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.

A problem called Saint Arundhati

Make no mistake about it. Ms Roy writes stupendous literature. Her mastery over the English language, her ability to craft scintillating phrases, is par excellence. I am huge fan of her writing skills. I also fully support her right to freedom of speech, as the rest of us enjoy.

So far so good. Now here’s where things go awry: Ms Roy is a one-book wonder. That one book, which won her the Booker, turned her into an international celebrity overnight. It became her ticket to fame. And we were all proud her. And we wanted more. Of her fine prose. And rivetting fiction.

But that was not to be. Ms Roy forgot all about telling stories, and jumped right into dark realism. And became a self-styled social activist-cum-column writer. Well, okay, nothing wrong with that, we said. If she could bring her skills to the fore to effect social change, what can be better than that?

The real problem began when she suddenly turned into a hardliner leftist, so to speak, and began writing extremely one-sided and immensely militant opinion pieces. Which essentially are one hundred per cent against the State. So in Ms Roy’s opinion, The Great Indian State is a monster that grabs land, rapes poor women, murders innocents and is out to inflict dirty capitalism on the unsuspecting masses. And the opposers to the Sate are all angels. Especially the Naxals, ‘Gandhis with Guns’ in her flowery language. And oh, Kashmir has been usurped through force by the monstrous Indian State, and it must be freed ASAP. (What will become of it after azadi is irrelevant, of course.)

Most of us in India summarily reject her thoughts. Not because what she says is all balderdash… she actually makes very significant points on the damaged democracy called India… but because her views are extreme, biased, jaundiced, and at times, illegal. And too black and white for any sort of credibility. So we enjoy her prose, and shrug at her volcanic tirade against the nation.

But here’s the bigger problem: Because the one-book wonder is the Booker prize winner, we have to drink her regular dose of poison. And pay the price. Her frantic, over the top, one-sided, paranoid rants get happily covered by the global press. And leave behind a totally distorted view of the nation. I was in London recently, and discovered that some locals have begun to equate her with Aung San Suu Kyi. And are convinced Ms Roy has been terrorised by the monstrous Indian State. And that she too should be awarded a Nobel Peace. And granted asylum in the UK with full honours.

In short, Ms Roy has become a larger problem than we all care to think. And with the Mother Teresa-isque image she enjoys globally, under no circumstances can the state act against her, even when she breaks the law repeatedly under the guise of freedom of speech. Because that one act will actually get her international sainthood. Which is probably what she now covets

So, all that India can do is sit back and enjoy her glittering prose. And bear the cross that she has become on our collective necks. There’s nothing we can do about it. I also imagine Ms Roy welcomes it when we trash her. That she revels in the mud slinging. Because that only adds to the cult of angeldom.

Boy, I wish, how I wish, Saint Arundhati returned to penning fiction. We have lost a fine writer. And are stuck with a beautiful hate mongerer.

Should these teachers face a jail term?

I was slightly disconcerted with the pictures of the La Martiniere principal and some other teachers being arrested. Sure, they were later released on bail, but the media pressure on the men is so enormous, it’s clear jail time awaits the masters.

For those who don’t know, the teachers inflicted some caning (and perhaps some other humiliations) on a boy in the school. Unable to handle it, the poor kid went ahead and killed himself. A very tragic situation, and one’s heart goes out to the bereaved family. They must be in trauma.

Now, by no means is one justifying corporal punishment (yes, it’s great that it’s deemed illegal now). But my question is: Is it fair that the school teachers be charged for instigating suicide, and be punished on that account? It is highly unlikely that the punishers either wished for or expected that the child would take his own life. All they did was to break a law… which is to indulge in corporal punishment… and at the most should face some heat on that count. But abetting suicide?? I think that’s over the top.

Here’s why: Almost all of us boys were caned and struck and insulted by our teachers and head masters in the school days. I particularly recall being caned many times over by our school principal, the tough Sir William Dias (may his soul rest in peace, he was a good man!). And it was usually because I was late to school or had forgotten to snip my hair. And many other boys in the school faced a similar fate. But I don’t think any one of us went ahead and slashed our wrists. We used to get annoyed at first, then have a good laugh, and move on. In fact, here’s a funny episode: One fine Monday morning, Sir Dias arrived in our classroom, and he wasn’t in a particularly pleasant mood. And he caned and threw out almost all the boys. Ordering that we must return only after a decent hair cut. And I recall the few of us who were left behind, also pointed out to Sir that we needed a cut too! And got caned and thrown out as well. So about 20 of us lads spent the entire day playing cricket and generally enjoying an unexpected hol! (As the girls were busy mugging away their lessons, hehe!) And no, no one died. And no, neither did we have that hair cut… barber shops used to be shut in Mumbai on Mondays in those days.

Which brings me to the main point of discussion: How can a teacher possibly tell there is an ultra sensitive boy in a school of hundreds? Should not the parents take some responsibility as well, for not being aware of their lad’s fragile temperament? Were they available to the boy when he was feeling traumatised? Had they created an environment in the house which allowed for a hurt child to freely confide in the family? In short, did they play the role of shock absorbers, which all parents are supposed to play for their young children? Some tough questions need to be asked of the parents as well. That would be fairer.

Bottom-line: Yes, one feels sad for the family. Yes, it’s difficult to ask them searching questions in their devastated frame of mind. Yes, it’s a tragic story, so the media gets tempted to get after the ‘villains’. And make sure they go into the slammer.

But, this just isn’t just. Think about it.

Judges as politicians.

While there is a sense of relief that the HC judgment did not lead to a round of street riots (though the calm is a bit uneasy, one must quickly add), some issues need to be considered.

Many eyebrows have been raised over the strange verdict. And quite correctly so. It’s as if going against all tenets of our Constitution, the three judges seem to have arrived at their judgment based more on personal beliefs, subjective views and ‘greater good’ considerations, rather than strictly follow the law. Which is why no one is entirely happy (not necessarily a bad thing!) and all the parties involved are moving to the Supreme Court.

The issue I want to raise is this: I actually endorse what the judges have done. In fact, I quite understand where they are coming from. The large political parties, whose leaders are supposed to play the role of the executive, have shirked away from taking a call on this dicey issue. Simply because they have carved out India between themselves (based on religion/caste/language considerations), and would find it impossible to resolve this issue in a parliamentary debate (which is actually the way national contentious issues need to be resolved).

With the executive having excused itself from doing its job, the judiciary is compelled to step in and do the honours. The judges, after all, don’t need votes from the junta to further their careers. Although this is shameful, as the people who ought to be deciding the nation’s future are the people’s elected representatives, I am happy that the judges have voluntarily agreed to perform that role, as someone’s gotta do the dirty work. In that context, I think we should all be pleased that the judiciary, in this case, exceeded its mandate, and invoked mythology, emotions and peace considerations to judge an issue that in ideal circumstances must purely be judged on legal parameters. That the judges put India first. Rather than the books.

Think about this: Had the High Court judges acted purely as judges, it is very possible that the title of the land would have been wholly awarded to one of the parties. Because whatever evidence you dig up, it is simply untenable to arrive at judgments based on what may have happened 500 years ago. Or earlier. And if the entire land had been awarded to one party, one can be pretty sure that would have resulted in a huge unrest in the nation. And possibly riots and other criminal activities. The one-third formula was announced so that the nation remains at peace. Clearly, the judges have played the role of politicians and arbitrators. In other words, the role that the parliament should be performing.

And therefore, instead of questioning their motives and methodologies, we should actually be applauding them.

Having said the above, two points: One, it is critical that people who demolished the masjid in 1992 are punished. Because that was a criminal act, any which way you look at it. That is paramount if we need real closure on this issue. And once again, if the government is too chicken to take a call on this, the judiciary must take independent, suo moto action.

Two, now that the case has moved to the Supreme Court, one sincerely hopes the judges take another twenty or thirty years to pronounce the final verdict. The reason? All the fossilised leaders (both, political and religious), the dudes who are constantly trying to push India back into the medieval age, would have moved on from this world. (Good riddance, if you ask me.) And a Brand New India, circa 2040 AD, may just want to have nothing to do with Ayodhya. So the judgment can be pronounced without palpable fear on the streets. And maybe, just maybe, we will finally get a hospital at the site. Which is the most ideal way out. Where, instead of 1/3rd mandir, 1/3rd masjid, etc, we get 1/3rd orthopedics, 1/3rd cardiac care, and so on. That is the India the new gen deserves. Surely.