A Proud Punjabi

The following article appeared recently in The Tribune, Chandigarh, India.


He proudly wears Punjabi attire

Sarbjit Dhaliwal
Tribune News Service

Chandigarh, August 31
In every society, there are only a handful of people who dare to tread uncommon paths. Balkaur Singh, who retired today as excise and taxation officer of the Punjab government, after putting in 33 years of service, is one such person. Of the nearly 6 lakh employees of the Punjab government, he maintained a distinct identity.

He did not wear pants and shirt unlike most senior and junior babus in Punjab and many other parts of the country, even once during the entire tenure of service. And he did not even wear a kurta and pyjama while on duty. Without bothering about self-imposed protocol by babus, Balkaur Singh wore the traditional Punjabi dress, chadar, kurta and tilledar jutti during the period of his entire service. He was the only employee of the state government who attended top-level official meetings in the traditional attire.

Before joining service as an inspector in 1975, Balkaur did his post graduation in English and Punjabi as a regular student from Panjab University in the early 1970s. He sat in the class room in the traditional Punjabi dress without bothering about what other students and teachers felt about his dress. “My colleagues and other students in the university and during service in the excise department used to taunt me, but I did not bother as I always feel proud of my Punjabi identity,” said Balkaur Singh.

A brief comment made by an English couple in 1966 changed his life forever. He was so hurt by the comment that he decided not to wear “pants and shirt” ever again. “The British couple was sitting in front of our college at Sirsa. Out of curiosity, I along with other students went to see them as we had never seen such people,” said Balkaur Singh. “As far as language and dress is concerned we are still ruling India,” said the Englishman. “Listening to that remark I felt so humiliated that I decided not to wear the attire given to us by Englishmen,” said Balkaur, who also holds post graduation degrees in philosophy, sociology and psychology.

He says public life is dominated by thugs, corrupt and dishonest people. Bureaucrats and other government officials take pleasure in harassing common people. Hypocrisy has become way of life. Ruling classes of all hues are dishonest to people to whom they pretend to serve, he says. “As I had the guts to confront dishonest people, no one asked me to do anything illegal. I tried my best to serve small traders and businessmen honestly and never harassed them. In fact, I tried to help them. I spared those who committed mistakes inadvertently, but never spared those who have been dodging the government by using influence and their status”, he adds.

Balkaur says, “I will now promote Punjabi culture and expose hypocrites, who in the name of serving and promoting Punjabi culture are playing their own politics”.

Recognition from Fellow Bloggers

It feels good when the blog picks up an award or two or three.

It is time to recycle an old acceptance speech, I suppose.

Update: It feels especially good when the major inspiration for me to have started blogging is recognised.

Non-Verbal Communication

The sound of my mother's voice woke me from a rather extended afternoon nap.

"TuuN B***y (my nick-name) nu milan aaya aiN, ke dudh peen?"

(Have you come to see Sidhusaaheb or have you come to drink milk?)

Shortly, my friend Zakhmi appeared at the door of my room. I beckoned him over and he sauntered up to where I sat. After getting his ears scratched and his head patted for a while, he turned around and trotted away.

A few seconds later, he stood in the dining room, facing the kitchen, where my mother was, watching her with rapt attention. (He never enters the kitchen, because the old lady has told him not to.) Off and on, he would wag his tail a bit and then lick his lips as well, very expectantly. He appeared downcast, though, when my mother declared, "Hun tainu kujh nahi milna khaan-peen nu!" (You are not going to get anything to eat or drink now!)

He went off and parked himself on the the living-room floor, from where he had a clear view of the refridgerator. When I walked up to him, he turned himself upside down and offered me one of his fore-paws, which I shook vigorously. He seemed happy and even more so when I scratched his stomach. Although he was quite engrossed in playing with me, he stopped to watch carefully and to lick his lips, whenever my mother opened the refridgerator.

After a while, my mother changed her mind and offered him a slice of bread. He sniffed at it briefly and then settled down even more comfortably. A biscuit was met with a similar response, but as soon as she cut open a poly-pack of milk with a pair of scissors, he jumped up and then followed her outside, where his feeding bowl was.

An Indo-Pak Joint Venture

This pair of sandals was purchased from Hasan Abdal, Punjab, Pakistan, in April 2006.

Recently, when the inner soles required replacement, I sought help from the friendly-neighbourhood cobbler. So, at present, this is the handiwork of Indian as well as Pakistani craftsmen.

Happy 62nd Year of Independence!

Song Title: Bilqis
Album: Avengi Ja Nahin
Artiste: Rabbi Shergill

A Secular Ruler and a Statesman

A book that has been released recently seeks to highlight the secular and meritocratic principles on which Maharaja Ranjit Singh's administration was based, besides his qualities of statesmanship that enabled him to stave off British attempts to usurp his empire, for as long as he was alive.

Connecting personally with the Tenth Master

I suppose I must have heard of him for the first time from my parents or grand-parents, while I was very young. Later on, a few years after I had started going to school, I read about his life and times in an illustrated comic book.

I do not recall how much information my text-books at school provided me about him, if at all. However, I do remember that a considerable amount of information was available in the books for the History and Culture of Punjab course that I had to take up as one of the two compulsory subjects at college, in accordance with the syllabus prescribed by the Panjab University, Chandigarh.

Although I had a fair idea of the main precepts of my faith i.e. Sikhism and the Khalsa panthh (the foundation of which marked a quantum leap in the evolution of Sikhism, in my opinion) initiated by the tenth Guru (teacher) of the Sikhs, Guru Gobind Singh, since my early days, like belief in a single, formless, indestructible, eternal Supreme Being i.e. WaheGuru, who is never born and never dies and is omnipotent and omnipresent and whom people that practise different religions address by different names, it was much later, when I actually started reading the scriptures that I realised that Sikhism is more of a way of life than a religious faith.

The Guru Granthh Saahib, I found, after I read certain portions of it, lays down a complete code of conduct that one can follow from birth to death. It will certainly not lead to the fulfilment of every wish, but can let one have something over and above that, which is peace of mind. Not every one who claims to be a Sikh these days, mostly on account of having forefathers who had, at some point of time, developed faith in the teachings of the Sikh Gurus, seems to understand that, though, and some seek alternative means for the fulfilment of their material desires. The truth is that even I did not comprehend that, until very recently, when I started reading Gurbaani on my own. At various points of time in my life, I have, in fact, been silly enough to pray for a certain score in my school or college examinations or even to request the Almighty to let some girl or the other to pay more attention to me, if not marry me! Little did I realise then that as a Sikh, when I pray for sarbat da bhalaa (the welfare of all), as a part of my daily prayers, I liberate myself from the need to ask for anything specific for my own self.

I suppose that if the entire body of knowledge included in the holy book is taken as being analogous to that acquired by some one with a bachelor's degree, then I am still in kindergarten. With the average level of intellect that I possess, I may never actually be able to assimilate all of it in my lifetime, it appears to me, let alone practise it. That realisation has brought home another more profound one, related to the wisdom of the ten Gurus of Sikhism. I have always thought of them as incredibly wise men, but this has added an entirely new dimension to that.

That the Gurus were all well-versed in music is quite obvious, since not only did they employ musical compositions to spread their message far and wide, but the contents of the Guru Granthh Saahib have also been set to music, with an appropriate raaga prescribed for each of the verses, to be made use of when these are to be recited with musical accompaniment.

Beyond that, when one tries to recall those amongst them who learnt and practised the art of war, the two names that come to mind are those of the sixth master, Guru Hargobind, who sought to combine miri and piri (the temporal and the spiritual) and raised an army of the Sikhs for the first time and the tenth master, Guru Gobind Singh, who, as mentioned before, founded the Khalsa.

Although both have been my boyhood heroes, I tend to connect more personally with Guru Gobind Singh, firstly, because I revere him for having made the supreme sacrifice (like the fifth master, Guru Arjan Dev, and the ninth master, Guru Tegh Bahadur) for the cause of righteousness and having inspired thousands of others, including all four of his own sons, to do the same. He infused a sense of immense self-belief among his followers and was able to remove fear of every kind from their hearts, including that of death, which is a source of great inspiration for me. He declared:

"Sawaa laakh se ek laRaauN
MeiN chiRiyaan toN baaz banaauN
Tabhai Gobind Singh naam kahaauN..."

(This can be roughly translated as:
"I instill the confidence in each of my soldiers to be able to fight alone against even a hundred and twenty five thousand enemy combatants;
I make hawks out of sparrows;
Only then do I get to be called Gobind Singh...")

Secondly, I have had the good fortune, like many others, of course, of being afforded a good look at some of the articles of his personal use. These have included weapons of various kinds like swords, spears, guns and arrows (Tales of his skill with the bow and arrow abound, to this day.), besides clothes and other personal effects, displayed at numerous Gurdwaras in different parts of India, in addition to some exhibitions held on special occasions.

On a recent visit to the town of Mandi, in the state of Himachal Pradesh, when I visited a local Gurdwara along with my parents, I learnt that it had originally been built by a local ruler, at the invitation of one of whose ancestors the tenth master had spent six months as a guest of the royal family. Among the articles on display there, was a rebab that the Guru is said to have played himself, every evening, while reciting verses from Gurbaani. Besides that, there was a musket that Guru Saaheb used for target practice and, most interestingly, a charpoy and a mattress that were made especially for the tenth master's use, during his stay there. Most intrestingly, because it became clear after taking one look at it that the man who slept on it could not have been more than five and a half feet tall or perhaps even less than that.

At that moment, the admiration and respect that I have for the Guru increased manifold. The man with that medium-sized frame, who has been and always will be a spiritual guide to millions, was, evidently, an accomplished poet, author, linguist, musician and philosopher, as well as being a skilled horseman, swordsman, archer, marksman and military strategist.

Camel Crossing

A Thought for Today

'Power will go to the hands of rascals, rogues and freebooters. All Indian leaders will be of low calibre and men of straw. They will have sweet tongues and silly hearts. They will fight among themselves for power and India will be lost in political squabbles.'

- Sir Winston Churchill (1874 - 1965). He was the prime minister of the United Kingdom from 1940 to 1945, and again from 1951 to 1955.

Save the Hummer!

The General Motors Corporation is considering the sale of its Hummer brand or shut down of production.

As I had written in a blog-post, earlier, the Hummer is, arguably, the best small general-purpose vehicle available to the civilian population of the world, in terms of off-road driving capabilities (even if it does not look quite as good as, say, the Jeep Wrangler). I am sure that there are many others like me, around the world, who would be saddened immensely, if the Hummer's production were to be shut down. The brand being sold off might offer some hope yet, but it is difficult to anticipate the kind of changes that a purchaser might want to bring about in the vehicle.

One can blame it all on the ever-increasing oil prices, I suppose. However, the prices of oil are expected to stabilise in the long-term and in the short- to the medium-terms, the attempts being made towards increasing fuel-efficiency of the Hummers as well as to run these on alternate fuels should have a positive impact on sales.

Buyers, especially in North America, have been known, in the past, to revert to purchasing Sport Utility/Four-Wheel Drive (4x4) vehicles, as soon as prices of fossil fuels start falling. Besides, not only has a new, all-aluminium engine (which is, obviously, much lighter and, therefore, a vehicle powered by it is likely to be more fuel-efficient than one powered by an engine made of cast-iron) been built for the Hummer H3, but I have also heard that a hybrid version of the Hummer i.e. one powered by a combination of an internal combustion engine and an electric motor that runs on batteries, is already on the drawing board.

Hummers that run on 'greener' fuels like Hydrogen and Bio-Diesel have already been widely reported about, especially because of some famous owners, like body building champion-turned-actor-turned-politician Arnold Schwarznegger, of such vehicles.

I sincerely hope that all these factors will help tilt the scales in the Hummer's favour and that production will not be shut down.

Of sleepers and coaches...

These two appeared intent upon demonstrating that one does not require a 'coach', in order to be a 'sleeper'. The location was a travel agent's office at Goa.

Trip to Manikaran

A few moons ago, my mother and I received an invitation from my father, to accompany him on one of his business tours, to the location of an upcoming hydro-electric power project in the state of Himachal Pradesh. The site lay somewhere between the towns of Mandi and Kullu and that was the chief reason for our acceptance. We hoped to go on to Kullu and then to the 'hill-station' town of Manali, where we could do a bit of sight-seeing, while my father finished his work.

So, a taxi was hired and we were off, by road, early one morning. We expected to reach Kullu by late evening. Little did we know, however, that a change of plan was in the offing. Some time after we started, I could sense a bout of gastroenteritis coming on and soon had to get the car stopped every few minutes in order to throw up some of the contents of my stomach. I suppose I vomitted, in several instalments, not only the contents of the previous evening's dinner, but also the previous day's lunch.

The disease being one that I have been highly prone to since my early days, I had the sense to keep up the liquid intake in order to prevent dehydration, which is among the leading causes of fatalities caused by it. That, though, also led the doctor, whom we consulted when we reached Mandi (where we had decided to stay for the night, instead of Kullu, because of my illness, and where my father expected that the chances of availability of suitable medical treatment were quite good), to believe that I was in better shape than I actually was. He sent me away after prescribing a few tablets that he told me to swallow at regular intervals. Later on, as the night progressed, I continued to feel worse and, ultimately, had to go to a nursing home, where I was administered an intra-venous injection that helped stabilise my condition.

The next day, I spent the morning and early afternoon lounging about in bed and watching television, in the hotel room, while my father went off to work and my mother browsed through the shops in the local market. After lunch, by when both my parents had returned, my mother proposed that we should at least visit the Gurdwara at Manikaran, even as a visit to Kullu or Manali was out of the question.

We set off at about 4:30 p.m. and I was not absolutely sure whether it was such a great idea, starting off so late. The sky was cloudy and we encountered intermittent spells of rain and shine en route. A little past half-way, the road narrowed down to such an extent that a vehicle coming from the opposite direction could hardly be passed without slowing down to a crawl. The car had to be driven very carefully also on account of the fact that on one side of the road was a sheer drop of several hundred feet, at times to a river flowing at the bottom of the valley, with the hill-side on the other. Almost all the other vehicles on the road appeared to be going downhill, as we drove uphill. We had to have all windows closed and the air-conditioner turned on, as the exhaust-fumes from buses and trucks (that often included unburnt diesel) caused me to feel nauseous otherwise, even though I continued to sip from a bottle of soft-drink to prevent the contents of my stomach, literally, from boiling over. The scenery all around was picturesque, however, and, despite everything, I managed to enjoy the view immensely, until darkness descended all around.

On the way, we passed the little township of Kasol, which appeared to be some sort of a base for trekking expeditions. I remember that I saw a banner that proclaimed the start of such an expedition organised by the Youth Hostels Association of India, which was to originate from there. I could also see that a number of the local shops stocked the kind of equipment and rations that trekkers might require. There were a lot of foreign tourists, as well, carrying ruck-sacks and the place was dotted with restaurants serving not only continental cuisine, besides Indian, but (and it came as quite a surprise to me) Israeli as well! Since there were a few mechanics running shop there, who claimed to specialise in the repair of motorcycles, I presume that Kasol might even be on a route frequented by motorcycle expeditions, though I am not sure if these are comprised mainly of pilgrims going on to Manikaran or those headed towards other destinations as well.

At Manikaran, we found the Gurdwara to be situated down in the valley, on a river-bank, and we had to leave the main road and drive along a short one that was a lot more winding and a lot narrower than the one we had been driving on thus far. We stayed there only for a rather short period of time. After a brief prayer, we went to have a look at the hot-spring within the premises, where the visitors often have a bath and vessels are lowered into the hot water to cook rice or to make tea or daal (lentil-soup). I found it quite amazing that even as a broad stream of cold water flowed just outside the premises, a bridge over which one had to cross to get to the Gurdwara, a spring of hot water was to be found inside. A Hindu temple dedicated to Lord Shiva was constructed near the spring a few years ago, we discovered, within the boundaries.

Unfortunately, the management of the Gurdwara was not up to the standards that one is used to in Gurdwaras in other parts of North India, which are managed by the SGPC. This one, I learnt, is still operated by a clique of mahants. We could not even get parshaad, as the mahants distribute it only for a few hours every day and the joRhaa-ghar, where one might deposit one's shoes, before washing one's hands and feet and entering the sanctum sanctorum, was also closed. The facilities for washing one's hands and feet were also not available right outside the sanctum sanctorum, as these should be.

The drive on our way back was largely eventless and it was close to midnight, when we returned to the hotel. The next morning, we drove back home.

Later on, I could not help thinking that had the state of Punjab not been trifurcated in 1966, every single place that we drove through or stopped by at, throughout the trip, would still have been a part of Punjab, except for the areas that lay within Delhi.

An 'I' for an eye

The tag, this time, is about completing a series of statements about oneself. So, without much ado, as always, let us get down to business.

I am: a human being.

I think: , therefore, I am (though I do not own the copyright to that statement!).

I know: far less than I think I do, I am sure.

I want: just about enough to fulfil my basic needs as well as those of my motorcycle.

I have: a lot to thank the Almighty for!

I wish: for a lot of things, not all of which I can attain.

I hate: lies, deceit, manipulation, dishonesty, hypocrisy, corruption and nepotism.

I miss: my grandparents, all four of whom are no more, besides other family members and friends (of both the two-legged and four-legged varieties) who have gone on to the happy hunting grounds.

I fear: being forced by circumstances, more often than not created by manipulative people, to say or do something that I would not otherwise have said or done, being the fiercely independent person that I am or, at least, like to think that I am.

I feel: heat, cold, softness, hardness, sharpness, bluntness, etc., like any other person with a normal sense of touch.

I hear: all kinds of sounds that any one with a normal sense of hearing might hear.

I smell: all kinds of smells that any one with a normal sense of smell might recognise, besides a 'rat' or 'something fishy', at times.

I crave: not much for any thing or any one, any more!

I search: through Google, even as I know that I can not find all that I search for through it.

I wonder: whether the egg came before the chicken or vice versa.

I regret: not having been born in a royal family in a country with a constitutional monarchy (since it is difficult to locate one with an absolute monarchy these days!).

I love: leisure!

I ache: when I walk more than I usually do.

I care: a little more than I should, at times, perhaps.

I am not: a super-hero.

I believe: in a single, formless, indestructible, eternal Supreme Being i.e. WaheGuru, who is never born and never dies and is omnipotent and omnipresent and whom people that practise different religions address by different names.

I dance: only when dragged to the dance floor and make my escape as soon as I can.

I sing: only when there is no one within ear shot, although a lot of people have had to suffer my singing in the past, especially my mates at the hostel, while I was pursuing my post-graduate degree.

I cry: to wash away negative emotion from within myself, but only when no one is watching me, usually, except when it becomes impossible to hold back, like at my paternal grandfather's cremation (He was the only one among my grandparents at whose cremation I was present).

I do not always: do all that others expect of me.

I fight: when I have to.

"Jab aao ki aaodh nidhaan banay, att hi rann maiN tab joojh maroN"

(This can be roughly translated as, "When the limits of tolerance are crossed, I shall engage in battle and fight till the end.").

- Guru Gobind Singh

I write: using a computer's keyboard, mostly, nowadays.

I win: when I least expect to.

I lose: when I really want to win.

I never: garnish chocolate ice-cream with powdered chillies. Coming to think of it, I never do that with any other ice-cream flavour either.

I always: try to be as honest as I can, even at the cost of hitting others where it hurts.

I confuse: people's names sometimes. For instance, I have a hard time remembering whether a particular ghazal singer is named Peenaz Masani or Meenaz Pasani. I do remember, however, that she has an unruly shock of hair and that I do not appreciate her singing at all.

I listen: to music.

I can usually be found: on planet Earth.

I am scared: of doing anything that might trouble my conscience later.

I need: food, water, clothing, shelter and petrol (for my motorcycle, obviously!).

I am happy about: having all that the Almighty has blessed me with!

Another year...

..., another anniversary.

Riders On The Storm

A chameleon appears all set to operate the accelerator, while another looks ahead, as they ride my mother's rusty, old moped that lies disused in a corner of our backyard.

Surface Transport

I was reminded of this on account of the recent increases in the prices of fossil fuels, to exorbitant levels. I had borrowed my brother's camera to shoot this, at Ooty, since mine does not have optical zoom.

Covert

Over the past few days, I have been reading through the first issue of the news-magazine Covert, after I received a three-year subscription from my friend Siraj Wahab, as a gift. Siraj bhai, himself, has contributed a couple of pieces, which appear on page 51 of the maiden issue. One of these, as a matter of fact, has been published on his blog as well, in the form of the blog-post dated May 19, 2008.

The magazine, apparently, has been started by veteran journalist M. J. Akbar, who is listed as the Chairman and Director of Publications. The first thing that struck my mind, when I looked at it, was that it is a fortnightly, unlike most of its major competitors, which are weeklies. I wonder if that is likely to change at any point of time in the future, especially when advertising revenues increase. The advertisements in the first issue are limited to the inside of the front cover and on both sides of the back cover.

The USP or unique selling proposition of the magazine seems to be that it not only contains rather interesting columns written by veteran journalists and writers, but those by prominent persons from other walks of life as well. The columnists include M. J. Akbar, Kuldip Nayar, Yashwant Sinha, Seema Mustafa, Akhilesh Mithal, Saeed Naqvi, Teesta Setalvad, Brahma Chellaney, Suhel Seth, Arif Mohammed Khan, Pawan Khera, Farzana Versey, Khushwant Singh, Joginder Singh, Jaswant Singh and Prakash Karat. The magazine could very well have been named as The Columnist's Fortnightly, perhaps. It remains to be seen, however, whether all such columns are going to be a regular feature or that many are meant to be a part of the first few issues only. I, for one, would certainly hope for the former to be the case.

Apart from the columns, I found the contents to be rather lack-lustre. The cover story, which is about the illegally-acquired wealth of a politician, for instance, seems to have been based entirely on hear-say or interviews with opposing politicians, besides circumstantial evidence. The magazine appears to have no documentary evidence to back its claims, other than a copy of a public interest litigation that has been filed against the man, which can hardly be considered as such, since the matter is sub-judice. The allegations that have been made are probably genuine, as the public generally knows more about the ill-gotten wealth of politicians and bureaucrats than those who have the power to prosecute them for such misdemeanours, but are unlikely to stand in a court of law, unless some material evidence is available.

The rest of the contents are based largely on politics and on sports, to a lesser degree, in addition to entertainment, lifestyles and astrology. The politics-based content, though, is mainly in the form of commentary or a compilation of gossip, rather than objective reporting.

Above all else, I am not sure whether making the contents of all columns available for free on the magazine's website is a good idea, if the magazine is meant to remain in circulation over an extended period of time, unless, of course, the website is to have a revenue model of its own. If one can read all one's favourite columns online, there hardly remains any reason to subscribe to the magazine or to purchase a copy from the news-stand. I believe that some of the competing magazines allow access to online content only to those who have a valid subscription number.

Indiscipline amongst Sikh Sangat

The Sikhs have fought and won numerous battles in past, often against heavy odds. This has been possible, I believe, not only on account of immense courage, but also a strong sense of self-discipline. Sadly, many of those who call themselves Sikhs, nowadays, seem to have given up the latter, along with their Kesh (unshorn hair and, in the case of men, beard as well).

The following photgraphs were taken at Keshgarh Sahib, a few days ago. The painted signs are meant to request members of the Sangat (congregation) to deposit their shoes at the designated place, from where they could collect these before leaving the premises, simply by returning a token issued against the shoes. The service is provided free of charge.

A Common Thread

A book has been published recently, which presents its author's attempts to explore the thread of commonality that runs through Islamic and Sikh precepts.

The Figure of Eight

This is the second one of the two tags that were pending. I would like to offer my sincerest apologies for the delay in doing this one.

Eight things I am passionate about:

1. Doing nothing.
2. Relaxing.
3. Watching movies. One fine day, when I sat down to list the titles of the movies that I have watched, I was able to write down about 200.
4. My motorcycle (12bhp, 135cc, single-cylinder, 2-stroke, 4-speed manual, kick-start). I bought it in 2001.
5. Animals (excluding humans). Love them and they love you back unconditionally. They bear disease, infirmity and suffering with the utmost grace and when death comes calling, they go along quietly. They behave more like true gentlemen or have more lady-like qualities than most humans seem to, nowadays.
6. Travel. I try not to miss any available opportunity to go to a place I have never been to.
7. Photography. I purchased my camera-phone only so that I can have a camera in my pocket, wherever I go.
8. Being a couch potato. My favourite television channels include BBC World News, NDTV 24x7, Star Movies, HBO, Discovery and Animal Planet, even as I spend a good deal of time channel-surfing, in general.

Eight things I want to do before I die:

1. Stay alive.
2. Stay alive.
3. Stay alive.
4. Stay alive.
5. Stay alive.
6. Stay alive.
7. Stay alive.
8. Stay alive.

Eight things I say often:

I do not have any pet-phrases, presently.

Eight books I have read recently:

I have not read any books recently.

Eight songs I could listen to over and over:

1. 'Vindicated' from the original sound track of the movie Spiderman.
2. 'Imagine' by John Lennon.
3. 'Man Who Sold the World' by Nirvana.
4. 'Mann Kunto Maula' in Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's voice.
5. 'Allah hoo' in Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's voice.
6. 'Shabad-kirtan' (recitation of verses from the Guru Granthh Saahib, with musical accompaniment), provided the Raagi-jathha follows the Raaga prescribed in the Guru Granthh Saahib, for the recitation of each of the verses.
7. 'Bulla Ki Jaana MeiN Kaun' in Rabbi Shergill's voice.
8. 'Dilli' by Rabbi Shergill.

Eight things that attract me to my friends:

The one who has tagged me has consulted her spouse, while filling in this section, whereas another blogging buddy she has tagged has asked her friends to provide inputs. Since I do not have a spouse or too many friends of the human kind, I decided to ask my animal friends and here is what they had to say.

1. Woof, woof
2. Woof, woof
3. Poof, poof
4. Poof, poof
5. Moo, moo
6. Moo, moo
7. Meow, meow
8. Meow, meow

His Highness

May the tribe of nomads prosper!

This tag is one of the two that are pending and I am attempting this one first only because the questions appear easier to answer than those in the other one.

Last movie seen in a theatre?

RV

What book are you reading?

None

Favourite board game?

Scrabble

Favourite Magazine(s):

Reader's Digest, India Today

Favourite Smells:

Lime, Cocoa

Favourite Sound:

The exhaust note of my motorcycle, guitar riffs accompanied by drums

Worst Feeling In The World:

The burning sensation that follows having found out that something I would never have wanted to happen has happened and when I can not seem to either laugh or cry.

What Is The First Thing You Think Of When You Wake Up?

Is it morning or is it afternoon?

Favourite Fast Food Place:

McDonald's and the most likely purchases there include Chicken McGrill, Cold Coffee, Vanilla ice-cream with hot chocolate sauce.

Future Child’s Name:

We shall cross that bridge when we come to it, if at all.

Finish This Statement. “If I Had A Lot Of Money I’d…”

...spend it on myself and on friends and family.

Do You Drive Fast?

Not really. I have never driven faster than 110 kilometres an hour, even on a national highway.

Do You Sleep With A Stuffed Animal?

Nope!

Storms-Cool Or Scary?

Any kind, as long as I am at a secure location.

Do You Eat The Stems On Broccoli?

I have never eaten Broccoli.

If You Could Dye Your Hair Any Colour, What Would Be Your Choice?

I am not sure if I would ever want to dye my hair.

Name All The Different Cities/Towns You Have Lived In.

Hardwar, Chandigarh, Indore, National Capital Region of India.

Favourite Sports To Watch:

I am not particular about watching any sport any more. While I am channel surfing, however, I am likely to stop if I come across a telecast of motor-sports of any kind or Football (Soccer) or Cricket.

One Nice Thing About The Person Who Sent This To You:

He writes very well.

What’s Under Your Bed?

There is nothing under my bed, but inside it are the quilts and blankets that are likely to stay there until next winter.

Would You Like To Be Born As Yourself Again?

Only if I am born with a large inheritance, the next time round, so that I never have to worry about making a living.

Morning Person Or Night Owl?

Night Owl

Over Easy Or Sunny Side Up?

Sunny Side Up, with a generous sprinkling of salt and pepper.

Favourite Place To Relax:

Any place with a couch and access to a few newspapers, magazines, a computer with an internet connection, besides a television with a cable-television connection that shows my favourite news-channels and the appropriate appliances for climate-control (which could actually be a ceiling fan or a room-heater, depending upon the weather conditions). A large window offering a nice view would be a bonus, of course.

Favourite Pie:

Apple pie.

Favourite Ice Cream Flavour:

Vanilla with hot chocolate sauce

Corn-cobs, anyone?

These goats were lounging about on the foot-path besides one of the main streets in Ooty, until one decided to inspect the stock, when a corn-cob seller stepped away from her stall for a while.

Southwards bound: At Cochin

After having enjoyed an interesting journey from Delhi to Goa, seen some marvellous specimens of architecture there, made some new friends and having enjoyed some of the sea and sand at Goa's beaches, we went on to Cochin. It was a little more than an overnight journey and we arrived there on a rainy afternoon.

Lunch, comprised of traditional South Indian fare including rice, daal (lentil soup), curd and pickle, was had at the Ernakulam railway station itself and then an auto-rickshaw was hired to take us and our luggage to a budget hotel. By the time we had checked in, relaxed for a while and freshened up, it was already evening and we decided to set out to explore the place.

The driver of the auto-rickshaw that we hired to go to the nearest point on the sea-shore turned out to be quite gregarious. He told us about the antipathy between the local people and migrants from the neighbouring state of Tamil Nadu, who are mainly engaged in unskilled and semi-skilled labour.

As we drove over a bridge across a channel to reach a man-made island created by the British from the materials dredged while deepening the port in 1935-39, where the headquarters of the Indian Navy's Southern Command are also located, we could see a couple of naval boats that had been painted completely grey to match the colour of the sea. Many other multi-coloured civilian craft bobbed up and down around them.

We saw several colonial-era buildings on the way, some of which, I believe, were occupied by the Indian Navy. The style of architecture certainly appeared somewhat different from that of those we had seen in Goa. That could have been because apart from the Portuguese, Cochin had been occupied by the Dutch as well as the British, during different periods of time in its history. We passed a museum, as well, but it was closed, either because it was well past its closing time or it was meant to remain closed on that particular day of the week.

At the sea-side, there was an elevated, paved path along the shore that was separated from the edge of the water by rocks and pebbles of all shapes and sizes. In the distance, we could see some ships at anchor. As we walked along, we came across several wooden platforms that were supported by wooden poles and extended well into the water. At the far edge of each of these, were fishing nets of a peculiar kind that had been mounted on large wooden frames.

A dog hopped, skipped and jumped over the rocks to find its way to a shiny little fish that lay dead on one. It is difficult to imagine whether it was already dead when the waves deposited it there or it died later as the tide receded or if being smashed against a boulder made it lose its life.

Soon, as it began to get dark, we returned to where the auto-rickshaw was parked and asked to be driven back to the hotel. The driver, however, had another idea and took us to the baazaar (market-place), where he knew of a shop that sold a huge variety of the most exotic of spices. My mother was obviously pleased to be there and made several purchases.

A gigantic structure that we saw while getting there, my father told us, was part of a ship-building facility. I also noticed that several of the buses plying on the roads did not have any glass window panes and had tarpaulins instead, which could be folded up to let in plenty of the breeze, in order to provide some relief from the hot and humid weather.

Finally, we bade farewell to the taxi driver and went for dinner at a restaurant near the hotel. We had biryaani and Kerala paraathha, a variant of the Punjabi paraathha that Keralites have devised.

Early the next morning, we left for Ooty.

Golden Oldie - II

Here is another rare gem that I have been able to unearth, once again, with the help of Tasveerein on the B4U Movies channel on television.



Film: Funtoosh (1956)
Singer: Kishore Kumar
Music Director: S. D. Burman
Lyricist: Sahir Ludhianvi

'V' for Victory

It was his birthday on March 21 and that reminded me of the fact that we have not communicated with each other for several years now.

We met for the first time in late 1989, soon after I moved to Chandigarh, along with my family. He was among my class-mates at school. Both of us lived in the same sector of the city and used to ride our respective bicycles together every day, at least on the way back home, since I was almost invariably late in the mornings. We were in standard IX then.

After completing standard X, he got himself admitted to a college, while I remained at the same school as before. Within the next three years, we passed the standard XII examinations and then spent a year without having joined any educational institution as he meant to re-appear and improve his scores and I hoped to be able to prepare better for the tests for admission into an engineering course.

During all those years, we remained the closest of friends. Besides being together at school and, later, going for private tuition classes, we used to spend a lot of time in each other's company. He would often come to visit in the evenings and remain seated on his bicycle (which was replaced by a scooter, after he got a driving licence) just outside the gate, while I stood inside, and we would talk for hours on end, even as we ogled at passers-by. At other times, I would visit his place and we would sit in his room and chat, while munching on some tasty snack or the other that his mother plied us with.

More time at hand was filled with long walks or skating along the periphery of the Sukhna lake or hanging out at the piazza in sector 17 along with some other friends.

I often remember some of the pranks that we played on unsuspecting people and smile to myself. For instance, one fine day, when my family as well as the nice folk who lived upstairs had gone out, we climbed up, through the cutout, to what could perhaps be termed as their back-yard, using a stool to get on to the upper rail of a window sash and then clambering up a wall and walking carefully across its narrow top-surface, almost like real-life commandos. We had carried along his .22 calibre air-rifle and a box of lead pellets, in addition to a pair of field glasses. The parapet had been constructed in such a way that there were gaps between the bricks, large enough to pass the barrel of the gun through and take aim without really being seen, except from a very short distance.

We took turns shooting at the window panes of a house across the road. The air-rifle was not powerful enough for any of the shots to break the thick glass across the distance of about 100-150 metres, however, a loud noise was produced each time a pellet found its mark. The occupants of the house must have been flummoxed! At first, an old woman came out to investigate, but went back inside within a minute or two. We shot a few more times. Shortly, her beautiful grand-daughter stepped out to try and locate the source of the noise. That was when the field glasses came in handy!

There were many other such incidents, which I can not recall without a chuckle, during those four years or so, at the end of which my friend joined the Merchant Navy, like his father and elder brother. I recall that I had written "V for victory and V for Vishal" on the card that I gave him, to wish him for his birthday, soon before he left.

Subsequently, I joined a local college to pursue a bachelor's degree in arts, having realised that being the teetotaller that I am, science and mathematics were not really my cups of tea. I did not get to see him until when I was in the third and final year, as he completed his training and then continued to sail from one port to another. Unfortunately, during the days that he came to visit the hometown, I was preparing for the entrance examinations for a post graduate course in management, besides preparing for those of the final year of the graduate degree, and was not able to manage to spare the kind of time for him that I should have. He left without saying farewell, at the end of his vacation.

Soon thereafter, I moved to Indore in the state of Madhya Pradesh where I had secured admission in a C-grade business school. I had taken his mailing address from his mother before I left and wrote to him from there. We corresponded a few times after that and also spoke to each other over the telephone, even after I completed the course and moved to the national capital region, where my parents had shifted residence to by that time.

Then, his brother got married and I sent a congratulatory note. He wrote back to regret the fact that he had not invited me. I responded with a letter full of anger. He never replied. Since then, I have written several times, to wish him and his family a happy new year or to wish him a happy birthday, but have not heard from him. His father was kind enough to call me once to enquire after my well being and to assure me that he would pass my message on to Vishal, which I am sure he must have done.

The Almighty alone knows whether I shall ever be re-united with my friend, but the effect that having lost a friend has had on me is that I have become more forgiving and receptive to sincere apologies.

Golden Oldie

The B4U Movies channel on television airs songs from old Hindi movies every night around 1 a.m., which often include some from the black and white era, on a show called Tasveerein. Here is one such rare gem that has been on the show more than once. I would like to offer my sincerest apologies, in advance, to those who do not understand Hindi/Urdu. I am sure they, too, can enjoy the music, however.



Film: Ek Raaz (which released in the year 1963)
Singer: Kishore Kumar (on whom the song has been picturised, as well)
Music Director: Chitragupt
Lyricist: Majrooh Sultanpuri

My father's memories of November 1984

My father has been kind enough to pen down some of his experiences and memories from those tumultuous times, which are as follows:

"There is no doubt that the anti-Sikh riots in 1984 were a totally planned process. This is borne out by my personal experiences described here. The identities of those who carried out the planning not only in Delhi, but all over the Hindi belt, have been suppressed by the commissions or investigating agencies.

I was working with Bharat Heavy Electricals Limited (BHEL), Hardwar, in 1984 and living in the BHEL colony at Ranipur, Hardwar.

We were in office on 31st October when the news of Indira Gandhi's assassination came in. There were no ill-feelings among the staff members except one or two personal clashes.

However, when we went to office on 1st November, the atmosphere had totally changed. People were huddled in groups and discussing something that they wanted to keep from me, but since we had been working together for nearly 20 years, they hesitatingly informed me that there was a list of Sikh properties and establishments, which were to be attacked and burned down on that day. The process was to start from the other end of Hardwar, near Bhimgoda, and end in BHEL and Jwalapur in the evening or at night.

Based on the list, people were monitoring the progress by contacting their near and dear ones by telephone and confirming whether the arsonists had burnt down this property or were proceeding to that property.

Throughout the day, I could see that the process was going almost as planned, because the police were with the arsonists, which was confirmed later, as described in some of the following paragraphs.

In the evening, when I reached home, I observed that many people had collected on the roof-top of the house just behind mine and were discussing loudly among themselves about Sant Talkies (a cinema-hall owned by a Sikh) having been set on fire. Since, Sant Talkies was located near BHEL and it represented the last item in the list for Hardwar, they had apparently been prepared to watch the show of the burning of the cinema hall, in the evening.

Since there was plenty of movement on the roads at that time, I decided to go and fetch the family's milk supply, which had to be brought from the other end of the colony, on foot, as I usually did. As I walked through the colony, I could hear people calling out to each other to proceed to the BHEL Gurdwara to participate in the attack on it or, at least, to watch it being destroyed.

As I was returning, I could see the crowds thickening and moving towards the Gurdwara. By the time I reached home, I could see huge crowds surrounding the Gurdwara and, subsequently, burning it down.

Sensing trouble, my family and I locked ourselves up in the house and simply waited for events to take shape.

Our neighbours were celebrating and saying that today our family was going to be eliminated. They were storing water in drums, which, according to them, was meant to be used for preventing the fire from spreading to their own houses, when ours was set on fire.

The mob, after burning the Gurdwara, went to the house of one of the Gurdwara's managing committee's members, but he and his family members escaped death, although injuries were sustained. The mob went away after his aged father drew a gun and prepared to shoot at the attackers. Another member of the committee was shot at with a country-made pistol, but he also escaped death as the bullet only grazed his neck.

Late into the night, the BHEL administration called in the army from the Raiwala cantonment and so the rest of the days of anti-Sikh violence in India passed off peacefully for us.

After a few days, my motorcycle mechanic visited me (I used to own an Ideal Jawa motorbike, at that time). He was a Sikh gentleman. I could not recognise him until he identified himself, as he was clean-shaven. When I asked him, he told me about all that had happened.

He used to be the only mechanic in Hardwar who could repair the Royal Enfield Bullet motorcycles. So, all police personnel of Hardwar used to go to him for getting their official motorcycles repaired. He said that early in the morning of 1st November, some policemen came to his house and told him that he was one of the targets on that day's list. They told him that they did not want him to be killed, but they could not protect him either. So, they suggested that he remove all external symbols of Sikhism, become clean-shaven and seek 'forgiveness' from the leaders of the mob, when they came to attack him and his motor-garage. So, in this way, they told him, he could be saved and not lose his source of livelihood i.e. his motorcycle repair facility.

He acted accordingly and he and his garage were spared.

He and some others also told me that when the Sikh establishments were looted and burned, the police personnel were encouraging the people to loot and were also noting down the names and addresses of the looters, as well as the items that each of them had looted. Later on they visited the looters and demanded a share, or, the looted items, if the looters were not prepared to pay.

One of Giani Zail Singh's (who was the president of India at that point of time)relatives was also working with BHEL, Hardwar. He told me that when he rang up Giani Zail Singh to ask for protection, Giani ji informed him that he was virtually a prisoner himself and unable to move out of the Rashtrapati Bhawan. The president told him that being helpless himself, he was unable to offer any help and that the relative should manage on his own, as best as he could.

These events clearly prove that the whole operation was very well-planned and the details known, in advance, to all concerned, including the police, so that all activities could go ahead as scheduled.

The conditions were similar in many other cities of the Hindi belt as well as in Delhi, as I subsequently came to know from many other Sikhs as well non-Sikhs, who were witness to such events."

Opposites attract?

Another Book Tag...

This time the tag requires me to reach out for the nearest book, open page 123, grab the fifth line and add the next three lines to the blog-post.

So, I have reached out and picked up the nearest book. It is titled 'A House for Mr. Biswas' and the author is V. S. Naipaul. I have opened page 123. However, I think I shall grab the third line instead of the fifth.

"I see you have got your name in the papers," Seth said.
Mr. Biswas shrugged.
The gods swung slowly in the hammock, frowning.

As for what the book is all about, I have no idea, for I have not read it. The tag, after all, mentioned reaching out for the nearest book and nothing at all about reading it!

Cleaning Punjab's Polluted Waters

Over the recent past, I have been reading news-reports of the people of Punjab suffering from the ill-effects of drinking polluted water. This has not only been on account of untreated industrial effluents, but also due to unprecedented amounts of chemical pesticides and fertilisers being used and ultimately seeping down into the ground water, which is a major source of drinking water in the rural areas.

Over the long term, obviously, the solution lies in getting the industrialists to set up treatment plants, so that untreated effluents do not reach drinking water sources. Additionally, chemical pesticides and fertilisers have to be gradually replaced with biotic ones.

The problem is very real, however, and requires to be dealt with in the immediate future. After all, it is now that the people who drink the water are afflicted with all sorts of diseases and genetic malformations.

Facilities like water-works are not available in the villages and are unlikely to become available over the short- to medium-term. Therefore, it is imperative that cost-effective means for purification of water by the villagers themselves be made available.

Since the impurities are well-dissolved, processes like sedimentation, decantation and filtration are, obviously, not likely to be of much help, as these are meant for removing suspended impurities only. Reverse osmosis is not only somewhat expensive and, therefore, not accessible to every one, but may also not act effectively enough on impurities originating from insecticides, even as it can remove residues of metals like lead (Pb) and mercury (Hg). An advertisement for a leading brand that I perused, stated that the product on offer 'reduces' and does not remove completely, the impurities related to insecticides. Considering the fact that such content can be quite high in the ground-water in Punjab's rural areas, the quantities that remain even after passing it through a reverse osmosis plant may still be too high for it to be safe for drinking.

Therefore, to my mind, the best alternative that remains is fractional distillation. It is important, however, that the apparatus that is made available is portable so that the villagers can use it conveniently and is made of locally available material, as far as possible, so that it can be cost-effective. Also, it should be workable with locally available fuels derived from crop waste or animal waste.

In terms of inexpensive technology, inputs may be taken from the locally developed process for the distillation of country-made liquor. That could, I am sure, serve as a starting point, at the very least.

I fervently hope that the relevant government departments or some non-governmental organisations or local entrepreneurs or corporate philanthropists can step up to the challenge at the earliest possible.

Shelter

Technology Tag

This time the tag is about technology and the difference that it has made to my life.

A little less than two years ago, I visited Pakistan along with my family. This was a unique experience, not only for me, but also for my parents and younger brother. None of us had been to that country before and, given the mercurial relationship between India and Pakistan, it is always difficult to say as to when or if at all there would be a next time.

Being Punjabis visiting the part of Punjab that lies on the other side of the border, we were glad to note that almost everything, apart from the religious faith that most people practise over there, is very similar to that in the Indian part of Punjab. There were a lot of interesting asides too, in addition to a heavy dose of nostalgia and a nice, warm kind of feeling inspired by the shared Punjabiyat.

So, when we returned home, after having spent ten days that were among the most memorable ones of our lives, enjoying the neighbours' hospitality, I wanted to share the experience with friends and family. I would have written a series of emails to them, but then I discovered blogging and it offered the prospect of not only sharing a lot of all that I had seen and heard with a lot more people, but, possibly, could also afford me the chance to make a tiny contribution towards the promotion of peace and friendship. So, here we are!

If it had been the pre-internet era, or, at least, those times when I was not too familiar with the World-Wide-Web, I would have written a series of letters to the editors of various newspapers, though it might have been rather difficult to get all of those published and there would probably have been no readers from outside of the sub-continent, which would have reduced the impact considerably.

I quote from one of the earliest comments on my blog (which was posted at another online location, where I had initially started blogging):

"Thanks for posting this, as the only time the West hears of the borders you speak of is when there's fighting. This leaves the impression that all that exists is violence. We know this not to be true, of course, but every message of peace, understanding, acceptance and tolerance counts massively."

Besides, since blogging allows for instant feedback, I have, in fact, had the privilege to interact with those from countries as far as the U.S., the U.K., the U.A.E., Belgium and Romania, aside from readers from places closer to home i.e. in India and Pakistan.

The searchable nature of information on the internet has more than once led to those whom I have written about landing up at the relevant blog-posts and posting comments.

Also, as I am the writer, editor and publisher of the weblog, all rolled into one, I have complete control over the content, which would not have been possible otherwise, unless I had the resources to bring out my own newspaper or journal.

Corruption in the Indian Private Sector

I received the following message through email recently, offering me a 'contract' that I could sign in order to recieve bribes on a consistent basis:

Dear Candidate

Greetings !

We are presenting an offer to be a part time employee of our company and
earn whatever you want. For this you need not to spend extra time, you need not
to go anywhere, just pay your attention and cooperation to our company.

Basically we are Manpower Solution Company and focusing on recruitment
consultancy and Manpower Outsourcing. With a huge Client base, we are serving
our Clients nationwide and we are very much capable to give quality staffing
services in almost all Industry and all functional areas.

What You Are Supposed To Do.

a) Introduce our Consultancy to your Concerned
Company.
b) Finish formality of singeing of our Terms and
Condition.
c) Send us your Company’s staffing requirements so that
we can refer the best professional to your concerned Company for recruitment and
all.
d) We will start working on given requirement to serve
your Company the best.
e) We will Line-up the most suitable candidates for the
interview.
f) You are supposed to be in contact throughout
selection process, give us proper feedback and suggestion to close the
position.
g) Finally the referred candidate will have been
recruited at your company.
h) We will produce the bill for clearance to your
Concerned Company.
i) Within Ten days of bill clearance the
percentage which is your Remuneration, will be transferred in your given Bank
Account.
j) The Percentage will be given on billing
amount after reducing Service Tax. The Remuneration amount will vary on basis of
billing amount in a month. Which would be as given bellow-

(1) If Billing Amount is Less than Rs.50000 in a month, your amount
will be 10% of billing amount.
(2) If Billing Amount is more than Rs.50000 and less than Rs. 1 Lac
in a month, your amount will be 15% of billing amount.
(3) If Billing Amount is more than Rs.1 Lac and less than Rs. 2 Lac
in a month, your amount will be 25% of billing amount.
(4) If Billing Amount is more than Rs.2 Lac in a month, your amount
will be 30% of billing amount.

So start working, Send us your confirmation mail or queries along with your
Contact details.

We are waiting for a warm reply, If need arises what so ever, please feel
free to contact us.

Regards

Sidhusaaheb at the Auto Expo 2008

It appears almost surreal now. For all of a hundred and twelve rupees, a nearly destitute, sometimes-employed man like me could go and take a close look at some of the loveliest automobiles in the world. Twelve rupees, incidentally, was the to and fro fare for the train ride between home and the venue of the exposition i.e. Pragati Maidan, New Delhi, with the rest being the entry fee.

Apart from the current range of products that each manufacturer participating in the show sells in the country, a number of other vehicles had also been displayed. Among all of these, there were some that especially caught my eye.

The highlight of the trip was coming face to face with the small general-purpose vehicle that has, arguably, the best off-road capabilities, available to the civilian population of the world i.e. the Hummer. The H2 on display at the General Motors pavilion was maroon in colour and, needless to add, looked absolutely stunning. Strangely enough, none of the Auto Expo-related coverage in the newspapers had alerted me in advance to the fact that it was being shown there.

At the Maruti-Suzuki pavilion, I was glad to note that the small hatch-back Splash, which is meant to replace the Wagon R, in fact, looks a lot more like a car should, than the Wagon R (the reasons for the sales of which I have never been able to fathom so far and which closely resembles a match-box in shape). Prospective buyers can expect to have a choice between versions with the 1 litre engine being driven by manual and automatic transmissions. The A-star concept that is also supposed to be releasing soon does not look bad at all, except for the pink turn-indicators, but appears to be rather too low slung to be practicable on Indian roads. The SX4 on display was a hatch-back, as against the saloon version being sold here, and done up like a World Rally Championship car, though I am not sure if it had actually taken part in the WRC. The photograph posted above is of a Suzuki concept that looked absolutely fabulous!

FIAT had displayed the new Linea, which has a grill with a very naughty, toothy grin, almost like Garfield the cat! The new FIAT 500 that has retro-styling quite akin to its ancester with the same name, but has a much more powerful engine, was also parked nearby.

The Tata Nano does look like a toy car from the land of Noddy and friends, but still appeared quite capable of comfortably seating four adults, at least two of whom could be up to six feet tall. However, I do not think that it is capable of doing more than 75-80 kilometres an hour, with that kind of a load, despite the claimed top-speed of 105.

So, here is a suggestion I have for Tata Motors. They should bring out a hybrid version of the car with an electric motor and a set of batteries accomodated in the boot. Contrary to popular perception, this would be to enhance the car's performance, more than anything else. A mechanism to charge the batteries by harnessing the motion of the wheels could be devised and installed in the car. Even after the wheel bearings are replaced with those of a better quality, in order to cope with a higher top-speed (an electronically limited 120 kilometres an hour or so, perhaps), I suppose the variant could still be priced somewhere around the current price of a standard Maruti 800. I leave it to the technicians to decide whether the brakes and the suspension would have to be worked upon as well.

Meanwhile, I am quite impressed with all that the company has done with the styling and design of the latest avatar of the Sumo i.e. the Grande. However, it remains to be seen whether the brand will be able to recover from the boxes-welded-together kind of image that, I believe, has largely been responsible for the Sumo being mainly used as a commercial vehicle so far. So, the changes might actually have come rather too late in the day for it to gain respectability in the Sport Utility Vehicle (SUV) or Multi Utility Vehicle (MUV) market now.

The Xenon appears to have been derived from what once used to be the Tatamobile, and looked a bit tacky, upon closer examination.

Skoda, BMW and Volvo had a number of gorgeous vehicles on display. These included Skoda's hatch-back Fabia, Volvo's SUV XC90, besides the cabriolets Volvo C70 and the BMW 650i.

Honda were showing the Jazz, which is being already sold as the Honda Fit in some other countries and is the soon-to-be-launched hatch-back version of its popular City model, besides the fuel-cell car FCX, even though it appeared somewhat larger and different from the FCX that I remembered having seen in advertisements earlier.

I also had a look at DC's Ambierod, the much-hyped Rs.400,00,000 Indian-made luxury car. I suppose the only use that any one can have for it in this country is to drive from an airport lounge to a waiting aircraft and vice versa. Otherwise, the front bumper is so low that it could hardly ever clear any of the speed-breakers of the sort that are almost omnipresent on the roads of cities like Delhi, for instance.

Among the motorcycle manufacturers, Yamaha, Kawasaki and Honda had all brought along a number of bikes with engine capacities upwards of 500 cubic centimetres, like the Yamaha R1 and those from the Kawasaki Ninja and the Honda CBR series. Apparently, they have heard of underground racing circuits like the one that uses the Greater Noida expressway for a track and the number of suberbikes that are being imported by those who are not racing enthusiasts, as well, from which it is evident that a niche market exists for such cycles.

Auction the Bharat Ratna!

Over the past few days, the government of India has been receiving missives from various political parties, recommending various politicians, who are either dead or retired or soon to retire or in a state of semi-retirement, for the nation's highest civilian honour i.e. the Bharat Ratna.

The Bharatiya Janata Party has recommended Mr. Atal Behari Vajpayee, the Bahujan Samaj Party has recommended the late Mr. Kanshi Ram, the communists are supposed to have been peddling the name of Mr. Jyoti Basu, whereas the Akalis are now supposed to have joined the race with Mr. Parkash Singh Badal as their candidate and the Telugu Desam Party is not far behind with their demand for the award to go to the late Mr. N. T. Rama Rao.

More parties could, possibly, join the fray as the 'race' continues to heat up.

All of this reminds me of the kind of fervour that securing a 'V. I. P.' registration number for their vehicles evokes among people, who used to employ every trick in the book, including getting recommendation letters from 'influential' people, in order to be able to get a number of their choice, until the respective state governments began to openly auction such numbers.

In view of the above, it would probably be best if the central government decides to go for an open auction of the Bharat Ratna, as well. The various political parties can then bid for the award (which would, of course, stop being an honour, thereafter), for a candidate of their choice. This could be a 'win-win' situation for the politicians as well as the ordinary people, since some of the ill-gotten wealth of the politicians can be transferred to the exchequer in this manner and, hopefully, used for the common good, even as the politicians can hope to impress the electorate in a more effective manner in subsequent elections, by citing the instance of the Bharat Ratna having been awarded to one of their party members.

Additionally, the committee that decides upon whom to bestow the Bharat Ratna, at the moment, can then be disbanded and the resources that it has at its disposal can be put to other uses, including finding ways and means for further enhancement of the public image of the party that wins the bid.

Remembrances...

It has been a year now.

This photograph was taken much earlier, of course, when the little one decided to take a nap one afternoon, using the edge of my slipper as a pillow.

Wish fulfilment and a strange co-incidence

A few blog-posts ago, Raza Rumi had left a comment stating that he likes going for long walks, just like me, to which I had replied that perhaps we should go for a walk together some time in the near future.

Well, it just so happened that Raza came visiting friends in Delhi and also invited me to accompany him and some of his other local friends on a long walk. It was the eve of Urdu poet Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib's birth anniversary and a candle-light march was being organised to mark the occasion.

Earlier, Raza and I had exchanged mobile telephone numbers through email and, subsequently, traded text messages, as well as having spoken to each other to explore the possibility of arranging a meeting.

It was really good when we met, even though I eventually decided not to accompany him for the march, since it appeared that it could mean that I would have to ride my motorbike over the 30 odd kilometres from his host's house to my own rather late at night, which would have meant cold weather and traffic constituted mainly by heavily-laden trucks.

As we spoke to each other in our common mother tongue i.e. Punjabi, we discovered that both of us had maternal grandfathers who had migrated from across the border in 1947. His had been a businessman in Amritsar and mine a medical practitioner in Rawalpindi, before partition.

He was also able to satisfy my curiosity, to a certain extent, regarding the status of the Punjabi language in Pakistan as well as some of the 'Islamisation' that has taken place in the country, over the past few years. For instance, the holy month of Ramzan is now known as Ramadan over there and people say Allah Haafiz to bid farewell, instead of Khuda Haafiz. These changes, he explained, had come about while General Zia-ul-Haq was at the helm of affairs of the Islamic Republic.

There was, however, a very strange co-incidence related to our meeting that is likely to remain well-entrenched in my mind for a long time. When Raza had called me to provide the name and address of his host, his voice had been somewhat garbled, probably on account of network congestion or fluctuation in the strength of the mobile telephone's signal. So, I heard the last name of his host as Benazir and wrote it down as such on the piece of paper on which I had noted down the address.

Later on, after I had learnt that the actual name was different, I struck out the name Benazir with the same pencil that I had used to write it down. Within twenty-four hours of that event, I was watching television coverage related to former Pakistani premier Benazir Bhutto's assassination! The piece of paper lies on my table even as I write this.

Southwards bound: Sidhusaaheb and the Sea

All my life, I have been reading in books about the 'blue sea'. When I was much younger and at school, I was told to use light blue crayons to colour rivers in my drawing-book or the space occupied by the various oceans in a map of the world that was blank, except for the outlines of all the continents.

In reality, all the rivers that I have seen have either been a dark shade of green or a dull shade of grey. So, I was really excited when I travelled to Goa in July this year, with the family. This, after all, was the first time that I was going to see the sea, so to say.

It was early morning when the train rolled into Goan precincts. Besides the lush, green countryside, there were the lovely villas that caught my attention, from amongst all that rushed past the window. I did not really expect to catch a glimpse of the sea until after we reached our destination. Soon, however, beyond a line of coconut trees on the shore, a vast expanse of water, which was a pale shade of grey, came into view. Stretching away into the distance, as far as the eye could see, it merged into the horizon.

Over the next two days, the sea was a constant presence, as we drove across the place. Towards the end of the first, we went on to a jetty and surf definitely was up, sending repeated bursts of spray to considerable heights. The next day was reserved for visiting South Goa and, hence, the beaches.

On the first one that we went to, no one was actually allowed to go down to the water's edge and we had to satisfy ourselves with a walk along an elevated road spanning the length of the beach. There was a nice vantage point though, which appeared to have been built during colonial times and had a distinct old-world feel to it. It was a treat to watch wave after wave come crashing down against the rocks, sending fine water-droplets up to where we stood. My brother, who had been busy taking photographs until a few minutes earlier, had to return his camera to its water-proof case.

On the second one, there were huge boulders along the edge of the water that we were able to climb down to and, therefore, enjoy quite a close encounter. On the third, we were actually atop a cliff from where we were able to watch the waves forming in the distance and then travelling, in quick succession, to the shore.

It was the fourth one that was actually like the way I had thought a beach was supposed to be. The photograph posted above shows me standing there, mesmerised. It was taken a few moments before the sea actually greeted me with, well, a cold embrace! After that I had to roll up the wet bottoms of my trousers and also to take off my sandals, which had become uncomfortable because of the accumulation of wet sand. It was meant to be a lesson in beach-etiquette, perhaps, for a novice like me.

At Cochin, where we proceeded to from Goa, it was, once again, a walk along a paved path, which was separated from the water by rocks of all shapes and sizes.

Subsequently, we went to a beach in Madras, as well, during the last leg of our journey, but, besides the hot and humid weather, that experience was caused to be less than pleasant for me by the stench from the various stalls selling fish.

The sea at these places, too, appeared to be a pale shade of grey.

Seven Random Facts about Myself

This time, the tag requires me to write down seven random facts about myself, which are as follows:

1. I love animals. If I knew how, I would like to make friends with almost every single animal in the world (Disclaimer: This does not apply to humans!). This is despite the odd mishap that can and does happen every now and then, like the disagreement I had with my maternal grandfather's dog and which led to his holding one of my ankles between his teeth and, ultimately, letting me off with a little scratch rather than a bite or when a very sick little puppy bit me on my left hand, when I tried to disengage him from my shoe-laces, subsequent to which I had to be administered the anti-rabies shots since the poor little one had died soon after having bitten me (I suppose this should be publicised in the animal world's news media, so that they all know how lethal biting me can prove to be. I still feel bad for the puppy though, even as I shall always remember him by the crescent-shaped scar that he gave me).

2. I often tend to hold on to junk. Whether it be my rusty old bicycle, or my old mobile telephone handset that is now inoperational, I can not seem to throw anything away. Sometimes my mother disposes off stuff in my absence, only to have me question her about it later and go all over the memories associated with it.

3. I love automobiles. Although the only one I own at the moment is a small motorcycle (135cc, 12bhp, 2-stroke, 4-speed manual transmission) and do not know if I ever will have the money to buy another, I would, if I had all the money in the world, buy lots and lots of contemporary as well as vintage sports-cars, 4x4s (SUVs, MUVs), luxury saloons, street bikes, trail bikes, trail-cum-street bikes, and cruisers, among others. I have not yet learnt to fly, or else the list would include aircraft as well. For the present, however, I make do with reading as much as I can about automobiles, besides watching television programmes on the subject.

4. Of late, I can not seem to read any book through to the end. It is strange that I could not seem to put a book down until I had read it from cover to cover even when I did not have sufficient time, earlier, and now, even if I have all the time in the world, I tend to give up half-way. In fact, I can not seem to read anything longer than a magazine article any more.

5. I used to watch movies almost indiscriminately, though I think I have become more discerning now. One day, just for a lark, I started listing out the movies that I had watched during the two years that I spent at Indore, while studying for my post-graduate degree and the number came to about 175. I suppose I must have forgotten a few names or else the number should have definitely crossed 200. More recently, I have finished watching all of the movies associated with the James Bond marquee and the Star Wars series. There are so many more to watch, like the Godfather series, for instance. May God bless 24-hour television movie channels!

6. I like going for long walks. That is besides the evening stroll, of course! I think walking is a great way to explore a place and to be able to absorb its sights and sounds. So, as far as I can, I walk instead of hitching a ride on a vehicle, especially if the distance is not too long to be covered in that manner. I was fortunate enough to be able to go trekking, as well, in the forested areas of the states of Madhya Pradesh and Maharashtra, during my stay at Indore, though I have not really been able to pursue that hobby ever since.

7. I like to travel. If I were to suddenly receive a huge fortune from somewhere, I suppose that the first thing I would do would be to embark on a world tour. If not, however, budget-travel to affordable destinations is the name of the game, besides trips sponsored by family and friends.

Now, that, I suppose, should be enough narcissism for one blog-post!

Southwards bound: The Chosen One

We were at the villa at Loutolim, where our guide, Mrs. Pinto, had gathered all her charges around herself, at the gate. As she continued her monologue about the history of the place, some of us listened intently, while others, including my brother and I, took pictures.

Subsequently, as we walked into the premises, along the path that led from the gate to the porch, there sat, on the grass that had been planted alongside, a kitten. It was pure white in colour, interspersed with patches of black. Even as my brother and I tried to attract its attention, it continued to nibble on something and appeared quite content doing that. So, we walked on.

Later, while we were inside the house, we found the same little one sitting in a corner and purring softly. My brother whistled and I snapped my fingers, as each of us knelt down on one knee, on the wooden floor, to try and attract its attention.

It got up and started walking slowly towards us. It stopped in front of my brother first, sniffed a bit at him, looked at his face and then walked on to me. The process was repeated as it sniffed at my feet, followed by my knee. Then, quite inexplicably, it climbed on to my knee!

After surveying the surroundings for a while, it settled down quite comfortably there, as I stroked its head and back very gently. It stayed put, even as the other visitors walked by, some of whom stopped to take a good look. Soon, my parents called out to me and I put the kitten down. It scampered away, to go and hide under a table, as if really scared of the rest of the people around.

When I narrated the sequence of events to my parents, afterwards, they said that I could have brought the kitten along and it could have lived with us. The memory of having lost Tinkoo was too fresh in my mind, however, and I was not sure that I could take on the responsibility of another innocent creature.

The memory is always going to remain with me though, even as I, or any one else, as for that matter, might never be able to come up with a credible explanation of the reasons for which the kitten chose to make friends with me. I wonder if it had anything to do with a certain kind of smell that might have begun to emanate from the pair of jeans that I was wearing and which I had not changed since leaving home!

The following photograph was taken by my brother soon after the young one had hopped on to my knee. I would have liked him to take another one, after it sat down, but he had wandered off by then.