PAMMIE'S WORLD

Ale and the Aftermath in Aberdeen

2012-02-13T20:39:00.000-08:00

What is the most urgently required thing in India? Is it the GDP growth or controlling the inflation? We have two TOMS (Turbanned Old Men), one the P.M. and the other the Deputy Chairman of the Planning Commission in charge of our economy. It is a mootpoint if they are doing anything to improve our economy, though India is considered to be an economic superpower. Instead of playing video games, they indulge in playing with their pocket calculators to find what will be the GDP this year and the figure of inflation to be released to the public, whether it will be single digit or two digits. We, the common people of India, are not really concerned with their exercises. They do not mean anything to us.

What is urgently needed is the upgrading of our sanitary systems. Our cities stink of garbage and sewage. You go to any city or town in India; you will find men standing up against a wall and urinating oblivious of everything happening around them. Is it because there are not enough public toilets or even if they exist they are too dirty to use? On a bus trip a couple of years ago I had to use a public toilet on the highway. The ammoniacal fumes almost made me faint. My friends say that such things can be found only in India.

My nephew Soumya Roi, who started this blog, has a tale to tell. He is a highly qualified doctor, member of Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) (Doctors without Borders) and has been honoured with the Legion of Honour of the degree of Cavalier by the French government and also by the Japanese government in appreciation of his medical relief work for the earthquake victims in Indonesia, Haiti, Chile and Japan. Last year when he was in Japan on the relief mission he almost lost his life during an aftershock. He is to be similarly honoured soon by the government of Chile. The Indian government is oblivious to his existence. That is really good, for anybody who gets the attention of the Indian government will end up in disgrace. That is public life in India. Let us read what Soumya has to say.

>>>When I was at the Royal College of Surgeons, Edinburgh, I had a few very close friends. Ashish Bannerji, who is now my brother-in-law, was one of them. The others were Englishmen, Scots and Irishmen. They could be relied upon to readily lay down their lives for any one among us. James Dodgson was one among them and he was always called Simpkins. He is a Scot from Glasgow. He is about six feet four and weighed around two hundred and forty pounds. He used to cook up crazy plans whenever we went for excursions, mostly to Aberdeen on the coast of the North Sea, because we could get very good dark ale and fish and chips to go along with it at very cheap rate in a pub there.

On one of these trips, five of us, including Ashish and Simpkins, were in the pub drinking their superior ale. Simpkins got into a conversation with the barmaid and drank an enormous amount of the stuff. I think that barmaids were given an incentive to make the customers drink as much ale as possible without creating trouble. There were a couple of bouncers – big built specimens, who could pick up even Simpkins and throw him out into the street if he created a ruckus. We had to literally drag him out of the joint when he was exceeding his limit. Soon after that he felt an urgent need for relieving his bladder. We could not find a suitable place for that. In Delhi and other cities in India, men openly urinate – even defecate - on the roads even during the daytime. Such things are not allowed in Europe or America. They have public toilets for men and women conveniently located in basements accessible by stairs or escalators by the roadside so that they will not be obtrusive, in contrast to the stinking public toilets built next to busy street corners in Indian cities. They are clean and safe to use. The ones in Paris, Amsterdam and Copenhagen are real works of art.

Simpkins, in his eagerness to find such an outlet, suddenly dived down a stairway. With horror we saw it was a “Ladies’ Only”. Before we could get him back, we heard high-pitched screams from below. Two ladies came running up and were shouting “Help, mad man attacking us” and so on. Simpkins came up still holding up his trousers half way up. Just at that moment two policemen, came around the corner and hearing the cries of the ladies hurried up. Simpkins, on seeing the policemen and finding that the ladies were still shouting and pointing to him, tried to run away, but tripped over his pants and fell down. The policemen pounced on him and pinned him down. “Okay, fella! got you, haven’t we? Come on to the station without making us knock you down first.” they told him. We tried our best to extricate Simpkins from their clutches, pleading that he did not know that it was a “Ladies Only”. “A likely story!” they sneered at us and with the ladies still hollering about, marched him off to the police station followed by our group. A sergeant (someone like our sub-inspector) was there and to him we pleaded for mercy. He appeared to be of a more amenable type. But the phone rang; he answered it and rushed off, telling us that he would be back in half an hour. Simpkins was made to sit at a corner guarded by the two cops.

We conferred among ourselves about the dreadful situation. Entering a “Ladies Only” was a major crime and the hue and cry raised by the two ladies might have created an impression on the cops that they were actually assaulted by Simpkins. He would have to pay a heavy fine and might also be sentenced to imprisonment. We discussed the situation and that perhaps he might be exonerated of the latter charge and only be fined for a misdemeanor such as entering a “Ladies Only”. The fine might amount to ten pounds. But we did not have so much money.

I thought of the following scenario next morning at the magistrate’s court, when Simpkins would be produced by the cops. The magistrate (otherwise known as The Beak), would hear the cases one by one and then it would be Simpkins’s turn. One of the cops would address the Beak, “My Lord, last evening Thomas here and I were on our beat and around five o’clock hearing the cries of two respectable ladies on the South Lane, hurried up and found this man Dodgson coming out of the “Ladies Only” indecently attired. He tried to run away, but we outraced him and captured him. (a lie; they did not catch him; he tripped over his own trousers) We suspect that he could have assaulted them in addition to having outraged their modesty. He was fully up to the gills”. The Beak would look down on Simpkins and ask him,” Dodgson, it appears that you had a hilarious evening yesterday. How do you feel now?” Simpkins would reply: “Fine. Thank you, my lord”. The Beak would say, “Exactly what I have on my mind. Fine. Ten pounds. Next case”.

This was the scenario we faced. The collective amount of money we had was only about three pounds. How were we to raise the rest and also find money for our trip back to Edinburgh? We had our watches though, but the Scottish pawn brokers would not give more than a pound each for them. We were in a soup. Should we try to bribe the cops? Or should we go back to the pub and ask for a loan telling them that our pockets were picked and we had no money and being regular customers of the pub, they could be assured that the money would be returned?

The sergeant returned to his post. Suddenly I had a brainwave. I told him, “This fellow Simpkins – I mean Dodgson – is seriously ill. He has bladder cancer, he cannot control his bladder and that is what made him dive into the “Ladies only”. He has to take special medicines we can get only in Edinburgh. If not, he would be in serious trouble. If you hold him in a cell tonight, you may find him dead in the morning”. “Who says so?” asked the sergeant. I showed him my RCS identity card. He examined it carefully and taking time to think it out said “You can take him away, but see that he does not create any more trouble. If there is any more trouble all of you will be arrested and put in the lock-up”. The two cops looked a bit disappointed. The next morning would have been a big day for them.

Thus was Simpkins released from the clutches of the police in Aberdeen. On our way back to the railway station, he said, “Let us have one more drink to celebrate this!” We held him tightly, two on either side, marched him to the station, put him into the train and safely reached Edinburgh without any more trouble.<<<

Just see the consequences of “committing nuisance”, as it is known in our country, in a public place in Europe or elsewhere. Even in the African countries, this is not just done, according to my friends there. Simpkins’s career would have been jeopardised if he had been sent to prison. If he were in India, he would have had no trouble, all he would have to do was to find a wall and let go.

Now Simpkins has his consulting rooms in Harley Street, the posh medical district in London. By a twist of irony he is a Urologist! Many among the nobility in Britain are his clients. Soon he will be knighted and will be called, "Sir James".

When he came to India a few years later on my invitation, he said, “Som, old boy! I am always grateful to you for saving me from the cops in Aberdeen”. I replied, “Don’t mention. Here you can do whatever you want to do without any trouble”.

Cats or Dogs?

2012-01-29T20:39:00.000-08:00

“Cats” she said.

“Dogs” I replied.

“No, cats are way above dogs!.” She exclaimed.

This is not the beginning of a P.G. Wodehouse Mulliner story, in which a fellow gets into an argument with his girl about the relative merits of cats and dogs. I need not mention that at the end it was the girl who won the debate hands down.

My debate with my niece Pammie was also all about the merits of Cats v Dogs. She was a high-spirited girl. Lately she had taken a fancy to cats. She had a baker’s dozen of cats of all sizes and colours living with her. I knew that she had a dog a few years before. I reminded her,”Pammie, you had Rover for ten years and still you are rooting for cats now”. “Ah, Rover; he was one in a million. He was a Superdog.” she sighed. I could see tears in her eyes. That was strange, because usually Pammie did not give way for emotion. Hard as nails, she was.

The debate was becoming more acrimonious. I told her that I had not met any Supercat. That statement had hardly come out of my mouth when an enormous orange feline with long silvery whiskers came into the room. He grinned at me and then went to Pammie and rubbed himself against her legs. I was alarmed to a considerable extent and asked her “Is this creature safe? Is it a bobcat, caracal, cougar, clouded leopard, lynx, ocelot, serval or something from the underworld? It looks positively dangerous”. She calmly replied “He is Lal Kishen, the patriarch of the whole family here. I named him so because he has a close resemblance to a prominent politician. You know who?” I said, “Well, the resemblance is rather striking. I won’t like to meet him in the dark or for that matter even during day time."

Pammie tried her best to convince me about the superiority of cats over dogs. She said it was true they did not display much affection. But they had a dignified bearing. They did not wag their tails when you came into the room. They just purred and settled more comfortably on the sofa. They did not jump on you asking to tickle them beneath their necks. I contradicted her statement. Dogs had an appealing look on their faces, while one cat looked like any other cat and had no expression on its face. You could not decide whether it was smiling or scowling. She was flustered and told me, "If you say one more word about cats, I will tell Lal Kishen to make faces at you". That was too much for me. I meekly surrendered and told her to keep Lal Kishen away from me.

The controversy about the relative merits of cats and dogs is a perennial topic and never dies down. Some say dogs display a fighting spirit. Recently a BBC Video report showed a dog floating on an ice floe in the Baltic Sea. Here is the report: "A Polish boat found a dog floating on an ice floe in the Baltic Sea. Originally mistaking him for a seal, the crew soon realised their error and set out to save the dog. After many attempts the dog was caught in a net and brought on board. He is in excellent shape now."

Cats also possess adventurous notions. A cat in Hampshire went missing and was later found on a cross-channel ferry at the Spanish port of Bilbao. BBC News report: Owners Tim and Pat Austin from Lee-on-the-Solent noticed that Sandy their ginger tom was missing and thought it had been stolen. Luckily the stowaway was discovered by the ferry staff and was restored to his owners.

Another cat is a regular traveller on a bus route. BBC reports: "Devon bus service 'First' says that a cat is a regular traveller on its buses and the drivers know where to let him off. Casper has been queuing with other passengers to get the No.3 service from his home in Plymouth for months. The cat often curls up on a seat during the ride. He knows where to get down, parks himself near the door ad when the driver opens the door gets down coolly and walks away. On the return trip of the bus, he waits at the same spot and gets into the bus to return to his home in Plymouth."

So the dispute goes on. But now we have been enlightened by a group of scientists that "Cat owners are better educated than dog owners and the former have more university degrees than the latter." That must be true because Pammie possessed more university degrees than she could count, while I am the owner of a scrap of paper, which has not been of much use to me.

An important factor contributing to this is the fact that cats need much less attention and care than dogs. They eat their cat food and are satisfied to lounge about whereas dogs require a lot of pampering. That is why cat owners have plenty of time to study for their university examinations and get degrees.

Pammie asked me, "What is your final choice, cats or dogs?" I told her that I would cast my secret vote and the results would be known a month later like the Indian elections. By that time I will be far away from Lal Kishen.

BBC's Dirty Joke on India

2012-01-13T22:35:00.001-08:00

The High Commission of India (HCI) in London has complained that a “Top Gear” Special in India was "offensive" and full of "toilet humour", The HCI has written to the BBC after it was contacted by "too many people" who were "very upset" by the programme.

Top Gear is all about the recent models different automobiles. The 28 December special featured jokes about a Jaguar car fitted with a toilet seat on its boot.

One Indian diplomat told the BBC News website: "People are very upset because you cannot run down a whole society, history, culture and sensitivities. We did convey our disappointment because we have a long-standing relationship with the BBC which is one of admiration and co-operation. India is a developing country, we have very many issues to address, all that is fine but it is not fine to broadcast this toilet humour."

It has all happened, because Jeremy Clarkson in BBC who runs “Top Gear” showing off the customised Jaguar, complete with toilet roll on its aerial, said on the programme: "This is perfect for India because everyone who comes here gets the trots."

How many people in India would have seen this programme and how many would have been upset over it, though it is just an unpleasant joke? Not many, I think, because it is the reality in India.

I quote from a blog posted by Soumya Roi, who, in fact, had started “PAMMIE’S WORLD”

From the post -Are We Indians the Dirtiest People in the World? Dated October 31, 2009

>>>A few months back my esteemed friend, Dr. James Dodgson, having his consulting rooms in Harley Street, London, which is famed as the most renowned place in the U.K. for medical specialists, was on his way to Singapore for a medical seminar and on his way there, wanted to visit India. He landed in Delhi. I went to receive him and take him to Guwahati. Because of fog or some other reason, there was no flight to Guwahati on that day and we travelled by Rajdhani Express. During early next morning the train stopped near a station in U.P for some unknown reason. Looking out I found a lot of persons defecating in the open space abutting the railway track. I wanted to draw the curtains to avoid my friend seeing the spectacle. But he opened them and looked out. He asked me what these people who were squatting were doing. I answered that they were ‘answering the call of nature’ as is euphemistically described in these parts. He remarked, “Ah, Nature worshippers!” I had to correct his observation. I said, “No, just crapping”. He was amazed that there were so many people performing such an act in broad daylight oblivious to the close proximity to one another and the passengers in the train. This is a common sight in India. I am sad to say that though I have travelled in many other countries, I have never seen such a sight. It is a real shame for our country.

Now that is a shameful thing about India and no government organizations do complain about this. It is common to see men urinating on the streets in full public view. Portable toilets as suggested by Clarkson will be useful.

There are more shameful things happening in India.

A pregnant woman in Kolkata was denied admission to two government hospitals there. She delivered twins on a pavement and died there. (TV news on 13/1/2012)

A totally paralysed man in the I.C.U. (repeat I.C.U.) in a Jaipur government hospital had his face nibbled by rats. (TV news on 12/1/2012.

These are the matters which are really shameful for India, not a distasteful joke by Jeremy Clarkson in his programme Top Gear. But we have our priorities upside down, don’t we?

The Pink Elephant Syndrome

2012-01-10T10:01:00.000-08:00

Have you seen a pink elephant? I have seen them in those far off days when I was in good old Calcutta after a boisterous evening in Park Street with many of my friends. I remember one particular night when we had cocktails, instead of the usual Scotch on the Rocks. Beware! Never take Crème de Menthe cocktails. It is a sweet, mint-flavored liqueur, but has enough kick in it to knock out a rampaging elephant like the Buck-U-Uppo tonic invented by one of the Mulliners in the P.G. Wodehouse stories. I got into a taxi to get back to my place, but could not recollect the name of the street or even the area where it was located. Alzheimer’s or dementia at the age of 25? The taxi driver, a good old Sikh, was patient and just obeyed my order to drive along Central Avenue, the main arterial road in those days. When we came to the northern end of the city, I got vague feelings of being there before. I told him to drive along the Barrackpore Trunk Road and presently we came to the suburb of Belgharia, where I had my bachelor pad. When we reached the destination, the sardar politely opened the door of the taxi for me and helped me to reach my doorstep. The taxi meter read 9.00 rupees. I gave him my wallet; he took out a ten rupee note and gave me back a one-rupee note. The tattered note is still with me as a souvenir of those days. The sardar even helped me in opening the door with my key – locating the keyhole was an additional problem for me – and after saluting me drove away. I could have been mugged or even strangled or stabbed to death and thrown out on the lonely suburban road at midnight, which is most likely to happen in the present times. But in the 1950s, most people including taxi drivers, especially the turbaned Sikhs, were sincere and honest.

The next morning when I woke up, it was like a nightmare. Pink panthers looked at me from all directions and my head was going to explode at any moment. It took me a full day to recover from that hideous experience. Never again that stuff, I wowed. But I have experimented with other hallucinatory drugs like LSD after reading Aldous Huxley’s excellent book, “The Doors of Perception”. When you take LSD – 0.5 milligram is enough – you enter a different world altogether. It is like going to Paradise; the leaves on the trees become emeralds, the colourful flowers become diamonds of different hues, the glass of water I was holding became an ocean with waves. I have also smoked marijuana, but it is nothing. I have not had heroin or cocaine. They were not available then.

When I had two knee surgeries and was experiencing excruciating pain later, I pleaded with the good old doctor to give me a pain killer; a small dose of Morphine would be enough. But the doctor said that I could become addicted to it and refused my demand. So I had to endure the pain while I kept my head on my wife’s lap. Her hot tears falling on my brow became the anesthetic for me.

Why am I writing this nonsensical stuff? It is because people in Uttar Pradesh have the opportunity of seeing pink elephants. The Election Commission has ordered all the statues of Mayawati and her elephants to be covered in pink plastic sheets. This exercise is estimated to cost around one crore of rupees. What a colossal waste of resources! In today’s newspaper I read that one out three malnourished children in the world are in India. One crore rupees can feed about a thousand such children for a year. But we must have our election tamasha. That is the priority. Whether Mayawati wins or loses does not matter an iota for the poor people of U.P. And what shall we do with all that plastic material, which is supposed to cause pollution? Throw them in the Ganga, which is already polluted beyond the point of no return, or burn them to produce dioxin? Another Bhopal tragedy in the making?

Why do we elect so many totally worthless politicians to our Parliament and the State Assemblies? It is because even hardened criminals can stand for elections and are given ‘tickets’ by every political party. These criminals are capable of winning elections with money and muscle power. There are small parties which win a couple of seats but wield enormous power by using them for forming coalition governments and keep on blackmailing the major party in power to get concessions for themselves.

I wonder if people in U.P. can see pink elephants in broad daylight when they are sober, what will they see at night after taking a quarter bottle or two.

A Bharat Darshan - Part 3.

2011-12-19T09:43:00.001-08:00

Akshardham Temple in New Delhi

In the last part, I mentioned that Priya and I got down at Hazrat Nizamuddin on return from Ranthambore. Priya’s sister-in-law and family live in Gurgaon. They were perfect hosts. Gurgaon, which was a sleepy village a few decades ago, is now a mini-metropolis. It is 32 kilometres from New Delhi. An express highway connects the two. Most of the corporate offices are situated in Gurgaon for lack of space in New Delhi. High rises and super-malls are everywhere.

The highpoint of our visit to Delhi was the visit to Swaminarayan Akshardham Temple, which is the largest Hindu temple in the world, according to the Guinness Book of Records. The magnificent structure in the 100-acre cultural complex is awe inspiring. It is situated across the Yamuna in East Delhi.

It was completed in only five years – the foundation stone laying ceremony took place on November 8, 2000 and the opening ceremony on November 6, 2005. It took 300 million man-hours to carve 300,000 stones and create the entire complex. More than 7000 artisans were employed for the project. There is no metal or concrete, even in the foundation, in the temple. The whole structure has been constructed by inter-meshing marble and sandstone brought from Rajasthan. The grand Akshardham monument, built of pink sandstone and white marble is 141 feet high, 356 feet long and 316 feet wide. It has 234 intricately carved pillars, 9 magnificent domes, 20 pinnacles and over 20,000 superbly carved sculptures. A 2.2 km long corridor surrounds the monument and there is a spectacular musical fountain.

It is a glowing tribute to what volunteerism, talent and spiritual faith can accomplish. Satish Gujral, the internationally renowned architect, opined that it would have normally taken 50 years to build such an edifice. It took us nearly five hours to tour the entire temple. The message of India’s heritage is wonderfully presented through films, light and sound shows with robotic figures and experiential effects. There is a spectacular 15-minute boat ride through thousands of years of Indian culture. It was a wonderful and inspiring experience.

Next morning, it was time to leave Delhi after two days of great hospitality and wonderful food. We reached the Indira Gandhi International Airport at 7.30. Luckily there was no fog. On the previous two days there was heavy fog. I had read reports that IGIA was always crowded and inefficient. However, it was smooth sailing from the check-in to the check-out gate. We got into the Indigo flight at 9.30 and landed at Bangalore International at 12.00. Our Bharat Darshan was over.

A Bharat Darshan - Part 2

2011-12-03T22:01:00.001-08:00

Tigers are the most elusive creatures in the world. One can see any number of lions on the plains of Serengeti in Africa. Lions are social creatures living in prides mostly ruled over by lionesses while the lazy lion does not exert himself too much. On the other hand, each tiger or tigress has its own territory. Tiger cubs live with their mother for a couple of years before striking out to find their separate territories. That is the reason why tigers are difficult to be spotted in the wild.

On the second day of our visit to the Ranthambore reserve, it came to be known that Priyanka Vadhera, daughter of Sonia Gandhi had come with her family for tiger spotting and was staying in the lakeside bungalow. That made it much more difficult for us, because the best routes available would be allotted to Priyanka’s entourage, while we would be sent off to unfavourable areas, where few tigers roamed about. Nevertheless, we found fresh pug marks on the dusty roads and once or twice we heard alarm calls from the chital close by. We saw a large number of chital, nilgai, wild boar, sambar deer, jackals, crocodiles and a lot of bird life. Still the tigers eluded us and after a weary four hour search we were back in the hotel. In the afternoon, we went on our safari once again, this time to the ancient fort of Ranthambore. There have been wars and battles fought out between the local rulers and foreign invaders like Allauddin Khilji and so on for centuries. Now the fort is abandoned. Nobody lives there except a large horde of langurs who wait for tourists to give them popcorn. How our historic warriors were able to build such a magnificent fort amidst formidable barriers on a hilltop in a tiger-infested jungle is mind-boggling. There are secret tunnels and dark stairways in the fort which covers a few square kilometres. There is a Ganesh temple at the top of the hill. The view from the top is fantastic with two big lakes which provide water for the wild animals throughout the year.

Our last hopes to see a wild tiger depended on our morning safari on the third day. Luckily we were allotted Route 3. Dakshana who had visited Ranthambore last year had told us that Route 3 was the most favourable one. Another lucky factor was that only one vehicle followed us instead of being crowded out. After coursing through for an hour, our guide sensed that a tiger was nearby and we waited at a fork on the road for about ten minutes. There was absolutely no sound other than a few bird songs. Then we started again and took a left turn on the road. And there before us was the most magnificent tigress sitting quietly as if she was waiting for us. Priya and I spotted it first being seated on the right side of the vehicle. I could not believe my eyes; it was like a dream come true. The tigress T-17, named Sundari for her beautiful body just sat there looking at us. Then she slowly got up and came towards us. She was only about six feet away from me. I did not feel any fear, but only a wonder. It was as if we were all mesmerized. Sundari nonchalantly walked to the backside of our vehicle, crossed the road and went into the bushes on the other side. Then her three cubs trotted out of the bushes and tried to follow her. This was the icing on the cake. One cub crossed the road and followed his/her mother, while the other two were uncertain about crossing the road. Sensing their timidity, Sundari again crossed the road, followed by all the cubs. Then she stood up on her hind legs against a tree and made scratch marks on the bark. We could realise her huge size and strength when her front legs were about ten feet up on the tree. Then she went around a corner of a stony bed of a stream with her three cubs which were about eight-month old and disappeared from our view. We waited for a few moments, but she was unlikely to return. That was a magnificent display of power and agility, which will remain in my memory forever. The yellowish-orange colour of her skin with the black stripes was absolutely glorious.

Why do people want to kill such amazing fantastic animals? There is no other animal which can match the tiger for sheer majesty. When we come face to face with a tiger, we become mesmerized. The tigers who live in the zoos have lost that kind of majesty. Poor tigers in captivity!

We were all emotionally drained out. That one sighting has become a life-time memory. We did not want to go on the afternoon safari. Some of our group had to catch the evening train to Bombay. Priya and I took the night Dehra Dun Express to Delhi and got down at Hazrat Nizamuddin nest morning.

A Bharat Darshan - Part 1

2011-11-19T23:26:00.000-08:00

Can any one spot a tiger in such a landscape? This is the Aravalli Range of hills in Ranthambore.

Every one makes a mistake and I am not exempt from the rule. I had formed a very wrong idea about North India and the people there. We read newspapers and watch TV and we get the impression that all the criminal activities are concentrated in North India, while South India is an oasis of peace and safety. It is a completely wrong idea. Is Chennai safer than any other city in India? It is not. I felt much safer in Sawai Madhopur, a sleepy town in Rajasthan.

The last time I had been to Delhi was in 1957, having been there a couple of years before too. Delhi was a safe, quiet place then. I could walk about even late at night with no fear of getting mugged or robbed. The politicians have spoiled the beautiful city of Lutyens. The beautiful Akbar Road, not far from India Gate and Janpath, where I was staying during those days has become one of the exclusive areas in the Capital, the residences of VIPs.

Priya has a great fascination for tigers and we decided to go on a tour of Delhi and the Ranthambore Tiger Reserve in Rajasthan. We left Bangalore by the Karnataka Express to New Delhi. The train travels through the states of Karnataka, Andhra, Maharashtra, Madhya Pradesh, U.P., Haryana and Delhi before reaching New Delhi on the third day morning. Having an air-conditioned cabin for ourselves, it was a very comfortable journey. We spent most of the daylight hours watching the scenery out of the windows, watching Mother India so to say. With the small compass we had we saw that the train was travelling mostly in a North by Northwest direction till it joined the Bombay – Delhi main line at Manmad Junction, not far from Pune. It is black fertile soil almost all the way up to the Vindhya Mountains in M.P. We saw many big lakes, perhaps the reservoirs of big rivers like the Krishna and the Godavari. Sugarcane is the most widely cultivated crop with corn in some of the drier areas. Then it became dark and we woke up only when the train was near Agra. In a few hours we alighted at New Delhi station. For all the 2400 kms we had travelled the train was almost on time. We had booked a room in a decent hotel near the station for a few hours. There was no hustle and bustle as we experience in Chennai Central when we get down with the auto-drivers trying to pull our luggage meanwhile quoting unaffordable rates for taking us to even nearby places. An old cycle-rickshaw fellow took us to the hotel for Rs.20. You just cannot imagine such a thing in Chennai Central. Mind you, New Delhi is a much busier station than Chennai Central. The hotel management also was very efficient. After having a warm bath and lunch – very decent food – Priya and I went to Connaught Circus (Rs.40 for the auto), did some shopping in Palika Bazaar and returned to the hotel. We had our dinner and took an auto to Hazrat Nizamuddin station – (Rs 100 for a ten kilometre ride). There was a helpful porter who carried our luggage to the platform and told us where exactly our coach on the Dehra Dun express would stop. Priya went to the Train Enquiry to conform if the train would come on the same platform and where the H1coach would stop for it was about 9.30 P.M. and getting colder every minute. Everybody was polite and helpful unlike those in Chennai who only specialise in creating confusion. The platform was neat and clean. The train came on time and our coach stopped exactly at the spot indicated by the porter.

The train attendant woke us at 5.30 to say Sawai Madhopur was the next station where we had to get down. We were greeted by a Jeep driver from the Raj Palace Resort where our tour promoters ‘Jungle Lore’ of Bombay had booked our lodgings. It is a 3 or 4 star hotel having very comfortable rooms, with a swimming pool and a wide lawn. It has a good restaurant serving wholesome food. There were many foreigners also.

We started on our safari after lunch. Safaris are organised with Eicher Canter open vans and Gypsy open jeeps. In our party were sixteen persons, including children. The Ranthambore Tiger Reserve is about 6 kms from our resort. At the entrance to the Reserve, through a gap in the Aravalli Mountain range, we had to show our IDs, like Passports, Driving Licences, etc. Thereafter it is a wild bone-shaking drive over rough roads twisting and turning through thick jungle. We could not believe such a lush green jungle could exist in the dry Rajasthan plains. But actually there were many small rivulets with running water.

The Tiger Reserve consists of 8 zones and tour operators are allotted different routes to prevent overcrowding. There must have been dozens of Canters and Gypsies competing with one another to get to the spot where a tiger was reported to have been seen. Suddenly there was a shout that there was a tiger moving up a ravine far below the road on the right side. The tiger was expected to cross the road further up and in order to catch up with it there was a mad rush of vehicles. We could see only the hind legs and the tail of the tiger as it vanished into the underbrush. It was so nicely camouflaged that however we tried to see it with our binoculars; we could not see it in the tall grass. It was a bitter disappointment and we hoped that we could do better next morning.

(To be continued)

Life in a Feudal Society

2011-10-31T07:29:00.000-07:00

Our ancestral house - Perumpilavil House - in Pallipuram, Palakkad District, Kerala.

Continuing from my previous blog I have to tell you that sixty years ago, we lived in a feudal society. I have realized the folly of it many times before. We were the “aristocratic” rulers and there were many dependants, unlettered and unskilled for any other work. It was a bad thing to do and perhaps that gave rise to the leftist movement. But all the factotums were cared for; they got food and shelter and money for their family functions. In our house, at least, nobody was ill treated.

About 50 years back our village Pallipuram did not have electricity. The nights were dark. There were many kerosene lanterns, which were extinguished one by one as the night progressed. Naturally ghost stories were in circulation among the young ones and once we buried our heads into the pillows never dared to raise them again. About seven years back, I spent a night all alone in the house, but did not see any shadowy figures though I very much wanted to do so. The modern amenities gradually came into existence. There was not even a proper metalled road. My great-grandmother and ladies of the so-called upper castes during that period travelled in palanquins carried by four or eight persons and the gents travelled on horses. That ended round about the beginning of the 20^th century and they began to travel in horse carriages or bullock carts.

Pallipuram is the third station 21 kms from Shoranur towards Kozhikode. Only passenger trains stop there and the second station Pattambi is the station we get down from express trains. There are buses to Pallipuram now every 20 minutes or so and there are taxis also. Pattambi has become a small town with hotels and hospitals. From there Trissur is only an hour away.

Our ancestral property covers a rectangular area of 20 acres. The house is situated almost at the middle of it facing east. The house is a square one, all the four sides having similar appearance with a pyramid shaped roof. There is an extension towards the north, for the kitchen and stores. There were hundreds of trees, mango, coconut, arecanut, on which pepper vines climbed. Ginger and turmeric were also grown. There are paddy fields on the back side. My great- grandfather brought the best mango saplings from all over India. There were Alphonso and Mulgova mangoes, as big as coconuts. They were carefully harvested by nets and ripened under heaps of paddy. But we children liked the smaller green ones the juice of which we sucked with much relish. Ripe fruits would fall whenever there was a strong wind and we scrambled to get at them. We became expert stone throwers. I remember eating more than a hundred a day. I did not get diabetes!

That was a wonderful life, now almost forgotten. The longest and the largest river in Kerala, the Bharatapuzha flows a kilometre away from our house and in the evening my cousins and I, numbering around a dozen, would run all the way to the river through green paddy fields. The river bed of sand was so clean, like a pristine beach and the water so pure that we drank it. Now the sand mafia has come. They dredge the sand and take it as far away as Coimbatore. The whole place is like a battered battle field. During the monsoons, the flood water overflows and erodes the banks destroying paddy fields.

What have we done to our country? There are other countries like Israel which convert deserts into fertile fields. We turn our fertile fields into deserts. I just wanted to tell you how much I feel about all this. Please pardon me if I sound like a cracked juke box.

Travel Travails

2011-10-20T21:39:00.000-07:00

An old steam locomotive on the Metre Gauge of the Indian Railways.

In about ten days, my daughter Priya and I will travel to Delhi by train. We will travel in Rajdhani 1A (air conditioned coupe for two persons) and there will be safety and privacy. My niece Sneha is in Japan and she is rapturous over the bullet trains known as Shinkansen there. She travelled from Tokyo to Osaka, a distance of 515 kms in 2 hours and 25 minutes. That will be like travelling from Chennai to Madurai in less time than that. Of course, we in India can never reach the standard in Japan and in a few other countries, but there have been improvements over the past decades.

I remember my childhood days when our family would travel during the summer vacation from Madurai to our ancestral house in Pallipuram in Kerala, a distance of less than 250 kms. It used to take about 27 hours. Did you say a tortoise would have been faster? But it was a delight for me in those days to travel in the Third Class of a slow passenger train on the Metre Gauge – it was called so because the span between the rails was one metre. The Broad Gauge which has become predominant now has a span of five and a half feet. The Metre Gauge trains were smaller, ran at a slower speed and were more prone to shaking. There were four different classes of coaches, the First Class, Second Class, Inter Class and Third Class. Our family was a large one; father, mother, four daughters and a son and we could afford to travel only in the Third Class. There were only wooden benches in the trains, but I never felt uncomfortable.

At Madurai, our train would arrive at about 9 in the morning. I do not know where it came from and what its destination was. Of course, there was no reservation; first come first served – like the ex-Telcom minister A.Raja’s policy of selling 2G spectrum – But there was no big rush like we find at present. My sister Vijayam and I would look out for window seats. More often we occupied window seats opposite to each other. There were no bars on the windows and I could poke my head right out of it. There were admonitions about that, not because my head would hit a post outside, but grits of coal from the chimney of the steam engine would get into my eyes. A train journey would result in red, watery eyes. But we never bothered about such trivia.

Hardly would the train chug out of Madurai Junction, when it would stop at Madurai Bridge and thereafter at every station, even at stations with a single line, called train halts. At other stations there was always a possibility of being halted for a long time for another train to cross from the opposite side. So slowly but steadily we would reach Dindigul in the afternoon and take another train from there to Coimbatore. On the route were stations like Palani. When we caught sight of the Palani Hill, on top of which there is a famous Murugan temple, we would be excited and praying towards it with folded hands. And we would chug on till the train reached Coimbatore late at night. We had to wait on the platform or the waiting room for hours till the morning when a passenger train would start from there towards Shoranur and Kozhikode. A short distance from Coimbatore, the train would enter Valayar, the ghat section of thick jungles. It was a thrilling sight. Now it is a thickly populated area with a cement factory in the middle of it. The wild animals have moved far away. After passing Palakkad, the train would run on the northern bank of Bharatapuzha, the longest and largest of all rivers in Kerala. Finally at about 11 in the morning we would alight at Pallipuram station. I cannot remember what we ate during the journey. Perhaps my sister Vijayam may remember. It would take one or two days to clear all the coal grit from my eyes, but I really loved the train journeys of those days.

The luggage we carried were all big steel trunks, four or five in number. I don’t know why we carried all that stuff for a short holiday of one and a half months. The factotums – slaves would be a better description – of our ancestral house would be waiting at the station to carry all the steel trunks on their heads to our house about two kilometres away. I cannot imagine such a thing happening in the present days. But in those days labour was cheap, obedient and servile.

Train travel was safe in those days; no chain snatching or handbag stealing. Not that there were any handbags, just old-fashioned cloth bags. During the mid-60s I was working at Gokak Falls, 40 kms north of Belgaum, but my family stayed back in Madurai. During the vacation, my wife Ganga along with our two little children came to Gokak Falls and went back to Madurai, changing trains at Chennai and Bangalore. The journey took almost three days. She did it not once but twice and when I think about it, I just cannot believe it; it was an amazing performance. Priya was 4 and Naresh 2 and they were as mischievous as possible. How could she keep an eye on them in an open Third Class coach? But there was nothing to worry about safety, which is something we do not have these days. One could leave one’s luggage in the coach without locking it up with chain and go out on the platform to get drinking water and breakfast, lunch or dinner. We had to drink water from the taps on the platforms in the absence of bottled drinking water. But we did not suffer from any illness by doing that or eating food sold by vendors on the platforms.

There was no reservation for seats or berths prior to 1959. I have travelled from Chennai to Delhi in a Third Class unreserved coach and many times to and fro Chennai to Howrah. Perhaps I have now become more finicky or more concerned about cleanliness in course of time. Even travel in Two-tier air-conditioned coach has become troublesome with people talking on their mobile phones or playing loud music all through the night. There is also the problem of reaching the destination on time. There may be a sudden ‘bandh’ or strike somewhere on the route, like the present one in the Telengana region and we can never be sure when the train will start again. Therefore, Priya and I will take a flight back to Bangalore from Delhi. But the IGI Airport in Delhi is usually closed in the morning hours due to fog in the cold season. Travel has really become a pain in the ****.

I still cherish the old days of my childhood. We had total freedom to do whatever we wanted to do. There was also total safety even in Delhi. I have experienced it personally. In Calcutta, my friends and I used to stroll about Chowringee and Park Street even well past midnight. Now there is no safety for ordinary citizens. Safety is there only for the politicians. When Jayalalitha came to Bangalore today by a special plane from Chennai for trial in the case of corruption against her, she was protected by 1700 policemen from Tamil Nadu and Bangalore in addition to the National Security Guards. Section 144 was imposed on the area surrounding the court and a few major roads were barricaded for traffic. Even the Viceroy of India did not have such privileges during the British rule.

Whither Goes Education in India?

2011-10-07T03:59:00.000-07:00

The Senate House of the Madras University in the year 1905. A century later it is falling apart.

“There are no Indian educational institutions, including the much praised IITs and IIMs among the top 200 ones of the world, according to the latest survey” said Pammie.

I replied, “I am not surprised. There has been a systematic downgrading of the standard of education in India due to political interference. When quota systems operate there will be compromises on the quality of education.”

“But the students who enter these colleges, especially the professional institutions, have to submit to certain cut-off standards. They must be the brighter ones among the whole group.”

“That is true. But mere cramming to get good marks does not enable them to acquire knowledge. It is not only in India that getting to the top is a rat race, but also in many Asian countries. For instance, the South Korean government wants to crack down on after-hours cramming. To reduce the country’s addiction to private tutoring academies, called hagwons, the Korean authorities have begun enforcing a curfew – even paying citizens bounties to turn in violators. Such cramming schools are everywhere in India. Even for the entrance examination to the IIT, there are specialized coaching schools, especially in Kota, Rajasthan.

“Why do they think it is bad for the students?”

It is one thing to memorize a lot of facts to help them get top ranks in the entrance tests. Too much cramming destroys the students’ inquisitiveness, intelligence, initiative and innovation. They get burnt out. They become unfit to carry out a new project.”

“In other words, they become stereotyped.”

“Absolutely! The main fault is that these students, however bright they may be when they enter their colleges, do not get good teachers. Appointments of teachers to the government colleges and also their promotions are made on caste based reservations. I may be accused of having caste prejudices. But the truth is that the bar gets lowered repeatedly to allow students from backward classes to pass the examinations. These students may go on to become teachers in the same institutions and the vicious cycle goes on.”

“I have heard that a few private institutions are good.”

“A couple of years ago there were about 2,300 engineering colleges in India, including the government institutions. There were about 8,50,000 students. A large number of such institutions are started every year. Most of them are run by politicians or their supporters. The only purpose is to earn a lot of money by way of premiums and donations. The teachers in most of these institutions are not paid well. Only the mediocre teachers, who have nothing else to do go there.”

“It is such a sad affair, is it not?”

“Another fact is that the syllabus is outdated, emphasizing only on technical details and mathematical calculations but not how the whole thing works. I have met a few teachers in engineering institutions and also the students studying there. They revealed a lot of ignorance about their subjects.”

“That is why the brighter students go abroad and shine there. They have the freedom to learn for themselves and do projects which they can choose for themselves. There is no interference from the political circles.”

“Absolutely true. Do you know what the Vice-chancellor of Madras University did right after he got his appointment? He went to meet the C.M. Karunanidhi, fell flat at his feet and announced that henceforth there would be a doctorate course on ‘Karunanidhi’s Thoughts’. Such is the height to which sycophancy has risen in India that there cannot be a world-class educational institution in the near future”.

Pammie said, “I entirely agree with you.”

F(e)asting to be a Rugby Player

2011-09-18T03:24:00.000-07:00

New Zealand playing South Africa in the current Rugby World Cup Championship in New Zealand

Gaurav wrote:

I told Pammie, “I am going on an indefinite fast.”

“Oh! To death, are you? The Jains do it all the time.”

“An indefinite fast sets no time limit. It can be for four hours, four days or four weeks.”

She said in a snide, sarcastic and provocative manner, “You can’t fast for more than four hours. You will be raiding the fridge after two hundred and forty one seconds to check up what is inside. I have got some nice ice cream in it.”

“I have not yet started on my fast, but you are tempting me to break my fast quicker than I wanted to.”

“Where did you catch the virus of fasting? Was it from Anna Hazare and others who fasted for thirteen days, or from Narendra Modi who is now on a fast for three days? Even Karunanidhi fasted for eight hours, from nine in the morning to five in the evening. But he may have had an isotonic along with the water he took.”

“From neither of them. I was feeling upset about our cricket team losing all the matches on the English tour. I have never felt so low. I thought I would do a penance for their utter failure and for letting us all Indians down. I wanted to watch our No.1 team in the world to soundly thrash the English snobs; instead our team has now gone down to No.3 in the rankings.”

“Forget cricket. Watch the Rugby World Cup, now on Neo Sports TV channel. I don’t think any of these humongous specimens can ever fast. There is not one player who is less than a hundred kilo in weight. Playing rugby requires physical strength for fierce, full-contact play, as well as high levels of energy to endure the rigorous 80 minutes of most matches. How they keep up with all the rough and tough work, amazes me. And you should know the diet that keeps them fit.”

‘What do they eat?”

“They have three full meals a day. Breakfast cereal, bread, muffins, crackers, muesli bars, rice, pasta, potatoes, meat, poultry, fish, dairy products, beans, peas, lentils, nuts. And 5 servings of fruit and vegetables each day.”

“Still they can run!”

“Sure. A fellow who has a waist of five feet and weighs more than a hundred and thirty kilos runs faster than our Suresh Raina or Virat Kohli. We should get the coach of a rugby team to make the wimps of our cricket team to be fit and strong. A small nation like New Zealand with a population of four millions can be the world champion, whereas we Indians with more than a billion people cannot even qualify. The same goes for our football team too”

“You talk sense. As long as we get our coaches at the cheapest rates, our teams will not win any match. The IPL has also done a lot of damage to our batsmen's technique. They just try to get the bat to the ball irrespective of the merit of the ball in the first place. If the ball goes for a six, he is cheered and if it goes for a catch, he is booed. Except for players like Sachin, Rahul or Laxman, no one has a correct technique to play the swing bowlers in England.”

“Talking about Rahul Dravid, the Wall, I want him to be the next Prime Minister and not the other Rahul – Rahul Gandhi, who is a real dummy.”

“I totally agree with you. He can’t fast, either.” I said.

Royal Bongo Tigers?

2011-09-06T10:13:00.000-07:00

The Royal Bengal Tiger

I told Pammie: “There are no Royal Bengal tigers any more.”

She was shocked and her luminous eyes began to resemble those of fire-breathing dragons. “Do you mean they are all extinct?” she asked. She knows all about Royal Bengal tigers. Once she saved three tiger cubs after they were found abandoned. She sent them to a sanctuary, where they grew up fine.

“Not exactly. But their name has become extinct. They will be called Royal Banga tigers, or rather Royal Bongo tigers.”

“Who told you so?”, she demanded.

“The name of the state of West Bengal has been changed to Paschim Banga. You know how Bengalis pronounce the name. They will call it Poschim Bongo. So the name of the tigers has also to be changed.”

“Good God! I think I will have to go and settle down in Bongo Bongo, one of the poor nations in Africa where Mulliner’s uncle, the Bishop, went to stay. He became the Bishop of Bongo Bongo. It is one of the funniest stories of P.G. Wodehouse, my favourite author. The Bishop left behind his cat named Webster in the care of Mulliner. It had high moral values and looked down on Mulliner because he led a Bohemian life.”

“Can a cat lead a high moral life?”

“Webster could. But in the long run he came under temptation and drank a full bottle of whiskey and began to lead a gangster’s life.”

“Oh, is it like that? The Bishop would have felt offended when he returned to take back his cat. But what are we doing about our Bongo tigers?”

“They could play Bongo drums. We can have a show where a Bongo tiger plays Bongo drums to the some Calypso music.”

“And Manu Chao can sing his Bongo Bong song.”

“I have not heard about Manu Chao. Is he a Chinese?”

“Manu Chao is not a Chinese, but a French singer of Spanish origin. He sings in French, Spanish, English, Italian, Galician, Arabic and Portuguese and occasionally in other languages. His song Bongo Bong has its roots from a 1939 recording of "King of the Bongo Bong" by the trumpeter Roy Eldridge. He wrote the lyrics:

Mama was queen of the mambo
Papa was king of the Congo
Deep down in the jungle
I started banging my first bongo
Every monkey would like to be
In my place instead of me
Cause I'm the king of bongo, baby
I'm the king of bongo bong

Pammie laughed one of her silvery ones. She went on, “And there are Bongo drums. When someone mentions playing Bongo drums, you probably think of a beatnik poet embellishing his obscure poetry with flourishes on a pair of these little drums. I think these drums are of Cuban origin.

“But our poor Royal Bengal tigers, the most magnificent animals in the world, will no longer be looked upon as the monarchs of all they survey, what with the stupid name of Bongo. That is the tragic part of all this misplaced zeal to pander to petty linguistic passions.”

“I entirely agree with you” I said.

A Many Spendoured Life

2011-08-18T22:47:00.001-07:00

Pammie's many- splendoured life was like this aurora, colourful, bright but brief. (Pammie sent me this photo from Minneapolis during the winter of 2004)

Gaurav writes:

Today is the third anniversary of my beloved niece Pammie. The pain still lingers though 1095 days have gone by.

She was the most beautiful girl I have ever met. With her sparkling eyes she was a magnet for every one who was captivated by her charm. And she could sing like a professional. She had an I.Q. of 158 and became a member of the International Mensa Club. She wrote limericks, played rapid chess, solved Times crosswords in ten minutes and created a new version of Sudoku, the older version being too easy for her.

This post is not about Pammie’s talents, though there were many. This is a timely tribute to her honesty, when millions of our citizens are giving their whole-hearted support to Anna Hazare today. More than anything else, Pammie was absolutely honest. I don’t think she ever uttered a lie. When she was an I.A.S. officer, she could have made millions; the opportunity was there in the offing, but she never took even one rupee to favour any one. There are many other honest officers like her, but soon they are almost always overruled by corrupt politicians. Unable to cope with the present corrupt system, they resign from the services and seek new pastures like Pammie did. Ultimately she went to Harvard Business School, took a MBA and became the President and CEO of an American company. Her papers on International Finance have become study material for Ivy-league universities in the U.S. But aneurysm snatched her away at the young age of 32.

But she has left behind an everlasting fragrance which every member of my extended family found to be most inspiring. I was her mentor during her early years, but later I have learned far more from her in the fields of Economics, Finance, Law and Politics.

Long before today’s corruption issue, which is in the limelight, Pammie told me about the possibility of an upsurge in corrupt practices both in the government and in the corporate sector. That has become absolutely true. She explained to me how the government machinery could be manipulated by corrupt politicians and bureaucrats to amass wealth for themselves. Her prediction has come true.

Today millions follow Anna Hazare. They hope there is still a hope of getting rid of the cancer of corruption. Perhaps the way of Anna Hazare is the only one for that purpose. Some people may say that it is a kind of blackmail and not an approved method of dissenting. They are wrong. Only a mass movement by the people can make the corrupt politicians to change their way of governing this country. What after all has made Team Anna the force it has become? It is the feeling among ordinary people across the land — a feeling strengthened by intense media coverage — that here is a rare opportunity to put in place a potent mechanism to end high-level corruption.

‘The Hindu’, one of the most reputed newspapers in India describes the present Indian government as ‘corrupt, repressive, stupid’. Strong words, indeed! Its editorial goes on: ‘A corrupt government devoid of moral authority is ill equipped to deal rationally with legitimate public anger’.

The government by itself does not appear to be interested in removing corruption. Every now and then a senior minister will get up and say that the government has zero tolerance towards corruption, which will be put down expeditiously. Mere empty words. I can find at least one cabinet minister against whom there is substantial evidence of corrupt and high-handed practices. But the Prime Minister is not interested in asking him to resign or remove him from his government. Perhaps compulsion of coalition politics, as stated by the PM himself, prevents him from taking action.

The Hindu editorial goes on: ‘In the words of A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, former President of India who has scrupulously kept himself above partisan politics, ‘the recent events and findings have highlighted –- the single biggest hindrance to India's growth — that is the corruption and degrading moral turpitude which is engulfing the nation like cancer’.

Short of massive constitutional and electoral reforms, nothing much can be done to eradicate corruption in India.

Pammie knew all about the Constitution and the Indian Penal Code. She told me that there was nothing wrong with the Indian Penal Code, which is a master-piece of legal codification by Lord Macaulay way back in 1860 and adopted totally by many of our neighbouring countries. There are more than 500 Sections of the I.P.C. which cover the whole range of criminal activity. Even cyber crimes can be tackled with it. But the government to ensure its continuance in power almost always fails to enforce the law on wrong-doers.

I have asked many people if they knew who drafted the Indian Constitution. Invariably the answer was Dr. B.R. Ambedkar. Is it true or false? Wait for my next blog.