carrying jaggery. The vehicle got toppled into a hole. It was damaged and the jaggery lay scattered all over the place. Fortunately he and his helper boy came out with bruised skin. But I knew he was carrying bigger scars in his heart because that truck was all he had in the name of property. We were just afraid how he will react to it. In fact we were almost speechless so far as paying lip service is concerned.’

 

‘He just sat on a stone piece and cast a sad look at the damaged truck. In a very normal tone he called his helper, "Oye yaar jo hona tha ho gaya. Ab rone ka kya fayada. Bhookh lagi hai puttar. (Whatever had to happen has happened. Crying won’t help. Son I’m hungry). Bring me some lumps of jaggery and water. Bad ki bad me sochenge. Pahle bhojan to kar le (We will think about future later, first let’s eat)." Saying this he invited all of us into the feast as well. All of us had our heartful lunch from the scattered provisions and claimed our parts, the one that really belonged to us...the one in our stomach. ' That old time episode still seems to light up his dimly lit path in the old age.

 

This is what is all about life buddy. It is no use crying over the spilt milk. We have to ensure that the show continues. Whatever is left after a storm is truly what belongs to us. We have to proceed with the journey with the depleted resources. Well, a journey is after all a journey fella! It is not justified that we expect all the pomp, show and regalia to accompany us till the end. Like Irfaan Khaan playacting Pan Singh Tomar said in the movie based on the Chambal athlete’s life: 'One has to complete the race! Winning and losing does not matter. All we can do is just try to reach the finish line!'

Idea Conceived, Deliver a Healthy Baby Now

 

Almost 90 per cent of the ideas entering the brains of normally sane people are practical to a highly decent degree. It’s just to be human to think and contrive scores of ways and means to achieve our means. As per the ‘survival of the fittest’ theory, our brains try to equip us with best defence mechanisms through activities, plans, schemes and strategies. The result is a big bustling bazaar of practical ideas.

 

However, millions of practical ideas die in brains, being kicked in the womb by the forces of indifference, negligence, lack of confidence, etc. It’s not an accidental miscarriage. It’s simply stabbing the ideas in the womb with the knives of self-doubt, ignorance and complacency. It’s an unseen, unproveable sin. And we commit dozens of such since almost daily. Here I must emphasise that by practical ideas I mean legally and socially permitted ideas, not the dubious and nefarious ones that result in loss to others even though they fetch some gain to the doer. 

 

Believe me a sane idea in a normal brain is just like a ball kept at the table top of a mountain. It just needs a beginning push, just enough to allow it to cross the level ground and reach the margin where the slope starts. After that it is bound to roll downhill under the gravitational forces born of your starting effort, other constituents in your scheme, various correlated fates and efforts, etc., etc. The ball of your system will just roll down buddy. So prove only this much that you have decently workable legs having at least that much strength as required to move a stationary football. Kick the standstill ball on a small plain in your brain.  Just give it a deft touch by conceiving an idea, use a mild kick to start the process of generation and you set the system rolling gently. See carefully through the time of the pregnancy and see yourself deliver a healthy baby scheme.

 

 

The Common Story of a Common Man

 

Jaipal is around 45 but looks an old man of 60. Hair beaten by all types of winds; teeth gone in munching the stones that life has to offer; facial features roughed off like furious desert storms hitting against a lifeless rock face for years. Life has very little to offer to this daily wage earner from my neighbouring village. Still he gives best to the society around; makes this darkening world a little brighter with his self-motivated commitment for the labour tasks at hand.

His friends call him 'Tihadi', i.e., the one who has been to the notorious jail in Delhi. But as you watch this bony figure heaving massive pulls at the conscience-lorn rope at the worksite, you don’t find any justification for the title. Well, the famed Indian justice system mostly catches the smallest fish and allows the whales a safe passage. He was caught ticketless in a local passenger train to Delhi. Fine was to the tune of 500 rupees. 'But my whole being is not even worth that much!' he pleaded before the checking squad. So he landed up in Tihar jail to earn the nickname. The babus made him do a hard labour to earn his roti and dal. There was no encashment for his fruitless work, of course. Unconcerned now, he stretches out every sinew of his frail body to make my world better at the construction site.

 

For the marriage of his eldest daughter he had pooled almost his life-long earnings, and put them in his hovel. There was a fire and his 60,000 rupees turned to ashes. But then sometimes people get sentimental; thus many came forward with a hand of charity. Money and gifts were collected by the villagers. This single good-countering-bad stroke of destiny has, may be, kept the thread of honesty tied to his being.

 

He has not even a bicycle. I ask him the reason. 'There is no space to put it at my place,' he says. I look for signs of a joke on his decimated face. But he is damn serious. His fellow labourers bear witness to this fact. His only possession is a tiny 10×15 yard depilated room. So where is the room for poor man's merc, i.e., bicycle? I think it does not need more emphasis to decide that he is amongst the poorest of the poor in the country. There is this scheme of BPL card in rural India. The card-holder enjoys many benefits like subsidized wheat, rice and kerosene from the public distribution system. If one can arrange some patronage and blessings from the mighty village strongmen and pradhan, one can get 25,000 rupees for house construction as well. But for such big benefits you must in a position to pay back many times more in other forms. He does not fit anywhere in this give–take equation. So despite many rounds for a BPL card he is found the least eligible for it.

 

The world may not care about him. The economic breeze blowing coolly in India may not kiss to vaporise the sweat beads on his hardened, bowing back. Swanky cars may glut the roads while he does not even get his bicycle. Scamsters may swindle public money to the tune of hundreds of millions and go scot free, while he spends 10 hardworking and insulting nights in Tihar jail. He may stay in a tiny hovel while he helps construct swanky apartments for others. He, but, has got his reward. The reward of goodness. Despite countless promptings to the contrary, his basics have not changed. He is true to himself. And this truth to the self is the fuel that is pulling the cart of this big, bad and still worsening world. It will collapse when the last of his type will say bye to this world.

 

Acidified Roses

 

Flower buds are soft and lovely. They blossom later to spread resplendent smiles. Children are still softer. We call them the future of a country. This expectation is conditional on the family, society and institutional support that is to be given to these human buds to enable them blossom fully.

 

A kid's palms are very soft. These are spared from becoming coarse. The soft palms need to stay soft so that bright evolving destiny takes a shape; slowly, gradually solidifying into concrete hardened realities. Elders use their leathery knuckles and stony palms to allow fine maps on the kid's palms so that they grow up as successful, happy individuals. But there are kids who are yoked into the merciless grind of survival game right from the beginning. They earn for themselves. These human buds do not get the time to blossom fully before becoming the fully functional part of the productive society. Their palms are never at ease to allow fine lines to evolve and chalk out lucky pattern for a happy future. The lines get cut by the razor sharp edges of harsh reality they tread upon on a daily basis.

 

On an impersonally honking and noisy crossing in Delhi, two kids pulled their heavily laden rickshaw out of the traffic mess. Horns blared. Getting-late-to-office elders threw curses. Traffic policeman even gave stares as if they had broken all the rules in his rulebook. Unconcerned they just expertly managed the odds heavily stacked against them by this uncaring world. There was no kiddish scare on their faces. These two boy-men cared a damn about the situation getting worse around them. They tended for themselves. I do not think we have any right to nurture any expectation from them as adults. Society and institutions have not given them anything. These have just robbed them of their childhood. Equipped with stony experiences and needle sharp instances, these kids have the right to draw any damn line on their palms. They reserve every right to cock-a-snook at the so called civilized and rule-based society. By killing a childhood, the society loses its right to lay claim on the desired, suitable adulthood.

 

 

The Outer Core

 

All of us carry an aura around us. It comprises an electro-magnetic field born of the flow of the life energy through and around our bodies. The quality of this aura is a function of our mental, physical and emotional states. Anger, regret, fear, jealousy, desperation, sorrow, rejection and hopelessness create a sort of negative energy and consequently a negative aura. It means we carry bad aura. It pollutes the surrounding environment like a heap of garbage. Now isn’t it our bounden duty to keep the environment clean by remaining positive, happy, smiling, poised, relaxed, sympathetic and compassionate? It’s our duty man! It’s as good for others health as it is for our own. All the steps to the cleaning of all types of pollutants start from the self.

 

Stay happy. Try to be cheerful. Life might be boxing you on the ears, expecting a cry of pain. It’s better to laugh. Subdue your pain while you laugh. Laugh louder with each strike. Make it a habit.  It will stop boxing your ears. It’s a sadist so would love to hit you as long as it hears yours painful cries. It expects you to cry. So give it a surprise by laughing indeed. It has no digestion for too many surprises. It will stop boxing your ears. It has many other heads to box, the heads that will cry loudly after getting struck. Just by doing this we do a social service as well. By appearing happy and cheerful we make the social arena cleaner as well by absorbing the malignant traces of jealousy, anger, depression and rivalry. Do it for you, even others will smell the fragrance.

 

The outer core has to appear healthy and intact like strong battlefield armour. It helps you in managing a healthy position in society and your profession, even though deep within yourself you might be gnawed by the pains and pangs of defeat and dejection. Maintain a firm, likeable, presentable outer core. If it becomes a habit, the things within and outside have to follow to change in your favour. It’s inevitable. There are not many takers for the darkness. There are but many takers for the bright sunlight. Dispel that darkness lurking around your manoeuvre. Regale yourself in the resplendent hues of hope, optimism, smiles and confidence. You can even pretend these things if your situation is totally opposite within. It might be difficult but this is the only way to change your circumstances outside. Be an actor. Act it so well that even you yourself start believing in it.   

 

 

 

Brown Jugaris

 

As Indians we need to learn that sometimes sticking to some more feasible (and more Indian sounding) means and mechanisms does not essentially indicate the signs of a poor, third world country. We just need to come out of this age-old British Raj habit that anything said, done, contrived or any product, service or technology do not necessarily become the reference scale for excellence to downgrade our own stuff with relatively poor marks. 

 

Western toilet seats are great! They serve a great purpose in countries where the people to loos ratio is pleasantly equal to 1:1. You use your utility and any unbecoming fallouts are still digestible because it’s more or less personal like your underwear. But in India, a single loo bears the brunt of so many gastronomically thundering furies as would not be suffered by the combined total of a whole Western settlement. Given the unrelenting bombardment the Indian toilet seat served its purpose well. Now coming to the grafting of Western loo concept in India. Big families, big offices, big crowds at public toilets in malls, cinemas and elsewhere make it nightmarish even for peeing, forget about putting your arse down for unloading. And if the urgency forces you, it’s just like perching upon somebody's great work just seconds ago. But while exposing our bottoms to so many eager bacteria and viruses we draw solace in the fact that we are doing it in the Western way. 

 

Another example is the poorly creaking state of new Greenline buses in Delhi. It is modelled on the Western kind of public transport: smart, sleek, used by just as many passengers as won’t even fill up all the seats even during the rush hours; and last but not the least meant for malai jaisa smooth suave roads for best jerkless rides. Now here is the concept dumped in India: the poor thing travels sluggishly with thrice or fourth of its carrying capacity; its low floorboards hitting the road while it jumps painfully over potholes; technically inefficient DTC staff not having any clue whenever the poor thing runs into troubles. During the old days, the drivers were half-mechanics and sorted out most of the problems themselves. We have to accept that we Indians are jugaris (contrivers): the jugglers and contrivers who juggle up various unrelated elements to meet and resolve uncountable, ever-opening problems and issues. And this trait has seen the Indian elephant slugger ahead slowly but steadily on the path of growth. If we just graft the Western concepts outlandishly and slavishly we will just put our bums to risks. 

 

 

 

Materialism is Cool

 

Web of bondage! It has been a great topic of discussion between the materialists and spiritualists. Much as the spiritual guys will crib and advise against mankind's fruitless run after the so called 'physical fruits of bondage', the materialists on their part do have apparently justified arguments of this being the logical conclusion of the very story of our evolution and growth. With my limited perceptions, I look at the physical world as a sort of cosy room sheltering us from bad weather elements--our den that closes over our being and gives it a physical identity. If the spiritualists call it a web of bondage which stops our souls from shooting off into the hitherto undefined cosmos, I am pretty much comfortable with this.

 

Deprived of all the physical confines around me, I will just feel like a tiny speck open to the infinite risks looming around in only God knows what directions. My room, my little abode of material possessions, my set of comforts, my tiny world of cravings and desires gives me a direction. I am pretty comfortable with that. I am its maker. It gives me a sense of pride for creating something out of nothing. Yes I do see through its windows that there is a larger meaning beyond the self-derived confines of the walls of my room. The feeble, but steady, light of faith tells and ensures me at least this much. But I am a human being. And pretty much in love with my identity and roof.

 

If the spiritualists take pot-shots at me, I can just give them one humble and practical promise--I will try to raise the ceilings of my room to allow more of the space of which they are so possessive. But I will retain the cosy confines of my room, my material bondage. Because that is being human! It’s good to be materialistic as long as my soul can take comfortable slumber in my room; as long as I do not steal from others’ rooms; as long as I do not throw mud-slings at others' rooms. One more logic, how can I walk the tightrope to infinity in the cosmic womb, unless I steady myself at a point with the bamboo of the physical fruits of my labour? It’s just like travelling in your car. The journey might be into the unchartered corridors of space, but you need a shelter, a roof. I am happy with the materialistic room around me. It defines this phase of my evolution. Without it I will be lost.

 

Lions and Deer of the Social Jungle

Dharma of Social Jungle: The greatest punya (good deed) of the social jungle is to protect one’s own interests at any cost.

 

Sin of the Social Jungle: Pap (sin) of the social jungle is to allow one’s own interests to be harmed under any obligation, duty or weakness arising out of the hypotheses of religion, morality, ethics or any other type of socio-religious injunction.  

 

Anti-socials, politicians, business magnates and others of their ilk are the social lions—a suitable personification of those fierce lions roaming in the jungles. Their ravenous appetite for power, perks and status needs and requires them to prey upon the poor weaklings, i.e., social deer. The social deer comprise the abject and still poorer personifications of those grass-grazing herds of deer in the jungle who just nibble at the grass blades; who are inherently weak products in the game of evolution. So the social deer are intrinsically weak and churn out virtues of the lameness and moralist talk, by creating the great facades of evil and sin (these are mere hypothesis), constructing the majestic and disillusioned citadel of religion and ethics—the fearful songs of the escaping and the fleeting hordes of masses.

 

All this also boils down to the question of being practical or impractical. As simple as that! If somebody is brave enough to defy the blinding hypotheses and naturally nurture his self interests at any cost then it is just a simple occurrence of somebody being a social lion. While the one who is constrained from following this duty to the self due to the weaknesses arising of the limitations at the levels of physique, mental power, social compunctions or family bindings forcing him to compromise the real duty to the self, he then becomes the fodder to satisfy some lion’s appetite; becomes a mere inconsequential step in the staircase of somebody’s ascension to the peak of power and glory.

 

Judges—the so called upkeepers of justice on earth—are the most efficient and practical men (thus a fantastic breed of lion who are untamed and unchecked in any manner). At every step of the ladder of dispensing justice, they have to pamper injustice just to reach higher and higher. The talk of justice is too idealist and impractical. The hypothesis of justice survives to act as a sort of opium for the masses. Practical judges very soon realize that the elements like integrity, honesty, morality, commitment to the so called virtues are no aids to one’s entry to heaven; rather in the field of social jungle they are simply the antonyms for armour, swords, shields and lancers to cut down the fellow self-interested fighters. Just imagine the fate of a soldier devoid of all these weapons! He is just there to fulfil the natural function of getting cut down. Our day to day social survival is simply a battle for protecting self-interests in which deepest, mostly invisible and sometimes blood-soaked, cuts are inflicted on fellow human beings.

 

Here is this social lion, all adorned with the impressive mane of justice and crowned with the duty to protect the deer! He is still hungry to ascend a few more steps on the social ladder. To become a bigger lion, he is simply required to eat more and more deer. And he has done exactly the same! Very cleanly, smartly and without batting an eyelid! He smoothly feasted on 102 deer. The very same poor herd of weak, impotent, cowering, justice-lorn group that had pleadingly looked at his face for two years in the Court of Justice. The poor group always unaware that it was nothing but the morsel for the satisfaction of his gluttony. In one merciless stroke—as all practical steps must be to qualify for success—he ate 102 lambs and burped away to further glory with new, vigour, health and criminality (the most virtuous trait to become a bigger, stronger lion), to eat still fatter preys at the higher seat.

 

For full two years, these poor lambs had looked at his indifferent face seeking some tiniest trace of mercy. But how can a lion go against its nature? They never realized that the wise owl perched on the highchair found them just tiny frogs to be eaten to muster up more nocturnal hunting prowess. Suddenly, swiping away all the gibberish, hypothetical talk of the weaklings, and bravely bracing himself up with the tidings of war weapons, he gave smart piece of winsome battle skills and mowed down all those disillusioned fools and weaklings who had come running to his cave, seeking life where only death had all the business to do. So to escape from one lion (the newly installed Chief Minister of Haryana) they landed up in the den of another lion. And lions will be lions. If sheep run from one den to another, it saves energy for the lions as well. So the Assembly of this lion, amply proving its status of being the regal court of the mighty canines, just sanctioned the luncheon of the grassy subjects under its domain. The King lion just proved his ruling status—an able commander of a still mightier Lioness (the de facto ruler of India ruling India through a proxy paper tiger) eating still tastier livers in the higher capital. Her Highness, the top-most lioness, has longer teeth to taste even the mane-covered flesh of these lesser lions.

 

Jungle lions fight to keep their territories and the bunch of female cats. Social lions, especially the political social lions, are pitched against a tougher task. But they have far more chickened humanity to lunch upon and then wage the battle.

 

While the bull fight it out for the higher stakes, the grass tufts at their feet get inevitably trampled and mowed down and mix in the dust of nothingness and ignominy. Similarly, this group of 102 hardworking lambs, always pleading that it will be of great Civil Service to the lion got trampled upon.

 

The advisers and soothsayer rushed to preach that still there was a mightier den ruled by a stronger lion who can get the injustice undone. But they forget that mightier lions perched upon still higher seats are still more efficient hunters. After all they rose through the same battle. Even if they unnaturally have some pity for the battered, bruised and blood-soaked horde and say ‘Mercy grated!’, it will still rub chilly on some lonely conscience left out in the joint humiliation. What is the use of reaching the spring of justice if every step on the path forces you to forget the fundamentals of your life, the very sinews that grew with you? You just become identity-less. It is just like peeling off one’s own kin. What is the use of getting justice if on availing it—if one is lucky to avail it after all—you turn blind and spiritless by the time you are shown the make-believe fruit?   

 

PS: The deer horde comprises the 102 successful candidates in Haryana Public Service Examination, 2004. They were denied appointment by the mighty lion, the Congress Chief Minister of Haryana who proudly prodded the state judiciary (partner hunters) to carry out his intention of not allowing them appointments. With equal gusto he servilely pampered the ego of the supreme lioness, the Congress President, to rule as the unquestioned ruler of the state. As is to be expected, the state and its lions won. The candidates lost. The lions won...the deer lost. What else can happen?!