A Train Journey

 I booked ticket for home on an irregular train not the usual Rajdhani, nevertheless Rajdhani which takes a longer route through Itarsi to Bombay. My usual train takes me straight to Panvel, a stone’s throw distance from home but there were no berths available on it. This train terminates at VT Station from where I can catch a home bound local without climbing stairs, therefore the preference. This train is not as clean as the other Rajdhani trains and passengers are on a flux, coming and going at odd times. 

The train was not crowded, there was this trader kind of a middle-aged pugnacious fellow, a young lady with gorgeous mehndi done on her palms, looked very young but obviously married, kept talking on the phone mostly video calls and two self-absorbed young fellows on the aisle seats. This trader guy was also constantly on phone talking business, soon he slumped on the entire berth, leaving no space for others. He also parked a handbag on the small eating table in the middle of two lower berths, leaving no space to put your water bottle etc. Before, the train could commence journey another young girl arrived, she decided not to bother this rascal slumped on the entire lower berth, put her stuff on the top berth and promptly climbed and settled down there permanently. Having nothing to do, I pointed finger to the young lady by my side, “Very beautifully done.”

At first, she couldn’t understand, when I said the ‘mehndi’ she first took offence, thinking I am some kind of a molester, but later relented. Said, she had done it herself. Well, I complemented her on doing a fine job, when this trader guy also concurred with me, the lady relaxed. Soon, snacks arrived and I got opportunity to get at the trader fellow for which I was itching to engage (what riled me was his insensitivity to the young girl now stationed on upper berth). I said gruffly, would you put this handbag in some other place, showing my snack tray to him. 

Man, briefly waited for a moment, but eventually, took away the handbag from the table, one small victory for me. 

Then arrived the caterer supervisor asking, what kind of meal the passenger’s wanted. It is funny that when booking tickets, we mention our preference for meal, veg or non-veg, on website but they probably use that info for gross number of veg and non-veg meals. They always come to individual passenger to ask for their preference, so I said, ‘veg’. He asked, “Breakfast?”, I said, “Cutlets”. 

He said dismissively, ‘Sir, only poha, upma or omelet.’

I remembered the last time also I was conned into taking ‘poha’, so I really exploded, ‘What do you mean, I always take cutlets, who are you to change the menu?’

The man cowed down, left immediately. This show of aggression from me created an aura of bully for me. Everyone began to talk to me respectfully including the pugnacious trader. Luckily this guy disembarked at Gwalior station only tow hours later at about 8:30 PM, before dinner was served. One pest gone another set arrived. At Gwalior a family of a young couple with too kids arrived, one toddler and the other infant, barely a year apart in age. The lady next to me was itching to get her seat down though, said, ‘Uncle when you want to sleep, tell me’. Meanwhile there was much ruckus on the other berth across, the toddler was one hell of an active character knocking things all the time crying and demanding stuff from hapless young mother. Her husband oblivious to all the commotion sat like Buddha at the other end of the berth. After a ate my dinner, I went to wash hands, when I returned the young companion on my side had already downed the center berth. I too made bed and went to sleep, time was 9:30 PM. But no peace the ruckus continued unabated for a while. Lights were switched off and slowly peace dawned. 

These days the train attendants set the compartments at a lowest temperature setting because some jerk always comes to them complaining that AC isn’t cool enough. I find it very uncomfortable, probably most passengers are inconvenienced but they do not go out to complain. In the past, on a couple of occasions, I have sought out the attendant and forced him to lower the blower speed but now I carry a thick full sleeve T-Shirt which I put on over my regular T-Shirt. This compartment was also going cool full blast so I slept soundly until 4 AM, thereafter slept fitfully till morning tea arrived. The caterer guy saw me awake, promptly brought tea. I was still in bed at 7:45 simply because everybody else was also in bed, the caterer came to me and whispered, Sir, aap kahaan tak jayenge? 

‘Bombay’

Sir aap ka breakfast zara late ho jayega, Nasik men cutlets milenge.

Now, I realized why this guy was asking me where I will get off. By then I too was mollified so said cheerfully,

‘Forget cutlets, omelets le aao.’

He went away happily. 

At about 8:00 everyone was up, middle berths began to disappear and the obnoxious kid woke up, began raising hell. The young bride had her hands full tending to the 3-6 months old infant as well as the hyperactive toddler. Her husband, the stoic Buddha, earphone in year, remained rooted to his end of the berth oblivious to the ordeal being suffered by his wife. The young lady on sitting on my side with great mehndi in her palms, picked up the infant to the great relief of the young hapless wife. There was steel tumbler on the table between the berths half full with water, this kid knocked it down letting the water sill on the floor. I was getting restless with all this ruckus going around there, when the girl next to me said, ‘aap apna bag utha lo, giila ho raha hai.’

I realized that my shoulder bag was sitting right below the table where this kid had dropped the tumbler. I looked at him angrily with chilling stare without saying a word and picked up my bag, it was wet on base side. …..

At Nasik, this woman nudged her husband to get some milk for the kids. The Buddha, without saying a word, promptly got down to platform brought back two small bottles of scented milk. This made me thinking, this guy isn’t bad or indifferent or misogynic, he is just a creature of his environment, of the tradition and ethos of his society. In order to probe further I said, ‘Why don’t you take care of one the child, don’t you see how harassed your wife is?’  

Before he could say anything, his wife jumped in his defense, ’wo bahut help karte hain’

Now who is at fault? Difficult to say. Life is complex, you can judge yourself only, nobody else.   

Memoirs of Ramgarh

Hazaribagh used to be a laidback idyllic town full of slender but high rising Saal trees, green most of the year. Since the terrain in Jharkhand area is not plains therefore the landscape is an undulating symphony of geography. Sparsely populated, churning out little industrial output; it was like old days Dehradun or Poona, ideal for pensioners to settle down. Roads were lined both sides with green trees. The British built this town with care. Hazaribagh was only an hour’s drive through the jungle of motley trees in the most beautiful rising and falling valley. Even then, as a naïve young Kali Hawa, I used to be mesmerized by the beauty of the nature although the distraction was sitting in a rickety transport cramped full of people.     

Rai Sahib had his ancestral house in Hazaribagh. It was an old-fashioned house with a very large lawn surrounded by a high boundary wall. Lots of Saals and other tropical trees within the boundary. A distinguished family of judges and bureaucrats, Rai Sahib was the youngest among the brothers and also the least ranking in family. His wife was a chic, sophisticated but timid unhappy woman. Rai sahib was not a bully on the contrary, he had a disarming amiable nature and treated wife with due respect and civil manners, when not drunk. Even when he was drunk, he became unmanageable but never a bully or cad hurling abuses and descending to uncouth behavior. It was the exasperation and helplessness, the reason for her unhappiness.

Rai sahib was my boss, He was Dy. Manager, a position on the middle of a small company, where he was neither part of the management nor a full member of young engineer’s group which had joined the recently nationalized private firm. The firm was part of SAIL group engaged in manufacture of firebricks used in Steel Plants. The management was made up of ill-educated fellows who rose through ranks, very insecure and always suspicious but got lucky when the company was nationalized. Now they were suspicious of fresh engineers therefore kept a large distance, made us wait long before letting us in their office to assert their authority, a malicious display of insecure inferiority complex. I hope you get the general drift. Rai Shaib was also new to the firm, apparently, he was booted/transferred out of Bokaro Steel plant where he worked before messing up our lives; obviously due to his drunkenness. It must have been a very difficult job for Bokaro Steel plant to ease him out of the firm, given the fact that he came from a highly connected family and Bokaro had a very militant officer’s association and those were peak days socialism.

Initially Rai Sahib swung between the company of management (they were aware of his influential family therefore respectful to him) and us engineers. Since he had amiable nature and easy accessibility, he was quickly co-opted as our own. We used to have a drinking binge once every month sometimes in a fortnight in our mess. Some of the characters in our group were hard drinkers who could never be satisfied until dropped dead and carried to their rooms. It used to be funny as we will have our cook, a Bengali bloke, cook elaborate meal for us but we hardly touched the food. We always promised ourselves, no more hard drinking, we will eat the damn food this time but as the evening progressed this guy Ajit Bijapurkar(a Marathi guy who spoke flawless Bangla being a resident of this part and nearby Bengal for ages) would borrow a bike and another guy Umakant Basing (an Assamese) on pillion speed away to nearby market hub at Ranchi Road station, knock at some known seedy joint at 11 PM in the evening, get some whiskey at high premium and return. I also went pillion riding on a couple of occasions.      

So, we invited Rai Sahib to one of those binge parties, unaware of his alcoholic affliction. It was a bad idea to invite Rai Sahib to our party. It opened the floodgates. Rai Sahib was provided bachelor’s accommodation in the Guest House adjacent to our rooms (quarters as a Bihari would call), every Saturday or on the eve of holidays he would leave for Hazaribagh and come back on Monday. Once he became pally with us, he would get hold of one of us, remove from under his belt the ‘addhaa’ or ‘pavvaa’ tucked in there. He would not care if it was afternoon or the middle of the morning, get hold of a glass pour little whiskey in it and drink the rest from the bottle himself. Soon we began to avoid him but being a boss and fine gentleman otherwise, it was difficult to avoid him. Anyway, the guy was smart enough to find out when our party is (which invariable was on Saturday or a holiday eve, began to skip visit to home at Hazaribagh where his harassed wife lived. I don’t remember if he had any children, if he had they perhaps lived at some boarding school or at one of his brothers was taking care of them. I don’t remember seeing them at Hazaribagh.

It was Diwali perhaps or may be Puja (Durga Puja, just Puja in those parts) which is a big deal in Bihar just like Bengal, and brings in a connected 3-4 days of holidays. He forced upon us an invitation to visit him at Hazaribagh, stay put overnight. We dutifully arrived at his residence in the evening hoping to be firm and in control in deference to his wife whom we had  already met on a few occasions in the past. A la carte was laid out on the table, Mrs. Rai happy to see us but apprehensive of her husband turning the occasion into a disaster.

To cut a long story short, our firm resolve could not withstand the hurricane that was Rai sahib. In the end we slumped where ever we could find a place without touching the food. Next morning, very embarrassed and sorry for our behavior we fled from that home without taking breakfast for which a composed Mrs. Rai beseeched us.

I think within a couple of years, Rai Sahib left our company too, to join some contractor. I too moved away from Ramgarh. 

Is Hinduism Becoming A Religion?

Religion collectively is always a political grouping and its spirituality is an individual’s faith – Kali Hawa

I remember in sixties and seventies, that is when I became conscious of political and mundane world around me, Hinduism seemed like a big sponge, joined together with tiny strands; homogeneous in ways discolored at places in other ways but having no central core. It was indifferent, self-absorbed and tolerant to others who did not interfere in its system, inclusive in belief but isolationist in relation to castes and traditions. The binding was common festivals and pilgrim centers otherwise everyone listened to or cared about her/his own local guru/deity and traditions.  Back then any calander picture of deity was as important as the idol in temple. Mythology from Puranas and handed down traditions gave theological underpinning to spiritual quest whereas esoteric Vedantic doctrines were pursued by serious seers who had detached from the family life and the mundane world. It was not a political grouping purely a caste/region/ethnicity-based groupings held together by all-encompassing mythological umbrella of traditions. Since it offered no political leverage, it was ignored by all political parties whereas other religions which were political grouping were actively wooed.  

Early on there were a few political groups trying to usurp Hindu plank, thereby, trying to preempt political capital out of massive Hindu majority. But the masses were largely unimpressed and indifferent even though all political groups including the dominant Congress party, were hobnobbing with religious minorities. One reason probably was the track record of these radicalized outfits duringc the pre-independence period and the second was self-absorbed Hindu indifference and the confidence and sense of security that comes with massive majority. Some religiously avowed minority political outfits did get traction, the Akali in Punjab and Muslim League (IUML) in Kerala.  But religiously aligned Hindu groups remained on the fringe barring RSS which kept a low profile, had dedicated cadre but not the critical mass to make any dent. Hindu multitude viewed them with comic curiosity particularly for their funny uniform but they were growing quietly albeit at a pace as not to cause any alarm at political circles. It was like GM bosses dismissing Tesla engineers as ‘a bunch of engineers playing with laptop batteries.’ All this while the general discourse was still about socialism and secularism; meanwhile Congress broke in to parts engendering several political outfits all married to ‘samajwadi’ ideology one way or the other. In the Eighties after persistent failure of enterprises and inherent inefficiencies, socialism ideology began to decline, open market economy which was viewed disdainfully by the political class gradually began to find acceptance.   

Eighties were watershed years. A paradigm shift in politics and economy. Dhirubhai Ambani transformed the stock market, millions from working middleclass joined the stock markets until now preserve of a miniscule business community, booming technology and market changing from supply dictated to demand driven with the opening of Japanese based collaborations in bikes like TVS Suzuki, Hero-Honda and Yamha, Bajaj-Kawasaky etc. brought in defining change in the life style. Consumer items which were always unavailable or having long wait lists suddenly became available on demand. Final push came from telecom revolution brought in by Sam Pitroda. This was renaissance period in post-independence Indian. Not just business, politics too changed color dramatically due the ennui set in by years of tired /lackluster and unimaginative rule of Congress party. Several Regional parties rose in different parts of India and the beginning of the rise of OBC as a powerful pressure group. Politics of exclusivity and polarization began to solidify.

Mandal movement and its counter Ram Mandir movement are two defining milestones in India’s post-Independence politics. This was also the time when for the first time Hindu votes began to gel into vote banks in some pockets of India viz. Rajasthan, Gujarat, Delhi, Maharashtra and Madhya Pradesh, similarly OBC vote bank’s consolidation began in UP and Bihar. During this time seeds of a core, a center of gravity began to emerge in the spongy Hindu mass. While the political face of RSS, BJP, was gaining strength, still keeping low profile yet exerting enormous influence through its umbrella organization like Bajrang dal, VHP and ABVP, RSS began to acquire critical mass quietly and the center of gravity of Hinduism. The idea of a non-formal power center has basis in perception. The core of a religion is its political seat in the garb of theology and threads holding it in the center of gravity are small but vociferous bands as enforcers. An individual reacts to situation on the basis of perception, a society reacts on basis of collective perception of its individual members. The perception of masses that RSS is the de facto central core of Hindu doctrine and has the ability to enforce its doctrine got accelerated push after Modi began in 2014. A religion has a core, whether a central doctrine or a seat that interprets and enforces the doctrine. In that sense Hindus were not adherent of a religion rather members of a humongous mass held together loosely by a set of books/traditions vaguely and at times in contradiction to each other. Now there is a seat in a position to dictate terms and rules of conduct. Hindus are therefore fast slipping into a regular religion.   

Why Performance Is Subsidiary in Winning Elections

By Kali Hawa

It is believed that caste factor plays important role in elections, perhaps it does but caste dynamics remains in flux; there is no guaranteed loyalty.  What however is true though, selling a dream to unsuspecting masses. We have seen slogans winning elections in India over and over again. It was Indira Gandhi who first realized importance of a slogan, an endearing catch phrase that connects with the people. “Garibi Hatao’ sounded cliché to me even when I was just an adolescent and yet it connected with masses. In addition some very demonstrative acts, even if very destructive, brings out a decisive character attribute of the leader such as nationalization of private banks and abolition ‘privy purse’ by Mrs Gandhi. Madam won election hands down. Mrs. Gandhi was without doubt a decisive leader; she was skilled in political maneuvering, expert in foreign policy and held nerve in trying situation as in ‘Bangladesh War’ but she was total disaster in economics and a vindictive dictator. The problem with such leaders is that they are disconnected from reality simply because nobody has the nerve to bring bad news to them i.e nobody can tell the king that he is naked.  

In contrast Atal Bihari Vajpai was accessible, open to discuss ideas, consulted specialists and also a smart pragmatist therefore produced visibly striking performance in all areas be it foreign policy or economic front or bringing social stability to the country. In spite of being the darling of the media and producing catchy slogan, ‘Shining India’, which unfortunately did not connect with masses, lost election. Whereas Manmohan Singh, an accidental PM, lacking image of a decisive leader, low profile and the bogyman of media , steered the country admirably in trying economic crisis. The performance of Manmohan Singh government was even better than Mr Vajpai’s government given that, he had no political standing, no charisma and a hotchpotch irresponsible collection of colleagues. Lost lection to Mr. Modi, on slogan ‘Gujarat Model’ sold successfully to the nation by BJP. Mr. Modi acquired image of a decisive leader without saying a word on ‘Gujarat Riots’ as a person who is willing to inflict retribution, one way or the other, to an idea carefully cultivated that majority was being ignored. In truth there was no ‘appeasement’ of minority in terms of tangible economic sops, although there was surely appeasement of clergy of the minority by giving them more dogmatic leverage. Manmohan famously said, ‘History will be kind to me’; I have no doubt about that.

During his reign of seven years Mr Modi has inflicted serious damage to the country; be it the disastrous demonetizations or botched implementation of GST or unplanned, whimsical lock down in wake of Corona pandemic. He showed some leadership in initial stage of pandemic  but developed cold feet when real crisis emerged, fixing  responsibility on states while still latching on to most controls. There has been no serious development in the country ever since Me. Modi took control of the country and yet such is his aura that he has acquired ‘divinity’. Nothing sticks to Mr. Modi, blame rebounds on his detractors. He will remain in saddle for many more years; it doesn’t matter if there is no tangible development or still more damage and injury inflicted on public.

When To Be Flexible And When To Hold Ground

By Kali Hawa

Once again under Semal tree I closed my eyes, got in ‘padmasan’ posture and started meditation thinking is it one off thing or this Semal tree is really charmed! In any case one swallow does not make summer neither does, I guess, two. It occurred to me that sometimes I am brusque which, even though unintended, offends people around me.

I am not a foodie, I do not savor food nevertheless I enjoy food. I am a frugal eater, it was not always so. I made some sacrifice to get here. Initially I had to suppress urge to eat and withstand starvation, the reason for doing it was to remain fit but more than that I hated bulge in my tummy. Gradually it became habit and then normal routine. I gave up lunch and now I am satisfied with two light meals a day this does not make me feel weak or deprived through the day. Coming to the point; when I eat, which is one less than most people, I go into a trance. Food appears to me as celebration of life therefore those are nirvana moments;, during meal I do not want any distraction if there is something I need I will sleep walk to get it therefore If someone asks me, ‘Do I need anything’, I usually become brusque because the distraction breaks my trance and this offends the person who is trying to be nice to me. I know this and I am aware of it and yet I am unwilling to be flexible on this account. This is something about my lifestyle which cannot be compromised.   

There are other times when I am brusque and rude but those moments are NOT part of essential lifestyle therefore regrettable. One should be flexible most of the time, owning up flaws in one’s character whereas rigid and when it comes to core character.

 

Prisoners of Children

By Kali Hawa

It was early morning; the Sun had just come up shining over the Semal Tree. I was strolling near the Semal tree, soaking in the earthy aroma of pleasant morning when a thought occurred to me. This Semal tree fascinates me, why not sit under it and mediate. May be Buddha like awakening awaits me, so, on instinct, I sat down on the ‘Chabutra’ in ‘padmason’ pose, closed my eyes.  

Several thoughts passed through my mind. What derives the world; is it self-interest, our ego, peer pressure, emotional pressure etc. Then a strange notion occurred to me, as elder citizens we are prisoners of our children. Early in life we made our parents responsible for us, rear us and provide best they could afford to make a success of our lives. May be there was an underlying idea that in their later lives we could become anchor for them which is largely true ( barring a few exceptions which are trumpeted vociferously and wrongly to make us insecure) but mostly it was the done thing, it was the way of life. Most of us are conformists; we like to go through the motion unless there is imminent reason to do otherwise.  As senior citizens we have a limited life remaining and all those who are adequately provided for must make the best of it and yet we are governed by our children. We are not much use to them and yet they have this strange notion that we are required and be preserved. All I can see is that the only inputs we provide are about the traditional rituals such as marriages, funerals etc. all other advices are promptly rejected and rightly so.

I say do your thing, there is little wine left in the bottle you can either save it, later to be thrown away or drink it.       

The Drone

 by Kali Hawa

 It was afternoon in Badolgaon; a little boy was playing outside his house. Now and then his mother would call him to get inside the house as the sun was beating down mercilessly. Even though the Sun was warm, the air was cool under the shadow of Timla tree; a light breeze made matters more pleasant.  As usual villagers take siesta during this time so he was all alone out in open stretch of barren land save that Timla tree. Boy was not in mood to sleep so he was playing all by himself, digging holes in ground or breaking twigs, collecting small boulders all the while ignoring calls of his mother. Soon his mother gave up. A while later he heard an airplane whizz past above him making that familiar sound. He looked up at the sky but couldn’t see anything, the plane had disappeared. But he was surprised when he heard a thud; a carton had dropped from the sky not too far away from him. He pounced on the object to claim ownership. In a jiffy he tore open the cardboard box. Inside was a nicely packed drone, thermocol packing saved it from any damage. Furiously he assembled the device and launched it up. The camera on the drone began to relay images of the village on his cell phone.  When the drone passed over the Semal tree near the temple he was surprised to see an old man sitting under it. He brought down the drone to have a clearer view. Even more surprised when he found the old man was a Chinese. 

Boy had been to temple many times but always accompanied by some responsible person, just now nobody was around; entire village was having siesta. But the boy decided to find out who was that Chinese old man sitting under Semal tree. So he brought down the drone, carefully packed it in its box and hid the box in a thick bush. After a lot of dithering he managed to muster enough courage, began walking towards the Semal tree. At the tree he found the old man equally surprised at seeing him. The man appeared in a state of shock. The boy coyly asked,

Who are you, Sir?

I am Li Jei. Who are you? Where is this place?

This is Badolgaon, boy said.

Badolgaon! Where is it?

In India, Sir?

Why are you calling me Sir? I am just a little boy.

No Sir, you are an old man.

The old man became angry, said,’ I am a little boy, nine years old. My name is Li Jei and I live in Wuhan.

Boy pointed to him to look at his arms which were wrinkled like an old fellow. When the old man looked at his arms, he jumped in shock then began to cry like a little boy. When he calmed down the boy asked him what happened to him?

The old man narrated this story....

An hour ago I was playing in the yard in front of my house in Wuhan. It was a hot summer afternoon, my mother kept calling me to get inside but I ignored her. There was hardly any traffic on the road which passed by the side of my house. I was busy playing by myself making a mud house in the yard. Then I heard a crash, a small truck had turned sideways spilling out a lot of cardboard boxes. I ran to the site of crash. It appeared that an old man was driving the truck carrying its cargo to some depot when suddenly a dog appeared in front of it. The kind old man wanted to save the dog so he made a sharp swirl, causing the truck to turn sideways. As the old man climbed out of the cabin, he didn’t seem hurt. Seeing me he said, ‘Hello boy, what is your name?’

‘I am Li Jei, Sir.’

‘Li, could you keep a watch over these boxes while I go and get a crane?

‘Yes Sir.’

So the old man went away to fetch a crane. I quickly stole a box and hid it behind a bush in my back yard. After some fifteen minutes the old man came back with a crane which lifted the truck to upright position. I helped the old man with the loading of boxes back into the truck. When all boxes were loaded, the old man said, ‘Li you are good boy. My boss is very tough on me; if one box is missing he will sack me. I have a family to look after therefore I cannot afford to lose the job.’

Then he gave me one ringet and went away. When he was gone I quickly retrieved the box from the bush and opened it. There was a shining drone inside. I was very pleased with my steal so assembled it and launched it up. As the drone went up I saw the images it relayed on my cell phone. Strangely it relayed the scene of truck crash again and again even though there was nothing on the road. And then I lost consciousness. Now I am an old man sitting here in Badolgaon.

The boy said, ‘Don’t worry, Li Jei, come with me.’ So the old man followed the boy to his house. The boy took out the drone box he had hid in the bush and said, ‘Return this box to the old man and you will be OK.’

As soon as Li Jei got the drone box he disappeared. Boy, even though dismayed at losing his prized drone was nevertheless happy at doing a good turn. He went back to house. His mother said, I have been calling you so many times but you would not listen. Today is your birthday therefore there is a present for you and showed him a cardboard box wrapped in shiny paper. When he opened it, there was an identical drone inside.