The Punjabi Spirit of Service

During the recent long motorcycle ride through Himachal Pradesh, Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir, and Punjab, when we reached Mohali, near Chandigarh, we were met by a bunch of people running a 'chhabeel' (a stall serving sweetened, cold water to passersby for free). The cold water they were serving contained a dash of milk, Rooh Afza sherbet, and sugar. My fellow riders, who were from Bihar and Kerala, were mystified. They asked me if the free service marked a special day. I told them it was merely because it was the peak of summer and too hot outside. They had their fill and filled their water bottles with the sweet liquid.

Beyond Mohali, we were met with roadside chhabeels not only in and around Amritsar (on our way back from Kashmir) but also in a few villages in the Jammu region, which shares a cultural and linguistic affinity with the state of Punjab.

Apparently, the Punjabis do not want you to go thirsty on a hot day, no matter the day or date. I do not know why people from other North Indian states do not seem to care about that, although it's equally hot there. Perhaps it is a cultural thing. Not for nothing are the Punjabis known as large-hearted people! My non-Punjabi fellow riders would certainly vouch for that.

A Wish at Wagah

Image attribution: Stefan Krasowski, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

As we watched the evening 'parade' at the Wagah-Attari border crossing, which was more of an exercise in sabre rattling than a parade or a flag-lowering ceremony, I saw a stray dog cross the fence from India to Pakistan towards one side. He did not need a visa to cross from one country to the other. I envied him. I have friends in Pakistan whom I would love to go and see as and when I please.

I sat on a balcony facing the gate between the two countries across the Grand Trunk road. As the gates opened during the flag-lowering ceremony, I could almost imagine thundering down the road on my Royal Enfield bike from India into Pakistan, riding down to Lahore and Peshawar, stopping at various places on the way. Perhaps I will someday when the jingoism gives way to more friendly relations between the neighbours.

The Puppy at Lamayuru

Image attribution: Fulvio Spada from Torino, Italy, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

We stopped for lunch at a dhaba near Lamayuru during our recent long ride through Himachal Pradesh, Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir, and Punjab. As we parked our motorcycles, we were greeted by a little puppy. He was quite enthusiastic, smiled, and licked my gloves as I sat on my haunches to speak to him. After a moment, he ran off to greet a white Caucasian couple who had also stopped by at the dhaba and got a few belly rubs in the bargain. However, he had moved away from them a moment or two later. "He's probably looking for some food," it led the girl to remark. She or her partner did not offer him anything to eat, though.

Soon, the little guy was under the table of another small group of patrons having lunch, looking for tidbits, but they shooed him away.

When our meal arrived, we saved a chapati for him, which was broken into small pieces and fed to him. Our mechanic had a pack of cream rolls in his car, and the little guy was also given one. I hope the food filled his little tummy. He was still munching away happily when I rode away.

The Chemist at Kargil

Image attribution: Saurabh Lall, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

I carried a small laptop bag on my shoulders, in which I carried essential stuff such as my rain gear, pyjamas, patka (a small turban), water bottle, slippers, towel, mobile phone charger, toothpaste and toothbrush, besides my bike's papers, during the recent long motorcycle ride to Himachal Pradesh, Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir and Punjab. By the time we reached Kargil, after having ridden through Kullu, Jispa and Leh, parts of my shoulders and back had become stiff. So, I made a mental note to acquire a fuel tank bag or something similar for the next trip whenever possible. However, I needed immediate relief for my back and shoulders. So, I set out in the evening to look for a chemist's shop to buy pain relief spray. I rode for several kilometres without finding one, from the hotel on the outskirts into Kargil town.

I stopped to ask for directions on the way at a grocery shop operated by a little girl, who said she had no idea when I asked if there was a medicine shop in the vicinity.

A few kilometres ahead, a board pointing towards a side road said, "District Government Hospital." So, I turned off the highway onto that road and rode on for a few minutes without finding what I was looking for. At another grocery shop I stopped at, I was told I would find a chemist's shop a little way ahead on the same road, and indeed, I did.

The young couple who owned the chemist's shop operated it, and I wondered whether it was the only one in town. It was chock-a-block with customers, including a few uniformed men of the Indian Army. I watched as one soldier described the symptoms a colleague was suffering from, and the chemist promptly provided a few tablets, capsules and a bottle of cough syrup, along with instructions on how to consume them. It made me wonder if there were no army doctors posted at Kargil.

When my turn came, the chemist explained that an ointment would provide more prolonged relief than a spray. He laid out tubes of three such ointments on the counter and recommended one as the best. I took his advice and bought the ointment. It stood me in good stead the rest of the way through Srinagar, Banihal, Amritsar and Chandigarh.

The next time, I shall try to remember to carry pain relief ointment in my medicine kit.

Guns and Khukris at the Kargil War Memorial

Image attribution: By Ulfberth at German Wikipedia - Own work, Public Domain

At the Kargil war memorial in Drass, we were greeted by a sentry in full battle gear, which included an assault rifle and a 'khukri' (a short sword with a distinct recurve in its blade). I presume he was from the Naga or Gurkha regiment, soldiers who proudly carry a khukri into battle. I have heard talk about the Government of India's plans to abolish regiments based on ethnicity from the Indian Army, replacing them with regiments with soldiers from mixed backgrounds, named 1, 2, 3 or something as inane as that. I wonder if Naga or Gurkha soldiers will still be allowed to carry their khukris as part of their battle gear when that happens.

Meanwhile, I was also excited to see a puny little howitzer at the memorial that could be disassembled, the parts loaded onto the backs of mules and carried up mountains across trails, and re-assembled there to rain fire on the enemy ensconced up there. I had heard about the role of the larger Bofors guns during the Kargil war, but not so much about this one, and I was pleased to see it in person.

I also saw a heavy machine gun up close for the first time and remembered Sylvester Stallone firing it in one of the Rambo series movies based in Burma (Myanmar).

Another thing I noticed was that the army had either hired very creative writers or some of its officers themselves had been able to come up with very creative captions for the war photographs on display at the memorial.

I bought an insulated water bottle as a memento from the souvenir shop for the princely sum of Rs. 1425. I hope the government will use the premium they charged me for a good cause, perhaps related to the Indian Army and its soldiers.

The Homestay With a View at Kullu

Following the first day's ride (during our recent long ride to Himachal, Ladakh, Jammu & Kashmir and Punjab), we spent the night at a homestay on a hillside on the outskirts of Kullu. The homestay was owned by an Indo-French couple: a French man and his Indian wife. They said they had two children studying in a boarding school somewhere. The French man, who spoke a smattering of Hindi and English, told me he had come to India during the early 1980s and stayed on. He said he had lived in a village up a nearby hill until he and his wife bought their current residence. He said it often snowed in the higher reaches of the surrounding hills but hardly ever where the homestay was. I didn't ask, but it seemed like the French man had converted to Hinduism, for there was an elaborate pooja room on the top floor beside the bedroom he shared with his wife. On the other hand, it could have been used only by his wife. I can't say.

Both the French man and his wife were fit and slim. In fact, the wife had told us when we arrived that we could use the terrace only after an hour and a half because she would work out there for that long. The French man did smoke, though, which would considerably lower his score on the fitness scale.

As I discovered the next morning, the terrace had spectacular views of the river valley below and the hills all around. Unfortunately, I could only take 3-4 photographs from there. I could not sit and enjoy the surroundings for any length of time since we were supposed to get ourselves and the motorcycles ready and leave for Jispa as soon as possible. I wish we had started from Delhi earlier than we did, and a group member had slept well enough the previous night not to need a nap on the way so that we could have arrived while there still was daylight and enjoyed some time on that beautiful terrace!

Meanwhile, the house itself was pretty charming. Like most houses on hillsides, one had to descend from the road to reach the lowest floor. The furniture, crockery and glassware looked exquisite. Evidently, the couple had good taste.

Also, the French man and his missus were friendly towards and fed stray dogs in the vicinity, two of whom made themselves home around the house. I have posted photos of one sleeping peacefully on the mat next to the front door. He was there to greet anyone entering or exiting the house during the day and at night. So, that gave me one more reason to like the couple. Perhaps I can revisit them to see their dogs and sit on their terrace for a while if nothing else.

A Shikara Ride on Nigheen and Dal Lakes

The early-morning shikara (small boat) ride from Nigheen Lake in Srinagar, where we stayed on a houseboat (during our recent long motorcycle ride through Himachal, Ladakh, Kashmir and Punjab), to Dal Lake was very enjoyable. Since it was early in the morning, many birds were around, most looking for breakfast in the form of fish. They were pretty colourful and good-looking, and I would have loved to photograph them, but I did not have a camera with a zoom lens, and they did not come close enough to the boat for me to take a good picture. It was a treat to watch them sit on the lotus leaves floating on the lake or hop about from one such leaf to another. The young ones were actually running on the leaves.

On the way, we saw floating vegetable gardens, where, I was told, vegetables such as bottle gourds are grown. The roots of the lotus plant are also harvested and sold for use as vegetables. There were floating fences around the gardens, and people in boats tended to what they had planted within them. There is supposed to be a floating vegetable market, too, where the buyers and sellers both come in boats to conduct their business, but that is relatively early in the morning, and we missed it.

Many people who live on the lake-front don't have road access and use shikaras to commute. I even saw construction material being ferried on shikaras. There was even a school there, with floating fences on either side marking the waterway to approach it from the lake.

We also shopped at shops on stilts within the lake, where the shikara could be parked.

A kahwa (Kashmiri tea) seller came along on another shikara, and we all enjoyed a beverage.

At Dal Lake, I was disappointed to notice that they had built a couple of fast food joints on stilts almost in the middle, which spoiled the view.

Even at Nigheen Lake, sports such as water skiing have been introduced, which could spoil the serenity of the place. Fortunately, not many people indulged in such sports while we were there, and we had a good experience.

A Motorcycle Ride through Himachal, Ladakh and Jammu & Kashmir

For the uninitiated, I have had an unseen enemy for the past 12 years. They act through numerous stooges and never come into direct contact with me. The reason for the enmity is a police complaint I filed in late 2012, and their stated aim is to drive me out of India somehow. However, during my recent long motorcycle ride to Himachal Pradesh, Ladakh and Jammu & Kashmir, the enemy's actions were little more than a sideshow. There were plenty of unrelated memories and experiences I would cherish for a long time.

First of all, there was the motorcycle ride itself. I rode in my natural style at a speed I preferred, which was not very fast and allowed me to enjoy the natural beauty of the regions I rode through. I wished I had a camera attached to my head so that I could record long videos of all that I saw, including the glances I cast at the surroundings while taking my eyes momentarily off the road ahead. I am told that a small digital video camera can indeed be worn on the forehead in that manner, using an elastic band attached to it. However, the only thing is that I wear biking goggles, which I sometimes push up my forehead when I do not feel like looking ahead through them. That might interfere with a camera worn on the forehead, and I need to figure out how to work my way around it. I am told the camera can also be worn on the chest, but that will not account for the occasional sideways glances I mentioned earlier. So, I must find a way to put the camera on the head. Not pushing the goggles up while I am wearing the camera might be one way to do it, perhaps.

In any case, as I mentioned, I did not speed up to catch my fellow riders this time, nor even the mechanic supposed to follow us in a car which overtook me and raced ahead almost every day because he was frustrated by my slow riding speed. So, I often rode alone for several kilometres on mountain roads with no other vehicle in sight, listening to the steady thrum of my motorcycle's engine and enjoying the views. Now and then, I would stop to click a photograph. I enjoyed doing that a lot! The only place I missed clicking a picture was at Baralacha La pass, where the path had been cleared of snow, but there still was several-feet-high snow on both sides. The mechanic was virtually biting at my heels, honking behind me in his car. So, I did not stop. Perhaps I should have. The pictures I took were clicked after we had cleared the highest part of the pass and everyone had stopped to take a break. Needless to add, they were not as impressive. So, maybe next time I will get a good one!

Riding across the highest mountain passes encountered on the way, Baralacha La, Takalang La, and Zoji La was almost an other-worldly experience. It was challenging and exciting at the same time. At all three places, I rode through clouds (which seemed like thick fog) and faced a rain of icicles (frozen raindrops). It was biting cold, and I had to wear a double layer of chef's gloves (made of thin polythene) under my protective riding gloves to keep my hands from freezing. There was no road across Baralacha La and Takalang La, while a paved surface comprising interlocking footpath-style tiles had been laid across most of Zoji La. At Baralacha La, I had to ride across a couple of streams of flowing water somewhere between ankle- and knee-deep. I rode across smoothly, but one of my fellow riders keeled over when his bike's front tyre hit a big rock during the water crossing. Not tall, he could not use his feet to steady himself and his motorcycle. Fortunately, he did not get hurt. The rest of the offroad path across Baralacha La included small, almost round rocks, across which one had to ride in low gear at a slow and steady speed while gripping the handle firmly to avoid falling over. At Takalang La, there were huge potholes, all filled with water, that one had to ride through. I wore water-proof trousers and shoe covers and rode straight through the water crossings and water-filled potholes without a second thought or getting wet. It was kind of fun.

Then, there was the ride across the Morey (or More) Plains, where I rode across the undulating road, which goes up and down every few metres. There are vast plains on both sides, where sheep and ponies can be seen grazing here and there, and tall mountains beyond that. It's a sight to behold! I was in a bit of a hurry there because I was told we had to reach and ride across Takalang La before sunset or else black ice might form there, making movement almost impossible. So, I did not stop to take any pictures there either.

The short ride on our day off at Leh to the Leh Palace and Gurdwara Pathar Sahib was exhilarating. As usual, I was riding alone and had all the time in the world. So, I thoroughly enjoyed the landscape and stopped several times to take pictures, which came out very well.

The only place where riding was not much fun was when a road was being constructed across a long stretch between Pang and Morey Plains, and the riding surface comprised a mixture of loose gravel and fine-grained soil. I rode slowly there because I felt the bike would skid out of control if I were to brake hard. Also, whenever another vehicle drove past, there would be a cloud of dust, and it was impossible to see anything for a few seconds. The other group members rode/drove much faster, but I rode at my own pace without a care in the world.

That was a theme that stretched across the entire 10-day ride. I did not care what anyone would say or think about me and rode the way I wanted. Google Maps helped me find each day's destination, and I enjoyed mainly riding solo through each day, meeting the others usually for breakfast and lunch and at the place of stay in the evening. I rode tension-free and through some of the most beautiful places on Earth. I loved it! 

The Cricket World Cup in 'New India'

I will remember the latest edition of the Cricket World Cup tournament for some non-cricketing stuff, mainly because of Prime Minister Narendra Modi's 'Naya Bharat' (New India) and Jay Shah's leadership of the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI).

Firstly, no match was arranged at excellent venues like the Punjab Cricket Association Stadium in Mohali, and the final was at Ahmedabad, where the cricket was not very entertaining as not many big shots were hit because of the 'slow' pitch. Allegedly, it was all because of political considerations. For the uninitiated, Mohali is in Punjab, a state ruled by the Aam Aadmi Party, an arch-rival of Modi's Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP).

Second, 'Naya Bharat' appeared again when Indian spectators at the stadium named after the current prime minister tried to bully Pakistani players walking back to the pavilion by shouting "Jai Shree Ram" slogans. During another match at a different venue, such spectators tore up a stuffed toy (in the form of a tiger) carried by Bangladeshi fans and tried to verbally intimidate them. 'Naya Bharat' was also in evidence when a policeman at a match in Bangalore tried to prevent Pakistani fans from cheering their team with "Pakistan Zindabad" slogans. Also, in 'Naya Bharat', the Ahmedabad crowd did not cheer when the Aussies played good shots or even when an Australian batsman scored a century during the final match, and it seemed as if the game was being played in an empty stadium.

Third, there were the allegations, though unsubstantiated, of the BCCI trying to give the Indian team an unfair advantage by giving them balls that swung more and changing pitches literally at the last moment to favour the team.

Last but not least, Kapil Dev, who led the Indian team to victory in the World Cup for the first time in 1983, was not invited to watch the final game apparently because he had spoken in favour of the women wrestlers protesting recently against sexual harassment by the BJP's member of parliament leading the wrestling federation.

A Baby Monkey and I

I almost made friends with a baby monkey a couple of days ago.

I alighted from a train at a Metro station in Delhi and was on my way out. As I descended a staircase, I saw a female monkey and her little one seated on the railing a little distance apart.

As I passed them, I looked at the little one, smiled and said, "Hello, how are you doing?" He hopped down from his perch and started following me downstairs without me realising it. 

When I happened to glance over my shoulder after a while, I saw him right behind me. When I stopped, he did, too, and sat up attentively. So, without moving a finger, I told him, "I have nothing for you to eat."

He seemed to understand perfectly what I had said, turned around, and returned to where his mother was.

I spoke to him in Punjabi, my mother tongue, both times, but he seemed to grasp my intent, and language was never a barrier between us.

Later, I wished I had sat on my haunches without making any sudden movements, and perhaps he would have shaken hands with me before he left.

Religion, Character and Brainwashing

Here is a real-life story about organised "religion" and how it can affect people's lives that you might find interesting. 

When I was working at Chandigarh about 8-10 years ago, I came to know a young American white woman. She was brought into the company as an intern, but the owner/CEO soon made her the head of content marketing. Before I was fired within about 8 months of joining because the owner thought I was not a good writer, she had been made the Chief Marketing Officer. After a few years, she and I connected on social media, and I learnt that she had also left the company shortly after I left and returned to America. Apparently, she could not find the kind of job she was looking for there and freelanced for many years. Although she did not tell me as much, I gathered that she did not do well in her freelance work during the Covid period and then took up a job at a company, which she has kept since then.

Anyway, the above was about her professional life. Now, I would like to tell you something about her personal life. When I met her in Chandigarh, she was a happy-go-lucky person who loved adventure sports like trekking and paragliding. She also liked to travel and travelled extensively over India when she was here.

I do not know what exactly happened after she returned to the US, but she turned to religion massively over the past few years and became a born-again Christian. Many of her social media posts were about how she had been "saved" and how Jesus was not just the son of God but God personified, etc. She also posted videos about passages from the Bible that she had read and her interpretation of those passages. She did not go completely crazy, though, and remained the ardent animal lover she always had been (She still has a dog, whom she loves dearly.). She also retained some fundamental liberal views from before, such as how it is essential to ensure free speech for everyone. She also remained affectionate towards friends and said she and her church group would pray for me when I developed a brain issue last December. She continued to ask about my well-being periodically after that and to pray for me until I got well.

However, during a discussion sometime last year, she told me that she was committed to marrying a Christian man only after she had been "saved" since it was important for a husband and wife to be "equally yoked". Later, I found out through her social media posts that she had gotten engaged, apparently to a "Christian" man. Yesterday, she told me that she broke off the engagement in February because she found out just before she began to "book different wedding things" that the "Christian" man had been "deceptive" towards her for several months. I am sure that the blindfold of "religion" remains firmly in place over her eyes, though, and she will be looking for another "Christian" man! 

The Monkeys of Kasauli

There are a lot of monkeys in Kasauli. That is what I discovered when I visited the quaint little hill town last summer along with my father. Whenever you walk the streets, you can be sure of encountering a monkey every few minutes. In some areas, they are nearly a permanent presence. 

Along with the most common species of monkeys found in India (the Rhesus macaque), there is the grey langur to be found in Kasauli. For some reason, these species do not cohabit, and there are almost no monkeys to be found in areas where there are langurs. That is the case in Kasauli as well, with the langurs occupying the centre of the town and the Rhesus monkeys in the outer areas.

Both species have adapted well not only to living in close proximity to humans but also to obtaining food and drink from humans.

When my father and I visited, it was peak tourist season and a lot of people carrying snacks and soft drinks out and about. The monkeys obviously knew what they wanted and had devised ingenious ways of attaining their objectives.

While in the main bazaar one afternoon, I saw half a dozen langurs lounging about on a couple of benches by the roadside. When a group of tourists walked by, one of the langurs approached from behind. He tapped a lady, who was carrying ice cream, lightly on her back with one of his hands, obviously requesting her to share the treat with him. Unfortunately for him, she screamed in fear but held on to the ice cream, even as a shopkeeper carrying a stick approached quickly and shooed him away. He returned dejectedly to rejoin his mates and wait for another quarry. I silently wished him better luck for the next time and moved on.

The next day, while returning from a long walk down Upper Mall Road, my father and I decided to rest for a while on another roadside bench. I spied a couple of Rhesus monkeys sitting in a tree nearby. The female carried a baby that clung to her chest. As soon as a few people carrying food and drink came along, the monkeys climbed down and ran towards them. One of the visitors panicked and dropped a soft drink bottle before hurrying along. The male monkey grabbed it quickly and both monkeys ran back. They sat down to enjoy the cola under the tree. The male bit into the plastic bottle to make two neat little holes. Then, he put the bottle down sideways to let the liquid flow and form a puddle on the ground. They took turns drinking from the puddle. 

I suppose the monkeys love the sweet taste of soft drinks and ice cream but wonder what the added sugar does to their health.

The Religion Conundrum

The founders of many major religions claimed that they communicated directly with God, who dictated to them the scriptures they wrote. Others claimed to be God himself, born in human form and, therefore, the authors of God's word. However, if there is only one God (and there has to be only one God; otherwise, the followers of different religions would have different DNA and other building blocks of the human body), why would he give different messages to followers of different religions? 

Think about it.

The New Love in My Life

Dera Sacha Sauda and I

This post had been reverted to a 'draft' by Blogger because some one filed a bogus copyright claim against it. I am re-publishing it since all the contents are original. The post was first published in May 2007.
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As I keep track of the coverage, in newspapers and on television, of the Dera Sacha Sauda controversy, there are a few things that strike me as strange.

Firstly, the Dera has been described as a 'Sikh sect' in certain sections of the news media, whereas it has nothing to do with Sikhism (or any other religious faith, as for that matter).

Secondly, something that has been part of conversations in urban drawing-rooms and rural baithhaks in Punjab i.e. the Dera head issued an edict to his followers to vote for Congress (I) in the recent state assembly elections, only because that party offered to help 'dispose of' the criminal cases filed against the Baba and his followers (the charges include murder and sexual abuse), in case it was able to form the government, does not appear to have been mentioned in any newspaper or on any television channel.

Thirdly, most media reports seem to imply that the Sikhs have been outraged merely by the fact that the Baba appeared dressed like Guru Gobind Singh, whereas, the truth is that he not only dressed like the Guru, but also attempted to replicate, to a large extent, what the Guru did on the day of the foundation of the Khalsa (in spite of the counter-claims made in the latest press statement put out by the Dera). He tried to do a 'role play', in which he put himself in the place of the Tenth Master.

I have had an inkling that the Baba harboured such ambitions, for a long time. For several years now, the Dera has been publishing calenders with photographs of his, in which he can be seen on a white horse or in other poses imitating the way, in which Guru Gobind Singh has often been depicted in paintings. Perhaps others, too, have noticed all that and at least some of what has happened over the past few days has been the culmination of events that have taken place over the past few years.

I think, however, that the media is right about the Shromani Akali Dal (the ruling party) versus Congress (I) angle to the violence. The hukam-naama calling for complete boycott of the Dera and its followers, in my opinion, would have put the message across clearly enough and the violence was unnecessary. Incidentally, though, the violence began when the Dera's supporters attacked a bunch of peaceful Akali protestors on May 14.

On a more personal note, the whole episode brought back memories of my own connection with the Dera.

Even as news media have been reporting that the Dera's followers comprise Sikhs mainly from the so-called backward castes (I believe they are among some of the most privileged people in Punjab today, but that is another story altogether.), there are some who are Jatt Sikhs also, as in the case of one such unfortunate example from my family. My paternal great-grandfather had five brothers, the youngest of whom became an ardent follower of the Dera Sacha Sauda. A few years later, the elder of his two sons followed in his footsteps. He, in fact, went a few steps farther than his father in terms of his devotion to the cult and got involved with its management and administration. Hard-working and honest as he was, he soon rose among the ranks and was widely billed as a likely candidate for a high-ranking position in the Dera hierarchy (Some of my elders tell me that he was expected to be made the head of the Dera, although I am not absolutely sure about this.).

Then, one day, while he was at the Dera premises, he was poisoned and his corpse delivered home in a tractor-trolley on the next. The father, the devout follower that he was, refused to file a case of murder with the police and also forbade the rest of the family from doing so.

This happened many years ago (in the early 1980's), much before Baba Gurmeet Ram Rahim took over as chief, but has been proof enough, at least for me, that sleaze has always been an integral part of this cult.

I wonder if there have been other cases, as well, when unnatural deaths at the Dera have gone unreported.

Monsoon

Ramzaan and I

I was introduced to the holy month of Ramzaan rather early in life.

I was 11-12 years old when I met Uncle Nafeez. He was a short, stocky man and was a carpenter by trade. My father had engaged his services as a few items of furniture in the household had to be repaired and a few new ones made. He arrived early every morning and worked diligently until sunset for the two weeks or so that it took him to finish his work. The only break he would take was to ride off on his bicycle to pray at a nearby mosque late in the afternoon. Ramzaan coincided with June (usually the hottest month in North India) that year and, being the pious Muslim that he was, he was fasting. All that we could do to help was to ensure that he always worked in the shade and not in the hot sun.

By the time he completed his assignment and left, he had become very friendly with my younger brother, who was 3-4 years of age then, and even gifted him a little replica of a dining chair carved out of a left-over block of wood. My parents were also quite impressed with the quality of his work. We lost touch with him, however, after we left town because of my father having changed jobs.

Many years later, I saw three of my batch-mates at the post-graduate programme in management that I pursued also observe roza religiously, even during the semester examinations, while they studied as well as any of the other students and neither demanded nor got any special concessions from the college authorities. All of them, like me and many others, were boarders and yet fasted regularly for the whole month. They used to put aside some food at dinner time and re-heat and eat it early in the morning for sehri.

Subsequently, I had two colleagues who were just as fastidious about the whole exercise, without letting their work schedules suffer in any way. It has been long since we stopped working together, but I remain in touch with one of them, though not so often as before.

All of the six men that I have mentioned above may not be described as perfect human beings for each had his own faults, including, in at least two cases, egotism, and a tendency to succumb to the charms of women with malicious intentions (such as to use their womanhood to hide their incompetencies at work and to further their careers) in one. Five out of the six were (and, presumably, are) smokers, though none consumed alchohol or other intoxicants.

A commonality that I noticed, though, was that all were respectful towards adherents of religious faiths other than Islam and tolerant of others' religious practices and beliefs, in addition to, obviously, going about following their own without much fanfare.

A Coup That Was Not?

The controversy caused by The Indian Express' report on the movement of two key army units towards the capital city of Delhi on the intervening night of January 16-17 (without notification to the central government and the panic reaction triggered as a result) has nearly died down. It had to, for not only did the mass media side, almost en bloc, with those who dismissed the report as 'baseless', but also raised questions regarding the logic of the insinuation that such movement might have been aimed at achieving a coup d'etat, instead of looking for answers for the questions raised in the report. The reasons, perhaps, are not far to seek in a country where any unfavourable comparisons with a certain neighbouring state, where civilian governments have been toppled by the army more than once, can often lead to mass hysteria.

Let us examine, first, one of the questions raised by the report, i.e., why did the paratrooper unit choose to drive through the traffic jams of Delhi (compounded by severe fog) to reach Hindon, instead of crossing the Yamuna river at Agra itself and driving through Uttar Pradesh, parallel to the Grand Trunk Road, in addition to the mechanised infantry unit driving all the way to the outskirts of the national capital to check its preparedness?

The only conclusion that a possible answer lends itself to, besides the one that the army's top brass and most of the mass media would perhaps not want us to draw, points towards gross incompetence on the part of the commanders. As the then chief of the U. S. Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), Leon Panetta, had said about the Pakistani authorities after Osama Bin Laden was found in Pakistan by the CIA and killed by American troops, they were either "complicit or incompetent". Despite that, however, no one seems to be asking how such men have managed to reach such high positions in Indian army's command structure, if we assume that they have been incompetent and not complicit, and why they have been allowed to remain there, especially in view of the likely consequences of that in a war-like situation.

Then, let us look at a query raised by the 'other side', i.e., why would a general who wished to stage a coup (if he did indeed have such intentions) bother to bring in troops from outside when sufficient numbers of them already were present in the Delhi cantonment?

Although we do not know whether a coup was meant to be staged and perhaps never will, there are certain aspects that may be attributed only to co-incidence but make the whole episode very curious. For instance, if I were a general intent on taking over Raisina Hill, a unit each of paratroopers and mechanised infantry would be my first choice to accomplish the task. That would be because the only resistance expected, if at all, would be from police or paramilitary personnel equipped with small firearms and the light armour of the armoured personnel carriers, along with the machine guns mounted atop these, of the mechanised infantry unit would be sufficient to overcome that and carry out an 'area domination exercise' within a fairly short period of time (before even Delhi cantonment could get a whiff of the plot) with few or no casualties among the soldiers. Subsequently, the paratroopers, trained to be 'dropped' into an unfamiliar area (even behind enemy lines) and secure it quickly, could move into the buildings and compounds and 'secure' those as well as their occupants.

Apparently, the Delhi cantonment has an infantry brigade and an artillery brigade stationed in it, of which the soldiers on foot would be far slower and exposed to small-arms fire, as against the mechanised infantry, and the artillery, with its large and heavy guns, would not really be required, in my opinion.

As for the number of troops needed, the 500-700 which would form the combined strength of the two units should be sufficient to take over the 25 square-kilometres or so that form the seat of Indian government.

Secrecy would obviously be paramount for such an operation, in order to retain the advantage of surprise, and I, for one, would not mind bringing in troops from outside, provided I could trust the commanders completely. It might be useful to mention here that the two senior officers controlling the movement of troops on the night between January 16 and 17 have been reported to be "staunch allies of the chief", although their actions could very well have arisen, as mentioned before, from incompetence.

Last, but not the least, is the question of support from the the army's six 'regional commanders'. Could a coup have been successful without unstinting support from these officers?

If I were the leader of such a coup attempt, I would inform the regional commanders only after taking over Raisina Hill in one swift stroke and taking the prime minister and his council of ministers, as well as the president, into 'protective custody'. Not being aware of whether any of the other five were on board, I would expect each of them to be too dazed to react or, at least, react fast enough. The cynicism prevalent among the public regarding the political class in general could only add to their reluctance to stick their respective necks out and whole-heartedly oppose a coup attempt.

Additionally, the factional feuds among the senior commanders, which have been played out rather publicly in the recent past, would form another impediment in the way of their coming together against a military take-over of the country.

Although, obviously, nothing can be stated with absolute certainty, with many of the generals hankering for longer tenures, by hook or by crook, one is inclined to think that it might have been possible to 'persuade' some to pledge their support in return for a few more years in office and/or promotions. For instance, the Western army commander then, who had secured a medical disability status that would have fetched him higher pension, was quick to reverse it when he discovered that he could be in the running for the top job in the army if the army chief was to resign well before the date of his retirement. He is supposed to have recovered from arthritis almost overnight. Unless he discovered a miracle cure, he can only be described as a man of doubtful integrity and, therefore, as far as I can see, likely to be a good candidate for 'persuasion'. Incidentally, the Delhi cantonment also forms part of the Western command and he would have been the regional commander most closely placed and, therefore, in the best position to either act quickly against a coup attempt or to contribute to its success.

Having considered all of the above, I am of the opinion that the civilian administration's reaction that resulted in slowing down the troop movement and, ultimately, in bringing it to a halt at Delhi's outskirts, was neither unwarranted nor ill-advised, regardless of whether or not the movement was meant to be part of an actual coup attempt.

Note: This post, as all others on this weblog, is based on publicly available information and the author's personal views/opinions.

A Misplaced Sense of Charity

Not far from where I live, is a place of worship. Every Thursday, the reigning deity grants special audience, apparently, and the long line of devotees inside is matched by one of beggars outside. The faithful stop to distribute alms before leaving the place, either out of a sense of charity or to curry greater favour with the deity, whom they expect to grant their wishes or, at least, wash away their sins.

More often than not, the distribution of largesse is far in excess of the beggars' basic needs and they end up throwing away some of the food, much to the delight of stray cows and dogs, and spending some of the money on luxuries such as alchohol and tobacco. Clothes received, apart from those which can be worn or carried along, are generally sold off cheaply.

The spectacle takes on an entirely new dimension during winters, however, since the vagabonds as well as their benefactors are in attendance every day of the week. Word spreads far and wide that blankets are being distributed, in addition to food and money, and the throngs are to be seen to be believed. The woollens received each evening have to be disposed of by the next, in order to receive more. So, prices are negotiated accordingly. Those who are more enterprising even rent rooms in nearby localities to store the booty, so as to be able to maximise their earnings. Liberal use of intoxicants helps them brave the cold late into the night, since some donors arrive only after having finished the day's business.

Others among the homeless, such as rickshaw pullers or construction workers, who are often unable to afford shelter or clothing warm enough to help them survive the coldest months of the year and who may actually be poorer than the beggars in material terms, are not given any blankets. That, as far as I can see, is because such acts of charity may not be noticed by the reigning deity because of lack of proximity to the temple and, therefore, may not lead to wish fulfilment. Whether his field of vision is actually so narrow or is only perceived as such by his followers is a moot point.

The Thirsty Crow and Other Tales of Wisdom

Soon after we moved into the house we live in at present, my mother put out a wide, shallow earthen bowl in the yard, to provide the birds in the vicinity with fresh water to drink. She also began to provide them with a regular supply of bajra seeds, along with left-over pieces of chapatti. The seeds had to be replenished every day, while the pieces of bread often did not have to be.

One day, I saw a crow pick up a rather dry piece of chapatti in its beak. However, instead of flying away with it thereafter, it hopped over to the bowl of water and dropped the piece in. After having turned it around in the water for a while, so as to soak it well, the crow took off. By the time it returned, the chapatti appeared to have softened quite a bit and the bird proceeded to consume it.

Since then, I have become quite convinced that the story about a thirsty crow must have been based more on fact than fiction.

By the by, the bird in question has become great friends with my mother and she now sets an entire chapatti aside for it every day, while preparing lunch for the family. If she forgets, the crow spots her whenever she steps outside, perches itself on an electrical wire overhead and protests loudly until fed. At times, it even sits on the boundary wall, facing the house, and crows until its daily quota of the unleavened bread is served. In fact, the menu has now been expanded to include biscuits, fruits, and pakoras.

Once, when it was raising such a ruckus, I stepped out to ask what was wrong, since there already was some 'food on the table'. The crow picked up each piece, one by one, and threw it down as if to say, "Do you think I am going to eat this? Hurry along now and get us some fresh ones!"

Its sense of 'ownership' has become so strong that it admonishes us strongly if we try to feed a stray cow or dog, regardless of whether or not it has had lunch.