The case of the flamboyant pariah

The case of the flamboyant pariah

They say he vanished overnight, got the notice for look against him changed from ‘detain’ to ‘inform’ at the immigration and flew out with his over sized bags and his girlfriend in a hurry to his second home London. They say he is an absconding borrower who owes crores to the Banking system in India and the Government of India. They say he borrowed merrily to finance his business and keep alive his lifestyle. They even say he laundered money and is guilty of fleecing the system.

The accounting regulators have even said he is guilty of wrong accounting practices including transfers from his profit making Flagship Company to ailing Kingfisher and other subsidiary companies. His assets were put up for auction including by now the ridiculously valued Kingfisher airline brand which was once valued at nearly Rs.4000 crores.

Today he is fighting his extradition against a formidable vicious consortium of Indian Banks and a politically charged Indian Government turning the once flamboyant businessman into a pariah.

On the question of fugitives there are worse offenders holed up in their safe confines in England enjoying governmental patronage and clinging on to the textbooks of English law, making extradition almost impossible. Turning Vijay Mallya into another of them is disrespecting the man for his contribution to the economy and the labour force of the country.

What is the man’s crime? They say he is absconding with money borrowed from the Banking system in India and refuses to repay it even when he is worth it. They say he owes the banking system an enormous Rs.9000 crores, though the borrowed amount is only Rs.4000 crores and the total amount includes interest and interest on interest.

Ask any banker worth his salt and he will vouchsafe for the fact that the amount in contention can easily be settled. Mr. Mallya had initially offered to a one time settlement (OTS) of Rs.4000 crores which was rightly turned down by the consortium of banks. However what followed belies all imagination and judicious thinking. Instead of coaxing him into a settlement the consortium of banks and the Government of India jointly forced him to flee.

Consider the fact that this is the man who took over the reins of business at a young age of 28 when his father suddenly passed away. From there on he expanded and provided employment to generations of Indians. Employment with the UB Group was considered as secure as a government job. Salaries were fixed to match inflationary pressures and the necessity for savings in a normal household. Seniors were considered for their long association and increments the norm though the HR metrics were always in play.

When he was in charge no one feared losing their job under normal circumstances, and a job was considered as a social obligation of business, not a valve that could be turned off or on at the pleasure of the management. He was an old style businessman who valued association with his employees and encouraged a large brood of satisfied employees.

However he made a cardinal business judgmental error by insisting with Kingfisher even when it was draining him off his resources. Today the employees wish Mr. Mallya could come back and take charge, for he created a satisfied employee and rode his brands like a true ‘King of good times’.

What prevents the Government and the consortium of banks to go for a negotiated settlement instead of hounding him in London courts? Why are other major defaulters not being hounded in the same manner? Why is a man who provided growth to the economy and raised the social standard of his employees made to eat humble pie?

Why are the politicians who ran Air India not being hounded for accumulating losses of Rs.52000 crores and why was Spicejet given a lease of life even when it could not afford to clear its oil bills amidst cancelled flights? Why are the largest defaulters in the Banking system given new contracts and their insolvency and inability to pay not being publicized?

Mr. Mallya still has the potential to repay his dues in a settled manner and make a comeback; the question is will he? After all the humiliation and more, does the government of the day fear this? As far as the employees of the erstwhile UB Group are concerned he will always remain their king of good times.

7^th December 2017

NB:

(This article lay in cold storage for almost 2 years due to personal reasons- However the facts do not change much even as of today)

It ain't over till the fat lady sings

What a roller coaster ride the ruling dispensation had in Indian politics for the last five years or so. Brashness and arrogance got redefined while humility was almost contempt. Prime ministerial body language and actions were heralded as the much needed fill up for the economy and for the country’s foreign relations.

Every day we were told to interpret words and meanings differently, and those who thought they knew better were made to grind the dust. New words were coined such as Urban Maoist. Anyone who even had a single vein in support was vilified and shredded beyond one’s own imagination.

Rights got stomped and stamped over and over again. Ideas that were alien were embraced quicker and more fondly by the new generation, and everyone found that added new vigor in their lives. Every step seemed bouncier and dominating- nay intimidating.

Lies were repeated in a manner so profound that truth ran for cover. Many of us lapped these lies as universal and gospel truth and in a manner a cat would her milk, so much so that we started to sing halleluiahs in support. Defiance and boldness were things of the past. Now the new India was domineering and everything that lay in its past was kicked aside with gay abandon.

Important institutions and people fell over each other to proclaim support to views that were stunningly pre historic and lacked scientific credence. Why even science was mocked and booed into submission. People started telling us how we were once a great civilization where plastic surgery, rockets, missiles, etc. were prevalent, manufactured and used in abundance for the world to learn from us and gain progress.

Rockets that we sent could never fail, it had to land on all four though in a tilted position. This fact we learned from the head of our space mission, a man we cling to for every word of our space progress. It is another thing that this Lander in a tilted version has since not been seen by the orbiter or by NASA’s roving eye on the moon.

Rapists and looters would be anointed clean and holy once they joined a particular political front. Our only inhibition was with a particular religious community and a neighbouring country. Everything that kept us back and hindered our progress was because of these two hunches. The mess we are in is because our founding forefathers could not thing right, why even the constitution was a document that is flawed and needs correction very soon.

The amount of money spent on foreign visits and the numerous instances of foreign travel by the head of government cries out for attention. Funny then, that some people have termed our Prime Minster as the first NRI Prime Minister the country has ever had since he is seen less in our country than overseas. The little occasions he is seen in our country he is busy campaigning for his political outfit as if he is the head of his party and not that of the country.

We are now more prone to speaking our thoughts rather than listening to people’s pulses. It has been established that he conquers wherever he goes and whatever he sets his sight on, is his for the asking. Utterances overseas are drafted to discredit the opposition. He does not like the word opposition; to ideas, to his thinking; his words, or even as a political outfit that is deemed as a necessary democratic tool.

Anyone who does not adhere to this fixed line deserves to be annihilated from history books. Even history books need to be rewritten- rewritten from MY perspective not OURS. It is necessary for history to be rewritten because then only the young will be patriotic. History has to be rewritten so that we are hailed as the greatest nation that every lived on this planet, even though we may have lost our soul as a nation in the process.

Farmers can tear their hair since they do not constitute much to the growth of this country. Any growth had to be shepherded by the big guns in the industry for whom the red carpet is brushed and kept ready every day. Their misdemeanors are pardoned and their sins wiped clean off the slate. Figures that were in the red turn black almost instantly overnight at the stroke of a dictate.

Unemployment is something that we can do without only if the youth looked at so many alternative avenues for employment. Watching your father cut hair in a saloon is also employment since you are employed in a time consuming manner. The monitoring authorities have got their figures wrong so they should not be published. Imagine the country’s misfortune at having had these morons for the last seventy years.

Employment relates to time spent not gainful occupation. If you are able to spend your time while daylight prevails you are employed doesn’t matter if you have been fiddling with the keys on your smart phone or whether you gain anything out of this venture or even if the gain translates to nothing. And why does everyone talk about money?

Wasn’t money demonetized to make way for our overall progress? What is two basis points fall in GDP so long as it caters to ones flawed thinking. Insistence on this thinking may get us into a corner, but that’s all right we have waited for seventy years to put this thinking into practice; now is our time and please do not fret, what is all this hullabaloo, even China is facing tough times.

We will win the world not by mathematics, not by plotting facts and figures but by sheer nationalism. Hard work and working the facts is a distant second to jingoism. We shall brook no interference to this methodology. We will insist on putting people behind bars and working the courts to ensure that they remain there as long as possible, because we don’t like opposition. This way we are able to put the fear of being singled out, into the opposition.

We have won elections over and over again; in fact we have taken the dumb population for granted. It is not the population who decides but our strategy and policies with a touch of manipulative practices for the betterment of the people. If people were to decide for themselves why are we there? What are we trying to achieve? Anything the population wants must stem out of our ideas, they cannot have theirs because they are not as accomplished as we are, as our thinking.

But hey what is this? What has become of our election machinery? Our apt thinking, our well oiled electioneering mechanisms, our pointed quotes our brazenness, our brashness rolled into a magic balm for the populace. Why have we fared below expectations, what has become of our targets?

Has the people awakened from their slumber, are they contesting our decisions and our inheritance? Our outstanding provocations- all because they are not finding jobs, not being able to sustain, but isn’t that the price we must pay to achieve a five trillion economy?

Has the opposition slowly started to get up on their feet, have they been able to withstand the onslaught of our talent, haven’t we been able to stamp out every shoot of the mighty Congress party as promised?

Well, hold your horses for it ain’t over till the fat lady sings.

Pangs of love

Pangs of love

Kerala is flush with news of the Koodathai serial murders where a lady is accused of murdering six of her own family members and that of her extended family. Amidst boos and catcalls the lady is taken out to gather evidence. Reporters have dug deep into the sequence of events and one aspect that stands out is the reluctance of immediate family members to allow a post mortem on the dead.

I can understand creating obstacles where one fears the truth will come out but what do we say to the mother of the child who had died and even upon insistence by authorities she was reluctant to let go of the dead body and wanted the whole body without a post mortem to moan. Later events teach us that had she allowed a post mortem she herself and others would have lived as the truth would have been out earlier.

Why did the mother act the way she did? Because she could not bear to see her child being torn up and stitched together. But would she have witnessed this act of post mortem- Possibly not. Then why was she worried about the baby being incised during post mortem - pangs of love?

Now let us cut across from the story and the mother in the above incident and reflect on our own lives. How many of us are willing to sign up for organ donation? I can see a few hands creeping up but even they are forcibly pulled down by well meaning loved ones. This is the predicament we face today. Most of us are not willing to be donors after death. Remember our organs can be successfully harvested within a time frame after death.

We all die and have ourselves planted six feet underground or burned in crematoriums with all our organs intact. The miserly attitude shows even as we destroy the body along with the organs that could have been easily transplanted to people who are waiting to die for want of organs. Imagine the number of blind people we meet and come across in our daily lives. We will most honorably escort a blind person to cross the road or walk them clear of obstacles but we would not be willing to sign to donate our cornea to this very same person after death.

To be able to donate organs you must be able to get rid of the love pangs that keep throbbing inside you and think of a wonderful tomorrow when one’s own organs or that of your relatives will be instilling life in other people’s lives and homes. It is not only the beneficiary who benefits but a large number of relatives and friends who surge around this person.

You may not be able to see it yourself but your organs will experience it during this life time. You are living a second life even after you are gone. It is the same with any person who dies with healthy body organs. But more often than not we religiously follow the rituals and dispose of the dead without thinking of the living people that you dispose of along with the dead.

Some people may not be able to see a body without  eyes but in death the eyes are shut and no one will know if the cornea is removed or not. The same goes for other organs in the body. Every dead is fully clothed or draped from neck to toe as prescribed by religion or rituals and what one gets to see is only the face. Why then are we reluctant to extract life out of the dead?

Once we all pledge to donate our organs, hands that had crept up will never be pulled down, post mortem on future bodies will be done willfully and lives can be saved, people will experience the joy of living long after they are gone and this world will be more beautiful with the addition of former handicapped people turning whole through your act of charity. Let’s move in that direction and dispel the pangs of love to create a joyful existence to the otherwise doomed.

"Lin-ching"

“Lin-Ching”

The other day an important functionary in the present government – (I purposefully say functionary in the present government because this gentleman and the association he represents have a bear grip in the functioning of the present government in India)- To carry forward the intent of this write up, and as I was referring to the important functionary in his customary address to his followers on Vijay Dashmi day declared that “Lin-Ching” was a western concept and unknown to Indians though Indians have been associated with it for ages in the history of this great Indian Republic.

I was confused and therefore looked up Google to verify this claim and indeed I found out that the Ching surname originated in the Cantonese region present day China. Therefore to say that Lin Ching was foreign does not seem far from the truth.

First with what I found out of its Chinese descent on Google- “As a surname, Ching may refer to Ching. A Cantonese Romanization of the Chinese surname Cheng. Ching, chng or ch’ng, a Minnan Romanization of the Chinese surname Zhuang. Ching an English surname originating from Devon and Cornwall.”

Now to its English origins - Ching is also a twisted version of the English word chine and here I am quoting Google information – “The name Ching comes from when the family lived near a crevice, chasm, or canyon. Further research revealed that the name is derived from the Old English word chine, that comes from the Old English word "cinu," meaning fissure, or chasm. The surname meant "dweller by the ravine."

So there is no doubt that Ching is not “desi” in character but a foreign element injected into our system by all those scheming and corrupt men who ruled over us and painstakingly robbed us of our character and thereby our greatness.

Now about Lin- remember Ching rhymes only with the prefix- Lin, therefore it is used as a first name in the same way that we would use a Mohammed before an Ahlaq, or a Junaid and a Pehlu before another surname or a Tabrez before Ansari or the like.

Now therefore to get justice for Ahlaq, Pehlu, Junaid or Tabrez and many more we will have to take the Chinese or the English to the International court of justice because the act though perpetrated in our country, the origins lie elsewhere outside and in foreign lands. We are reluctant participants in the greater scheme of things originated by and from across the oceans.

No wonder then the courts and witnesses do a full shakeup almost like a belly dancer the moment the matter reaches its doorsteps. Rules and surmises are turned and twisted to extract the required outcomes. The result being that the conclusions of heinous crimes are written in law journals only in a manner that reflects our flawed judicial network.

Next time you want justice remember to park yourself before the International court of justice because anything that is self critical cannot be in our grain and anything that is wrong within us must obviously be a corruption of foreign bodies that infest our wholly sanctified and religious self.

We have been the purest, perfect and the most potent beings that ever traversed on the surface of this earth and that in a way reflects in the statement made by this great functionary.

Long live that race and that rashtra-

10th October 2019

Does he remember?

Today he turns 59 on the narrow lane to being a cherished senior citizen. As he stands in that queue of reluctant folks he is reminded of the path ahead. At the end of the path he will be falling off the edge of a cliff deep into a never ending gorge, into the depths where he will be enveloped by an empty space from where the eyes cannot see, nor the ears hear, nor the nose smell or when the arms and legs cannot force themselves out of their stupor.

He peeps ahead and finds the line of people ahead disciplined, well rehearsed as if they are there by compulsion and would love to get out and away from this queue. But the narrow lane does not allow an exit, its side walls so tall that it will be impossible to even attempt an escape. They are all glued to their places, reluctant to move ahead, the movement in the line is also slow as if taking a cue from the reluctant folks queued up for their fate.

Having nothing much to do, he tries to turn his mind away from the future into the past a past which may allow him to smile or grimace depending on what memories throw up at the moment. He tries to remember his childhood, when he was an infant, crawling the floor and the dirt paths in front of his abode. With darkened knees and running nose he was a spectacle to behold, someone who didn’t mind the flow from the nose or the dirt that has stuck to his tender feet and knees. He does not rue the fact that he is all unkempt, dirt strewn all over him. He still had the innocence to receive a kiss from a neighbourhood auntie or an elderly kid.

His attention is diverted by a mosquito that had just had a taste of its ‘red wine’; he musters a weak swipe missing it by yards. He shakes his head and remembers the days when his throw was accurate as a champion. He used to come home, marbles filled his pockets and the sides of the pocket wore a dirty look like a child who would have highlighted the edges of his contours in school to make his maps stand out. Those were the days when the now famous detergents were at its laboratory stages, the poor mother having to sit and rub and scrub to clean it all up. He didn’t feel for his mother because that was her job wasn’t it or was it? How would he care? The lure of winning a few more marbles the next day kept him on his toes.

Ah! The person ahead in the line has moved one place; he steps onto where someone else was standing not long ago. That reminded him of the headlines in the newspapers of manual scavenging being declared a crime. In his younger days he would often meet men and women with human faeces collected in a tin storage bin being carried on their heads for disposal. He would cross paths with them but never considered them to be lowly or unclean. It was a job that they did without any recourse else how would our places stay clean? He wondered if any one of them was in his queue. Why after all this discrimination had we all to stand in this same queue. This is injustice, why can’t we have reservations here; maybe they could go ahead at a faster pace?

Looking out onto the highway he finds children with their parents’ queuing up for the school bus. He was reminded of his own when he had missed his bus because he was a little late. Had wanted to ask the driver uncle why he couldn’t stay put until he had arrived. Maybe driver uncle would have given him a lecture on the virtues of time management and decision making. He would have simply told him that he had to make a choice between waiting for him and getting all the others late for classes inviting his superior’s wrath.

He remembers the time when in order to catch the waiting bus and fearing that the driver was about to take off he ran and tripped over his tiny legs strewing mama’s lunch and his tiny books, slate, rubber (eraser is a modern terminology), and sharpened pencil onto the road. His brother has to turn back and help him get everything back, though not in perfect order but thank god the Lunch box has refused to budge open, probably a sign of mama’s love that went beyond his tiny imagination.

At school he remembers throwing in his lot into an English essay class and being surprised by the praise he received from the teacher, early signs that he could coin some satisfying lines. In games he would always be at the threshold of selection but never actually getting into the team. At times when he got the rare occasion he would excel in flashes enough memories to last a lifetime and help make up the satisfaction levels.

With girls it was the same always shy to make the first move, wondering why seemingly inferior guys would always take away your intended interests. They probably had some tricks that he couldn’t fathom. Later in life they would tell him in selling classes that persuasion was the key. Gosh! Why hadn’t those lucky ones told him about this secret weapon? Why didn’t they teach selling skills in school? Then they probably didn’t have to teach those in later years. Now he is too old to unleash, the charm fading and the shrivelled crumbling lines clearly visible to all, counting the years just like the rings on a cut trunk of a tree.

In office he would always push the envelope, what did he gain except a few words in praise at farewells? Diplomacy they say would have gone beyond the present, the outcome would have been more visible.  But he was never one to mix emotions, to mince words, he would spell that out which was lingering in the heart. He didn’t care about what others thought as long as he could answer the call within. Now that he was queued up and had time on hand he could reflect on the days gone by and outcome of those actions that had satisfied a few and antagonized maybe many.

Suddenly the queue seems to hasten looks like a few fellow travellers have fallen off the edge of the cliff all together; he has to hurry his steps to keep pace with the flow of life. He now has enough time to weigh the past using the future expanse that opened up so suddenly before him.

Conversation declassified

Conversation declassified

Are you there? Just asking, for I believe you are always present in my life. Every day when I sit in the drawing room glued to the national news I cannot help steal a glance in your direction, your huge photo hanging dominantly on the wall opposite my sitting area.

You know dad, there is something refreshing in the way you look at me from behind the bounded glass of a frame. I somehow get the feeling that I just need to reach out and touch you to feel you, to sink my head into your solid embrace. I don’t know why I get this feeling but as the days go by though they say memory fades, I am experiencing the opposite. You seem to be growing larger than life with every passing day.

Anyways, how’s life dad? Hope you are keeping yourself busy even as you await your brood in heaven. You know dad the elder President Bush just passed away very recently and I chanced upon a cartoon that was drawn as an obituary to the great man. The cartoon shows Senior Bush, landing in Heaven in his plane and being greeted by his wife Barbara and their daughter Robin who was 3 years old when she died in 1953.

I can see the joy on the faces of Senior Bush, his wife and daughter when they were united at the gates. The cartoon really touched me somewhere and got me thinking dad- You know dad I am not very much of a religious kind but this place called heaven really appeals to me now. I am hoping to meet you when I get up there, because I keep hearing stories of people looking forward to a life after death. Now nobody has ever gone up there and come back to tell me stories of yonder but as they say ‘no news is good news’.

The ancient Egyptians took along a huge entourage of material/supplies to help them in the afterlife, but I guess we will just have fun roaming around in the garden of happiness and when I can listen to your stories of the time when I was not born. Together we can hope to receive other folks who are dear to us. It also gives me a feeling of hope, because I am feeling reassured that we will all be one big happy family even after having passed on in this life.

Now I fear death no more since I see an opportunity for a change- a change from the ritualistic routine of life. Mom isn’t keeping well after you departed. In fact she seems to be in a hurry to join you up there. I don’t blame her I can understand.

It’s been two full years since you are gone, and I keep thinking of the time when you called for me and I did not come citing routine commitments. Then you got angry with me and left me without a hint. I rushed to see you and the memory keeps coming back, the opportunity lost even when warm blood was running within you, as I clung onto your still, lifeless and cold body.

No point brooding over missed opportunities, one has to take them as and when they come, because otherwise one may regret like me. Well we are going to put up a remembrance post in the newspaper on your 2^nd death anniversary – I wonder for whom.  Anybody, who cares about you should not be reminded, and if they must then they are better off forgetful.

They say do not count the number of people who fill the church when the gong goes for the funeral, but count them painstakingly at the burial ground, for that is the true measure of the feelings for the departed soul.

That’s all for the time being dad, will keep you posted.

Hanging up dad- Goodbye and so long

21^st December 2018

From Ground Zero

From Ground Zero

It came crashing down, relentless, unwavering in intent, the earth’s bowls filled up and more spilling onto adjoining streams, rivulets, rivers, finally encroaching embankments to rush into the drawing rooms of unsuspecting folks making them refugees in the places where they had hung out their egos just the other day to dry, all within viewing distance of neighbours and towns folk.

Streets that crisscrossed the rural landscape with its smoothness the pride of road users lay in tatters, spoilt by the brutal force that accompanied the floods. The electricity relay posts that provided succor to travellers and pedestrians alike during moonless nights lay toppled, wires mangled and in ruins.

The streets a gross reminder of the havoc that the menacing waters had endowed on this sleepy rural landscape. Walls that were lined up parallel to the never ending roads lay eroded by the water that had swirled around it for a good amount of time. The erosion seemed akin to rodents nibbling away at a piece of bread that was not to their liking.

Bamboo and other pieces of wood lay abandoned on the streets a reminder of the human effort that went in to assuage the feelings of the marooned. Some found in them a bounty waiting to be taken home to be used at home or to light the fire. The plantain tree stumps that were readily cut and tied into a makeshift raft the only ones left untouched.

Gigantic church structures that were built on reputations and egos but scantly used in proportion turned into camps to house the temporarily displaced. Eager men and women hung out on its verandah looking at the receding waters as a runner awaiting the starting gun.  Children lazed around oblivious of the turmoil around them thanking their stars at this unscheduled picnic.

Supermarkets and grocery shops vandalized systematically of its goods by the queue of people fearing shortage in the immediate days ahead. Petrol pumps with their overworked staff and near rioting crowds tugging their unending line of vehicles, adding to the uncertainty of the morrow. Some refusing to go away even after an ‘out of stock’ board is displayed.

The uncertainty propels the calm and analytical beings into action stocking up for the rough ahead with rations and supplies that would make life easy after the enduring pain of the past few days. The rescue workers and civic workers being the only exception with their sights on the job at hand.

While transformers and electric lines and poles lost the battle with nature’s forces, few remember that electricity has been disrupted during this period. There are so many woes to count that the relative comfort of living with uninterrupted electricity flow doesn’t seem worrisome even though direct fallout would be absence of television entertainment at home. But when it is restored a loud cheer goes up simultaneously from all corners as if the national team has just hit the winning runs.

The mobile towers stand stoic and stonily in the face of various assaults of nature and remain the last man standing in this battle of wits. However even though the poles remain strong and unwavering, the connectivity has gone missing. With fading battery backup, people resorted to turning on the generator sets in religious places to charge their mobiles.

On days when the absence of telephone connectivity and electricity crushes ones ego we now take solace in the days of yore when there was no telephone, entertainment through television and no electricity.

Streams of people gather at the ‘water front’ and stare at the makeshift boats making their errands on the streets that ferried fast flowing traffic till the other day. Some keep making their way to various places where the flood had reached and stare at the retreating water as if looking at a marauding alligator that now lies lifeless.

Once back home they must convey their reporting of the events and news to their neighbours who did not have the tenacity to make this waterfront visit. These local news reporters and story tellers fill up for their immobility relaying their sightings to the folks hungry for information. In the absence of national news these local neighbours doubling up as reporters fill the void.

Relatives outside the action zone lucky enough to get in an odd phone call convey the national news to folk back home making up for the lack of their entertainment and news. Messages on social media splash names of officials in action should some deserving soul need them. A national calamity also makes for one-upmanship with social organizations and churches diving deep into lending a helping hand.

They are still counting the dead, whereas the countless maimed will live with it throughout their lives. For the others this will be a once in a lifetime experience worthy to be narrated to their grandchildren when the time comes. In a few days the past glory will be restored and life will go on as of yesterday, pushing this event into the annals of history.

Till the other day we all lived with our head held high and our chests puffed with pride, but it took the fury of nature to set at rest our disputes and humble us in our routine for survival- or did it?

18^th August 2018

Boys will be Boys

Boys will be boys

That’s what we say when they conjure their famous pranks albeit harmless to sometimes make us smile beneath the anger that adorns our face. Many a time, they set out on dangerous errands not fully understanding the perils that it entails. Mainly it is because they are unable to fathom the distance, the perils like an adult and are innocently trying to be bigger than their size.

Most of the time they get away with it and even while we had fretted and agonizingly waited for the safety of the boys, when the deed is done and calm prevails, when the bugle is sounded for the end of the game, we sit back and allow a small smile of love, of affection to cross our faces, though we may be fuming from within.

Now imagine the plight of the twelve boys of the soccer team along with their coach who had merely gone trekking into a deep and treacherous cave to have some fun, to breast the tape before the others in the gang, or be able to pull each other’s legs after the deed was done to be able to portray oneself as the bold and heroic in the lot.

That is what boys are made of; they will always be pranksters, one step farther from their minders. The winding cave path was not new to them they have been there before though in shorter stints never going for the finish line, however this time they chose to make a dash for it almost as if it was a lemon break during their game.

That is what keeps then united and bundled together on a safe ledge while they were suddenly struck by flood waters, that made their return impossible. For nine days they stayed in that dark corner not knowing day from night, having lost track of the days of the week, but what won the day was their innocence, their pure hearts for even while being at their wits end, while not knowing what would befall them next, they had not forgotten their manners their upbringing.

When the experts found them they sweetly introduced themselves as if they had been stuck on the ledge only for a few hours, and were now expecting to be ferried out in minutes their discipline not standing in the way of their rescue. That’s what marks them as boys for boys will be boys, even after committing an almost fatal mistake their faces knew no terror, they were not apologetic, just a little weary having gone without food and water for nine days.

Even as I write this piece the rescuers who are the best in the world have gone in to fetch them the first three boys are already out and very soon the rest of them will be.  Only then can the scars be counted, the bruises managed, what will stay longer is the scars to the soul, the psyche of the boys, who are too young and which could lead to some embedded psychological issues in later life.

Will this stop others from dangling from tree tops, jumping from the edge, balancing on the dangerously jutting ledge, swimming against the tide, climbing heights without measuring the altitude, diving without knowing the impact on their tender bones, fearlessly riding their make shift machines at great speed, innocently challenging adult playfields, recklessly lifting the bar on their limits, making a dash for the mere fun of it?

I dare say No, for otherwise they would stop beings boys, and boys will always be boys. We will continue to hear stories of valor gone hopelessly wrong, of rescuers having to sacrifice themselves to extract innocent souls, of boys staring at you when caught with their hand in the till.

Robin Varghese

8^th July 2018

NB: This article bears reference to the football team and their coach stuck in the caves in Chiang Rai, Thailand and the unending stream of experts trying to extricate them amidst the dangers to their own self.

Stop to stoop

Stop to stoop

A village bred boy had dreams in his eyes and often saw himself climbing the corporate ladder of success. Bright as he was in studies, he finally graduated from a good college and got himself professionally updated with the changing demands in the corporate world. Though he was from a humble background, he had the zeal and caliber to reach academic heights.

Through such brilliance he got a well paying job and suddenly found himself in the thick of corporate maze. Therefore, brilliant that he was he successfully negotiated this maze and earned a fame and reputation for himself. As his position and fame rose so did his income and finally he was placed as the chief operating office in his company. Now he was at the pinnacle of his dreams and fantasies.

It was his childhood ambition to be able to prosper and have the good things in life. Since his income had risen manifold and he was able to buy the best in any kind of purchase. The humble boy with his humble background had promised himself a Rolls Royce if he ever found himself worthy of this car.

Now with his elevation he thought he had achieved the final frontiers of his ambition so to go along with this he went to the nearest car dealer and talked into buying a Rolls Royce. Having paid for the car he smartly drove this lovely bird onto the streets and was flowing with his emotions at high speed.

Oh! How he loved the sight of the car, the metallic colours, the sleek interiors, the robust body and an engine to boot. How he felt as if he was flying above the ground. How he fancied that he was driving over a street strewn with cheese. Not a bump anywhere and the smoothness reminded him of his cheeks after his morning shave.

As he flew through the countryside lost in his thoughts and having achieved his dream, he suddenly heard a loud thud somewhere at the rear of his car. He instantly applied the brakes and reversed the car to investigate the source of the thud. As he reached the source he saw a small boy standing over an upturned wheelchair with his paralyzed elder brother who had fallen off, the stone in his little hands evidently speaking of his crime.

He glanced to the rear of this car and found a dent that obviously came from the stone in the child’s hand. He ran over to the little boy picked him up and shook him violently demanding why he did what he did and spoiled the enthusiasm in him. The little boy answered that his brother had fallen off his perch and was too big for him to get him back on the chair. He tried to stop many passing cars by waving at them but none cared to stop. At last in desperation he adopted this new method where he threw the stone to force someone to help him out. All he wanted was to have his brother back on his wheel chair.

Our young man stopped and thought for a moment, threw his anger lifted the little boys brother and put him back in the chair and walked slowly back to his dented new car. On the drive home he wondered why this happened to him.  Was he driving too fast on the highway of life, had he overshot his speed limits, was he being waved down by the traffic cops, was this gods way of saying “son slow down”?

When we enter the fast lane of life we forget to see things that are grounded and rooted to the soil, the difficulties of millions, the toil of the suffering, the woes of the marginalized, the hopes and aspirations of the under privileged. Never travel too far away where the past seems like a mere speck on the horizon.

This is natures, and in that sense God’s way of stopping us in our fast paced track to help us realize our limitations, to look into the lives of the unfortunate majority, to dispense with our magnitude In favour of the distressed and bring succor through our acts of empathy and sympathy, through words of solace and acts of gratification.

Every time we are pegged back on our path of learning, striving for our daily bread, do not panic because that is god’s way of asking you to slow down. The creator taking care of his creation, therefore fret not, neither curse through clenched teeth for he loves you and harbors no ill will towards you. All he is doing is asking you to sometimes stoop so that you may see the lowly.

Robin Varghese

10^th July 2018

Straps of prosperity

Straps of prosperity

National indicators show that Kerala is one of the leading prosperous states. The benchmark for evaluation of prosperity and equitability nationally, is a comparison of the average standard of living and equitability. Kerala is thus placed in the high average standard of living index with less disparity amongst households according to the analytical firm CRISIL.

A drive along the country side and everywhere surfaces houses built in western tradition with sometimes a touch of local flavour. Households compete with each other to outspend the other as far as building costs is concerned. Outsiders who visit the state for the first time are taken in by these lavish sights and colourful parade of houses lining the streets even in the hinterland.

Beggary of the normal kind is almost considered a taboo and most of the sparse population of beggars is from outside the state. However there is another sophisticated trend of beggary doing the rounds in Kerala especially in the rural and semi urban areas. This involves a touch of nostalgia, lies, deceit and misrepresentation bordering on falsehood mixed with emotions and religious blackmail.

Every morning till mid afternoon one can see a steady stream of these sophisticated beggars trooping down the lanes of shining houses amidst a splash of conspicuous consumption. They carry the religious texts, discharge and treatment slips from reputed hospitals and various other materials with which they start their quest for their daily bread.

The one with the holy text under his arm pit will open his sales pitch with a prayer. Now any family with even an iota of cultured faith and religious fermentation will not have the stomach to ask the gentleman to stop. Taking this cue, the man will go on to offer his unwanted blessings and stand firm after the sales pitch ends.

By the end of this the lady or the habitants of this household is reminded of the religious lessons of early childhood and the text where he/she grew up with the words ‘when I was hungry you fed me, when naked you clothed me….” And fearing the wrath of the same God he accedes lest he and his family suffer as a consequence.

The sophisticated beggar moves on to the next house and displays the same passion with his skills. This is an occupation that they choose and excel at, and herein lays their daily pay check.

Another of their kind will appear from thin air and thrust his yellowing and worm out papers/appeals/certificates from respected hospitals to prove his sales pitch. He will try to gain your trust by asking for a token amount to rid him or his ailing family member from the curse of the dreaded disease called cancer. Sometimes one wonders how he will manage to collect the required funds in this manner in small doses bit by bit, meandering between rows of houses and crisscrossing the vast tracts of land, when the amount required is so huge?

But the emotional pitch underpins your emotions and you contribute thanking God that you are free from this dreaded disease and patting yourself for contributing a single brick to say the least towards this man’s efforts to build up his corpus of funds before the threat extinguishes the being. After all they say “a good deed a day keeps the doctor away”. This you are sure passes the test of a good deed and through this you hope the doctor can be kept away for a longer time.

Some of them will appear on your door step ring your doorbell and greet you warmly as your peep out in a manner that tells you that you were once chums. You may have a perplexed look on your face not knowing who this assuming gentleman is, but his sales pitch is one of ‘for old time sake’. He reminds you forcefully and at times reassuringly about his association with your family and how he has since fallen on bad days and needs a leg up from your side.

After all, isn’t that what acquaintances, pals and known people are for to help the other when he falls on bad times. You hurriedly try to train your mind to recollect your association with him, but he will make a mockery of your trail of thoughts while assuring you that you and your family have been regularly contributing to his cause and the last time was just a year or a few months back.

Through this he wants to prove that he is not a habitual offender but maintains a discreet respectability about his method of begging.

Well, at the end of it all you give up, since you are blackmailed, emotionally drained and reminded of the purpose of your existence. The best you can do, to fight these dancing devils in your mind, is to quietly pay up and feel happy that you have been able to discharge your worldly obligations at a low maintenance cost while thanking the almighty for having kept you and your loved ones outside this loop of troubled existence.

Robin Varghese

29^th June 2018