Thursday, January 24, 2008

Aa kaheen door ...

This post is written as a reaction to a touching incident which happened at a Well Known Institute of Management in West India.
At the center of the matter is a professor in the finance department. A professor who has been been termed variously as boring, soporific and monotonous. I hope there are people who beg to differ - because I want some company here. While not everyone is as lively as SRK playing that remarkably shot "Raaskalaa" scene in OSO, here's a very knowledgeable person trying his best to inculcate some sense of a deeply theoretic discipline into a set of uninterested people - people who have been under the grind for 10 months and think they deserve a break.
I am sure I am not the only one who thinks so, but anyway - in no uncertain terms, I enjoyed his classes. Except the two in which I slept - but that was more because I had been watching a movie till 3 am the previous night. I didn't laugh at his jokes which frankly didn't seem funny to most of us. But when he delved into the more theoretic aspects, it became interesting. Applying one's mind made it a conversation full of insights rather than a monotonous monologue.
Anyway, the teaching abilities of that professor are not the central theme here. And things take a very sad turn now.
A very popular event in the campus, Chaos - the cultural festival, was scheduled to be held in second half of January. A few days before the date, Professor's son dies of some medical complications in the US. The professor's family is supposed to return on the day Chaos is scheduled to begin. The campus authorities see the glaring issue here - how ironic and perhaps insensitive it would be for the campus community as a whole to rejoice with such vigour while a family mourns right there inside the campus. The festival is called off but in the true authoritarian manner - the decision is announced as something being passed on from the authorities to the students. I think this was as much authoritarianism as HRD ministry's edicts which the campus authorities fight tooth and nail. Nevertheless, there is a brief discussion among the students with various opinions. My own opinion is that it was an excessively knee jerk response to entirely call off the festival - rescheduling would have been quite sufficient and absolutely necessary, but I am not much of a stakeholder in the festival now.
Even while this discussion is going on, the Professor sends across a message to the campus community - and that message is the most touching part of this incident. The Professor says that if his son was around, he would have liked the students to enjoy and rejoice in the spirit of Chaos. So, he says, the festival should not be called off.
Of course, the event was rescheduled but I was deeply moved by the manner in which Professor responded. While it is true anyone at that position is expected to show a level of grace and maturity, but in such trying times, this letter displays a gesture far more understanding and compassionate than anyone else's.
I might be, as I usually do, blowing things out of proportion. But fact remains fact. And there is a new name in the list of people I am a fan of.
I hope his family recovers from the shock soon and the situation comes back to normal. Amen.


Ref:http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Academy/9686/aakahindoorchale.htm
Aa Kahin Door Chale Jayein Hum
Aa Kahin Door Chale Jayein Hum
Door Itna Ki Humein
Choo Na Sake Koi Gaam

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Why?

A popular theory in the MBA circle is 'Promise less, deliver more'. As a kind of strategic undertone, I think it makes sense. But during our outbound learning experience at the start of my current job, I encountered the usage of this edict to the point where under promise seriously hampered the bidding process. Nobody even tried to bid at what they thought was a 'fair' value! I dislike this. I have seen in other aspects - some I am not prepared to disclose through this channel, and I can see through it. When the over delivery happens, the other party ends up feeling cheated. If the under promise is too low, the over delivery will not matter much. It also effectively creates a lemon market for such bids. The other party gets used to over delivery. And what happens when you genuinely want to indicate a downturn? You have to exaggerate that as well!

There is something that strikes you the first time someone who speaks Cantonese (or is it Mandarin, I don't know) calls you up on wrong number. Suppose someone calls you and it starts like this:
You: Hello
Other Party: Why?
You: Hello
Other Party: Why?
Bang.

I began to think. I began to think deeply. I couldn't figure out what I could have done to elicit such a deep question. It was as if someone was asking me why I exist. Much to my chagrin, there were a few more repetitions of this kind. It was then it struck me. Why (or rather Wai) is the Hello in Chinese. Oh. Thats why.

I stumbled (or perhaps re stumbled) upon a blog. Reading it is fun for the spicy insights it contains. Pretty much like the S** and the city. That the quality of writing is good is beyond doubt. The author has just published a short collection of shorter poems (or longer poems, I don't know) and was mentioned on ET.

Strato and I have just begun seeing uncannily frequent coincidences. Too many times, the same thoughts emerge in our minds at the same time. Well, I guess it just happens over time. I have become lazier than I was - I am content spending a weekend watching movies, eating and a short walk. Lets see how Strato changes!

Friday, January 11, 2008

Suffocation

No. This does not refer to the black as a black hole smoke from idling trucks , stuck in a traffic jam on an Indian highway, waiting for the railway intersection to open. Nor does it refer to the dense fumes emanating from Chinese factories which I suspect are the reason behind the many permanently disfigured faces, dotted with acne more dense than ants inside an ant hill.

This comes after I saw a movie. Taarey Zameen Par. It made me cry - well, almost. Infinite thoughts crowded my mind. I remembered all the times when I felt like a machine running to the rules dictated by a cruel world. I remembered all those teachers who were criticized for not being hard working but whose classes were absolutely intriguing. I use this post to remember them, say them a thank you from a point in my heart deeper than Mariana Trench, and hope that they continue to enrich others for a long time to come.

When I was in a convent school, I was punished very often. For not wearing the proper dress on school day. For not wearing the blue socks with two red stripes. For not having the school symbol stitched into my blazer. And umpteen such reasons. I wasn't dyslexic, nor did I have the power of imagination that Ishaan is shown to possess. But I had my bad times. Like when they taught the nuances of the guts of a frog. Or the blood circulation inside insects.

Even to this day, I question the relevance of all that. I had my moments of solitude and absolute disillusionment. I went to a military school which groomed me to face the world. It taught me a lot of hard lessons that have stood by me in difficult times. But it was also where I felt absolutely out of place. I knew I wasn't meant to be a cross country runner. I knew I would never be able to play hockey without fearing the ball (and fearing for the balls!). I am sure each one of us has passed through those moments.

I was lucky that my parents put so much trust in me to let me get out of that school and live on my own for 2 years. While I was very lonely at times - imagine, I got into the habit of talking to stars ! - I read up a lot and performed well.

I look back at those days with mixed emotions. Certainly it was one of the happiest moments of my life when I learnt of my JEE rank. But there was no real reason why I had chosen to take that test. Just because everyone had. Just because it was a way to show that I can do whatever I want. I don't even know why I gave the CAT exam. Here again I performed much better than what I had ever hoped for, but I still don't know why I gave it. May be because it helped me tell people around me that while I have failed them in many respects, at least there are some things they can feel happy about. That it turned out to be a deciding factor in my career was only incidental.

I am another product of this system - the system which churns out doctors, engineer and MBAs. Where children spend their most beautiful years learning the most abstruse trigonometric identities and then forget them. Where they learn about Schrodinger's equations, Bohr's theories, various laboratory techniques and biological details of exotic animal species - never to return to them ever in their lives.

Some of my most beautiful memories of school days revolve around teachers who used to give us a free hand. And that I am sure you will realise is a very rare thing. I am yet to come across ambitious children, though it is not difficult to find children of ambitious parents. Most of the friends I know have become what was expected of them. It is blasphemy to say that parents can do harm to their children but I have seen parents being selfish enough to make their children go through rigorous activities - entirely against their wishes - just to enable the parents to bask in the glory of their children's accomplishments. I have seen a very small kid with thick glasses being dragged away from playground to attend his evening tuition.

I know of a very intelligent guy whose brilliance just got lost in the difficulties of this myriad world. When he was in class 9th, he used to read books more often read by people at the undergraduate level. His correspondences with Nobel laureates, their comments on his thoughts on the topic, his own reflections on myriad topics - from neurobiology to blackholes to quantum dynamics - these were a clear indication that his abilities far exceeded ours. While he may be happily employed somewhere, working among a sea of similar men, I think it is a very unfortunate thing that his dreams got lost somewhere in the course of life. Kamlesh Joshi, if you ever read this, do remember that I think of you as the brightest kid I ever met. As the kid whose genius was the stuff we read about in books. As the guy I was always scared of because he was the one I could almost never beat.

The most poignant moment in the movie comes when Aamir Khan describes how Ishaan must feel battling against everyone, refusing to accept that he cannot learn the letter as easily as others, and living each day to fight a battle against everyone - even his parents. How helpless and frustrated he must have felt. How immense the feeling of betrayal must have been when he was left in a boarding school he didn't want to go to. . .

It is a pity that the most beautiful part of childhood is lost in such rote learning.
It is a greater pity that we will see such a movie and forget it in a week. And then, we will avenge the suffocation of our own childhood by making our children go through the same trauma. The trauma of living on forced desires, of seeing someone else's dream, of not having a voice in deciding the course of their lives.

Something of my own doing :


A Boy of Five.


A boy of five ,
he cried , he cried .

For some mercy for his life

and to everyone he cried .

Tattered clothes, hungry eyes

till he had a hoarse voice.

For his mother long dead ,

for some water for some bread.

Countless corpses by his side ,

at the putrid smell ,he cried .

He tried to look around,

stupefied, he fell to ground .

He couldn't move, he couldn't speak

weeks of hunger made him weak .

In a camp of refugees,

slowly in his pant he pees .

Among the corpses he lay still ,

out of hunger tears spill .

All his hope this world belied,

till he lived ,he cried, he cried .

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Hai Koi to Wajah...

It is curious how sharp the tips of Chinese pen must be - so exquisitely fine their script is.
I guess you know that the average physical size of humans is smaller in China - you can notice that on numerous expat messageboards where Westerners incessantly complain about not being able to find clothes of their size in HK. It is my suspicion that the diminution might be a direct consequence of the trauma of having to learn such a difficult language in early childhood. And it is a wonder that the children come out of it pretty much alive and sane.
It bewilders me when I go to the toilet in my office. There is a notice which says, "Dont dispose of garbage in the urinal". Below it is a graphic description. First it shows how you pee. Then it shows what garbage is. Then it shows how you can throw garbage into the urinal. And then, finally it shows what happens if you do that. Somewhat like this :


But the culture here is good. The people are warm and nice, helpful to the point where 'thank you' is the most often heard phrase every day for me. The lady at the counter says, thank you when - I give her my credit card for billing ; I take back my credit card; I collect the order; I leave the cafe. Heck, she would jump up with a quick 'thank you' if I looked in her direction with more than an emotionless gaze.

People are more liberal in their dressing sense (but this is a cosmo - don't know what the status in countryside is) . There is enough crowd to make you at home if you are a Mumbaiite but far less chaos. The lines are long - at bus stops, taxi stops, ticket points and so on. But the infrastructure is smooth. Buses are nice and cosy, tram is idyllic and metro is efficient - just the way one might want it. One feels safe walking around in the evening, and the ladies definitely feel safe considering the lengths of their dresses even on freezing cold evenings.

The two things I am averse to are - the smell of dried sea food and the exotic dishes on local restaurants' menus. The most memorable ones I have encountered are : Horse tongue in honey with cockroach whiskers to garnish and Corn fed chicken sprayed with finely chopped sea snakes. Eww. Even the thought makes me nauseous.

A good thing about this place is that genuine - or almost genuine, I dont know - CDs are available for much cheaper than elsewhere. The problem is when you want movie CDs without Chinese subtitles.

I have heard a lot about Taarey Zameen Par. Am waiting for the occasion to see this movie - especially now that it has been declared tax-free by the government. I had been planning to watch 'Halla Bol' this week till I learnt that the price of the movie ticket would be around 200HKD. That is a thousand bucks back home. Me and my friend can watch a movie in the sofas of the famous movie hall in Bandra - I forget its name.

Anyway, I am happy that I am writing a post second day in a row. That is happening after many many days!

Haan Hai Koi to wajah
To jeena ka maza yun aane laga


Yeh hawaon mein hai kya
Thoda sa jo naasha yun chane laga...

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Aghast on new year!

I will never be able to think about new years in the same festive spirit as I used to. We all know what happened in Mumbai. And Kochi. And Kolkata. And many other places.
Sometimes I wonder if, as India becomes richer, young men feeling left out of the economic surge display their frustration through acts like these. Or is it that we have come to the inflexion point where our cultural values from medieval times ( can't say ancient because then you would say - look Ajanta , look Khajuraho ) are encountering the more liberal values from west (beamed to us through numerous channels and pirated dvds) , and making a cauldron of mixed notions and confused intentions. However, 'confused' sounds too soft a word when we look at the manner in which these acts repeat themselves and have become a constant recurrence in our daily lives. 'Evil' serves the purpose better.
I was aghast when a dear friend recently told me of her ordeal in walking the 300 meters from her home to the railway station. And then I think about it. It isn't that I have not known about it. I have walked in female company before and have noticed the looks, emanating from passersby.
And then, you read about articles like these. You feel slightly better till you read comments like this one: . The attitude towards women in India needs to change manifold before one can feel safe. Delhi, the most frequently mentioned city for sexual violence is not alone in its record. Mumbai's record is going down the lane. And all this talk is only about the one-off cases that the media takes up as exemplary cases.
What about the everyday eve-teasing? Even to call it eve teasing is to give it a somewhat dignified look. It is molestation and should be treated as such.
Those police officers and upholders of 'Bhartiya Sanskriti' who go about prowling for cultural violators in parks and elsewhere should feel ashamed. Will they ever realise how much more important it is to prevent such heinous events from happening than it is to guard our parks from coodling couples?

Will we ever give up our moral hypocrisy? The perpetrators have been identified in some cases. Will their mothers teach them a lesson or two in treating women with respect instead of trying to save their sons' skins?

Will we ever live in a country where women feel free to travel in public transport, celebrate new year and walk around without wondering about rowdy men?

No song today please.