And the culpability of the parents?

Very recently, there have been a few cases of suicides reported in Mumbai, by young married women who were allegedly tormented by the in-laws. In at least two cases, the unfortunate, desperate ladies also took the lives of their little children, and I can’t think of a sadder tragedy. Remember, such incidents that happen in urban India get a wide media coverage. One can only imagine the number of similar suicides in India’s heartland, most of which don’t get reported. Or even noticed.

And quite rightly, criminal cases are filed against the in-laws. Most of them don’t reach their logical conclusion, as abetment to suicide is almost always oral, therefore difficult to prove in a court. And the accused often don’t leave footprints behind. So the cases inevitably collapse, and the alleged culprits walk free. But that’s another story.

What disturbs me is the role (or the lack of it) of the girl’s parents in these gruesome incidents. That never gets discussed, never gets investigated, and perhaps if it was, the rate of such suicides may actually reduce. Let’s never forget that when a dependent woman gets harassed by her in-laws, her only recourse for help, emotionally and otherwise, is her parents, brothers and sisters. And if that doesn’t happen, if her folks are unable to provide support and understand her predicament, the poor woman has nowhere to turn to. And this helplessness could be a key catalyst for killing oneself.

Questions that need to be asked: Did her parents agree to give dowry during the marriage? If so, they have already participated in the sad outcome. Most in-laws who crave dowry will never be satiated with a one-off payment, and much like blackmailers, will keep returning for more. Did the parents insist that the tormented woman ‘somehow’ make the bad marriage work, to ‘compromise’ and live with her wicked in-laws? Did they fling the stigma of ‘social badnaami’ of a broken marriage in her face? Did they offer to support her financially when she expressed the desire to move back with her family? Did they take her frantic phone calls seriously? Were they there for her??? Questions, questions, questions. And they never get answered.

Point is: Sure, put the errant in-laws under serious pressure. But parents must also do some hard soul searching on how they contributed to their daughter’s death. Directly or indirectly.

Hum sab chor hain

I am quite certain a vast majority of the Hazare fans have little idea of what exactly the Lok Pal bill is all about. And no, they don’t even care. Basically, the citizens were waiting for an opportunity to vent their frustrations out on the corrupt netas, and Hazare sahib provided that platform. In fact, I think the real turning point of the movement was when a group of feisty volunteers kicked some politicians out of Jantar Mantar. That gesture made many fence sitters jump to the side of Hazare. We are all Annas now. And we want the dirty, slimy, creepy chor netas punished. Big time.

Fair enough. I think the angst is more than justified. The politicians of India have been sucking the nation dry since independence, and it was high time the usually apathetic nation revolted. So far so good. And surely the Lok Pal bill will be passed under Anna’s watchful eye, and corrupt practices amongst the political class will get a little controlled.

However, simply fixing the dirty netas isn’t the solution. Because corruption runs in our arteries, we have all contributed to it, we are all corrupt, we are all chors. Because in our raging anger, we seem to have overlooked one key factor in the equation: It’s just not possible for our leaders to be corrupt unless we, the people, are corrupting them. So the source of bhrashtachaar is actually us. Not the netas. We give them votes in exchange for television sets. Industrialists ‘donate’ them funds in exchange for licenses, permits and other favours. We fall at their feet when they ‘grace’ our lives with their whirlwind visits (thus acknowledging them to be our monarchs and mai baaps). We are happy to bribe them to get our kids into good schools, secure government jobs, get plum transfers, get water connections, get jhopadpattis legalized, get out of legal troubles… the list is endless. And worse, we also ensure the babus, the police force, the custom officers, the municipality clerks, the lower court judges, the RTO dudes, the IT officers, etc, etc, also get bribed so we can benefit out of turn in every walk of life.

In short, we have made the nation corrupt. We are the real chors out here.

So yes, by all means support Anna. More power to him! By all means stand up for the nation. By all means diss the greedy netas. By all means wear the ribbons and the topis and the badges.

But do also take a moment off and stare at the mirror. Long and hard. The root of the problem is staring you in the face.

6 reasons why India will not win the Cup

No, this post isn’t a knee jerk reaction to last night’s incredible loss to South Africa. Have been meaning to write this for some time, but was stuck with more pressing matters.

1. Crowds: Historian Ramachandra Guha said this to me, and I totally agree with him. The intense crowd pressure and the explosive media hype gets into the heads of our cricketers. And they succumb to it. Only Sachin and Veeru are immune to it… the former because he’s mentally strong, and the latter because, a la Salman Khan, he lives on another planet. India will always find it difficult to win a big cricket tournament in India. Their best bet is the foreign soil. History will bear this out. And those crazy ads like ‘Jeetana padta hai’ egg on the crowds to go madder and more unreal than they already are.

2. Sachin: The entire attitude has been all wrong. And the Aussie players, who we chronically accuse of indulging in ‘mental degradation tactics’, were actually right about it. The players want to win the Cup for Tendlya. That is both, stupid and morale deflating. You play for your country and not an individual. However godly his status. It is always about the team. This impetuous on Sachin may be de-motivating the others in what is very clearly a team sport. The 1983 Cup and the 2007 T20 Cup were won because there was no god in the team. Everyone was equal, everyone pitched in equally. That is the reason the Aussies consistently win. They have no gods. Incidentally, this attitude also puts needless additional pressure on Tendulkar.

3. Dhoni: India’s ‘lucky mascot’ is slowly losing his lucky charm. All the talk about India’s best ever captain has affected his mind set. And the cool, earthy approach of the past has given away to an egoistic temperament. His seems to be indulging in nepotism (sub standard players are being selected over meritorious ones). And the impression going around is you have to suck up to the captain if you want to retain your place. That is a disaster. Not just for a sports team, for any organization. Also, the bad ego. If the media says Piyush Chawla is bad news, Dhoni MUST select him to prove them wrong. Another disaster. One more thing: Dhoni has forgotten the art of solid batting. Big loss, that.

4. IPL: The IPL has diluted the hunger to succeed for some of our boys. This is perhaps also why they are all busy sprouting beer bellies. Consider this: Gautam Gambhir has just been credited with 11 crore rupees in a single year by Shah Rukh’s team. That’s serious money in the kitty already. Ditto with Yusuf Pathan. How much does it matter to them then if we win or lose the World Cup? Their life is already sorted out, man. And I am not even going down the endorsements road.

5. Pathetic bowlers.

6. Even more pathetic fielders.


Yes, despite all the above, we could win. Because all it takes in a limited overs match is for a rival team to have a bad hair day. However, we need to get real about our expectations. And we need to keep the emotions in check. A tough ask with Indians, for sure.

What to do about these uglies?

Mumbai Mirror has been running a terrific campaign against those illegal, sick and ugly posters that politicians and their chamchas put up all over the city. If the traffic doesn’t boil your blood, these slimy ‘art works’ certainly do.

Now while the Mirror’s effort is laudable, sadly, nothing will change. After some hurried pull downs, these eye sores will be back with a bang once the dust has settled. And the newspaper has moved on to another compelling issue. This is because chamchagiri is at the heart of Indian politics (even Sonia Gandhi richly rewards sycophants), so the sucker posters will go on.

So then what’s the long term solution? I can think of only one way. There are these sadistic youngsters who, because of not much life of their own, go around town in the nights spray painting on cars and walls. This is a criminal deed for sure, but we need to find a way to channelise their excess energies into something positive. Something for which we can thank them rather than curse them.

I really wish these dolts would do their number in the middle of the night on these sad posters. Deface them with spray paint. Carve out moustaches, devil horns, and other unprintable lovelies. So that when the netas drive out in the mornings to enjoy the chamchagiri, they squirm and panic and order immediate removal of these rocking posters. And with time, the frightened chamchas will quit this practice and stick to sucking up in other ways.

Anyone reading in know these ‘spray artists’, please spray the word!

Post card from a hospi

Between Christmas and New Year, the best imaginable thing happened to me. I found myself admitted into a hospital. For the very first time in my life, so it’s a lovely memory that shall remain with me. Although I was sedated, dazed and confused all along (as is the case with most patients), a couple of observations need to be recorded.

I checked myself into a ‘twin sharing’ room (a fatal mistake in hindsight). While this helps keep the bills in check, it’s also the correct thing to do given the paucity of hospi beds in this country. Additionally, the idea of a single room with a television set doesn’t appeal to me. There’s something not right about watching a cricket match while in the next room a poor cancer stricken bugger chokes over his own blood and passes away, followed by loud wails from his near and dear ones. This actually happened one evening. I heard two sounds at one go. Sobs of a newly turned widow, and crowds going ballistic at the fall of a wicket. And this dual audio play is nerve wrecking to say the least.

Yet, the ‘twin sharing’ room concept doesn’t work in India. I was hoping that just as it happens in the film ‘The Bucket List’, I would, as Jack Nicholson did, find my Morgan Freeman and together we’d take off on a road trip and do all the things we always wanted to do before death comes calling. What I encountered instead was a nightmare. Because that repugnant Indian habit of giving a damn for the other guy extended itself into the hospital: Loud cell phone conversations that go on and on well into the night. Relatives of the patient conducting their private businesses while pretending to show support for the patient. People arriving in hordes (by deceiving the hospital guards) to check on a single patient. Exactly as they do at airports to see off a relative flying to Pune for the weekend. I kid you not, at one point, there were 11 sods who’d come together to meet the chap on the next bed. And that’s when I lost my cool and had them all bodily ejected. And of course, these hordes use the patients’ toilet. So if sickness doesn’t make you retch, the foul odours from the washroom will.

To all those reading in, one humble request: Okay, give a shit about my space and rights at all public places, but can you not show a modicum of empathy in a hospital? Is that too much to ask for?

Net result: I am checking into a single room the next time (and I do hope that time never comes!). Even if my budget and my conscience doesn’t permit it.

The doctors were fantastic, but a special word for those souls who work their hearts out but get basic pay and little recognition: The nurses. Although I was not in my senses at most times, I recall three sisters vividly, though all of them were very caring and helpful. There was Ranjita in the ICU, who took all my pain away one evening by chatting with me on Maharashtrian cuisine and politics. And we spoke in Marathi on how to prepare delicious misal, on how the Shiv Sena operates and where it’s going wrong. The only time she blushed was when I asked details about her boyfriend. I later realised she did all this to keep my mind away from the deep discomfort I was in.

Then there was Anitha in the ICU again. Who treated me a like a family member. She didn’t balk for a second while swabbing my body, including the shameful parts. And she removed all the tubes from my body without using pain killers, and I didn’t feel the slightest pain. Because all along she smiled widely and in her Mallu accent, kept regaling me with fun episodes from her long lost village in Kerala. With Anitha around, you don’t need pain killers. She is the pain killer.

And then there was Jeenamol who took great care of me on the last two days. And made sure she rounded off my exit on a happy, delightful note. We became buddies by the time I caught the elevator to leave. And we did a little high five to ring in the New Year, much to the scandal of the on-looking CCTV cameras.

Why am I telling you all this? These sisters are angels in disguise. Khuda ke bande hain yeh log. They earn a pittance and have a near zero personal life. Make them smile while they take care for you, in case you land up in a hospital. Address them by their names. Thank them. That’s all they need from you. That’s all they need to feel a bit happy in their otherwise totally dreary lives.

We, the lynch mob

Some years ago, I had gone to meet up with my CA at his office located close to Charni Road station, Mumbai. As I was walking towards where I had parked my car, I heard a massive commotion at a kerb. Some fifty people had gathered and were mercilessly beating up a couple of young men. Already there was blood on the street. When I rushed to check what was afoot, I was told the two had been spotted running with a bag of valuables, apparently stolen from one of the offices located in the area.

While a couple of us tried to stop the mob, someone else called the cops. But the mob fury raged on relentlessly. And by the time help arrived, the chaps were almost dead. And then everyone simply walked away non-chalantly. Bank clerks, businessmen, courier boys, hangers-on. Some venting their own frustrations on the alleged thieves, others simply enjoying a good chance to have a go. And no, it didn’t occur to anyone that, one, what they just did was illegal. And two, that, for all they knew, the boys weren’t guilty as charged. Those minor details don’t matter when you spot an opportunity to deliver a fist of fury. What fun!

Now, I am sure this is nothing new. And this regularly happens on the streets of India. So far so bad. Then, an explosion happened in the Indian TV media. And suddenly, the lynch mob landed inside the TV studios. And this time they were a bunch of convent educated, designer clothes wearing dudes. A few, celebrities in their own right. And night after night, they have been delivering instant justice on any one even mildly accused of any wrong doing. Has he been charged with murder? Hang the bastard tonight on prime time! Has he been accused of molesting a minor girl? Send the swine to jail for life, tonight! Did the poor student commit suicide because his bloody head master caned him? Send the fiend into prison, RIGHT NOW!

Yup. It’s the same lynch mob in action. Only, they don’t look like street ruffians. Under the disguise of crusading journalism, our TV anchors have not just been lynching alleged criminals, they have been delivering tabartop justice as well. From inside air-cooled TV studios. All in a few minutes of talk time. And it doesn’t matter if the person is eventually found guilty or not by the courts. That’s irrelevant to the ‘breaking news’ hysteria. The TV mob has already finished that suspect. For life. No wonder Ratan Tata says we are turning into a banana republic. Sure, we are.

And ironically, this time, the same poetic justice has been delivered to the TV journos, post Radiagate. Barkha & gang have been attacked by a massive lynch mob in the cyber space. Some of the slander and abuse going around isn’t even printable. The twitterati junta has already made up its mind: the journalists are guilty and must be made to pay. Right now!

So, virtual lynching is now the new form of street justice. The net has opened up doors to all sorts of cads, losers and frustos. And they have been merrily tarnishing reputations, firing in all directions indiscriminately, a la Ajmal Qasab. It’s a free for all out there. It’s as if the animal lynch instinct surfaced as the mouse came in hand. And all of them get away with it, despite leaving their foot prints (unlike the street lynchers). Because cyber laws are not in place, and it’s impossible to sue every dolt who wants to have a go.

So, god help you if you trip even slightly now. The lynch mob is ready to fire.
On the streets. In the TV studios. And in the virtual world.

Notes on Radiagate

In a way, am actually happy that the ‘leakage’ happened. Doctored or not, the conversations on the tapes provide an insightful, first hand revelation of how politics works in this country. Of course, we always knew there’s a lot of hanky panky at play. Except now we can HEAR with our own ears how politicians, bureaucrats, industrialists, power brokers and journalists (!) collude with each other to screw this country. So will things change? Probably not much. Guess the various constituents will be a tad more careful from now on with their murky dealings. And will only cut deals aboard private yachts. Still, it’s a stinging slap on the face of our great democracy. Maybe, just maybe, some soul searching will happen and that can only be a good thing.

On a lighter note, we finally got to hear the real Ratan Tata. We always suspected the reclusive tycoon to be a suave, cool, lady killer when the stiff suit is off. Well, he is. Cannot really blame Ms Radia for drooling on the phone.

Cut to Ms Niira Radia. (Maybe I should change my name to Aniil!). Technically, there’s really nothing wrong with what she’s done. It’s actually incorrect to term her a lobbyist. She’s a power broker in every sense of the word. She represents corporates with a clear mandate to use her networking skills in the media and political circles to influence political decisions. So, she was only doing her job for a fee. So let’s not hang her. Let’s get after people who succumbed to her methods and charms.

And that then brings me to the main point: The role of the journalists. That cannot be forgiven. Because it’s quite clear that nearly forty political journalists (and this includes editors) crossed the Lakshman Rekha of journalistic ethics. We don’t know if they actually took action on the demands made by Ms Radia (no politician will own up… they need these worthies in the future to run their businesses without much fuss). But the conversations reveal something frightening. The intense bonhomie and camaderie they share with a power broker. A broker, who quite obviously, is out to manipulate the political system so that her corporate bosses can benefit.

I have been a journo for some years, and although nowhere in the league of such biggies as Vir Sanghvi and Prabhu Chawla, one thing I learnt pretty early in my career: To keep a safe distance from PR agents, lobbyists and other pushers. In fact, one would duck their calls. And even when we speak, it is always a polite, ‘Hey, can you e-mail me your client’s details?” And no more. Which is why it’s a trifle difficult to buy the theory that the journos were stringing a source, or building a source, or humouring a source. It’s laughable, actually. The day we have to rely on pushers to break news, is the day when we have gone bankrupt of ideas.

As for the journalists themselves, only Vir Sanghvi has decided to discontinue his Sunday column for a while. This is a correct move. When your credibility is being questioned, there’s really no point in continuing. Best to take a break, do some hard soul searching, try and clear your name, and then return afresh. And Barkha Dutt, at least, allowed cross examination of herself. As for the rest of the Johnnies, life goes on as if nothing happened! What they aren’t willing to accept is that the scandal has hit the Indian media’s reputation really hard, and a recent survey indicates that journos are now rated on par with plumbers in terms of credibility. Thank god pimps weren’t listed in the study, they would have scored higher. The ideal thing should be that all the accused journos must quit. For the greater good of the profession.

Finally, a small note on Barkhaji. Because she’s at the center of the storm, and quite expectedly so, since she’s the queen of Indian television news media. I don’t think she’s corrupt at all, but she does get carried away during a crisis, and loses her sense of calm and proportion. We have seen that even during the 26/11 carnage. It is likely that in the excitement to break news, she got excessively pally with the power broker, and now regrets it. What was disappointing to see during her interrogation (no doubt a brave move) is continued arrogance and self-righteousness. When all she had to say was, “Sorry, I messed up this one!”. But let’s not target her alone. The scam puts a whole lot of journalists in the dock.

Net net: Indian media barons must understand that journalism is the last hope of this nation. Everything else is compromised. If people lose faith in the media, there’s really no one left to trust. Hope they understand the gravity of the situation and launch a massive Operation Clean Up.