Caught between a rock and a hard place

Caught between a rock and a hard place

This is exactly the predicament that the Congress party faces in Delhi. It cannot back Chief Minister Mr. Kejriwal since he was the original mover of the Lokpal protest that rocked the Congress boat; neither can it back the Bharatiya Janata Party since they are their principal opponents going into an election year.

However given the above choices, what the Congress strongmen in the states are doing is putting the party two steps back in its forward march to a united opposition against the ruling party in 2019. The Delhi Unit chief Mr. Ajay Maken says that the Congress can never support the AAP since it was Kejriwal along with moralistically political evangelist Anna Hazare, Baba Ramdev, RSS and other opponents who started the tirade against congress in the first place.

They point out that Kejriwal did not hesitate to take the support of the RSS during those times, an organization and its political wing that he is fighting against now having pitched tent in the lieutenant Governor’s office premises. Similarly the BJP is a principal opponent of the entire opposition that its hopes to uproot in the forthcoming elections with the support of the united opposition in the country.

Therein lays the problems of the congressmen. They have such egoistically bloated and hardened regional leaders that they either uproot the ambitions of their own party men as in Kerala, or stupidly move against the very opposition that they are trying to unite against the ruling dispensation.

On the other hand Mr. Kejriwal is a cunning fox and knows when to strike. When he started off around three and a half years ago he was a confrontationist confronting the central government and blaming them for everything that was wrong with administration in Delhi. His rant for full statehood was choreographed to suit his image of an agitationist. Then the last couple of years he embarked on a reformist agenda knowing full well that the opposition would ask uneasy questions of him on governance during election time.

Now that the elections are nearing he is playing a very smart game by going into his shell and agitating for the people of Delhi. This will help him hog the limelight and project him as a leader who doesn’t care for the high and mighty and only cares about the ordinary citizen (the aam admi). It will also give him an alibi for the promises that remained unfulfilled in the election manifesto.

By sitting-in at the Lieutenant General’s office he has surprised the wiliest foxes in the ruling party and projected the Lieutenant Governor and the Centre as cohorts in arms and cut off the Congress party from the debate by forcing them to choose between a rock and a hard place. The Congress very foolishly has chosen to take a stand against him without being seeing as assisting the centre. Thus they are trying to project Mr. Kejriwal being unworthy of support given his past explained above even though they are against the central dispensation.

Honestly this is not carrying much weight and they are actually cutting a very sorry figure. The BJP on the other hand have been forced to show their hand and have been ‘caught with their pants down’ openly agitating on the side of the Lieutenant Governor and the IAS officers who are not cooperating and staying away from meetings being called by the ministers. They have gone as far enough to occupy the Chief Ministers office for a counter protest. By doing this they have openly taken sides and walked into the trap set up by Mr. Kejriwal. Now they have no pretentions about backing the Lieutenant Governor or the bureaucracy having been forced into the open by this clever move from the Aam Admi Camp.

The swords have been drawn between the AAP and the BJP while the Congress party in Delhi seems to be brandishing its sword at an imaginary enemy cutting anyone who comes within range of its sword. In this game of thrones what is interesting is the way Mr. Kejriwal has outwitted the brazen BJP and its national icon Mr. Narendra Modi and his supposedly able lieutenant Mr. Amit Shah as also their parent organization the RSS.

If there is one who can take on the current ruling establishment it is Mr. Kejriwal. He can turn out to be a national icon if only he was to turn a statesman. But that’s the difference between an agitationist and a statesman. An agitationist sees the immediate gain and the immediate cause never stooping, while a statesman looks at the larger picture and the long term gains stooping to conquer. 

The Congress leaders in Delhi unit foolishly tried to take a nonexistent third path sadly for which there are not many takers They should have backed the Aam Admi Party to show opposition solidarity thereby establishing what their national President has been advocating going to the extent of letting the regional parties take the lead in their respective regions while themselves taking a haircut.

News that is making the rounds is that the Congress is willing to reduce its share of seats for contesting the next Lok Sabha elections to around 45% of the total seats. Against this background it would have been prudent to back the opposition even while waiting their turn or piggy ride on the oppositions strengths to achieve their near term targets.

I am looking forward to the results of this latest contest. Even as I write this piece the supporters of AAP are marching to the Prime Minister’s residence and the Police are trying to prevent them by locking down metro stations and scuttling all means of transportation. The next few weeks will show who blinks first, my take is it has to be the centre because it seems like a checkmate on the political chess board.

Readers will of course have more time to arrive at your own takes.

17^th June 2018

Roots

Roots

It was early spring a season that brings trees back to life when I landed at my son’s college to attend the convocation ceremony and since it was a law college obviously the chief guest would be someone with a legal backing.

As we all got seated walked in this gentleman tall and rusty with a religious note on his forehead, not quite appealing to say the least. Dark as a true southerner, dressed to portray his years, being lead in by the ‘who is who’ of the institution. They announced his name as Justice Chelameswar. The name seemed so far away, nothing about the man caught my attention, plain naïve so he seemed a perfect fit for a chief guest who wouldn’t dare upset the rhythm of the proceedings.

After the function got over and I am sure Justice Chelameswar would have attended high tea at the premises, made for a great photo-op for people who were too eager to shake his hands. It all seemed so ordinary, in fact who cared a darn over a Supreme Court judge, there were far too many who had donned the robe and all too familiarly given it up without so much as create a ripple and this gentleman didn’t seem any better.

Ordinary folks like me were more into political figures, artists, celebrities and the like. The personal value of such people carried more weight with the layman. After all, people of the legal sort carried a familiarly caricatured distorted contour of their profession.

Today as he sat out his last working day in the Supreme Court the country must give him a standing ovation. Not for taking on the establishment, but for reinforcing that which must be, for acting as true forbearer of morality and established norms. For standing up and reiterating that which should be and not which was purported to be.

On the other hand I saw this gentleman a new kid on the block and reportedly a national spokesperson for the ruling front on national TV, cocky and snorting. You dare not challenge him or question his thinking, because he can never think wrong, and whatever his thought they were for the good of the country.

Now obviously if you didn’t agree with him you would be termed anti national and had no business staying in the country. He and his tribe would even suggest where we should take our undeserving selves to. He seemed so intimidating, though he tried to tone down his overbearing stature through a low voice modulation technique that seemed very docile and submissive, yet you could see the wolf in sheep clothing.

The narrative he submitted was that of his elk who were always inventing view points to target people and their ideas. So enthused was he about being one of the spokespersons of the ruling party of the day, that he called the tallest leader of the opposition group the Congress a half Italian. Now you might argue that there is nothing wrong about this statement since his mother is of Italian origin.

But what is intriguing is the way they as a party lend credence to these thoughts and utilize it to demean a person terming him unworthy of the office to which he aspires.

Remember the Babri Masjid Issue? Well the apparent reference is to a temple that stood there once upon a time. Hence the present status has to be altered to reverse the clock and set it back to the temple times. However what they do not want to argue about is the times before the temple came into existence and would they therefore want the structure to be restored to whatever must have been there in the beginning?.

Would they want to retrace their roots and find out about their origins? Can we then call them half Africans (that’s where it all originated) or half Neanderthals (because it is believed that present day population bears its origins to the mating of Neanderthals with humans)? But they will draw the line according to their shared belief that is so akin to a cult belief. They will stop where they want to and shove their distorted ideas down your throat.

We needed people like Justice Chelameswar to stop them in their tracks, not falling to their intimidation but carefully grafting his response in the best way possible. This country will surely have a lot to thank Justice Chelameswar when the time comes, for he proved that a religious note on his forehead was a private affair and did not infringe with my beliefs.

He clandestinely rode the rough while opposing ideas even while finding able bodies from amongst his fraternity. He proved that a rustic appearance probably lends credence to the fact that not much was expected of him but he strode on unmindful of storms that forced others to calm. He proved what fighting on means and did so according to his means and of his clear understanding not stooping to please and staying true to the course.

That’s what forbearers, torchbearers, seniors and ancestors are made of straightforward and true.

21st May 2018

Down but not out

He is a person who knows what he is saying and knows no fear. He does not care for the formalities or the refined approach one is so used to watching when politicians debate on and off camera. On the contrary he is raw and unfinished as rustic as one could be. Thorough rural disciplined touch, someone who knows not the jugglery of words and attitudes.

He is one who is fodder for mimicry artists and stand up comedians, refreshingly fresh in his thoughts and articulation. He stands up for the untidy, sweaty and rustic villager and represents one of them. Having come out of the deeply lopsided society he minces no words and is a ‘on the face’ person. Everything he utters bears an uncanny ‘take it or leave it’ symbolism about it.

Haven fallen ill in Ranchi Jail, he was paraded on a railway platform to catch a long ride on Indian railways for treatment at AIIMS, New Delhi. Remember he was the Railway minister under whose watch the rail ministry came out for the first time as a profitable venture. They called him at Harvard to understand how he turned around things. Everyone clamored for his attention. But the rustic guy that he is was unfazed by the accolades.

When cabinet ministers and other politicians found replacement kidneys overnight even while lakhs of people are registered for cadaver operations and live donations (comes as no surprise in our system. It is not for nothing that politicians make such a spectacle to make it to the final list and thrown their money’s worth trying to reach parliament).

But this man who is a onetime Chief Minister of an Indian state and is the president of his political party, was made to eat humble pie at AIIMS hospital when he was summarily discharged and loaded onto a rickety Indian railways for the long haul back to Ranchi Jail.

They call him the fodder king for allegedly having misappropriated money meant for fodder when he was incharge of the state and is languishing in prison awaiting his appeals in higher judicial forums. The least they could have done was accorded him a stature befitting his contribution to society. He has reached succor to the down trodden in his state and is still a potential force in that state with competitors trying to insult and malign his image and his contributions down the years.

They are slowly trying to ridicule the man in front of his mass base and supporters, as that is the only way he can be marginalized. But he is someone who is plain naïve in his utterances, though he can identify a potent enemy when he sees one. He is wily enough to identify a googly leaving the hand of the bowler and that is why he has been successful in rubbishing false propaganda unleashed by his opponents.

The fact that he does this in a matter of fact way adds to his image as a theatrical, jovial, clown like personality, be aware he is smart to know your intentions. When the notes for votes explosion took place with the BJP flashing a few bagful of notes in parliament as the bribe that was supposed to be paid for loyalty in deciding the voting pattern, all were stunned as no such incident had ever been heard of before and viewers watching this live on television were already blaming the Congress party for this. In fact even the Congress bigwigs were taken in by surprise and did not know how to respond with senior leaders avoiding the camera.

Everything was looking so authentic and it was as good as getting caught in the act. It was this man called Lalu Prasad Yadav, who authoritatively walked up to the camera and dismissed it as a staged drama by the opposition BJP MP’s. Such was the conviction in this body language that many a doubting Thomas realigned their positions solely on the counterattack by this man.

He is a much misunderstood national leader, because he shuns diplomacy and speaks his heart. This is against the text book teachings in politics. They say that perception matters and this is where he has lost out at present. But perception is temporary while conviction is permanent. His case will be heard out and justice will be ordered by the highest courts.

My only grouse is the way he is being treated while others with suave refined behavior escape the noose and find replacements for their malfunctioning parts or convalescence in hospitals beyond the reach of the common man- abroad alive and kicking.

Though he is being hunted politically and forced into a corner, what the ruling dispensation forgets is that he created his own popularity and was not handed one by his predecessors nor was he reaping the benefits of a largess left behind.

The man does not stand to lose anything and anyone who has nothing to lose does not fear anybody and will not submit. Watch out, for the final round is still to be played and this final gasp may blow the ruling dispensation away.

01 May 2018

Remembering Mrs Louis

She was my class teacher in class V, an Anglo Indian and a no nonsense person as far as her Christian faith goes. Though Catechism was meant only for Catholic students, I being the lone protestant and adhering to a broader scope of the word ‘Christian’ used to be herded into the otherwise all catholic group of students who were prescribed a dose of Christian faith while the non Catholics went through their moral science classes.

Our Catechism book had a lot of stories and we were given to mugging up a lot of verses. Mrs. Louis took a fond interest in seeing that her limited Christian flock would very diligently mug up the verses. As an incentive she would announce an occasional boost in the form of prizes like story books (more of the religious kind). The inscription in plain Mrs. Louis’s handwriting with the words “First prize awarded to……………………………” made us glue our minds to these sometimes long winding verses as we would be able to show our trophies all around and market our achievements while lending these books for others to read.

Whenever we erred or were unable to recite the verses we had so laboriously mugged we were given a remembrance of the kind of Christians we were in her Anglo Indian Hindi accent- “you are all naam ka vaasta Christians”. Looking at the poll results in Nagaland a predominantly Christian state with a 90% majority Christian population and where the church is reformist in nature and substance, I remembered my old class teacher.

Only yesterday an old melodious Malayalam number reached my ears most beautifully sung by ‘His Masters Voice’ Dr. K J Yesudas. The lyrics of the song, penned by Mr. Vayalar Ravi aptly describes the mess we find ourselves in and brings out the journey of religion through times innumerable.

The lyrics translated goes something like this:

‘Man created religion,

Religions created Gods

Now man, religion and Gods together divide land and peoples mind spaces unto themselves…………....’

The election results in Nagaland prove the lyricist right? Because it showed that the BJP which is lowly ranked amongst the majority of Christians was able to muster a majority along with its pre poll alliance partner the Nagaland People’s Party (NPP).

Now it could be a matter of sheer analysis on how a pro hard line Hindu party was voted to power by a predominantly Christian population. Having heard about the romping and stomping of right wing affiliates and eating dictates of the saffron brigade, how could people vote for a party considered a pariah in Christian circles even after the church silently lent its support?

This is baffling, some reports state that money changed hands in huge piles thereby buying into people’s faith; others say that they were taken in by the lure of development. Whatever may the reason the crux is that no religion is infallible to the lure or inducement of a better tomorrow. Christians can also turn around if given the lure of better things for the morrow.

I once met a Christian gentleman in the staircase of my building who during the course of discussions professed his astute love for Christ and how he was willing to die for Jesus. Today I look at his brothers in Christ in a place called Nagaland and think of how they could have betrayed their emotions and conscience when voting for the BJP. When did their undying love and steadfast following turn to wavering?

Which brings us to the question was the lyrist right in penning those lines and isn’t the prophecy of the song writer telling in today’s environment. I can envisage Mrs. Louis standing upright with a cane in her hand stoutly defending her faith. How I wish the gentleman I met on the stairs would be a sample representation of the voting Christian majority in Nagaland.

Alas! This isn’t reality, the reality is that everyone is looking for a better tomorrow, everyone is looking for a satisfactory day end, everyone is bothered only unto himself, it doesn’t matter what Mrs. Louis taught him or what till the other day he had himself professed like the man I met on the stairs.

 Is religion man made and are gods up for sale? Think deeper and arrive at your own understanding.

Robin Varghese

7^th March 2018

Like the morning dew

Like the morning dew

Mornings are the same, the sun rises in the east, and the skies unfurl its various hues while the colors creep into our beings as we set out on our routine. The days are spent in relative peace or turbulence depending on where we are and what is the state of our mind. The birds chirp in their usual frenzy and the world wakes up to another beautiful day.

The emotions run high and low, the clumsiness, the fatigue; the wear and tear of everyday life takes the sheen off another dutiful day. Relationships stand isolated or tossed about amidst the tempest sea of life. The equations spread out in an even way to afford us a living.

Our neighbors peep in as usual even as they go about their daily life; the helpers at home go about their daily chores. Relatives renew their closeness and affirm their proximity. Acquaintances drop by remembering fonder days.

Events in the news, keep us engrossed in the mind. Schools and colleges churn out their daily dose. The studious lap it up like a cat with her milk, while the wanderers sniff and turn away like a dog served unwanted food on its platter.

The weather god turns on the controls, the rains stream down as if in mourning, the thunder resounds above as if in applause. The storms wage a lonely battle against the almighty. The smell of rain provokes the richness and bountiful nature in us.

The green shoots dance about as if in thankfulness. The creepy animals that lies obscured amidst the high grass wriggle out as a child attending school after a long break.

Even as life rolls about in a roller coaster fashion, the stillness of the furniture in the drawing room sends an eerie feeling as if it has been robbed of its soul mate, a trusted friend whom it could trust on a daily basis.

The rose plant in the garden wrinkles in sadness even as it has lost a friendly touch. The field hand no more comes for a chat before he sets out to the fields. The shopkeeper forgets to nod his head in mild acknowledgment. Friends hesitate to pass on an infectious high fives.

The lady of the house can’t keep away from staring at the wall, the emptiness inside her, cringing at the loneliness that has engulfed her days. The bystander in the household fills in without knowing the essence of the chore.

The merrymaking within the walls remains subdued for want of its celebrated guest. The critical one liner that used to come at parried intervals, all seemed to have merged with the softening of the earth, the pitter patter of the rain drops.

Not that the guest was accustomed to tapping his feet to music, not that the guest was overtly talkative, not that the guest was zealous about the event. But the calm face that sometimes spelled ominous, the fullness of the room in spite of his short stature, the presence that fuelled and filled compassion was missing.

In another part of the earth, another home deep in the basement another piece of land which is engulfed with peace and the tranquility around it seems to shout with joy, at having received a humorous guest, a celebrated life that brought tears of sorrow to many.

A year seems long when traced in the calendar. A long twelve months, and a painstaking journey in time, but when one looks at it from the perspective of a loving dad who departed on this day one year ago, time seems to have flown by; it seems like yesterday.

But time cannot take away the freshness of the person, his words, his advice, his hints, fond remembrances. The warm hug brimming with love and laced with a deep commitment, a high level of steadfastness, the embrace of a father, the very fullness of his persona lingers like the fragrance of the morning and his uplifting presence like the morning dew.

Robin Varghese

21^nd December 2017 

** on the eve of the first death anniversary of my daddy

I want to break free

I want to break free

I hear a call every morning after I get up from my overnight slumber and I hear the same call every night when I reflect on the day gone by. It is a call that has increasingly tugged at my conscience especially in the last few years.

Today I stopped to ponder on why that call keeps echoing in my mind and why I am increasingly being pulled to answer that call. In the journey between the time I was born and the time I near retirement, I have educated myself through books and observing people. I have become more informed on worldly affairs, on the mysteries of space, and the woes of the displaced.

On human relationships, on conflict in our spaces, on the intentions of people both the intended and the unintended. I wallow in self pity at the times gone by, on the lost time where I tried to settle between the two poles. On assuming a confident role even while walking on assumptions and presumptions, on my indulgence and overindulgence with people and belief systems, ideas which at times I try to outgrow.

How I wish I could go back to when as a toddler I didn’t have to spell out my beliefs, my ideas about people, communities; when I did not have to encounter trouble for speaking against a particular belief system.

It did not matter which religion I intended to follow, which community I belonged to, which linguistic preferences I held, which region or federal state I hailed from. I didn’t give a damn to voices of dissent, to the ones who swear at each other; go for the jugglery or at each other’s neck. I need not pay heed to the upright during worship sessions nor did I have to look away at the bottlenecks of dissent.

I was at peace not having to justify myself, not torn between two latitudes, not having to side with one at the expense of antagonizing the other. No nothing, just enjoying life, smiling when I wanted to, crying my heart out when it suited me most and enjoying the pampered response of my own.

After so many summers things have now changed. I no longer am a toddler, a baby that was not questioned on its preferences. I today have to state the purpose of my very existence. It is precisely for this reason that I fall foul of people and communities and feel restrained as an elephant to chains.

For they will not let me go unless, I am attuned to their preferences, unless I hold no opinion on their preferences, until I prove to them that I am still a baby.

But alas, I have outgrown myself, now I think differently, I think because I am trying to discover myself. I will not stick to the laid down rules, I create my own commandments, and I venture to territories that are marked out of bounds. I am free to think the way I am, I have received enough formal education to untangle the mangle in my head to chart my own course.

Therefore the clash, for I have to follow the views of the family, religion, society, region, state, country and the enforcers of the law. I cannot argue, walk out of line, nor cry foul. My education is not recognized, my views cannot be fermented, my preferences cannot be changed, and my halleluiahs will have to sound louder.

I will have to stand up wherever and whenever the national anthem is played, I will have to abstain from eating certain types of food, and I will have to praise my community. I will have to support my state, my region and my friends. I shall have no quarrel with your ideas. If I differ I am lynched down in a manner that I feel unwanted, an outcast, and a pariah.

How am I free?, To think, to feel free, to pander to my tastes, to do things the way I want to do, to support views irrespective of the origin. To ensure justice is emphasized in a manner where each is allowed to express themselves freely. Will they allow me, I want to break free.

Robin Varghese

Feel the elation

Feel the elation

Did you know that, there exists an alternative way to doing charity? There are various ways in which we do charity, cash, and kind or man hours. Most of us have seen our elders and peers contributing to charity in a prescribed manner.  An appeal in a newspaper or magazine is heeded or a neighbor’s philanthropic cause is seconded. We are also quick to donate our lot to various religious organizations and NGO’s doing charity work.

Be it in kind or cash we empathize with the hapless and trust that our offerings reach the intended while burying the guilt of our relative prosperity in such acts of charity that lead to some succor. In all the above cases we are rarely face to face with the intended receiver. It is only in our inner being that we relish the work that we have done. Not even for a moment do we stop and think of the alternative mode of giving as charity.

Look at these alternative ways of giving besides the oft repeated mode described above. Try not bargaining with the rickshaw puller, the old tailor who does repair work, the authorickshaw driver who is reluctant to part with the change, the cab driver who does not have change, the maid who would love to receive her wages rounded off to the next hundred.

The delivery boy when he delivers at your doorstep. The dhobi when he comes up with a bill at the end of it all. The roadside fruit seller with whom you bargain for every gram of produce. Or the vegetable seller who pushes his cart throughout the day, the lad below the age for legal employment who cleans the car and the dazed looking sanitation worker who clears our clogged smelly sewers.

The old man with a thin yellowing white linen covering his body who sells precious nothing but can be found at his perch every day. The various manual labourers who go about their routine amidst the fury of the Sun God, the traffic cop who is standing in the hot sun merrily oblivious to his perspiration having drawn funny contours on his uniform, the one who has just been fired walking back with a dazed look, the unseen expression of every emotion portrayed on the face of mankind.

Consider letting go of that little change that is due to you, try offering money rounded off to the nearest fifty or hundred. Stop bargaining with the vegetable seller even when fully aware that his prices are loaded. Try noticing the glow of appreciation on the face of the maid when you absently round off her wages to the next hundred. Smile when the tailor who just repaired your clothes tries to extract a little more. Try putting a Rupee 100 currency in the begging bowl of a deserving beggar and step back to receive his blessings. Help folks who are out and lost with your knowledge, network and connection.

All these acts of knowingly letting be, of being fleeced or taken for a ride are small acts of charity but the difference is that you can see instantly the acknowledgment of faith, trust, sincerity, reciprocity, tears, joy, elation, gladness, sheer bliss all transfixed on the face of mankind. This will give us far better joy that the acts of magnanimity that we often profess while indulging in charity to the unknown.

5^th September 2017 

An albatross around our neck

An albatross around our neck

For those of you who have not read the rather long poem “The Rime of the ancient Mariner” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, or to those who have, but do not remember the jest I shall try to recreate the soul of the poem through my reading of the recent happenings around us.

Remember the Mariner who shot the albatross in spite of the crew thinking that the albatross brought about the south wind that helped the ship steer clear from the ice jam they were stuck in?  All the Babas are being slowly but surely shot out of their perches to be stolid ordinary beings in prison. Never mind they had brought succor to the stupidest amongst us like the crew of the ship who thought the albatross was their lucky charm.

However as the weather clears and the mist disappears the crew of the ship think that the mariner did right by shooting the albatross. Similarly now, when the mist around our babas slowly dissipate we are thankful to the judiciary and the judge for having stowed away the babas for long.

But as soon as they see that the ship has slowly entered unchartered waters near the equator and nothing seems to be moving with their ship seemingly ‘As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean’, they start blaming the mariner for they think it is the wrath of the dead albatross that has brought this upon them.  Likewise those of us who do not believe in babas are rudely jolted back to our senses when things go wrong accepting the wrath of the saints is our undoing.

How often have we argued against the babas and their lot, against the saintly beings on earth who preach to the gullible? How often have we thought out of our rationale streams and decided to ditch these saints for the logical drift. How often have we been driven back thereafter when things don’t add up? Haven’t we been told that what we face is the wrath of our disbelief, of having shunned the holy and unquestionable path? In our plight we realize that there is no succor, but deliverance by the holy and like the crew of the ship we go back to blaming the mariner for having shot the albatross.

Having failed to stay adrift in our new found belief we go back to the path less cumbersome and start swaying to the music of the babas. Like the crew of the ship who cursed all small and slimy creatures at sea we atone for our sins and ask for forgiveness for having taken on the holy with words less pronounced.  We ask for pardon every day when we come face to face with the babas. In the euphoria that builds up we feel like midgets. The crescendo that builds up drowns our words of repentance and we feel fresh and new as an elephant out of the pond.

Failing expectations ordinarily, we are forced to hang the albatross around our neck, for lest we forget its wrath and pile up a heap of misfortune upon ourselves.

Why do we keep going back into the sinkhole, into the whirlpool of disaster when our logical mind tells us that the power to resurrect lies within? Is it simply because we are not tuned to accept disaster as a part of life? Is it because we are not tuned to face failures? Is it because all of us want to live a flawless life? Are we nervous, fidgety or even insecure?

Will we, like the mariner continue telling our stories of woe to generations to come and turn the young ones into believers of our sort? Will the young ones ever learn to disassociate their worries from the monster of tomorrow or will they churn these stories in their little heads and get up in the morning like the wedding guest who listened to the rime of the ancient mariner and wakes up the next morning “a sadder and a wiser man”.

30^th August 2017

Life at the crossroads

Life at the crossroads

It was around 4 pm on a Monday when this mid aged Lady was called into the HR Manager’s cabin and calmly told her services were no more needed from tomorrow. She stood there in stiff silence, without any reaction. The HR formalities of counseling done she went to her table and started to cry loudly. This was when her colleagues came to know about her fate.

But what actually got the goat were her intermittent woes amidst the wailing. What about those loans that she has taken, what about her child’s education? How would she explain this to her family and friends? If she kept it a secret surely neighbors would come to know sooner than later considering that her daily routine gave her away.

The wailing of this lady put a scare into the minds of her colleagues, would they be next? The very thought sent a creepy feeling through their bodies. In a flash second all of them played the scene out in their minds. What would happen if this truly materializes. They shuddered to even think of this scenario.

This is a general trend now in companies big and small, they cut down staff citing reasons that were in existence decades ago but which was not the focal point in those days. What is even appalling is the manner in which it is done giving no time to the aggrieved employee to even say a final goodbye to their colleagues with whom they have worked for years.

In my time the office was a second home, the elders, seniors, juniors and peers would gather around the lunch table in groups and discuss family matters. Even while work was in full swing, incidents that affect daily routine and matters for advice were sounded out across the work floor. This bonhomie became the impetus for career growth; inter and intra personal relationships, care love and respect for fellow human beings and exultation in being a participant in family functions.

Religion was never frowned upon nor did it dictate terms for friendship. Uncle Rehman used to bring mutton aplenty during one of those Eid celebrations that I remember. I still remember wading through the maze of little soft streams of effluent thrash in the middle of nowhere to get to uncle Rehman’s home on his invitation for Eid.

But that was because my Dad was his good friend, someone with whom he shared his thoughts, his dreams, his family problems, children going astray or even loaning a little money when either of them needed it. They could count on their friendship and bonhomie through working long years in the Steel plant.

Both of them had joined when they were strapping young lads and had grown together in life. There was no divide. Uncle Rehman could even reprimand me if I did something wrong. Uncle Rehman was only one of them; there was an Uncle Majhi, an Uncle Singh, an Uncle Patel, and uncle Ghosh et al. But all this was possible because they were working long years in an institution that had promised them a livelihood if they followed the norms for workers.

Once you entered an institution you belonged to them and you brought along a joyful group of family members who took pride in associating themselves with this institution. The only time they parted ways was when either of them retired. Fond eyes would swell with emotions and each would wish the other long life and wonderful years ahead.

Though some of them faded into the morrow, my dad still had a once in a while relationship with some of them. When he passed away a few of them called and reminisced those old days.

Where the friendship is now, where is the bonhomie, of time spent shouting above the din of the machine to be heard? Where have all of them vanished? the workers, the factory owners, and the heads of institutions? When Ratan Tata visited Jamshedpur the workers complained that their toilets were not as kept as those of their officers. Ratan Tata at once called the utility staff and instructed that the board above the toilet which read ‘workers’ and ‘officers’ be interchanged once a week.

Well all these are fond remembrances, of an era gone by, of a crop of people who had contributed to this nation’s existence and its soul, who have participated in nation building. When someone asks what have we achieved in the last 70 years? He or she is doubting the contributions made by their own fathers and forefathers.

Today the HR manager calls you and gives you the pink slip without even a show of emotion. If you challenge the manner you are castigated from all future jobs within that industry. Exit clauses will not allow you to find another job at which you are adept. Survival of the fittest has become survival of the finishers. We are all placed in a pond with crocodiles and are goaded to come out after a fight.

While some of us come out victors, there is no joy on our faces; the struggle that one undergoes does not justify a beaming face. Bonhomie, care and loyalty are words etched in the past. Today what is required is to send your emotions on a vacation the moment you enter a workplace. Work without being able to tell yourself that this will last. The sword of termination hangs over you all the time and all this at the cost of economics, of profitability, of maximization, of liberalization.

 Hr Managers, Organizational representatives, industry leaders, owners, politicians, writers, bloggers, social media users all have to come together to get that sting back in relationships. If we are able to do that, then this country and your institution will have grown not only in business but also in love.

For profit should not be the only criteria for establishing business. Fostering love among and within communities should equally be important. Business should be able to grow communities. Bring back your emotions Oh! All you leaders and guide our sons and daughters to be able to tell their grandchildren stories of yore.

Seasonal Flavor

Seasonal flavors

Has anyone noticed how we unknowingly or unwittingly tend to flow with the tide? Even though we consciously restrain ourselves, yet the sheer enormity of happenings around us build up a tendency to follow suit. Peep into your younger days when certain ‘in use’ words were originally treated as slang, but because of its daily use, becomes commonly accepted words in daily dictum

The excess coverage, usage of these words makes it irreplaceable in common day to day conversations thereby giving it a pedestal to cling on in modern day dictionaries. The same can be said of actions too, the more you keep repeating a certain action the more it gains acceptability making it as justifiable action in communities.

The present day dispensation is an able example of this type of action. They browbeat the opposition to their thoughts and view point in such a manner that the fence sitters amongst us start believing there is nothing wrong in condoning such actions and utterances. The basic requirement is that one must commit to these actions in an unfailing manner with lots of conviction and must seem to be, and be eager to defend it.

Some of us have started to copy them and this is the flavour of the season. In a lot of places you will see people acting with disdain. In fact lack of tolerance, jumping the gun and solidly defending even the indefensible has become hallmarks of our daily community living.

This is sadly not only happening in inter religious mixes but also in intra religious gatherings, where the majority or elected representative viewpoint is being thrust upon ordinary folks with the same body language and with the same conviction as the propagators of this line of thinking. If you differ you are ridiculed and threatened with physical incapacitation or even false propaganda.

Unfortunately the keepers of religion also have started to mess about in this thick. The seemingly subdued modesty of these keepers somehow sweetens the intimidating tactics that they follow. It seems that the present trend in the country seems to have rubbed off on some of our parish priests.

I am a member of a church and have seen the brazen acts of these so called keepers of religion and appointed guardians of the faith, who have started using the pulpit in the church to articulate totalitarian ideas. Anyone who chooses to defy or forms an alternative view point is doomed by these leaders and their gods.

We as bystanders can either choose to fall in line, thwarting the wrath of their gods or choose to trudge a different path and cross swords in matters of faith. Either way you are doomed; as inviting the wrath of the Gods will not go down well in your own circle of family and friends, and choosing a different path will go against the dictates of the religious order.

So should we follow the oft repeated path set from above or question the closed fist attitude of these leaders. Should one go down the path less trodden or stutter in speech when confronted by their God in your prayers. Should you take inspiration from the great Poet Rabindranath Tagore who exhorted us to go it alone in the absence of backers, or hold on even if you are the last man standing?

Robin Varghese

18^th July 2017