We are the owner of whatever is left in the pocket

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 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. 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:

'This fellow trucker of ours was really poor. All his worth was

invested in this old truck. We were going in a convey in north east.

His vehicle was carrying jaggery. The thing got toppled into a hole.

It was damaged and jaggery all over the place. Fortunately he and his

helper boy came out with bruised on 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 at a stone 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. Bring me some lumps of

jaggery and water. Bad ki bad me sochenge. Pahle bhojan to kar le."

Saying this he invited all of us into the feast as well.'

This is what is all about life buddy. It is no use crying over spilt

milk. We have to ensure 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. As Pan Singh Tomar said: 'One

has to complete the race! Winning and losing does not mater. All we

can do is just try to reach the finish line!'

Idea conceived now deliver healthy baby

Almost 90 per cent of the ideas entering the brains of normally sane

people are practical to a highly decent degree. But still millions of

practical ideas die in brains, being kicked in the womb by the forces

of indifference, negligence, lack of confidence, etc. 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 and reach the margin. 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 and you will roll with your system.

Idea conceived now deliver healthy baby

Almost 90 per cent of the ideas entering the brains of normally sane

people are practical to a highly decent degree. But still millions of

practical ideas die in brains, being kicked in the womb by the forces

of indifference, negligence, lack of confidence, etc. 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 and reach the margin. 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 and you will roll with your system.

Political Cauldron

Political Cauldron

Indian political scene is in disarray. It was bound to happen. Even after 66 annual democratic rituals, frankly speaking the meaning of freedom is as elusive like it was during the British period. Power is power, it corrupt almost by instinct. Its law is impersonal. Under it sway the colonial exploiter is as unsparing as the brown post-independence man. If with a pinch of salt, you can afford to rejoice at the idea that at least our own people are reaping the fruits at the cost of collective good, then it is appropriate to take part in 15^th August festivities. But the real freedom and real democracy lie beyond such blind hallucination. We have to come out of the ever-forgiving festivities going on for almost even decades and settle down to real business.

So where do we stand post Lalu-type political plunder? Issues like political corruption were never accepted by the society at large as the ones capable of turning the political tides against the wrong-doers. So it is a folly to expect the political class to go into elf-remedial mode and cleanse the system by itself. It is simple: we the common voters never questioned them so they thought if the ones who carry our destiny on their thumb impression are comfortable with it then where is the need for changing the ways and mean of political business.

So buddies we reached the UPA era. If coalition compulsions required the government to reach the pinnacle of compromises at all levels, against the background of teeming millions living like animals in their struggle and nonchalant educated middle class lost in the dream of reaching still higher rungs of an apolitical ladder, then what is wrong with that. But then river of corruption broke all check dams. It was only when the ever-rising costs of living stabbed deep into the so-called self-uprighteous, educated middle class that corruption became a major issue. It is simple mathematics. Laks of crores of rupees stashed in foreign account is not created in void. It is born of the pathetic conditions of the farmers who still continue to work harder, put more inputs in fields and left with lesser and lesser money at the end of the season. Millions of daily wage earners add to the weight in dubious accounts through their ever-piling miseries through more work and less and less savings. Millions of salaried middle class also contributes to it through mindless spending on costlier and costlier consumer items and taxes. Simple: We work, suffer, struggle unquestioningly and they gather the loot through direct and indirect means.

Thankfully the balloon of corruption burst finally. Everything has it limits man. Its blast shook the collective consciousness at many levels. Anna movement and Ramdev movement are nothing but collective sighs of dissent against the mindless plunder and compromises by the UPA government. If nothing more at least corruption is a political issue now. Anna and party have decided to enter politics now. How will they manage to fight elections in an arena where the victory so far has been defined by money, violence and all the rest gory deeds, is a big question. At least they represent those Indians who are educated, earn their bread and butter through hard work in corporate corridors. Their chances of success depend upon the rate of participation and growth in this section. If managed properly it can become a good counter force in Indian politics. As far as Ramdev is concerned, he appears driven more by a stubborn self-lorn charisma that always keeps him on tenterhooks even though he amasses thousands of crores through his corporate Yoga. The target of his fury is too narrow to leave a holistic effect on the overall fabric. He can hog limelight through fiery statements like petty politicians, but we all still remember the weeping woman-cloth-clad baba.

BJP is still not as strong as it should be against the background of anti-UPA breeze. It appears undecided about what kind of top-tier leadership to keep, unlike Congress which is at least true to its archaic aristocracy specific to a family. The latter is accepted and spelt out clearly thus leaving little space for infighting, leaving it with all the time, energy and resources to fight against all the slingshots aimed at it. Its simple: One dissenter or enemy inside house is far far more dangerous than hundred of outside foes baying for blood. BJP can learn a few lessons from the grand old party in this regard.

 
So what are our political prospects in the near future? It is very hard to tell. Just wait and watch. Its really dicey! 

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, you can find no 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 pleased. So he landed up in Tihar jail to earn the nickname. Babus made him do a hard labour to earn his roti and dal. There was no encashment for his fruitless work, of course. Unconcerned, 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 senty, so 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 the 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 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 many 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 vapourize the sweat beads on his hardened, bowing back. Swanky cars may glut the roads while he does not even get his bicycle. Scamesters may swindle public money to the tune of laks of crores 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.