A Satiated Python?

The question, however, is whether it is a python at all or any other kind of snake, as for that matter.

Reflections - II

Gurdwara Bangla Sahib, New Delhi, photographed by yours truly on November 6. I had published another photograph earlier.

Lax Security at Chandigarh Railway Station

I had to catch the Kalka Shatabdi at 6:23 p.m. that evening and arrived about an hour earlier at the entrance on the side of the station facing Panchkula, since that was where I had been staying with a friend. He also accompanied me as he hoped to travel on the same train up to Ambala. Each of us carried a shoulder bag spacious enough to contain a bomb as large as any used in recent incidents of terrorist violence (or an assault rifle with a foldable butt and a few hundred rounds of live ammunition) and yet got in without any security checks, simply because the police seemed to have decided that any one with malicious intent would never come that way. So, we reached the platform unmolested.

We could very well have boarded the train without having to go through any sort of security procedure, but for the fact that my friend had to purchase a ticket. For that reason, we had to step out briefly and return through the entrance on the side facing Chandigarh and this time we did have to pass through a metal detector. However, the police man posted there appeared more interested in the newspaper he was reading than us and I suppose we could have smuggled in improvised explosive devices sans metal parts or shrapnel.

Later, as the two of us waited at the platform, a pair of sniffer dogs were brought in and traversed the entire length of the platform, even though neither came within three meters of where we stood, at any point of time. Whether the canines could still have detected explosives, had we been carrying any, remains debatable.

Once we were on board, we stacked our bags on the overhead racks provided for the purpose and since the railway police personnel who came to question passengers about ownership of various luggage items appeared well after the train had gone past Ambala, my friend could easily have left his behind, possibly with a bomb in it. On the other hand, if I had been a suicide bomber, I could have accomplished my grisly task without further ado as I was only asked to point my bag out, like every one else, before a "checked" sticker was affixed to it.

One can only hope that all loopholes in the security shall be plugged before a real terrorist chooses to take advantage of the situation.

Corruption in India and Laws against It

Let us consider the following instances:

1. As my father and I await our turn to pay for our purchases at a local Mother Dairy outlet, a man arrives on a motorcycle and buys a few litres of milk. He proceeds to empty it into a number of canisters attached to his vehicle and then asks for a bucket full of water to dilute the milk with. He, apparently, is a milkman, off to his daily rounds to supply the liquid to several households, probably telling them tall tales of cows that he rears in a pen at home for good measure.

2. When my mother visits a friend's house, the lady's young grand-daughter runs up to greet her, gives her a tight hug and enquires whether she has brought along any sweets. Upon finding out that she has not, the child's facial expression immediately changes to a rather rude one and she turns around and leaves. The same sequence is repeated on several subsequent occasions, until my mother relents and does take along some toffees.

3. The cashier at a local pathology lab tells me that she does not have the exact amount of change and tells me to collect the balance the next day, along with the report of the medical test for which I have just submitted a sample. When I do, she looks crestfallen, even though she does return the money. The same sequence is repeated a few months later.

4. As it continues to rain incessantly for several hours, a group of children from a nearby slum block the drains  on the road that runs beside our house. Then, they offer to push any car that gets stalled due to water entering the exhaust pipe or another part, for a suitable fee. They do roaring 'business' until my mother realises what they are up to and decides to shoo them away. They are back a few days later, when it rains again.

5. A puncture repair-man scatters a pack of iron nails at a crossing, about a kilometre from where he has set up shop, to help bring in more clients.

6. A neighbour keeps his house centrally air-conditioned using free electricity supply obtained through greasing the palms of a few officials of the distribution company, which, incidentally, was privatised a few years ago.

I am sure that most Indians come across many such examples almost every day, i.e., when they are not the examples themselves, of course. The question that arises then, at least in my mind, is whether a Lokpal Bill or any other such piece of legislation can help eliminate corruption in a country where it is so deeply engrained in the culture now.

What about the others?

Real Gender Equality: Women Storm A Few More Male Bastions

With Ms. Kanimozhi being charged for the 2G spectrum scam (mobile telephony service providers given access to spectrum at subsidised rates, causing loss to the exchequer), it has been confirmed that Indian women have successfully stormed another male bastion, i.e., of large-scale corruption. Although she is being credited only with having siphoned off about Rs. 200 crore (1 crore = 10 million) by the Central Bureau of Investigation at present, it is widely believed that she has made several times that amount (running into thousands of crores) through ex-telecommunications minister A. Raja, who shared the spoils with her in return for ensuring that he retained his position in the union cabinet. Therefore, Ms. Kanimozhi seems to have broken through the 'glass ceiling' that appears to have existed for women 'scamsters' earlier, with the highest scorer previously being Ms. Mayawati, the chief minister of the state of Uttar Pradesh, who is said to have 'earned' about Rs. 150 crore from the Taj corridor scam.

Ms. Kanimozhi is reported to have achieved the feat with the help of Ms. Niira Radia, a corporate lobbyist who seems to have given male 'fixers' of 'deals' between politicians and businessmen a run for their money. So, that is another field in which women have made their mark in this country and the day does not appear to be far when more of them will claim their rightful place in the world of high-profile and high-volume graft.

Also, Indian young women have not only been marching shoulder to shoulder with their male colleagues, but, in many instances, seem to be ahead, when it comes to the procurement of fake commercial pilot's licences. In fact, the distinction of being the first such pilot to have come into the limelight belongs to a woman, Parminder Kaur Gulati. She had almost perfected the technique of landing an aircraft on its nose wheel, instead of on the rear wheels as most other pilots (even fake ones) do. Unfortunately for her, the wheel assembly got jammed following one such landing and unsympathetic officials grounded her, besides instituting an enquiry. Apparently, no one at the airline that employed her thought of promoting flying with her as a form of adventure sport quite akin to skydiving, albeit more dangerous. Even the National Commission for Women has not recognised her talent and stepped in on her behalf so far.

Another, Rashmi Sharan, studied for her pilot's licence at a flying school that had no aircraft or classroom (and closed down soon after she had completed her course) and had a 'special' examination conducted for herself by the Directorate General of Civil Aviation (where her father was employed as Joint Director at that time), when she could not, unfortunately, clear the regular ones despite several attempts; an achievement that no male 'pilot' is known to have been able to emulate so far.

One wonders why the tremendous success achieved by these women towards the attainment of gender equality is not being hailed as such in mass media, as is often the case otherwise.

Update: March 25, 2012. While Ms. Gulati is a pioneer of the technique of landing an aircraft on its nose wheel, another female pilot has recently achieved the distinction of landing an Airbus A319 not on any of its wheels, but, rather, on its tail. According to an air-safety expert, "It is close to impossible to do a tail strike on aircraft like A319 and [Boeing] B737-600 because of the short fuselage length." Apparently, unlike other aircraft such as the Airbus A321 or the Boeing B737-800, an A319 is comparatively shorter and, consequently, its nose has to be heavily pitched up for its tail to strike the ground.

Also, Ms. Mayawati has stormed yet another male bastion by becoming one of the richest politicians in India. She has achieved the tremendous feat of having doubled her self-declared personal assets during her latest stint as chief minister of Uttar Pradesh.

Discovery Channel, Live

I see a squirrel dart across to the other side of the road. Just as I begin to wonder why the poor beast would risk getting squished under the wheels of a speeding vehicle, I see a cat in hot pursuit. Both animals narrowly miss oncoming cars and motorcycles, as the squirrel manages to stay ahead and to climb a tree, out of the feline's reach.

As the cat stands under the tree, as if trying to find a way to reach the squirrel, a dog spies it from afar and rushes towards it. Before the canine can get there, however, the cat runs to the wall of a nearby compound and jumps over before the dog can see where it is going. The dog picks up the scent of its quarry and follows it along the ground up to the spot where the cat jumped on to the wall and then appears lost. A minute or two later, it gives up the chase and walks away.

Discovery channel, live, for any one who cares to watch.

A Trend or a One-Off?

Harsh Mander has expounded on in 'The Hindu' about the aftermath of pogroms, as experienced by the communities victimised, in addition to the benefits, largely electoral, reaped by the supposed perpetrators.

I have written, earlier, about many of the issues touched upon in the article, on this blog as well as in the form of comments on others. However, I never expected any of that to appear in mainstream news media, at least in India (especially the part about those accused of organising the murders of thousands of members of minority religious communities having been rewarded through huge electoral victories by members of the religious majority), until I read Mr. Mander's article. Now, I wonder whether this is some kind of a new trend that has begun and more of the ugly, communal underbelly of this country is going to be exposed in a similar manner or whether this is going to prove to be the proverbial flash in the pan.

A War Hero I Once Knew

I knew him as a friend of my maternal grandfather, at whose house he would often drop by during his evening walk, an ornate stick in hand. Every time, he would be dressed in a formal pair of trousers and an open-necked shirt, with a cravat around his neck and well-polished shoes that I could clearly see my face in, when I bent down to touch his feet (which is a customary way to show respect towards elders in India). During winters, a warm coat or jacket would become a part of the ensemble.

His beard, which had more grey hair than black, ever since I knew him, was perfectly fixed, with not a strand out of place, and his moustaches twisted to have perfectly pointed tips. His turban was always smartly done.

He never developed a paunch, unlike many Indian army officers nowadays, serving or retired, and never trimmed his beard, unlike many present-day 'mechanised Sikh' soldiers. Personal transport for him comprised a Premier Padmini and, in his later years, a Maruti 800. His house was somewhat more modest than my grandparents'.

As I would listen intently to their conversations, my grandfather and he would discuss matters all and sundry, but not any of his military experiences. Being the shy child that I was, I never picked up the courage to ask. I might have, if I had known the nature or extent of his exploits.

With the passage of time, however, the number of such meetings dwindled, and, after my grandfather passed away, stopped completely, except for one last time, when I ran into him at my school, where he had come to visit some one. He was dressed impeccably, as usual, in a crisply ironed suit and starched shirt. Despite his age, he held himself erect, although he no longer had the soldier's gait and walked a lot more slowly. I bent down to touch his feet and found that his shoes shone as brightly as ever. I have no recollection now of who broke the news of his having passed away to me, a few years later.

Afterwards, I did realise that he must have been a fine soldier and even better commander to have risen to the rank of Major General in an army where 80% officers retired by the time they became Colonels and in which, especially, there was some kind of a 'glass ceiling' for Sikh officers. However, until very recently, I did not know that he had also been a war hero and winner of India's second-highest gallantry award, i.e., the Maha Vir Chakra.

Apparently, he had commanded a unit in the 1965 Indo-Pak war that had been responsible for the  destruction of almost an entire armoured division of the Pakistani army. He and his men are said to have hidden their tanks and recoilless guns in the fields that had a standing sugar cane crop, in a horse-shoe formation, and let the enemy tanks drive into the trap. He had ordered strategic portions of the area to be watered using irrigation channels, a few hours earlier, which was unknown to the opposing army and many of its tanks got bogged down, thus becoming sitting ducks for the gunners in his unit.

I have so many questions for him now, but he is no longer around to answer those. For example, did the Lieutenant General in charge of the Western Command at that time consult him before refusing to accept the Chief of Army Staff's 'suggestion' to withdraw up to the river Beas, in the face of the opposing army's superior fire-power and greater numbers and, if so, how did the conversation go? Where did he set up his command post? When (i.e., at what stage of the battle) and how did he come up with the strategy that finally carried the day? How did he and his men ensure the element of surprise? Where, according to him, did the enemy commander go wrong and what did he think of the enemy's strategy? Assuming that he joined service before independence, did he know of any of his former batch-mates on the other side and, if so, what went through his mind when he went to war against them?

Had I known of his achievements earlier, I might have asked.

Public Transport in Faridabad and New Delhi

"Passengers are requested to not sit on the floor."

- An announcement on the Delhi Metro.

That sums up, to a great extent, the dichotomy between the latest addition to public transport that runs on a pair of iron rails in India's national capital region and the older constituents, which, like the Metro, are electric multiple units (commonly known as EMUs). It is not uncommon on the EMUs that travel between Faridabad and New Delhi or even beyond, for instance, for a group of passengers to spread a sheet of cloth on the floor of the carriage and sit down to play cards. Often, they also munch ground-nuts and leave the shells behind. On the Metro, on the other hand, consumption of food and/or drink is prohibited.

Some of the regular commuters on the route have formed bhajan mandlis and recite their prayers loudly every morning and evening, to the accompaniment of musical instruments like the dholak and the chimta. The first member aboard usually unfurls a cloth banner outside the window, for the rest to know which coach to get into. The end of the session is marked by the distribution of prasaad. On the Metro, however, passengers are not even allowed to play music on their mobile phones or iPods.

It appears to me that Delhi Metro Rail Corporation need not have worried too much about any of the above, for most of the passengers on its trains seem to be from the upper middle class and less likely to indulge in such activities (since they tend to be rather conscious of their social status). That could have a lot to do with the fact that the fares for travelling on the Metro are 5-6 times higher than those for the older EMUs.

Then, there are those who hardly ever purchase a ticket to travel on the trains plying between stations in Delhi and its satellite towns. They include ground-nut or poppadom sellers, beggars, and, at times, even performers. The entertainers are generally children with brightly painted cheeks and caps with long plaits attached (which they can spin with dramatic effect, through corresponding movements of their heads), who do a few somersaults on the floor of the train or pass themselves through iron rings, to the accompaniment of a song or two sung by an accomplice who often plays a dholak as well, before they pass the hat around. I suppose they are quite incapable of getting past the Metro's tight security arrangements. That should also apply to the milkmen who carry canisters full of milk, which they load and unload with amazing speed, to various parts of Delhi, every morning, from their villages on the peripheries of the city. They return with the empty vessels in the afternoon.

Similarly, the small-time businessmen who transport consignments on the EMUs without paying for freight are unlikely to be able to do so on the Metro.

So, there already appears to be a distinct class divide between those who travel on the Metro and those who travel on the other EMUs, although an intersection does appear likely in the form of students and others like me who may not make a distinction even when the Metro begins to serve the population of most parts of Delhi and its surrounding areas and both services are in more of a direct competition.

Merry Christmas

Stray dogs catch up on sleep, outside a shop decorated for the holiday season, in Connaught Place, New Delhi.

Caption Contest

Test your ingenuity. Suggest a caption for the photograph posted above. The winners shall, of course, not be awarded any prizes.

Out of Steam?

Goats in the City

A man and his goats stop for rest in the shadow of an overhead billboard.

Vlad the Impaler

The car that BBC TogGear termed as Vlad the Impaler is in India. Priced at approximately Rs.16,00,00,000, it leaves far behind the Maybach, which, I believe, was the most expensive car being sold in India earlier. With its top speed of 407 kilometres an hour, no other car sold in India can catch up with the Veyron on the tarmac, in any case.

What remains to be seen, however, is whether it can run on the Indian roads at all and whether Bugatti have prepared it for that.

A Lake on A Road

This is what a road looked like on a particularly rainy evening. I suppose vehicular traffic could have been diverted for a while to hold, say, a canoe race on it. Those responsible for clearing the blocked sewers that led to this would, in any case, not have arrived until the next morning.

Punjabi Poetry by Faiz

Until not so long ago, I knew Faiz Ahmed 'Faiz' mainly as a renowned poet of the Urdu language. It was only after I started writing this blog and, as a result, came into contact with some bloggers from the Pakistani part of Punjab that I came to know that he composed compelling verse in Punjabi as well. The following piece is, arguably, the most popular one:

Rabbaa sachyaa, tuuN tay aakhyaa si
jaa O bandyaa jagg daa shaah aiN tuuN
saaDiaaN naimtaaN teriaaN daultaaN naiN
saaDa naib tay aalijaah aiN tuuN
ais laare tay tor kad puchhyaa ee
ki ais nimaanay tay beetiaaN naiN

kaday saar vi layi O Rabb saaiNyaaN
teyre shaah naal jagg ki keetiaaN naiN
kitay dhauNs police sarkaar di ai
kitay dhaandli maal patwaar di ai
iNvaiN haDDaaN vich kalpe jaan meri
jiveiN phaahi 'ch koonj kurlaaundi ai
changaa shaah banaaya ee Rabb saaiNyaaN
paulay khaanday vaar na aauNdi ai

meinuuN shaahi nahiN chaahidi Rabb meiray
meiN tay izzat da tukkar mangnaa haaN

meinuuN taaNgh nahiN mehlaaN maaRiaaN di

meiN tay jeevan di nukkar mangnaa haaN

meri manneiN tay teriaan meiN mannaaN
teri sauNh jay ik vi gal moRaaN
jay aih saudaa nahiN pujdaa taaN Rabbaa
feyr meiN jaaNvaaN tay Rabb koi hor loRaaN

It has been translated into English by Khwaja Tariq Mahmood as follows:

O God almighty, you had ordained

Go, O you man, you are king on earth

You own our benevolence and our blessings

As exalted vice-regent on land and firth

Despatching us with that pledge, did you ever enquire

How this poor wretch was faring and feeling

Did you, O provider of the world, indeed so desire

The treatment for your king that the world was dealing

By government functionaries some times repressed

By revenue bailiffs, some times oppressed

For all this, my soul seethes depressed

Like a bird in cage utterly possessed

How well you fashioned a king, O God

Incessantly pummelled and unredressed

I do not need kingship, O God almighty

I just need to sustain with bread, with respect

I just do not crave for a palatial enclave

I need just a nook, enough to protect

Your will I will respect, if you accept my request

I swear not to waver or to deflect

But, if O God, my plea is not so approved

For another God, then, I shall go in quest

As for musical performances, not only has it been rendered soulfully by Tina Sani in a recent Coke Studio episode, although juxtaposed with some other pieces of poetry (as can be listened to in the following),

but some excerpts have also been set rather well to rock music by Atif Aslam (as can be listened to below).

A Dog Rescued?

It was nearly a quarter past eleven at night and I was in the front yard to catch some cool breeze as well as to look for any suspicious activity, since there had been a burglary attempt a few days ago, when I heard a dog yelp. I looked around, only to see the poor devil rolling on the ground and surrounded by a few other canines, across the road. "Perhaps the animal is being mauled by some other stray dogs, for having entered their territory without permission", I thought. So, I picked up a stone and rushed towards the commotion. The other dogs had moved away by then and I found the one that had cried out lying on his side, with his neck stuck to a metallic cable, which I soon realised, to my horror, had broken off from a street-lamp pole and formed part of a live distribution line. The dog was, obviously, being electrocuted. He was unconscious and his jaw was contorted into a strange shape, but his stomach rose and fell in rhythmic motion, which indicated that he was alive.

I rushed back home and returned, shortly, with a wooden staff. With its help, I managed to move the dog away from the cable, but his head was still only an inch or two away from danger.

Even as I tried to shift the cable, which looped around the spot where he lay, away from him, the dog came to his senses. Probably because I was the only other living being around, he seemed to have figured out that I was his tormentor and snapped at me. Although I retreated, in an attempt to keep him away from the source of electricity, he tried to move and in the most obvious direction i. e. forward and got electrocuted again.

His body shook violently, even a few moments after I had managed to roll him over and out of harm's way for the second time that evening. Amazingly, he had tried to bite at the staff, even while the current coursed through him and into the ground, which was actually good in a way, perhaps, since it probably kept him from biting his own tongue.

A pair of kind young men on a motorcycle had arrived at the scene by then and pointed their vehicle's headlight at the cable to assist me as I tried to straighten it, to prevent, as far as possible, any others from falling victim.

There seemed to be little that I could do to help the dog any further, especially in view of my lack of knowledge of veterinary science, so I just left it there and went home to ring up the appropriate authorities. As I was to find out later though, electricity department personnel were not that concerned and would only respond to my pleas late next morning.

After I had reported the incident to the municipal corporation, my attention turned once again towards the distressed animal and I went to check on him again. I had located the contact details of an 'animal ambulance' service and hoped to receive some assistance in the form of information, since it already was close to midnight and they would probably not have had any transport available until the following morning. However, the dog was nowhere to be found. I went to look for him again at day-break and there was absolutely no trace of him. Therefore, I surmised that he must have recovered enough to be on his way to wherever he was headed before the cable interrupted the journey.

Easy Rider

As I reversed my father's car out of the gate and turned it around, a rather thick-set brown dog trotted into view. He wore a collar and, therefore, was obviously not a stray. Within a few moments, he got on to the patch of grass that separates the boundary wall of the house from the road and began to sniff around and to go around in circles. I realised what he was up to, tapped the pane of the half-open front passenger-side window and called out to him to stop, just as he had begun to answer the call of nature.

He gave up his endeavour midway and came towards the car. Shortly, he disappeared. I was afraid that if I tried to drive away at that point of time, I might run him over. Then he appeared at the window on the driver's side, front-paws planted firmly on the door, apparently looking for a joy-ride. I would have gladly obliged, but did not want to deal with his (possibly) annoyed master/mistress later. Besides, he had not cleaned his rear end by dragging it along the grass for a bit, as dogs usually do after relieving themselves. So, I apologised and drove off with laughter suppressed until the disappointed canine, whom I had seen for the first time that evening, was out of earshot.

The Death of a Mouse

It was evening and I was seated in the dining room, when I saw a pair of black, beady eyes, set in a small brown face with rather large ears, peering at me from under the refridgerator. It was time to look for the mouse-trap, I realised, and sought help from my father, since he had put the contraption somewhere when we moved house a few days ago. As a rule, we never use poison or any other lethal methods to get rid of the mice that come as uninvited guests from time to time.

So, I set the trap with a tiny piece of chapatti dipped in ghee (butter-oil) as bait, in the dark alley behind the fridge. I heard the door shut with a loud click late at night, a while after I had gone to bed.

The following morning I got up at the usual hour, which was not very early, performed the daily ablutions and saw my father off to office, before I was ready to go and release the poor creature on to a piece of open land, where I generally set the mice free.

As I closed the gate behind me, the thought of releasing the animal into the nursery across the road did cross my mind, but it was almost instantly negated by one of the keepers accusing me of letting in a pest that might nibble at the roots of the saplings. So, off we went to the clearing, after I had spoken to the rodent for a bit and it had responded by putting on a display of acrobatics for my benefit.

When I found a shady spot under a tree that seemed perfect for the purpose and opened the door, the mouse would not move. I raised the trap on one side to nudge it a little and it rolled on to the ground, belly-side up. I could see its stomach rise and fall as it breathed rapidly and its eyes were open, but it seemed frozen. I used a twig to flip it over, so that it was the right side up. "Perhaps it has passed out due to the oppressively hot weather and will revive in a while.", I thought. Just then, a crow that must have been watching from a branch somewhere above, glided down. I drove the bird away, but almost as soon as I turned my back, it returned to pick the mouse up in its beak and to fly away. I was filled with remorse; I, who hardly ever think twice before digging into a plate of chicken-masala.