Two Friends!

Woke up dizzy. Don't know if this cricket-shicket is affecting me that much. Then I meet two acquaintances who I haven''t met in a long time.

The first is a former colleague and a very good writer. I used to envy his talent, the turns of phrase, the simplicity, the conciseness of his prose, the humour, in fact, everything about his writing. Morning, morning, he is there, waiting with his daughter for her school bus. I had one of my most elevating and informative editing experiences with him. I was given some gobbledygook to edit and I couldn't make either anterior or posterior of it. Sitting with me he explained: "Read this, what they actually mean is this. But it is not coming out of their thick skulls addled with advertisements, television serials and newspaper journalism."

So? Is that it? What he means to say is that I have to get inside the thick carapace of the (under-developed) writer's skull and think like he does (after all, we are a people that pride ourselves on the abject poverty of our syntax and verb agreement (me included!). That's what editing is all about. Thanks friend for that lession.

The other acquaintance has the best job in the world. You won't believe it if I tell you. Especially my son Ronnie won't believe it. This friend's job is to watch MTV all day. Don't let your jaws drop Ronnie (I know, for you MTV is like GOD TV is for me!)! Yes, that's his job - watching MTV all day. He is a lawyer and his job is to watch MTV and see if there is any objectionable content in it. Isn't that a wonderful job? Eh? Eh? I know I would give my right hand to be in that job in which I can tell that pest Cyrus to get off his Bakra (sheep). Or, is it VTV, or something?

An Excerpt from "Mr. Bandookwala, M.B.A., Harvard," with Context Explained!

Sorry, I forgot to put this excerpt in context. This passage is just before the carnage in hotel The Trinity where extremists mow down people in the five-star hotel. Bandookwala has a sense of foreboding as he stands in the majestic lobby of The Trinity and looks outside at Marine Drive. I am trying to express the premonition he has of the mayhem he is about to witness, which creates a waxing and waning of emotions inside him. This happens before the malicious bloodletting which kills two friends but spares him. Please read and comment:

"Adi says he is busy with some client who has arrived from Delhi, but since it is a Wala-mulaqat he will meet us at 8 p.m. He says he will inform Screw about it. I look at my watch, 6.30 p.m. Standing in the huge artificially-cooled glassed atrium I stare at the cerulean waves that toss outside on Marine Drive, it's violence now dulled by the distance. For a moment I imagine the violence of the waves against the shore as it would appear from close by. A thought crosses my mind that violence manifests in everything, every living being unless controlled. It's been hot and raining these few days. A warm and muggy rain which looks as if it begins nowhere and ends nowhere. Some beggars are going from people to people begging for coins. I can see their pitiful imploring faces snarl when they don't get even a small coin tossed into their hands. They curse! They curse the worst regional curses there are. "May you rot and your body be ridden with maggots!" The huge glass panel shields me at the moment from the anarchy of weather and the tugging feeling of human poverty outside. It's an artificial security. In fact, I feel vulnerable. A soft music plays on the public address system, which soothes me a little. Not for long. A temporary inertia comes over me, an inertia bought by money which comes from a well-paying job. It's in such environments that the rich live and which make them callous to the poverty that exists outside. Suppose I lose my job? A temporary sense of dread and vulnerability washes over me again. It's a momentary feeling, a feeling which comes and is gone in a few seconds when I feel an ominous panic overcoming me. Then it subsides. I let myself relax and think of Evita and my childhood spent in awe of her. I am excited. I am meeting Adi and Screw, my buddies, after a long time. It is an excitement tinged with sadness as I will miss Tyre and Mosquito."

The Spat Between Sibal and Pitroda over National Knowledge Commission. Who Won?

Here's the bone of contention between Kapil Sibal, Minister for HRD, and Sam Pitroda (the man who liberated Indian telecom industry) at the national Vice-chancellor's conference. The two had an open spat at a public function and I would have been delighted to be there to watch.

Sam Pitroda was appointed as the Chairman of the National Knowledge Commission (NKC) which sought to bring about reforms in higher education. All very well. Except that the recommendations made by Pitroda after five years, repeat five years of research has not been implemented. Pitroda has a right to be chagrined, I suppose. The NKC has a good website, a lot of material there, do read.

Since we desperately need reforms in higher education, why weren't the recommendations acted upon, implemented? The half-literate graduates we are churning out is ample evidence of everything not being hunky-dory in the refined (or is it confined) realm of higher education.

What I am anxious to learn in this environ of competition and one-up-manship is "who won"?

Another Excerpt from "Mr. Bandookwala, M.B.A., Harvard"

Sunday. I am lazy to write anything. Nothing to report except that the editing is going on. A lot of work is being put in, for what, I don't know. The following passage describes the sort of dread I feel sometimes. Only sometimes, not always.

So here's another excerpt from "Mr. Bandookwala, M.B.A., Harvard":

"Adi says he is busy with some client who has arrived from Delhi, but since it is a Wala-mulaqat he will meet us at 8 p.m. He said he will inform Screw about it. I look at my watch, 6.30 p.m. Standing in the huge artificially-cooled glassed atrium I stare at the cerulean waves that toss outside on Marine Drive, it's violence now dulled by the distance. For a moment I imagine the violence of the waves against the shore as it would appear from close by. A thought crosses my mind that violence manifests in everything, every living being unless controlled. It's been hot and raining these few days. Some beggars are going from people to people begging for coins. I can see their pitiful imploring faces snarl when they don't get even a small coin tossed into their hands. They curse! They curse the worst regional curses there are. "May you rot and your body be ridden with maggots!" The huge glass panel shields me at the moment from the anarchy of weather and the tugging feeling of human poverty outside. It's an artificial security. In fact, I feel vulnerable. A soft music plays on the public address system, which soothes me a little. Not for long. A temporary inertia comes over me, an inertia bought by money which comes from a well-paying job. It's such environments that the rich live which make them callous to the poverty that exists outside. The temporary sense of dread and vulnerability washes over me again. It's a momentary feeling, a feeling which comes and is gone in a second when I feel an ominous dread overcoming me. It subsides. I let myself relax and think of Evita and my childhood. I am excited. I am meeting Adi and Screw after a long time. It is excitement tinged with sadness as I will miss Tyre and Mosquito."

As usual, comments are welcome!

Does Regulating Blogosphere Amount to Impinging on Freedom of Expression?

Further to my blog "Blogger as Intermediary" here's Probir Roy writing in domain-b.com. Excerpt:

"What is with the mandarins in Delhi that when it comes to the digital world they are all only to ready to regulate, monitor and control content? This happens even as traditional print and electronic media still are allowed to be 'self regulating', and 'paid news' given a free run. After all, many of them have their own blogs, Facebook pages and Twitter handles."

Agree with what he says. Why this step-step-step-motherly treatment to bloggers, may I ask? We can't sit and watch our democratic rights being trampled under, can we? Or as mentioned here in my blog are we progressing towards an oligarchy?

Will Our Parliament Be a Vansh Sabha Instead of a Lok Sabha?

This is apropos of Chandrahas Chaudhury's review of Patrick French's book India: a Portrait. This isn't about the book or about the review but about a shocking revelation (to my poor uncomprehending mind, that is) that is excerpted in the review as follows:

"He (Patrick French) finds that almost 30 per cent of MPs fall into this category (meaning: MPs who are from a family of MPs), including two-thirds of the 66 MPs aged 40 or under. Thus, he demonstrates just how much weight a family name carries when it comes to the restocking of Indian democracy with new blood. Sixty-three years after its ambitious inauguration, then, Indian democracy remains semi-feudal. "I am not suggesting that a 'hereditary MP' is a bad MP," French says, concluding tidily, "merely that this system excludes the overwhelming majority of Indians from participation in politics at a national level". With a new law mandating that 33 per cent of parliamentary seats be reserved for women about to come into effect in the 2014 general elections, the situation could grow worse as the mothers, wives and daughters-in-law of India are catapulted into the hustings. "India's next general election," warns French, "was likely to return not a Lok Sabha, a house of the people, but a Vansh Sabha, a house of dynasty."

Indian politicians lobby hard for their children and mostly win. I don't need to point fingers. There was this case of Margaret Alva who resigned because her son wasn't given a ticket, according to this article. Excerpt:

"The general secretary (Margaret Alva), who has been sulking over denial of election ticket to her son Nivedith in Karnataka recently, had alleged that "different yardsticks" were being adopted in deciding party nominations for upcoming elections in six states."

So my question (it's a dumb question) is if politicians are so enthusiastic about getting their sons into parliament (after all it is a profitable profession [better than any business, with everything provided free!] how will democracy and equality of opportunity prevail? Are we the great democracy we tom-tom to the world? Will the Lok Sabha become the Vansh Sabha of the country? Will we be a victim of the rule by oligarchy of a few families? How credible our democratic roots?

Aranmula Airport Taking Shape? Don't Know!

The KGS Aranmula Airport Ltd. near my ancestral home in Kerala is taking shape and is expected to be operation for domestic flights from 2012 (hopefully). Picture shows a light aircraft that has landed on the runway of the proposed airport (fair use!). The company says all the permissions are in place and the launch will happen soon. And, unbelievably, it's going to be an international airport, not just an aspiring domestic one.

The area is a sleepy village (at least was till now) and I don't know what this new development will bring. Hope it augurs well for us, as I spend most of my holidays there, in the lap of nature, in the serene tropical and sylvan retreat, which it was until now. I don't know if the scream of jets will rend the air and break the peace that prevailed till now.

However it would also cut my traveling time from 30 hours into just 3 hours. Worth the while? I don't know.

The Women's Special Train

This post is about women's emancipation, freedom to step out of the hearth and kitchen, freedom to own a place in the vast place we call the world – an open space we men take for granted.  Men don't really realize how much women have suffered over the generations, they only know how their mothers struggled, but they know nothing further and don't show any need to understand any further. That's why I would like to write a pastoral novel about my grandmother (her guts, valour, spirituality, integrity, etc.) and my mother – the two gutsy women I know. My wife's grandmother was even more valiant, according to her. Her (wifey's grandmother's) husband had died early and the responsibility of bringing up her family fell on her. It is said that wifey's father's exam was the following day and she realized that she didn't have the money to be given as exam fee. So she set out in the night with only a flared torch of dry coconut leaves and walked alone at night almost 15 kilometres to her own home through a dark countryside infested with dangerous drunks and robbers, not to mention animals and snakes. There were no buses those days. Moreover, people could walk 30 kilometres or more per day, or, night. After she got home and received the money she again set off again with another coconut-leaf torch through the night back to her home to pay the fee for her son the next day. That's guts. Those women – hardy and gutsy – were a different breed altogether.

Saturday last, just two days ago I was at Victoria Terminus boarding a train to Belapur. The train was unusually empty. Nobody inside. Which is unusual in Bombay trains which are packed at all times of the day with so many people that a needle will not find a place between their legs. So what's wrong? I think, may be everyone has left early to celebrate Holi and Rang Panchmi. May be, what I thought as overcrowding in Bombay trains is a figment, a mirage created by my own over-active brain.

"Saab, this is ladies special train. Entire train is for ladies."

I get down in a hurry because I could be arrested if I travelled in what is called a "ladies special train" an entire  train meant only for ladies. Imagine that. These spaces are needed in a city which is peopled mostly by single migrants from small villages where women are still exploited. They only have a vague idea of what chivalry is all about. (I guess chivalry isn't dead altogether in this day and age.) They do not realize that in a city women are more emancipated and have a right to expect their right not to be trampled upon. Women have fought for and got these spaces reserved for themselves and they enjoy these hard won freedoms.

So it is heartening when Annie Zaidi speak here in her blog about the freedom she enjoys specially made (after much fighting, I suppose) for women.  These spaces, such as the Ladies Special Train are environs of isolated protected by law and no man dare trespass them. Bombay has special trains, special seats in buses, special taxi services, special queues, et cetera, et cetera for women where a man would be unwelcome, may be, even assaulted with sandals. Hm, I guess I escaped by the skin of my teeth.

A Blogger as an Intermediary

Bloggers beware. This writer (ah, hm, blogger) has been blogging away from August 2003 not knowing that the government of India considers blogging a serious activity, not a harmless one, one where you write a few sentences about life's vicissitudes, about daily heartbreaks and things that don't get done. His writing has mostly been experimental, a muscle-flexing of his writing, a writers'-block-kickassing attempt at being facetious. Call it what you will.

Happenstance that the government under the Information Technology Act has terms blogger as an "intermediary" to the publishing of information. It doesn't see it as a harmless activity anymore. If it is found to carry out unlawful activities against the state it can take action and give punishment. This post is all for a wider and all-encompassing debate on this topic.

An intermediary is a vast and nebulous concept according to the act. It includes telecom service providers, network service providers and even cyber cafes. Drawing parallel to publishing why doesn't the law see a journalist, printer, publisher and distributor all as intermediaries? Why is such draconian definitions given only to information on the web, i.e., bloggers. Does publishing unlawful information subject the journalist to 7 years in prison? No? Because publishing has the Press Council of India that regulates itself. Do bloggers have any such body? Not that I know of. See who is an intermediary according to the act:

"with respect to any electronic record means any person who on behalf of another person receives, stores or transmits that record or provides any service with respect to that record, including telecom service providers, network service providers, internet service providers, webhosting service providers, search engines, online payment sites, online-auction sites, online-market places and cyber cafes".

See for example this excerpt from the act which deals with seizing of data from your computer (if you are a blogger, that is). What does the government intend to do by seizing such data?

(a) provide access to or secure access to the computer resource generating transmitting, receiving or storing such information; or
(b) intercept, monitor, or decrypt the information, as the case may be; or
(c) provide information stored in computer resource.

What's draconian about this law is that it intends to mete out punishment of up to 7 years in prison for unlawful activities. I think most bloggers having been journalists and sub-editors in their previous avatars are fully knowledgeable about what constitutes an unlawful activity and would be thinking twice before stepping on thin ice. But what about a neophyte blogger who is doing it for fun and writing a diary, well, in a manner of speaking. If he/she says something untoward (like we always do in private conversations) can the state interpret is as anti-national and imprison him/her? How private is a blog?

A lot of issues come to the fore when dealing with such issues. True blogging is an independent medium and can be misused. But will anyone take that risk? This defeats the very purpose of making blogging into a serious medium for dissemination of views and analysis. 

The Centre for Internet and Society (CIS) has commissioned an advocate Ananth Padmanabhan to go into the details and here are some of his views.Considering that bloggers are a vocal and vociferous lot they need to come together to shed some light on the implications of this act for mere peasants such as me. Hat tips Pranesh Prakash's blog.

Constantin Stanislavsky on acting

"The truth concerning the passions, verisimilitude in the feelings experienced in the given circumstances, that is what our intelligence demands of a dramatist."
Pushkin's aphorism

"Create your own method. Don't depend slavishly on mine. Make up something that will work for you! But keep breaking traditions, I beg you." Konstantin Stanislavsky

Some More Helpline Numbers for Indian Expatriates in Japan

The Ministry of External Affairs has set up helpline numbers for inquiring about the well being of Indian expatriates in Japan.

The helpline numbers of the External Affairs Ministry (Delhi) are: (011) 23015300, 23012113, 23014104, 23018179.

The External Affairs Ministry helplines will be functional from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. daily.

The numbers of the embassy of India in Tokyo are 0081-332622391 to 97.

The number of the Consulate General of India (Japan), during office hours is 0081-662617299. There is also an 0081-9050553344 emergency contact number of Piyush Gupta.

Dooriyan Hai Jaroori!

This morning I was listening to this song and wondered how Bollywood got it all wrong, messed it up royally, as they say. It can turn a good story idea into zilch, it can take a good song idea and turn it into crap, it can create a chaos of ideas when clarity would have done just fine. The song is:

Dooriyan hai jaroori
Jaroori hai dooriyan!

It means (very roughly I mean, I am no polyglot linguist):

Distance is necessary
Necessary is distance!

Taken in the context of a love song it would have been a wonderful idea. I mean whoever thought and wrote this lyrics is a poet, a person who feels for words and has the skill to put them together. A beautiful idea for a song of pining and longing, of gazing at each other with love in the eyes. Whatever.

But then the Bollywood state of mind takes over. The naked (or, semi-naked) dancers take over with their synchronised dancing, the set is gaudily created with multi-multi-hued backdrops, there is a lot of smiling and showing of teeth.

There goes the Bollywood neighbourhood, I think wistfully. Here's our own inimitable Amitabh Bachchan on the Hindi film music industry of yore. I felt my eyes moist when he mentioned the music of Abhiman.

Some Helpline Numbers: the Japan Tsunami and Nuclear Plant Explosion

This forward came through a well-meaning friend. It's about Japan and the explosion in the nuclear plant in Fukushima. It goes thus:

"There was a nuclear blast 4:30pm Sunday in Fukushima Japan. If it rains today or in the next few days, do not go under the rain. If you get caught out, use an umbrella or raincoat, even if it's only a drizzle. Radioactive particles, which may cause burns, alopecia or even cancer, may be in the rain."

What has happened in Japan is unfortunate and a natural calamity that could happen to any country. Even India. We always think of natural calamities as not affecting us. But it does. Japan has gone through a lot of disasters and earthquakes in its history. The Japanese people are a hardy lot who know how to deal with them. Are we? This article states that looting and arson is unknown to Japan:

"Looting simply does not take place in Japan. I'm not even sure if there's a word for it that is as clear in its implications as when we hear 'looting,'" said Gregory Pflugfelder, director of the Donald Keene Center of Japanese Culture at Columbia University.Japanese have "a sense of being first and foremost responsible to the community," he said.

This blog has written about how nuclear energy is not safe at all. A nuclear plant is like a place where an atomic explosion takes place inside steel bunkers and is cooled by water so that the radiation doesn't escape. So, anything could happen. If there's an earthquake or a tsunami we have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Sorry for this plug but I couldn't avoid it.

I saw videos of the tsunami, I saw homes floating in the black water, I saw vehicles of all shapes in all possible angles. I saw people - a tolerant and stoical people - go through their ordeal with patience. Sitting here, I can only pray and give some helpline telephone numbers:

The Foreign & Commonwealth Office (FCO) helpline for anyone affected by the Japanese disaster: 020 7008 0000.

British embassy in Tokyo: 81 3 5211 1100; Osaka Consulate: +81 6 6120 5600

Tokyo English Life Line (TELL): Tel: 03-5774-0992 www.telljp.com

For donating to Medicins Sans Frontiers go here.

Major Editing Finished on Novel

It was hard, it was difficult. I had thought of abandoning the novel project several times. I had the first draft in hand but I wanted it to go through a proper edit because some parts of it just didn't register in the mind when I read it. You know, writing a novel is hard work, really hard work. I am not discouraging anyone but with the extent of time spent, the reading done, the research done, the rewriting and editing done, it is just like making a movie, or, for that matter making an aircraft carrier. It's that hard. It involves manipulating several stages and you need to get all things straight without letting the narrative flag. Besides I wanted to avoid mistakes I had made on my first novel. I kept a plot firmly in front of me and went by it. I kept a description of all the characters in front of me. I wanted it to be a hands on novel, with well defined characters who would make the story come alive.

Imagine the number of movies I could have seen, the number of vacations I could have gone to, the hours of social networking I could have done in the hours and hours I had spent in front of the laptop hammering away, lonely as a decrepit homeless man (though I confess I have a wife and a beautiful home), in a world peopled only by me and my characters. Some days I have stared at the screen and couldn't write a word. The characters just wouldn't move, say a word. I had to give up when there was something of the story still in me. Sometimes the plot and story came so thick and fast that I couldn't put down a thing, I was swamped by their (the character's) bum rush. Sometimes I just didn't feel like writing. Yea, that happens too!

I am glad this phase of editing is over. There's a controversy raging on a literary forum whether an Master of Fine Arts (MFA) is necessary to write a novel. Some say emphatically that it is. I think that's bad news for me. I don't have an MFA or an MBA. But I know - from experience - where MFAs and MBAs go wrong and my novel is about one of them (an MBA). The problem with academics is that it robs the subject of the vital soul of the narrative and makes for self-conscious writing. I confess I have nothing against academics, I respect their erudition. I think writing is a lonely profession and a writer's craft develops as a negative does in the darkness, i.e., not in the glare of academia but in the noir regions of the lonesome mind.

Anyway, in spite of a debilitating viral fever which confined me to my bed for five days I could finish the rewrite yesterday. I also wrote in fits when I was sick managing a laptop on my lap (truly, where else?).

The Real Situation in Libya Now!

I have scanned the newspapers for the real situation in Libya today. No newspaper, yes, no newspaper has a map showing the present situation in the country.

So, I am giving here the real picture. The red spots show cities controlled by rebels, green shows those controlled by Gaddafi, and the yellow ones are where fighting is still going on.

Recovered from Viral Fever; Only 14 Pages Left of the Novel to Edit!

My ambition is to read sitting in it and fall asleep.

Not blogged for some days as I was down with a viral fever. Chills, weakness, headache, stuffy nose, so on. Didn't know a fever can be that debilitating in its assertion upon the vulnerable body. Everything went awry: routine, writing, blogging, reading, etc. It was only the day before and yesterday that I could read and write something. Glad to say only 14 pages are left of the final editing I have been doing on "Bandookwala." (The character has become so intimate that it seems it has become an alter ego.) The novel is my pain, my statement on the status of existence, my own personal hell. But it has come out better than expected. I am proud and happy at the outcome. I have to fill in some research portions, which can be done in due course of time. Next step is to get it printed and do a line editing with coloured pen. I have a red (as sin) pen-in-waiting. Then the corrections will be incorporated into the manuscript manually. I bought a beautiful copy-holder for that purpose. It cost me only Rs 250. With it I can look directly at the text while typing instead of bending over the manuscript (which would be horrible if you have a manuscript of 300 pages). Then it will go through the process of submission to agents. Thank you blog and readers for your encouragement and support.

And - this is the real message of this post - I am back!

Here's a picture of a beautiful jhoola which I bought for my terrace. I had coveted it for many months in the local cane shop. Now it occupies a pride of place on my terrace, the place where I have my breakfast, rather, a swinging breakfast. However, my ambition of spending a few hours reading in its cosiness hasn't materialised yet. Hm.

Faiz Ahmed Faiz - Revolutionary Poetry that Shook Pakistan

Here's Salil Tripathi on Faiz Ahmed Faiz in The Mint and his revolutionary poetry that upset presidents and set them on the edge. Legend has it that presidents such as Musharaff and Haq were upset when the song was sung. And here's "Hum Dekhenge" the poem that did the damage to autocrats' sense of self worth and self confidence.

Customer Service? What's It? Prognostication for Anarchy

Technology hasn't been customer friendly, meaning technology hasn't made doing business easier. It has made sales easier, look anywhere they are after your money and after it is in they move on to the next customer. Once you buy their product, you are a relic to be consigned to their rubbish dump. They haven't heard about customer support or after sales service. It is pitiful how modern companies treat customers, whereas, good corporate organisations (at least the ones I know) have built their reputation on good customer support. I have written about this before, wrote a story on it.

I spent the better part of the morning struggling with the SBI card activation process which shouldn't have taken even two minutes. Their website and IVR is pathetic. In the end I was close to tears in frustration and despair. I waited, waited, waited for a customer support executive to answer the phone. The long wait extended to 20 alarming minutes during which a syrupy voice said (not without attitude):

"We apologise for keeping you on hold. We are eager to speak to you. Please stay online."

Imagine this syrupy voice playing over and over again, something like this:

"We apologise for keeping you on hold. We are eager to speak to you. Please stay online."
"We apologise for keeping you on hold. We are eager to speak to you. Please stay online."
"We apologise for keeping you on hold. We are eager to speak to you. Please stay online."
"We apologise for keeping you on hold. We are eager to speak to you. Please stay online."
"We apologise for keeping you on hold. We are eager to speak to you. Please stay online."

"We are eager to speak to you," indeed, you are. I have no doubt. Only I would like to stuff your mouth with your card and slap it shut if I ever meet you.

Indeed, they have used the latest technology for the Interactive Voice Recording (IVR) interface, they have spent time and money programming the whole thingammajig. But couldn't they have made it simpler by giving an option to speak to a customer service executive in the first place. Dumb!

No, no, the world isn't so simple anymore. Instead of harnessing advancements in computer chip technology and their huge database capabilities for offering better services the idea now is to take your money (rob you of your money is a better term) and run. Nobody bothers to build products around services anymore. This trend is hugely disturbing, no, it's going to lead to anarchy which already prevails, I have no doubt about it.

May be, this is the raving of a crazy, mad guy. But mind it, watch it, mull it, what I say here holds the prognostication of truth, of anarchy, of what is yet to come.