That evening, I almost killed myself

Here’s my fifth standard report card. Check out the phenomenally poor marks and the hurtful comments from teachers. That evening, as I was walking back home, I was convinced of being a hopeless loser, that I had badly let my parents down, and that I must simply kill myself. And as fate would have it, when I returned home, they were showing the film ‘Anand’ on Doordarshan, which I sat and watched. And got even more depressed.

Just then my dad returned from work, and asked me why I was looking so glum. Anyways having given up on life (so what further harm could dad’s pasting do??), I showed him this report card. And his reaction was shocking! He patted me on the back, gave me some money, and said, “Don’t worry beta, all’s not lost. Just keep working at it and am sure things will improve. And even if they don’t, not to worry, I am always there for you. Now go and buy your friends some ice cream and have fun. Just take the evening off and don’t think about it for now.”

That totally unexpected reaction from my dad knocked my socks off, it changed my life. Instead of feeling depressed, I began to feel a sense of self-confidence, a fierce determination to work harder. The next day I asked my dad to get me a private tutor, which he did. And I used that tutor to teach me just one thing: how I could memorise my study material. That the tutor did happily, and he taught me tricks on blindly ratofying my syllabus.

And here’s what happened: I began to mug every subject, without even attempting to understand the matter, and lo and behold! From the sixth standard onward I was amongst the top six rankers, year on year. What this tells us about our education system is just one thing: IT SUCKS! The entire exercise is designed to guage your parroting skills, and that’s it. The teachers gave a rat’s arse whether we really comprehended the subjects. But that’s not the topic of my discussion.

What I want to say is this: That evening if my dad had spanked me, put me under pressure, and said I would never make it in life, I would surely have been dead.

Here’s the deal: I think it’s absolutely silly to blame movies, television programmes, teachers, social pressures and the like for child suicides. At best they can add on to a child’s frustrations, but are never the root cause. The key issue is and has always been: bad parenting. I think parents are mainly responsible when kids take their own lives. I know of parents who put immense emotional pressure: “I have always dreamed of a doctor in our family, my hopes are pinned on you, son.” “You will become a clerk and rot your whole life if you don’t get admission into that MBA school.” “Look at Sharma’s daughter, she’s so smart and talented. Learn something from her, you fool!” And so on. In fact, here’s a great example: We were once shooting an ad film at the Film City. One lad had been chosen to play a minor role in that advert. Now, the poor thing got nervy, and just wouldn’t deliver. The boy’s mom grabbed the child and beat him mercilessly, fearing that her son would lose this assignment. And this made matters even worse. Anyway, the director asked for the mother to be thrown out of the sets, and he himself handled the child. By telling him silly jokes and bantering with him, he could get the boy into a cheerful mood and the film was shot. And yet, as soon as the mom arrived, she again began tormenting the poor kid!

Unfortunately, after the child dies, none of this comes to light. One, because the last thing cops would want to do is harass grieving parents. And two, even if they did, this sort of stuff is impossible to prove. And so, the tragedy keeps happening.

All those middle-class parents reading this, please take note: Quite often, unwittingly, it’s possible you are driving your child to breakpoint. By loading them with unreal expectations, or by hoping that they would one day realise your own unrealised dreams. Or by simply worrying about their future, not understanding that often some kids bloom late in life. Or find their calling late in life.

Now, admittedly, neither am I a child psychologist nor a parent. However, I did want to share my dad’s attitude in the face of a very poor report card of his son. Maybe we can all learn something from that. My dad is no more, but this one lesson he taught me, will stay with me for life.

And yeah, go ahead and snigger at my report card. I am doing ditto!! Haha.

Need special courts for sexual crimes

The only way to curb (they will never get eliminated) sexual assaults on women and children is for special super-fast-track courts to be created to deal with these particular crimes. These courts should be given a strict deadline of max one year to either convict or acquit the accused.

In this nation where we waste crores of bucks on nonsense stuff (black cat commandos for faltu netas, free air travel for their extended families, etc), surely some money can be used for the safety of the most vulnerable sections of this nation.

And added to this, there needs to be harder punishment spelt out for such crimes, especially cases of molestation, which currently don’t invite harsh punishment. So, bigger punishment, faster judgment is the only way to go. This can and will be the only deterrent against attacks on women and children in our democratic set-up.

The continued non-action of our governments in this matter is appalling. I mean, what are they waiting for? Vigilante justice to become rampant in this country?

Take the case of the Haryana tennis player who got molested by a cop 19 years ago. She killed herself in 1993, and the trial court has only reached the judgment now!!! Isn’t this sheer madness, an insult to the dignity and life of a minor girl? Think of the way the world has turned upside down in the last 20 years to give you an idea of completely non acceptable such a delay is. And even now, unless the media had got into the act, the guilty cop would have simply walked home.

As someone said, “In the history of the world, the true test of a civilization is how well people treat the most vulnerable and most helpless in their society.”
I am afraid we score a big zero on this parameter. Shame on us.

The Big Fat Indian Buffet

On a ‘package’ holiday, one part of the action that gives me the heebie-jeebies is the ‘free’, ‘complimentary’, buffet breakfast that hotels line up for us. I just can’t seem to handle these, and I usually end up parked in a lonely corner, ordering a la carte, and paying up big for it.
The reason is simple: we Indians totally lack the buffet consumption etiquette, and what should be a pleasurable activity, where you get to partake of various delicacies on display, turns into a nightmare, an event I totally don’t look forward to.
Here are some tips for readers on buffet behaviour, and I have compiled these after many unsuccessful attempts at this mother of all (mis)adventures.

•Just as it’s deeply offensive and uncivil to jump queues at malls, airports and ration shops, so is the case with buffet spreads. If you follow the food line, you will not only enjoy the ride, but reach your choice of platters smoother and faster. Jumping the line leads to chaos in the food chain, and I have seen people viciously elbowing each other out to get at that extra helping of coconut chutney. Makes no sense to me. Folks at the community bore-well queue are more chilled out. And yup, when you arrive for that second/third/fourth/tenth helping, it’s only correct and fair to rejoin the line. But I know this isn’t gonna happen anytime soon. Indians in general viscerally loathe the concept of queues.

•It’s never a good idea to unleash your kids into the buffet consumption process. With the mad frenzy that often gets underway, I have noticed children being trampled upon (ouch!), and I once spotted a little girl crushed between the legs of some heavyweight patrons. Also kids, quite naturally, struggle with the large food dispensers, the lids of some of these contraptions aren’t easy to pull, even for an 80 kg hulk like me. And so accidents become inevitable. A brat once dropped an entire container of steaming hot sambhar on my crotch. Sure, go ahead, laugh. The feeling isn’t funny though, trust me.

•Some groups (especially the undivided family wallahs) attack the spread in unison, much like a pride of lions. Now this is bad news for the rest, as this causes longer waiting periods, but it can’t be helped. I guess some people actually believe in the theory that ‘families that eat together, stay together’. Though I am quite certain whoever wrote that, didn’t have buffets in mind. But that’s cool. What gets my BP raging is the sight of some of these ‘Hum Aapke Hain Kaun?’ clans get involved in heated debates over which dish appears worth trying… the intense arguments over the merits and demerits of each item. Am sure that’s how families bond, but clearly this practice is unfair to folks waiting in the long queue. The correct thing would be to top up your plate, go to the table, and THEN gossip over the cuisine. Or play antakshri, or whatever it is that gets you off over breakfast.

•After you have richly dug into the container, the polite and hygienic thing is to shut the damn thing down. Hotel staffers do all they can to keep the dishes adequately warmed. Either setting them on simmer, or replacing them at the right intervals. Leaving the containers open not only cools the dishes swiftly, it also makes the khana vulnerable to assault from flies. Is that such a difficult thing to understand?

•I kid you not, some food lovers sniff right into the containers, before deciding if it’s aromatic enough for their refined taste buds. Others grope and feel each chapatti/bread before zeroing in on the chosen one. Do you really want me to explain why these acts are totally repugnant and unhealthy?

I could go on, and am sure you have your own list of buffet peeves. All we need to understand is that the concept of the buffet spread is to make the experience of eating brisk, varied and delightful. It’s not meant to be a game of skill, power and crude behaviour.

Hey, me no terrorist!

To give you an idea of how crazy our intelligence officers can be, here’s what happened when I ran into the Karnataka CM on my recent trip down south. The piece was carried in the Bangalore Mirror. (See below.)

However, before you read it, here’s what you must know about the trauma I faced practically all night after the short interview. I was surrounded by intelligence officers who suspected my background. They grilled me on my name, address, family history, criminal records (not kidding!), blood group, passport copies, ration card copies, hobbies, bad habits, vices… and I don’t even recall what else. The reason? I dared to interview the CM without an appointment!!! And without showing my press card.

Sometime after mid-night, completely pissed-off with this wild, senseless interrogation, I switched roles, and got after the sleuths instead. And then the real picture emerged. Apparently, their chief was maha upset with his officers, because they allowed me to meet the CM without frisking me first, and without demanding my visiting card!!! So they were trying to make amends by harassing the hell out of me. And that too for such a brief, non-scandalous interview! Now just imagine how these smart intelligence cats go about in their jobs to nab terrorists and Naxals.

Here’s the article:

A walk down the Kabini with Yeddy.

I ran into the CM quite accidentally last night. I was put up at the quite and picturesque Kabini River Resort, when sudden hurly burly woke me up from my siesta. I was informed the CM, Shri Yeddyurappa, will be coming over to stay for the night. In the adjoining Maharajah Cottage.
And he, along with his entourage, did so. As I walked out into the lush lawns in the evening for some fresh air, I found the CM doing exactly that, though there was great nip and stride in his amble. Quite understandable that, he had just emerged from possibly the biggest crisis of his long career.
And I asked for an unplanned interview. And to the CM’s credit, despite the fact that this was his day of rest, he gamely agreed. And we spent about 15 minutes stretching our legs and talking politics along the lawns of the swish Resort.
Here are some excerpts:

Sir, what brings you to the Resort? Taking a break from all the recent tensions?
Actually, I am on a thanksgiving journey. Yesterday I prayed at the Chamundi temple, and tomorrow early morning I have to go to pray at another temple close-by, and that’s the only reason I decided to stay at this Resort tonight. I want to thank God for helping me deal with this political crisis.

But Sir, is the crisis really over?
Yes, it is, all disagreements have been resolved, everyone is happy now.

But you had to make many compromises…
No, I am still the CM, and I will continue to work for the people of Karnataka. We are launching many infrastructure projects, especially in Bangalore. We are investing crores of rupees and you will see the results from within a year.

But Sir, media reports suggest that you have now been divested of many powers, and that will hinder your work.
Nothing like that has happened. And I would like to thank the press for all the support.

What was the core issue with the Reddy brothers?
It’s all amicably resolved now, we have to look ahead and work for the benefit of the people.

What are LK Advani’s instructions to you? What was his solution to solve the state’s political crisis?
The party leadership has asked me to take all the MLAs along as I function, so nobody feels ignored or left out.

Which means you were ignoring some colleagues all along, especially the Reddy brothers…
As I said, I have to take all the MLAs along, that’s the party’s thinking, and I will fully go along with it.

Sir, honestly, with all these compromises, do you really believe you will be able to perform effectively for the full term?
Of course, I will.

What made you cry in front of the cameras?
I was genuinely feeling bad for the people of Karnataka. I get very emotional about my people. It is they who have chosen us, and we are answerable to them. That we should have been paying more attention to their problems.
The BJP in Delhi is in disarray. Think this will affect the party’s state wing?
All issues have been resolved, we have full faith in the party leadership.

Who will you like to see as the party’s chief once Advaniji officially retires?
(At this point the CM closes the interview with folded hands. And continues with this long, relaxed walk down the beautiful Kabini. He deserves the break. Yeddy has a long, thorny and winding road waiting ahead in his political career.)

Lest we forget Kargil…

A friend asked me to upload an article I had written for Sunday Mid Day in July 2001, when General Musharraf arrived in India to a grand, grand welcome. And all this tamasha and shor sharaba was happening for the man who was the architect of the Kargil war. The man because of whom many of our brave soldiers lost their lives. Leaving many families shattered and permanently damaged.

I was really pissed off with the mushy welcome for Musharraf, and wrote this piece out of sheer angst and great frustration. It was basically satirical in nature, but by default, it helped us recall the sacrifices made by our brave men and women during the Kargil war. All these images were carried on one page, though I have scanned them separately for readability. The headline was: ‘In loving memory of the Kargil martyrs’.

Despite changing three houses since, I finally managed to locate the piece. And now it can be archived forever. Not just a vivid reminder of the bravery and sacrifice by our soldiers, but also a warning to the rest of us that we must never support the agendas of dirty netas who divide us based on caste, lingo and religion. These good men who died for the nation, for all of us, weren’t thinking language and religion when they took the bullets. Hope we never ever forget this.

A footnote: I have been honoured with a few prizes for my writings. But the biggest honour I received was for this piece from the mother of a slain Kargil soldier. Mrs Kapadia of Mumbai, who lost her only son Nawang, aged 19, in the Kargil war, sent me a miniature kukhri knife (Nawang served in the Kukhri regiment), with a note of appreciation.

That little kukhri will go with me to my grave.

Why Mumbai needs to worry.

Can you imagine ANY walk of life where a person/team is rewarded for non-performance? Well, it happens in Maharashtra politics, for sure. The Congress/NCP has been voted back in for making a total mess of the state.

And this has happened not because the voters are idiots, but because the state politics has been reduced to a one-horse race. With the sort of options available, especially key rivals like the BJP and the Sena, there simply is no choice for the voter. The BJP has been busy drafting its own obit all over the nation. And with Bal Thackeray a spent force today, and his son boasting of as much character and charisma as a safety pin, the victory for Cong was a given. This is like being invited to a buffet spread, and being made to choose between a stale vada, cow dung and, er, safety pins. Which is why it amazes me that in TV studio debates, they continue to wonder why the city doesn’t vote.

So even as the Congress bosses celebrate, they must understand that they are back in by default. And not by design.

But here’s why we Mumbaikars need to be worried:

Vastly emboldened, the ruling Congress will now take the state and the city for granted. Even more so than they ever did. They are now assured that they can sleep, sloth, plunder the city and grab lands openly, and life will simply move on. Why make an effort to work when it doesn’t electorally count at all?

They will continue to give a free reign to Raj’s goondas. Because he has become their most important ally. He is doing their dirty work by making sure the opposition remains exactly that… in the opposition. So the next time Raj decides to terrorise the city, like before, the state leaders will smile and look the other way. He is their most productive employee after all.

Meanwhile Raj, having hit the bull’s-eye with a divisive agenda, will now go all out with his plans. Because this brand strategy is rocking for him. So the migrants can look forward to many kicks and slaps in the coming future. And we can look forward to much violence on the streets. And this will be purely symbolic, and not much else. The illegal encroachments will go on, as they serve as Congress’ key vote banks. No hon, they aren’t going to be removed in a hurry. So the ultra parochial Marathi manoos can perhaps take delight in some bhaiyya getting his pants taken off now and then, but life for him/her will remain unchanged.

Gets worse. The Mr Safety Pin Uddhav will now finally understand that, a, he has no future in politics. And b, his ONLY chance is to go back to his dad’s tried and tested militant ways. Which means in the coming years, the two cousins will compete hard on who can unleash greater carnage on the streets of Mumbai.

Bottomline: Expect corruption, inefficiency, violence and hatred to scale new levels in the state. Jai Maharashtra!

My weekend date

Meet Tulsi Kamble. She’s all of 76 years young, and I date her every Diwali. Without fail. Come hale, high water or terror. And as always, we caught up for ‘chahaa’ on Saturday.

Here’s how it all began: Towards the late nineties, for a few years, I used to live in Powai, a Mumbai suburb. Tulsi used to work with me as, what we in Mumbai call, a ‘chhutta bai’. She’d arrive sharp at seven in the morn, do her number, and leave at around eight. Usually housemaids are ‘blind spots’… we know they are at work, but we don’t really take notice of them. (Unless you are one Shiney Ahuja, but let’s not even go down that road.)

However, what got me chatting with Tulsi was that she was the most unusual maid I had seen or hired. A weak, under-nourished, tottering elderly woman (most colony residents had refused to hire her), but always full of life and beans. Her eyes sparkling with joie-de-vivre, reflecting and spreading happiness and energy. She used to be more like a nagging granny to me than a maid. I cannot recount how many times she gave me an earful. For the odd cigarette, for leaving my used clothes all over the place, for messing up the kitchen, for not waking up in time to open the door for her. On one occasion, she nearly spanked me for yawning too loudly (in my defence, I had had a particularly late night). But almost always, she would surprise me with a plate of warm and delicious kandha poha.

Intrigued by her affectionately fearless behaviour, I ventured to know more about her life, and for her need to slog in her sunset years. This is what I learnt, in her broken Hindi and my broken Marathi: Tulsi had been widowed at a young age. Her two older daughters had married off and were gone. Her only son had dumped her. And the child she lived with, her youngest daughter, suffered from a serious case of both, physical and mental deformity. Tulsi had no option but to work, and work hard, not only to run her meager slum hutment, but to also pay for her child’s medical bills (which, as you can imagine, were always hurtful). And added to that, she was battling her own fears for her daughter’s future after she was gone.

What shook me to the core was this: here was this woman, living the worse life imaginable at this old age, and yet so full of life and joy and affection. It’s quite eye-popping when you imagine that we, the more privileged, get hassled and rattled at the most trivial things. Tulsi taught me the greatest lesson of my life, one that no teacher ever did: Keep your chin up, man, no matter what shit life throws at you. Because that’s the only way to live, to really live.

Some years later I said good-bye to Powai, and to Tulsi. My saddest memory is of her weeping uncontrollably as I wished her the final adieu. And my bitterest memory is of rebuking the almighty for bringing pain and suffering to the good people in this world.

But I swore to myself that this little bond we shared will not go away. That, every year, at least once, I would establish contact with Tulsi and ask her out for a date. And I ear-marked Diwali at that period. So that I must never forget. And that tradition lives on.

So then why am I sharing this story with you? Because here’s the other lesson I learnt: it doesn’t take much to bring a few moments of joy in the lives of people who are less blessed than us. Tulsi’s huge, huge excitement and exhilaration when she meets me, is to die for. She has never expected financial help from me, nor has asked for it. What matters to her is that I still care. I care that she’s a human being with feelings, I care that she exists, I care enough to take the time out to see her. Even if only once a year. The joy that I feel when I meet her is probably many times greater than hers. Because it helps me wash away the sins and follies I commit for the rest of the year. She, without realising it, plays the role of my conscience cleaner. And I thank her for it.

I am sure you do your own little charities, and you must. But often, more than financial help, it’s this little demonstration of affection that counts a lot to the people who the world has left behind. The children of the lesser god, so to speak. Tulsi makes me feel better as a human being, and I make her believe in humanity. I ensure she does not get overtly cynical about the world that clearly has no interest whatsoever in her. What can be a greater bond and exchange than that?

And yup, as long as both of us are alive, our Diwali date will go on. I would not miss that for anything.

Happy Diwali to all of you.