Many headlines this week seem to be bound together by a common theme: what is tolerance?
The first story is that an article written by Taslima Nasrin years ago was translated by a Kannada daily, reading which Muslims in Shimoga and other places in Karnataka turned violent and clashed with cops and Hindus. Lives were lost. In case you haven't read Madam Taslima's article, here it is.
The second story is that of M. F. Hussain accepting Qatari citizenship because he was hounded out of the country by Hindu fundamentalists who opposed his depiction of "Bharathmata" in the nude. This issue, too, is years old. The painting came up for auction more than four years ago and looks like this.
The reason I've provided these links is because our mainstream media believes in talking endlessly about such controversies without showing us what the fuss is all about.
Anyway, the easy parallel between both stories is that two people belonging to creative professions offered viewpoints that supposedly hurt the religious sentiments of Indians. Indian Muslims in the first instance and Indian Hindus in the second. In both cases, the hurt public believed that burning, shrieking, hurling stones and issuing threats were excellent ideas and would certainly bring the artists to their knees.
They, of course, had alternatives:
1) Ignore the works
Indifference is more resounding than a slap and more scalding than fire. An artist fears nothing more.
2) Ask for an explanation
If the anguish by the works was so deep that it needed a response, then can one not demand an explanation from the artist? Are our Gods so weak that we cannot use their wisdom to counter the viewpoint of a mortal artist, assuming that the artist indeed was dreadfully wrong?
For better or for worse, the Constitution is the only holy book in a democracy. We know who wrote it, when and why. And the best part: it's subject to change. We can always reassess this holy book and align it as per the changes occuring in society. Religious books, on the other hand, offer metaphors that define a past era. That they are often profoundly valid in our time is a tribute to writers and visionaries burned and buried long ago.
Extrapolating, I cannot but wonder: can it be ethical or even legal to ban an artist's work? How does one justify that in a democracy? Why can't even rabidly vulgar works be brought out and examined for what they are? Is this because we're a developing country with unenviable literacy rates? Is tolerance a matter of education? If so, how did Gandhiji manage to acquire our Independence by selling his vision to the illiterate millions of India? Aren't we typically smug by suggesting that intellectual debate requires refinement as we understand this word?
I really cannot fathom these expanding fringes in our society, but I wouldn't mind their existence in the very least if they were just rabble-rousing tongue lashers. If only they shunned the easy short-cut: violence. These people probably underestimate the power of the human tongue. It's not just a festering ground for germs and a sensuous barometer of the kiss. It's also a potent weapon. Haven't we all slayed with our tongues? Haven't our dear ones, especially, felt its venomous darts? Perhaps we can argue that the tongue doesn't work half as well when used to lash strangers. Ah! The proper practitioner of this banal - yet dark - art can reduce even strangers to tears. Bertrand Russell and, more recently, Simon Cowell come to mind.
And speaking of lashing tongues, I'd like to ask anybody who'd care to listen: just why is it so unacceptable to criticize Sachin Tendulkar? I think now is the best time to ask this question - when he has made the transition from immortal to divine. I particularly want to ask those former captains of Indian cricket (Mumbaikars, most of them) why they felt it so necessary to crucify Sanjay Manjrekar for making unflattering remarks about Sachin? Again: are our Gods so weak?
Reminds me of 1989. I and my then best friend Stephen Pinto used to sit on our building terrace and discuss Sachin deep into the evening. Any nitwit who has held a cricket bat in his hand could immediately see that the 16-year-old Sachin was a phenomenon like no other. Stevie and I were convinced much before the Indian think-tank that Sachin must open in ODIs. We were also always critical of Sachin. Simply because Gods must save the universe every single day. Because the man who was born Spiderman cannot have the weaknesses of Peter Parker. Sorry, that's how it is. It's cruel, yes, but true nonetheless for puny humans like us. We expected Sachin to play the 1997 Sharjah sandstorm innings every time he went in to bat. And for so many years in between, Sachin heaped the numbers without leaving a lasting impression in my mind. I daresay Stevie would agree.
That changed in March 2008 when he won us the Triseries Down Under. We didn't even have to play the third of the best-of-three finals. Since then, Sachin has been playing the way he was designed to. He's consistently winning us matches and, in the process, pointing us to the gap between him and a Ponting or a Lara. The God himself is putting finishing touches to the temple we're erecting for him in our minds. That's how it should be. And if experts believe that the extraordinarily few criticisms have spurred Sachin to greater heights, then there's all the more reason to lash our tongues.
I think Gods do welcome a little challenge thrown at them by mortals. So Sachin: do you think you have enough gas left in the tank to lift the World Cup? Really? Show me.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
We won despite the stupidity
What a day! If you're a diehard cricket fan, you would have spent it like me. On the edge of your seat - perhaps your cubicle seat. Me? My work allows me to lounge on the edge of my couch :)
Anyway, it was a great day. After the pasting we received in Nagpur, I was certain that we would hand South Africa the #1 ranking on a platter. We just couldn't win without Dravid and Laxman, could we? Then came the news that Laxman would play. I breathed a little.
By the end of Day 1 at the Eden Gardens, we had engineered a batting collapse and clawed back into contention. Then four centuries by the four most experienced batsmen in the side ensured that we were firmly on the driver's seat. Sehwag set the tone. And when he does that, the opposition bowlers lose the will to live. Which, in turn, makes it easier for the batsmen who follow. But that takes nothing away from Laxman and Dhoni. They could have fallen cheaply and embarassingly like Badrinath. Instead, they stuck it out and gave us a large enough lead to press for an innings defeat.
We know what happened over the next two days. Harbhajan lived up to his billing - he does this once in a while while at other times looks like the most overrated cricketer in the world. Mishra too spun a few good ones. Ishant showed grit. And we managed to win despite the absence of our pace spearhead on Day 5.
En route, Hashim Amla made our bowlers shed blood-red tears. Talk about being on a royal purple patch!
But despite our heartwarming performance, I feel annoyed at the BCCI. More specifically, at the way they choose the venues for our beloved sport. Surely these folks have been given rudimentary lessons in subcontinental geography? Surely they know our climate patterns (considering that the incumbent President is also the Union Agriculture Minister)? And surely they know that we have one time zone for the whole country and therefore the light fades a lot earlier in our eastern cities?
Apparently not. There is a rotation policy in place for venues. And the BCCI sticks to it. Well, in a manner of speaking.
Nagpur has its very own "special rotation policy". Sometimes the first match of the series is played in the Jamtha stadium, sometimes the last and sometimes a match in the middle is played there. That's probably because a certain politician-cum-cricket administrator wants to ensure that the people of Viderbha remember him at all times. How else can one explain the fact that since November 2008, Nagpur has hosted two Test matches, two ODIs and one T20 match? You haven't heard a peep about this from any of our prominent experts, have you? Well, we'll let it pass. We'll assume that the visiting cricketers insist on playing in regions that grow oranges. And therefore Nagpur must figure in every series (and it has except for the India-Eng series in 2008).
But let's look at some other interesting choices of venue:
1) The first Test between India and England in 2008
The chosen venue was Chennai. The dates: December 11-15. Even a crackling dry city like Chennai expects rainfall in December. I remember my 7th standard geography teacher mentioning something about the North-East monsoon. This, if memory serves me right, affects the eastern parts of the country and is particularly active in the south-eastern coastal cities between October and December.
And guess what: the Met department issued a cyclone warning on Dec 9th, denying the visiting team sufficient net practice on the ground. It was a small miracle that the Test was played out fully and there was a result: a brilliant batting display in the 4th innings, especially by Sachin, ensured an Indian victory.
This brilliance, mind you, almost didn't happen. Chennai in December indeed!
2) The second Test of the same series
The chosen venue was Mohali. The dates: December 19-23. Peak winter in North India. A few score miles east, the Delhi airport would have been foggy enough to halt flights. Mohali would have been marginally better. Marginally. Luckily, only 18 overs were lost to bad light and that happened on Day 1. The match was a dull draw. It would have been duller had bad light intervened each day, as it did in Kolkata in four out of the past five days.
3) The first Test between India and Australia in 2008
The chosen venue was Bangalore. The dates: October 9-13. Well. Tough one. September is statistically the rainiest month in Bangalore. October is not far behind. Bangalore receives rainfall from both the South-West and the North-East. It also receives pre-summer showers, post-winter showers and pre-monsoon showers. In all, it receives a fifth of the rainfall the other side of the Sahyadri range receives. But, well, the point is, the light fades fast and it could rain at any time of the year. If I must schedule a Test match in Bangalore (and I don't see why I must, since we have such a poor track record there!), I'd do it in February-March. Other months, we're better off playing elsewhere.
And guess what happened in this particular game? Sachin and Laxman plodded through Day 5 and gave us a draw. Bad light halted play, just as I had predicted on my city column in the New Indian Express, which appeared on the morning of Day 5. Vindicated :)
These are just three stark examples from recent Test matches. If I start scanning the ODI venues, I'd find more such issues.
So to the head honchos of the BCCI, I'd offer the following thumb rules:
1) Play our summer matches on our eastern front. A city like Guwahati hosting, say a day ODI in November, is a bad, bad idea. Let Guwahati, Kolkata, Cuttack, Ranchi and Vizag get matches between March-August.
2) Play our peak winter matches in the western and south-western cities such as Mumbai, Pune, Ahmedabad, Baroda, Kochi, Panjim etc.
3) Avoid peak winter games north and east of Bhopal.
4) Pay heed to the monsoon. If you schedule a match in Mumbai in July, you're making a mockery of the sport and showing disrespect to its fans.
5) If you want to ignore the single time zone factor, convince the ICC to allow the use of floodlights in Test matches. The white apparels will not get tainted by artificial light. No, they won't.
Overall, it was a miracle that we won today at the Eden Gardens, given that we lost two-thirds of Day 4 to bad weather. Had Morkel survived another 4 overs, we'd have been cursing the weather Gods instead of cursing the decision-makers.
Anyway, it was a great day. After the pasting we received in Nagpur, I was certain that we would hand South Africa the #1 ranking on a platter. We just couldn't win without Dravid and Laxman, could we? Then came the news that Laxman would play. I breathed a little.
By the end of Day 1 at the Eden Gardens, we had engineered a batting collapse and clawed back into contention. Then four centuries by the four most experienced batsmen in the side ensured that we were firmly on the driver's seat. Sehwag set the tone. And when he does that, the opposition bowlers lose the will to live. Which, in turn, makes it easier for the batsmen who follow. But that takes nothing away from Laxman and Dhoni. They could have fallen cheaply and embarassingly like Badrinath. Instead, they stuck it out and gave us a large enough lead to press for an innings defeat.
We know what happened over the next two days. Harbhajan lived up to his billing - he does this once in a while while at other times looks like the most overrated cricketer in the world. Mishra too spun a few good ones. Ishant showed grit. And we managed to win despite the absence of our pace spearhead on Day 5.
En route, Hashim Amla made our bowlers shed blood-red tears. Talk about being on a royal purple patch!
But despite our heartwarming performance, I feel annoyed at the BCCI. More specifically, at the way they choose the venues for our beloved sport. Surely these folks have been given rudimentary lessons in subcontinental geography? Surely they know our climate patterns (considering that the incumbent President is also the Union Agriculture Minister)? And surely they know that we have one time zone for the whole country and therefore the light fades a lot earlier in our eastern cities?
Apparently not. There is a rotation policy in place for venues. And the BCCI sticks to it. Well, in a manner of speaking.
Nagpur has its very own "special rotation policy". Sometimes the first match of the series is played in the Jamtha stadium, sometimes the last and sometimes a match in the middle is played there. That's probably because a certain politician-cum-cricket administrator wants to ensure that the people of Viderbha remember him at all times. How else can one explain the fact that since November 2008, Nagpur has hosted two Test matches, two ODIs and one T20 match? You haven't heard a peep about this from any of our prominent experts, have you? Well, we'll let it pass. We'll assume that the visiting cricketers insist on playing in regions that grow oranges. And therefore Nagpur must figure in every series (and it has except for the India-Eng series in 2008).
But let's look at some other interesting choices of venue:
1) The first Test between India and England in 2008
The chosen venue was Chennai. The dates: December 11-15. Even a crackling dry city like Chennai expects rainfall in December. I remember my 7th standard geography teacher mentioning something about the North-East monsoon. This, if memory serves me right, affects the eastern parts of the country and is particularly active in the south-eastern coastal cities between October and December.
And guess what: the Met department issued a cyclone warning on Dec 9th, denying the visiting team sufficient net practice on the ground. It was a small miracle that the Test was played out fully and there was a result: a brilliant batting display in the 4th innings, especially by Sachin, ensured an Indian victory.
This brilliance, mind you, almost didn't happen. Chennai in December indeed!
2) The second Test of the same series
The chosen venue was Mohali. The dates: December 19-23. Peak winter in North India. A few score miles east, the Delhi airport would have been foggy enough to halt flights. Mohali would have been marginally better. Marginally. Luckily, only 18 overs were lost to bad light and that happened on Day 1. The match was a dull draw. It would have been duller had bad light intervened each day, as it did in Kolkata in four out of the past five days.
3) The first Test between India and Australia in 2008
The chosen venue was Bangalore. The dates: October 9-13. Well. Tough one. September is statistically the rainiest month in Bangalore. October is not far behind. Bangalore receives rainfall from both the South-West and the North-East. It also receives pre-summer showers, post-winter showers and pre-monsoon showers. In all, it receives a fifth of the rainfall the other side of the Sahyadri range receives. But, well, the point is, the light fades fast and it could rain at any time of the year. If I must schedule a Test match in Bangalore (and I don't see why I must, since we have such a poor track record there!), I'd do it in February-March. Other months, we're better off playing elsewhere.
And guess what happened in this particular game? Sachin and Laxman plodded through Day 5 and gave us a draw. Bad light halted play, just as I had predicted on my city column in the New Indian Express, which appeared on the morning of Day 5. Vindicated :)
These are just three stark examples from recent Test matches. If I start scanning the ODI venues, I'd find more such issues.
So to the head honchos of the BCCI, I'd offer the following thumb rules:
1) Play our summer matches on our eastern front. A city like Guwahati hosting, say a day ODI in November, is a bad, bad idea. Let Guwahati, Kolkata, Cuttack, Ranchi and Vizag get matches between March-August.
2) Play our peak winter matches in the western and south-western cities such as Mumbai, Pune, Ahmedabad, Baroda, Kochi, Panjim etc.
3) Avoid peak winter games north and east of Bhopal.
4) Pay heed to the monsoon. If you schedule a match in Mumbai in July, you're making a mockery of the sport and showing disrespect to its fans.
5) If you want to ignore the single time zone factor, convince the ICC to allow the use of floodlights in Test matches. The white apparels will not get tainted by artificial light. No, they won't.
Overall, it was a miracle that we won today at the Eden Gardens, given that we lost two-thirds of Day 4 to bad weather. Had Morkel survived another 4 overs, we'd have been cursing the weather Gods instead of cursing the decision-makers.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Mrs Craddock was nice
Keeping me company these past couple of weeks was one of William Somerset Maugham's lesser known novels - Mrs Craddock.
If you are a keen reader of Maugham, you'll realize by the third page that this is an early work of a writer still seeking his artistic voice. It's more verbose and stylistically less accomplished. It uses unpalatable writing techniques to offer insights into the human psyche - Maugham's biggest strength in later years.
But it's still the work of a master. Because by Page 30, the characters have gripped you and you feel compelled to read through the placid plot.
I especially loved this quote in chapter 30: "I've learned by long experience that people generally keep their vices to themselves, but insist on throwing their virtues in your face."
Now how true is that? The racuous crusaders of today - me included - can benefit from mulling over these words. And doesn't the true angel seal her lips to brighten her halo?
P.S: For those of my dear readers who haven't read Maugham, I have a question: do you think breathing is synonymous with living? It isn't. And you haven't lived till you've read The Moon and Sixpence. Read it to be inspired. And to know that Howard Roark - Ayn Rand's unforgettable character from the novel The Fountainhead - had a predecessor. His name was Charles Strickland.
If you are a keen reader of Maugham, you'll realize by the third page that this is an early work of a writer still seeking his artistic voice. It's more verbose and stylistically less accomplished. It uses unpalatable writing techniques to offer insights into the human psyche - Maugham's biggest strength in later years.
But it's still the work of a master. Because by Page 30, the characters have gripped you and you feel compelled to read through the placid plot.
I especially loved this quote in chapter 30: "I've learned by long experience that people generally keep their vices to themselves, but insist on throwing their virtues in your face."
Now how true is that? The racuous crusaders of today - me included - can benefit from mulling over these words. And doesn't the true angel seal her lips to brighten her halo?
P.S: For those of my dear readers who haven't read Maugham, I have a question: do you think breathing is synonymous with living? It isn't. And you haven't lived till you've read The Moon and Sixpence. Read it to be inspired. And to know that Howard Roark - Ayn Rand's unforgettable character from the novel The Fountainhead - had a predecessor. His name was Charles Strickland.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
To all my guardian angels
Writing this from a cyber cafe in Bhubaneswar. It's going to be a sentimental post, so if you aren't in the mood, read no further.
The last 30 months of my life have been as pleasant as the dentist's drill for reasons that most of you are well aware of. And yet I found the past fortnight to be particularly jarring on the nerves. As if the dentist's drill smelled of the last patient's puke, resembled a jackhammer, was sluiced with infected blood and had been hooked to a Dolby system.
In other words, I've been dealing with a nightmarish legal matter, a matter that enunciates the massive failure of another person and I. At the end of this legal battle, neither of us will emerge winners. But I must fight this battle for the sake of someone more precious than I.
Wow! I never thought I'll dare blog about this, even in a cryptic way. But hold on. This blog post, at least, gets happier.
So here I am, in Bhubaneswar, after a fortnight that offered the following:
1) Weeks of creative client work squeezed into days
2) Brief time capsules to heal the unfinished-ness of my novella
3) Long days of travel &
4) Last but not the least: legal jaw-jaw, sleepless nights & deadlines that only I cared about.
And just when I was wrapping up the humongous legal document, a day before it had to be filed in court, I lost my wallet. Just like that. It contained replaceable items like my ATM/Debit cards, PAN card, a respectable stash of dough and visiting cards. It also contained a few irreplaceable personal effects:
1) A happy photograph
2) A lovely hand-written letter that did much to nullify the pain of the legal matter
3) A one-dollar bus ticket that, in Milwaukee, would have taken me from Juneau Ave to the city library on Wisconsin & 9th.
4) A recipe that contained the secrets of my mother's world-famous sambhar
Anyway, you could imagine my plight. I would have had no option but to beg outside Bhubaneswar station to pay for the legal paper and the printing charges and the notary's fee. Thankfully, I was not alone. I was a welcome guest at the Malu household.
I've known Chandan Malu since 1997. His wife Swati is fast becoming an equally good friend of mine - just as sweet and dependable.
Swati, as flustered as me, helped me search for the wallet. We soon gave it up as a lost cause, and she called Chandan and gave him the news. Chandan, who had much work pending in the office, swiped out without another thought, rushed to the nearest ATM, withdrew some money, arrived home, searched for the wallet himself, then escorted me to the lawyer's house - on the other side of the city. He sat patiently as I indulged in the by-now familiar legal jaw-jaw. We then went searching for a printer who had the ability and the desire to patiently take printouts on legal paper. We finally found one, finished the mind-numbing chore and left in his car only to discover that some of the pages had to be reprinted. Without a word, he turned the car, back towards the printer. This time, we finished that task well and then went for a late biryani dinner. Despite being dog-tired, he then drove me to the police station to file a complaint about the missing wallet (I needed this to travel back on Indian Railways using my e-Ticket.) He then drove to another ATM to withdraw sufficient money for my use. We reached home where Swati was anxiously awaiting our return. She wouldn't rest till the Debit cards were blocked. Chandan sat through the whole thing, as I called a million numbers to get the cards blocked.
The next morning, as I left for the ordeal, there wasn't sufficient time for Swati to give me breakfast. So she found a packet of sliced cake - which I consumed on the court premises, while waiting for my tardy lawyer.
Ever since, they have been calling and ensuring that I'm doing well.
And this is not the first time that the Malus have showered their love and hospitality on me. Whenever I come to Bhubaneswar, they open their doors with a smile. I don't know what I've done to deserve friends like them.
Today, I think back about those million instances when my friends cared more than enough to help me out of a tight spot. I counted and am now certain that I have at least 34 such friends, accumulated over the years. And guess what: the list keeps growing longer! I must be doing something right in my life.
To all my dear guardian angels out there - thanks for being such beautiful people and such great friends. You are the reason the dentist's drill looks squeaky clean and smells minty fresh. Life will extract its pain. Meanwhile, there's reason to smile.
The last 30 months of my life have been as pleasant as the dentist's drill for reasons that most of you are well aware of. And yet I found the past fortnight to be particularly jarring on the nerves. As if the dentist's drill smelled of the last patient's puke, resembled a jackhammer, was sluiced with infected blood and had been hooked to a Dolby system.
In other words, I've been dealing with a nightmarish legal matter, a matter that enunciates the massive failure of another person and I. At the end of this legal battle, neither of us will emerge winners. But I must fight this battle for the sake of someone more precious than I.
Wow! I never thought I'll dare blog about this, even in a cryptic way. But hold on. This blog post, at least, gets happier.
So here I am, in Bhubaneswar, after a fortnight that offered the following:
1) Weeks of creative client work squeezed into days
2) Brief time capsules to heal the unfinished-ness of my novella
3) Long days of travel &
4) Last but not the least: legal jaw-jaw, sleepless nights & deadlines that only I cared about.
And just when I was wrapping up the humongous legal document, a day before it had to be filed in court, I lost my wallet. Just like that. It contained replaceable items like my ATM/Debit cards, PAN card, a respectable stash of dough and visiting cards. It also contained a few irreplaceable personal effects:
1) A happy photograph
2) A lovely hand-written letter that did much to nullify the pain of the legal matter
3) A one-dollar bus ticket that, in Milwaukee, would have taken me from Juneau Ave to the city library on Wisconsin & 9th.
4) A recipe that contained the secrets of my mother's world-famous sambhar
Anyway, you could imagine my plight. I would have had no option but to beg outside Bhubaneswar station to pay for the legal paper and the printing charges and the notary's fee. Thankfully, I was not alone. I was a welcome guest at the Malu household.
I've known Chandan Malu since 1997. His wife Swati is fast becoming an equally good friend of mine - just as sweet and dependable.
Swati, as flustered as me, helped me search for the wallet. We soon gave it up as a lost cause, and she called Chandan and gave him the news. Chandan, who had much work pending in the office, swiped out without another thought, rushed to the nearest ATM, withdrew some money, arrived home, searched for the wallet himself, then escorted me to the lawyer's house - on the other side of the city. He sat patiently as I indulged in the by-now familiar legal jaw-jaw. We then went searching for a printer who had the ability and the desire to patiently take printouts on legal paper. We finally found one, finished the mind-numbing chore and left in his car only to discover that some of the pages had to be reprinted. Without a word, he turned the car, back towards the printer. This time, we finished that task well and then went for a late biryani dinner. Despite being dog-tired, he then drove me to the police station to file a complaint about the missing wallet (I needed this to travel back on Indian Railways using my e-Ticket.) He then drove to another ATM to withdraw sufficient money for my use. We reached home where Swati was anxiously awaiting our return. She wouldn't rest till the Debit cards were blocked. Chandan sat through the whole thing, as I called a million numbers to get the cards blocked.
The next morning, as I left for the ordeal, there wasn't sufficient time for Swati to give me breakfast. So she found a packet of sliced cake - which I consumed on the court premises, while waiting for my tardy lawyer.
Ever since, they have been calling and ensuring that I'm doing well.
And this is not the first time that the Malus have showered their love and hospitality on me. Whenever I come to Bhubaneswar, they open their doors with a smile. I don't know what I've done to deserve friends like them.
Today, I think back about those million instances when my friends cared more than enough to help me out of a tight spot. I counted and am now certain that I have at least 34 such friends, accumulated over the years. And guess what: the list keeps growing longer! I must be doing something right in my life.
To all my dear guardian angels out there - thanks for being such beautiful people and such great friends. You are the reason the dentist's drill looks squeaky clean and smells minty fresh. Life will extract its pain. Meanwhile, there's reason to smile.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Happy New Year!
Happy 2010, everyone. The occasion gets on to you, doesn't it? Even if you don't want it to. Especially if you don't want it to. So here I am, at 204 am on Jan 2010, having the luxury to introspect on everything that went wrong with my life and the few things I did right.
I'm going to let you in on a lil secret. Every New Year's Eve since 2003, I assess my writing skills and ask myself: "Am I still on the right path? Should I still pursue my journey as an author?" It's a serious, life-challenging question. The day I answer in the negative, I know that I need to move on.
Thankfully, so far I've responded with a resounding "yes!" to this question. The year I do otherwise, everything will change.
But anyway, secrets apart, this New Year's Eve, when I saw those fireworks explode, triggered by the hands of people I'll never meet, I realized that there's a reason this night is special. It's special in a very "Peter Keating" way. It's special because all of us are celebrating it. Indeed, the collectiveness of the moment makes it special. That set me thinking. What if we show the same collective spirit in answering the challenges of climate change? What if we decide in the same collective spirit that we must disarm our nation's weapons, disengage from our vices, dismember the charred remnants of our pettiness?
What if we can look beyond the Julian calendar? Ayn Rand didn't realize that Peter Keating, being the man of the masses, being the mass itself, was sending a coded message to her readers.
Let's decode. Let's celebrate what matters.
Again, Happy 2010, fellas. Hope you fare well in the new universal time zone.
I'm going to let you in on a lil secret. Every New Year's Eve since 2003, I assess my writing skills and ask myself: "Am I still on the right path? Should I still pursue my journey as an author?" It's a serious, life-challenging question. The day I answer in the negative, I know that I need to move on.
Thankfully, so far I've responded with a resounding "yes!" to this question. The year I do otherwise, everything will change.
But anyway, secrets apart, this New Year's Eve, when I saw those fireworks explode, triggered by the hands of people I'll never meet, I realized that there's a reason this night is special. It's special in a very "Peter Keating" way. It's special because all of us are celebrating it. Indeed, the collectiveness of the moment makes it special. That set me thinking. What if we show the same collective spirit in answering the challenges of climate change? What if we decide in the same collective spirit that we must disarm our nation's weapons, disengage from our vices, dismember the charred remnants of our pettiness?
What if we can look beyond the Julian calendar? Ayn Rand didn't realize that Peter Keating, being the man of the masses, being the mass itself, was sending a coded message to her readers.
Let's decode. Let's celebrate what matters.
Again, Happy 2010, fellas. Hope you fare well in the new universal time zone.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Je t'aime Amelie
What happens when a resourceful introvert decides to become the Madonna of the Unloved? You find Amelie, another great piece of poetry from the French film industry.
I've watched Amelie a good many times already (twice in the past 24 hours) and this has made me ponder over its many cinematic elements that connect so powerfully with me. The connection begins as soon as I see Audrey Tautou on the screen. Composed on the outside, seething with passion inside, that's Audrey playing Amelie. She doesn't speak about herself unless cornered for a response, but the camera captures her every nuanced emotion. It speaks of her dysfunctional childhood and her fierce determination to hold on to hope and goodness. It conveys her rich inner world - a world that can belong only to the shy. It captures her yearning for justice, romance and even the elusive "happily ever after". It follows her as she manipulates her immediate world - and the people who populate it - using subtle yet intricate means.
The two central characters - Amelie and the camera - pivot the narrative in refreshingly unexpected directions. The dialogues make love to life and Paris. The plot explores the seed of bravery underneath every shrub of cowardice and vice versa.
It all falls into an unmistakable pattern - we're all fallible, we're all divine. We have one life to live. Amelie chooses to live hers on her own terms. And one fine summery day, everything she wants comes within her grasp. She latches on.
I've watched Amelie a good many times already (twice in the past 24 hours) and this has made me ponder over its many cinematic elements that connect so powerfully with me. The connection begins as soon as I see Audrey Tautou on the screen. Composed on the outside, seething with passion inside, that's Audrey playing Amelie. She doesn't speak about herself unless cornered for a response, but the camera captures her every nuanced emotion. It speaks of her dysfunctional childhood and her fierce determination to hold on to hope and goodness. It conveys her rich inner world - a world that can belong only to the shy. It captures her yearning for justice, romance and even the elusive "happily ever after". It follows her as she manipulates her immediate world - and the people who populate it - using subtle yet intricate means.
The two central characters - Amelie and the camera - pivot the narrative in refreshingly unexpected directions. The dialogues make love to life and Paris. The plot explores the seed of bravery underneath every shrub of cowardice and vice versa.
It all falls into an unmistakable pattern - we're all fallible, we're all divine. We have one life to live. Amelie chooses to live hers on her own terms. And one fine summery day, everything she wants comes within her grasp. She latches on.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
2 wheels to love
Man loves Bike. Period.
Unless Man loves Car. But we shall not go there.
In this case, Man loves Bike. More so because Man has had Bike in his life longer than any romantic relationship. Under such circumstances, it's quite a challenge to keep the (man-machine) relationship on an even keel. I sometimes congratulate myself for not having given my bike a gender or a name. I refer to it simply as 652 - the concluding part of its license plate.
652 and I have had 12 adventurous years of togetherness. We were together when I was madly in love. And we're together now. All these years, we've put up with each other's idiosyncrasies. I tend to be amongst the faster moving traffic on the road (which, let's face it, depends quite a lot on 652). On its part, 652, though not moody as bikes go, has been downright obstinate. Its indicator lights have never operated as per the design, it still sputters between 44 and 45 kmph and it inevitably requires an annual de-carbonization.
Small price to pay for the kind of kinship this beautiful bike has accorded me. I've taken it deep into uncivilized territories, kept it baking under the sun for months on end, abandoned it during the years I was onsite, refused to keep it sparkling clean and not even bothered to service it more than once a year. Yet, it serves me faithfully. It's never left me stranded. It has stood patiently as I picked arguments with corrupt cops. And it's never skidded under my hold, although it has given timely and wobbly warnings on a couple of occasions.
Despite all that, I did something quite drastic to 652 last week. I changed its seat assembly. Yeah. 652 now has a brand new seat, not one with fragments of the sponge exposed. Frankly, I was getting tired of the squishy welcome my bum received whenever it rained. But now, when I sit on this bone-dry new seat, I feel a little sad. This isn't the seat that ferried that breathtaking woman in my life, and later, my cutie-pie daughter. This isn't the seat with memories.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I may not have given my bike a gender or a name, but I never doubted for a moment that it has a soul.
Monday, December 14, 2009
War of the neocons
Ah! Fox News!!
As a thumb rule, I avoided watching Fox News while in the US. Because, you know, I wanted to retain whatever sanity I had left. I made an exception to this rule whenever I had entered a prolonged state of vegetation on the couch. Like during Thanksgiving weekend, day three, with my blood slowly freezing due to inactivity. At such times, I felt the need to thaw my blood. Fox News was always around. Within minutes, this channel would bring my blood to a boil.
Geez! How neoconservative can one get?
We're indeed blessed that Fox News has continued to do its thing. It has not slackened even for a moment. Four days ago, this happened:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lo3CLQ1vAZI
And I found out about it while watching the inimitable Arnab Goswami on Times Now. Mr. Goswami was fuming as usual: how could Glenn Beck say such things against India and Indians? Isn't there a limit? (or something to that effect).
I found Mr. Goswami particularly hilarious on this occasion. I mean, the irony cannot have been lost on even him. The first time I saw him, I felt that he was modeling himself on Bill O'Reilly of, surprise, surprise, Fox News! I felt the same jingoistic, chest-thumping vibe as on that Fox program titled, what was the name now, yeah, The O-Reilly Factor.
So it was really amusing to see Mr. Goswami defend India against Mr. Beck. I guess people who are too similar to us get our goat.
On a personal note, I'm happy to note that neocons - the American variety and the Indian - have ceased to have a detrimental effect on me. Aren't they an amusing bunch? I, for one, am ready to kick back and laugh.
As a thumb rule, I avoided watching Fox News while in the US. Because, you know, I wanted to retain whatever sanity I had left. I made an exception to this rule whenever I had entered a prolonged state of vegetation on the couch. Like during Thanksgiving weekend, day three, with my blood slowly freezing due to inactivity. At such times, I felt the need to thaw my blood. Fox News was always around. Within minutes, this channel would bring my blood to a boil.
Geez! How neoconservative can one get?
We're indeed blessed that Fox News has continued to do its thing. It has not slackened even for a moment. Four days ago, this happened:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lo3CLQ1vAZI
And I found out about it while watching the inimitable Arnab Goswami on Times Now. Mr. Goswami was fuming as usual: how could Glenn Beck say such things against India and Indians? Isn't there a limit? (or something to that effect).
I found Mr. Goswami particularly hilarious on this occasion. I mean, the irony cannot have been lost on even him. The first time I saw him, I felt that he was modeling himself on Bill O'Reilly of, surprise, surprise, Fox News! I felt the same jingoistic, chest-thumping vibe as on that Fox program titled, what was the name now, yeah, The O-Reilly Factor.
So it was really amusing to see Mr. Goswami defend India against Mr. Beck. I guess people who are too similar to us get our goat.
On a personal note, I'm happy to note that neocons - the American variety and the Indian - have ceased to have a detrimental effect on me. Aren't they an amusing bunch? I, for one, am ready to kick back and laugh.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Telangana. Now?!
The second chapter in Rosaiah's stint as the Andhra Pradesh CM began with the fast-unto-death (right?) of K Chandrashekar Rao of the Telangana Rashtriya Samiti. The TRS currently has a single-point agenda to establish a separate state of Telangana, although you can rest assured that the party will be around if and when the state of Telangana becomes a reality.
I won't comment much on the politics of fasting because the most important man of the last century used it effectively (and usually for the right reasons), so we as a nation cannot become anti-fasting just because we managed to install democracy.
What I'd like to comment on is the manner in which the high-pitched, high-salaried, law-unto-themselves anchors of national news channels have confused the issue. To these Brands-within-Brands, the formation of Telangana poses a serious threat to national interests. Why so? Because our identities are getting narrower by the day. Because Telangana proclaims a strong regionalism within linguism. And aren't we already suffering the consequences of linguism?
True. We are suffering the consequences of linguism. We, as a nation, are like a divided Europe and our Constitution works a tad better than the EU. Of course, we don't even have the advantage of a single script. So we're more deeply divided by language. (I won't even get into caste and religion.)
To such a divided India, does Telangana offer good news or bad? Good, the way I see it. If this really is the beginning - and if this does lead to the formation of Vidharba, for instance - then it means that linguistic borders don't make sense to people any more. People are looking for something else - sociopolitical equality and economic prosperity. At least, that's what the people of Telangana are looking for. I'm reasonably certain of this because I spent a great deal of time in Telangana a couple of years ago.
I was then researching on the Naxalite movement in AP, for which I camped for different periods of time in all three regions of AP, namely coastal AP (Vizag), Rayalseema (Anantapur) and finally Telangana (Hyderabad and Warangal). In both coastal AP and Rayalseema, most people I met dismissed the idea of Telangana as subversive politics. Damned politicians harping for their own gains, they said.
In Hyderabad, almost everybody was happy with the status quo. In fact, many of my friends - who lived in Hyderabad but were from outside AP - did not even know that Hyderabad fell within the Telangana region.
But in Warangal - where I stayed for almost a month - I heard a different song. The professors of Kakatiya University I met were convinced that the region will prosper only if a separate state was formed. The labourers I interviewed were seething with anger because they felt that the state's developmental work focused on Rayalseema because the most powerful politicians belonged there. Auto rickshaw drivers thought it would be cool to have a separate state. A schoolteacher in the town of Pasra, when I asked him if he wanted Telangana, replied that he was keeping his fingers crossed. One Human Rights activist felt that it would be infinitely easier to administer a carved up AP.
I see immense wisdom in his words. India is an administrator's nightmare. We must find a more delegated model of governance, and if this requires carving up existing states, then so be it. Such an approach offers enormous advantages:
1) Regional parties that do astonishingly well in one election will find it more difficult to blackmail the Central Government. Take the case of Bihar and Laloo Prasad Yadav. The man has been cut down to size, not just by the emergence of Nitish Kumar but also due to the formation of Jharkhand. I can think of many more regional czars who can do with some trimming. Imagine UP being further dissected into Purvanchal, Mithilanchal and more such. Imagine a Saurashtra with a shot at secularism (don't know about this, though). But you get the drift. More players in the Central Government, a more fragmented coalition, but with more leverage for the truly national parties.
2) The ultimate administrative model for India would be decentralized to the extent possible. A model wherein 75% of day-to-day governance is run by the Panchayats. This suggestion usually sends shivers up our spine, huh? But consider this. A rural mango man (aam aadmi) who wants help from the law and order machinery can more easily approach a sarpanch than a District Collector. Been to the DC's office? It still runs on the Raj mentality. The earthquake-proof building, the guards at the gate and the red tape are sufficient to prevent the mango man from entering it. Of course, local governance comes with its own challenges. Village landlords can quickly, and more effectively, use the system for their personal gains. But despite all the challenges, local governance is the way forward. If you're still not convinced, then consider this: when there's a power failure in your area, you call a local number of the Electricity Board. Would you like it if the entire city had one number and someone in that one central office decided if and when your message will be conveyed?
Let's also concede that each region has its own peculiar issues. Blanket policies issued from across hundreds of kilometres are often useless, even counterproductive. Local Thinking will help.
3) End of linguism, as I mentioned before.
4) A more unique landscape. Every new state can use the opportunity to honour their own heroes, resurrect their own distinct arts and crafts etc.
5) A less socialistic distribution of revenue. What the region earns, it spends. There's more incentive to develop. A harsh example of this is the formation of the predominantly tribal state of Chattisgarh. Bhopalis can now say (although they won't) that they no longer fund the darker region. Good for MP.
Of course, the formation of Chattisgarh has not yielded positive results so far. Mining-oriented "development" is happening, but the benefits never reach the mango man. The state is also dealing with Naxalism in Dantewara and Bastar (in the worst manner possible). These are glaring failures, but they are failures of our democratic framework, not the concept that led to the formation of Chattisgarh. Perhaps one day the land will throw up a leader who will solve its own unique problems.
At the moment, the politicians of AP are measuring the formation of Telangana using a political seismograph. Once the dust settles, we will perhaps see it as the will of the people.
I won't comment much on the politics of fasting because the most important man of the last century used it effectively (and usually for the right reasons), so we as a nation cannot become anti-fasting just because we managed to install democracy.
What I'd like to comment on is the manner in which the high-pitched, high-salaried, law-unto-themselves anchors of national news channels have confused the issue. To these Brands-within-Brands, the formation of Telangana poses a serious threat to national interests. Why so? Because our identities are getting narrower by the day. Because Telangana proclaims a strong regionalism within linguism. And aren't we already suffering the consequences of linguism?
True. We are suffering the consequences of linguism. We, as a nation, are like a divided Europe and our Constitution works a tad better than the EU. Of course, we don't even have the advantage of a single script. So we're more deeply divided by language. (I won't even get into caste and religion.)
To such a divided India, does Telangana offer good news or bad? Good, the way I see it. If this really is the beginning - and if this does lead to the formation of Vidharba, for instance - then it means that linguistic borders don't make sense to people any more. People are looking for something else - sociopolitical equality and economic prosperity. At least, that's what the people of Telangana are looking for. I'm reasonably certain of this because I spent a great deal of time in Telangana a couple of years ago.
I was then researching on the Naxalite movement in AP, for which I camped for different periods of time in all three regions of AP, namely coastal AP (Vizag), Rayalseema (Anantapur) and finally Telangana (Hyderabad and Warangal). In both coastal AP and Rayalseema, most people I met dismissed the idea of Telangana as subversive politics. Damned politicians harping for their own gains, they said.
In Hyderabad, almost everybody was happy with the status quo. In fact, many of my friends - who lived in Hyderabad but were from outside AP - did not even know that Hyderabad fell within the Telangana region.
But in Warangal - where I stayed for almost a month - I heard a different song. The professors of Kakatiya University I met were convinced that the region will prosper only if a separate state was formed. The labourers I interviewed were seething with anger because they felt that the state's developmental work focused on Rayalseema because the most powerful politicians belonged there. Auto rickshaw drivers thought it would be cool to have a separate state. A schoolteacher in the town of Pasra, when I asked him if he wanted Telangana, replied that he was keeping his fingers crossed. One Human Rights activist felt that it would be infinitely easier to administer a carved up AP.
I see immense wisdom in his words. India is an administrator's nightmare. We must find a more delegated model of governance, and if this requires carving up existing states, then so be it. Such an approach offers enormous advantages:
1) Regional parties that do astonishingly well in one election will find it more difficult to blackmail the Central Government. Take the case of Bihar and Laloo Prasad Yadav. The man has been cut down to size, not just by the emergence of Nitish Kumar but also due to the formation of Jharkhand. I can think of many more regional czars who can do with some trimming. Imagine UP being further dissected into Purvanchal, Mithilanchal and more such. Imagine a Saurashtra with a shot at secularism (don't know about this, though). But you get the drift. More players in the Central Government, a more fragmented coalition, but with more leverage for the truly national parties.
2) The ultimate administrative model for India would be decentralized to the extent possible. A model wherein 75% of day-to-day governance is run by the Panchayats. This suggestion usually sends shivers up our spine, huh? But consider this. A rural mango man (aam aadmi) who wants help from the law and order machinery can more easily approach a sarpanch than a District Collector. Been to the DC's office? It still runs on the Raj mentality. The earthquake-proof building, the guards at the gate and the red tape are sufficient to prevent the mango man from entering it. Of course, local governance comes with its own challenges. Village landlords can quickly, and more effectively, use the system for their personal gains. But despite all the challenges, local governance is the way forward. If you're still not convinced, then consider this: when there's a power failure in your area, you call a local number of the Electricity Board. Would you like it if the entire city had one number and someone in that one central office decided if and when your message will be conveyed?
Let's also concede that each region has its own peculiar issues. Blanket policies issued from across hundreds of kilometres are often useless, even counterproductive. Local Thinking will help.
3) End of linguism, as I mentioned before.
4) A more unique landscape. Every new state can use the opportunity to honour their own heroes, resurrect their own distinct arts and crafts etc.
5) A less socialistic distribution of revenue. What the region earns, it spends. There's more incentive to develop. A harsh example of this is the formation of the predominantly tribal state of Chattisgarh. Bhopalis can now say (although they won't) that they no longer fund the darker region. Good for MP.
Of course, the formation of Chattisgarh has not yielded positive results so far. Mining-oriented "development" is happening, but the benefits never reach the mango man. The state is also dealing with Naxalism in Dantewara and Bastar (in the worst manner possible). These are glaring failures, but they are failures of our democratic framework, not the concept that led to the formation of Chattisgarh. Perhaps one day the land will throw up a leader who will solve its own unique problems.
At the moment, the politicians of AP are measuring the formation of Telangana using a political seismograph. Once the dust settles, we will perhaps see it as the will of the people.
A giant crashes, the neighbourhood rumbles
The political turmoil in Andhra Pradesh hasn't ceased since YSR's chopper crashed in early September. The central leadership of the Congress Party began the churn by making K. Rosaiah the caretaker CM of the state, and later made his appointment more permanent. Odd choice, it seemed to many. It wasn't. YSR was a mixed blessing for the CWC. Although he had delivered impossible political gains to the Centre, he was too large a persona and too much in control in the state. Quite unlike the garden variety Congress CM of today. That's just one reason why the Centre chose a practically unknown and mild - almost unwilling - Rosaiah. There were other reasons as well. Rosaiah was a YSR loyalist which meant that any dissidents who showed up will eventually fall in line. Besides, the man showed no desire to wear Destiny's shoes. Perfect.
Having made their choice, the strong central leadership of the Congress implemented it with an iron hand. YSR's son Jaganmohan Reddy was none too pleased. His supporters created storms in a few afternoon teacups. He was, therefore, summoned to Delhi where he was retold that Rahul baba wanted him at the Centre. He must join the elite club of Congress scions and await his time. Perhaps - and I'm speculating here - he received some empathy from Scindia Jr and Pilot Jr. At any rate, Reddy Jr returned from Delhi much more sober and willing to linger over the stalemate.
Within weeks, Rosaiah seemed more visibly determined. He made a few surprise moves, including a visit to Bangalore and a photo-op with B.S. Yeddyurappa. Now. Did the Congress top guns plan this? If they did, then hats off to them. What a move!
For those who came in late, here is what was happening: on the surface, a newly crowned Congress CM of one Indian state was paying a courtesy call to the BJP CM of a neighbouring state. This in itself is unusual. On top of that, Rosaiah arrived with a pleasing ringtone for Yeddy:
Cut the Bellary Reddys down to size,
You are the king, claim your prize
You see, the mining barons of Bellary - the Bellary Reddys - were underwear friends with YSR. Significant if you know where to place Bellary on the Indian map. You guessed it! Right on the Karnataka-AP border. The Bellary Reddys had their business stakes distributed between the two states. So during the YSR era, the Reddys had a super-close CM to take care of their interests in AP. At the same time, they virtually controlled the BJP government in Karnataka. One might say that they had their bread buttered on both sides. That would be incorrect. They had their butter breaded on all sides.
One can imagine the mining excesses that happened in the recent past. 'Mine, mine, mine,' they said. Rather refreshing when you consider that most people say, 'Me, me, me!'
So. They mined with impunity and nobody minded. But then a chopper came crashing down and, as we've already discovered, a Mr. Rosaiah left his calling card at the Vidhana Soudha.
Not surprisingly, B. S. Yeddyurappa - such a clean guy when you consider the company he keeps - went on an overdrive to rein in the Bellary Redddys. He transferred errant officials, imposed a new levy on mining trucks and publicly hinted at inappropriate business practices in Bellary.
We all know the public drama that followed. For weeks, the state machinery in Karnataka lay paralyzed, awaiting an end to the Yeddy versus Reddys battle. We all know that the flood-affected populace faded from public and media memory. They did not get the relief and support they deserved, but Rosaiah - the darkest horse in our political landscape today - has delivered some relief and support to Yeddy. He asked for a CBI inquiry into the illegal mining activities of the Reddys. At the same time, the Supreme Court of India has passed a stronger indictment: Guilty. The SC also recommended a complete halt to mining activities by the Reddys and seconded Rosaiah's demand for a CBI inquiry.
This has led the Yeddy-likers to hope that the Bellary Reddys might fall after all. Of course, we have a long and glorious history of punishing the powerful for their sins. So we can expect justice to be delivered. Soon.
Actually, despite my deep cynicism, I hope that something resembling justice is delivered in this instance. Why? Take a trip through Bellary, (nearby) Hospet and then further north in Karnataka - through towns like Bidar. See what mining and miners are doing to an already impoverished land. How and why does India's mango man (aam aadmi) accept this? That's the eternal riddle.
There's another - almost Shakespearean - reason why the Bellary Reddys must fall. Because YSR - who was felled by the Gods of Nature and Technology - was standing on the cusp of political immortality. He was a giant. So his fall must precipitate the fall of others.
Having made their choice, the strong central leadership of the Congress implemented it with an iron hand. YSR's son Jaganmohan Reddy was none too pleased. His supporters created storms in a few afternoon teacups. He was, therefore, summoned to Delhi where he was retold that Rahul baba wanted him at the Centre. He must join the elite club of Congress scions and await his time. Perhaps - and I'm speculating here - he received some empathy from Scindia Jr and Pilot Jr. At any rate, Reddy Jr returned from Delhi much more sober and willing to linger over the stalemate.
Within weeks, Rosaiah seemed more visibly determined. He made a few surprise moves, including a visit to Bangalore and a photo-op with B.S. Yeddyurappa. Now. Did the Congress top guns plan this? If they did, then hats off to them. What a move!
For those who came in late, here is what was happening: on the surface, a newly crowned Congress CM of one Indian state was paying a courtesy call to the BJP CM of a neighbouring state. This in itself is unusual. On top of that, Rosaiah arrived with a pleasing ringtone for Yeddy:
Cut the Bellary Reddys down to size,
You are the king, claim your prize
You see, the mining barons of Bellary - the Bellary Reddys - were underwear friends with YSR. Significant if you know where to place Bellary on the Indian map. You guessed it! Right on the Karnataka-AP border. The Bellary Reddys had their business stakes distributed between the two states. So during the YSR era, the Reddys had a super-close CM to take care of their interests in AP. At the same time, they virtually controlled the BJP government in Karnataka. One might say that they had their bread buttered on both sides. That would be incorrect. They had their butter breaded on all sides.
One can imagine the mining excesses that happened in the recent past. 'Mine, mine, mine,' they said. Rather refreshing when you consider that most people say, 'Me, me, me!'
So. They mined with impunity and nobody minded. But then a chopper came crashing down and, as we've already discovered, a Mr. Rosaiah left his calling card at the Vidhana Soudha.
Not surprisingly, B. S. Yeddyurappa - such a clean guy when you consider the company he keeps - went on an overdrive to rein in the Bellary Redddys. He transferred errant officials, imposed a new levy on mining trucks and publicly hinted at inappropriate business practices in Bellary.
We all know the public drama that followed. For weeks, the state machinery in Karnataka lay paralyzed, awaiting an end to the Yeddy versus Reddys battle. We all know that the flood-affected populace faded from public and media memory. They did not get the relief and support they deserved, but Rosaiah - the darkest horse in our political landscape today - has delivered some relief and support to Yeddy. He asked for a CBI inquiry into the illegal mining activities of the Reddys. At the same time, the Supreme Court of India has passed a stronger indictment: Guilty. The SC also recommended a complete halt to mining activities by the Reddys and seconded Rosaiah's demand for a CBI inquiry.
This has led the Yeddy-likers to hope that the Bellary Reddys might fall after all. Of course, we have a long and glorious history of punishing the powerful for their sins. So we can expect justice to be delivered. Soon.
Actually, despite my deep cynicism, I hope that something resembling justice is delivered in this instance. Why? Take a trip through Bellary, (nearby) Hospet and then further north in Karnataka - through towns like Bidar. See what mining and miners are doing to an already impoverished land. How and why does India's mango man (aam aadmi) accept this? That's the eternal riddle.
There's another - almost Shakespearean - reason why the Bellary Reddys must fall. Because YSR - who was felled by the Gods of Nature and Technology - was standing on the cusp of political immortality. He was a giant. So his fall must precipitate the fall of others.
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