My piece in Dna on slum housing on December 6, 2011

http://epaper.dnaindia.com/story.aspx?id=3391&boxid=142735598&ed_date=2011-12-06&ed_code=820009&ed_page=5

My piece on Narayan Rane in DNA on December 20, 2011

http://epaper.dnaindia.com/story.aspx?id=4699&boxid=26707268&ed_date=2011-12-20&ed_code=820009&ed_page=3

My piece in DNA on Anna Hazare on December 13, 2011

http://epaper.dnaindia.com/story.aspx?id=3969&boxid=26688278&ed_date=2011-12-13&ed_code=820009&ed_page=5

My piece on providing houses to slum dwellers in DNA on December 6, 2011

http://epaper.dnaindia.com/epapermain.aspx?edorsup=Main&queryed=9&querypage=5&boxid=34058872&parentid=156065&eddate=12/06/2011

My piece on coastal security in DNA on 29/11/2011

http://epaper.dnaindia.com/epapermain.aspx?edorsup=Main&queryed=9&querypage=8&boxid=30605646&parentid=155492&eddate=11/29/2011

Today, I tried to book a train ticket.  I went to the IRCTC website, logged in and waited. It was around 11 am. Two minutes later, the scroll kept going round in circles and was clearly not moving anywhere. Not knowing which way to go, I went at it again. And waited.
 The scroll showed it was processing something but I was not sure what. Soon, it stopped, hastily drew up a blank screen with an html address showing 'something-something-login/ some characters'. This screen was frozen. There was no movement. I sighed, went back to the main page, logged in. I waited. No result. The buffering went on endlessly. A dozen tries later, it was 12.15 pm. Once or twice, I got through to the page asking me to enter my travel details. I was excited to have moved to the first stage and hurriedly banged out the 'From' and 'To' fields. After getting my reservation requirements, the train reservation system processed it further. In less than four minutes, a screen popped up saying my login had expired. It sure had, after waiting and procastinating.
Having by now mastered the art of logging in without sparing a thought or a look at the keyboard, I typed out my login mechanically. The flickering followed obligingly. This time, it told me my session had expired and I would need to login again. Huh? The last thing I had done was to login. The ball was then in their court. How did I manage to logout before logging in? One more try. I went at it again. This time, the circle kept rolling in its agonizingly familiar manner till I decided to relogin. This went on till it was 1.20 pm.
Make no mistake. I had taken two 10-minute breaks - once to do a sudoku to shake off the ennui and once to attend to some calls. So that period should be duly deducted from my IRCTC 'login time registry.'
By this time, the IRCTC system was tiring of me. It would promptly show up the session expired page each time I dared it. It was a battle of nerves. And I wanted to win it. Erratically, it would lead me to my destination -- the travel page. And once I filled in my travel particulars, it would travel to my known fate - "This session has expired..."
Recognising the challenge, I summoned all my faculties to the task of getting me through this reservation process. And after some trial and error, I hit upon the realisation that the screen did not move when I stared at it. And, each time I had managed to log in successfully (till the next page summarily logged me out), it was when I had turned my eyes away from the screen, either to read something, or to check out the news on TV or talk to someone. Whenever my head turned to the left, the screen would eventually move to the reservation page.
I was thrilled with the discovery. I logged in. Then, I purposefully looked away from the screen, turning my right side to it. And lo and behold, it worked!  
Aha! I said to myself, and soldiered on to the next stage. Filling up the travel details in a great hurry, I landed the next page. I felt elated. It was as though I was getting promoted out of turn. Fingers flying at the keyboard, I typed in further details. In a while, say about 7-8 minutes, the next page unfolded before my unbelieving eyes. I had managed to book myself a ticket on the website!!! Albeit waitlisted, I had made it.
As I ventured to get a print of that ticket, the system grandly bleated, "Session expired"   and asked me to login. It was a cruel joke. It had worked dutifully certifying my research of facial angles and just before I was to degenerate into a nervous wreck, it had saved me by booking my ticket. And then, this! The emotional roller coaster was too much for me and I soon started looking for a click for psychological counsellors on the site.
Obviously, there were none. IRCTC is a owned by sarkar mai baap and vested with the responsibility of toughening us Indians up, apart from facilitating train reservations and travel. The presence of counsellors on the hoizon would soften the blow. Never mind, I told myself. I would print it from my email, which would hopefully have arrived from the IRCTC's unwilling server in my inbox in some time.
Having conceded some ground to the rival, my only other ambition was to book a return ticket. You see, the IRCTC does not allow you to book both at a time. And even if it did, it would have been of little help unless its server cooperated to unravel the succeeding pages. So, the far-sighted programmers and decision makers of IRCTC had decided to permit us travellers only small pleasures at a time. Book your onward journey and then figure out if you still have the reserves to book your return. It was 2.30 pm by now. I decided to break for lunch.
The post-lunch session too was several session expiries, by which time I gave in to the human feeling of exhaustion and gave up. I salvaged the 23 minutes I had left of the day to carry forward all my day's undone work to the next day's diary.
Looking at the brighter side, I didnt have to log out as my login session was usually half-logged out at each try or had expired before it logged in. I thanked God that I had had the good fortune of being in possession of a login and password. I shudder to think what it would have cost me to register anew.
Booking a train ticket in India is exciting. It brooks nothing less adventurous than space travel with all its attendant mystery, malfunction and the wondrous sense of soaring into nowhere. If IRCTC ever consults me on its branding, I have a handy logo - We dont send you to concentration camps; we pulverize you on the spot.

My take on TV anchors, taking off from a very nice satire doing the email rounds: 

 

NAME: Rajdeep “ ‘but you-you-you’ (every five seconds)” Sardesai

SIGNATURE STYLE: Interpretation genius. Has potential to decode English in a way it sounds like Chinese to the viewers.

USP: Salt and peppery hair, living with Sagarika Ghose’s vocal cords

CREDO: Substances are meant to be abused, the substance being facts.

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY: Facts are weapons of convenience to be used to confuse. Each time, a show dares veer in a direction he doesn’t like, he wills it around to his point of view. The viewer is happy he has been informed and has made an opinion; the studio ‘guest’ thinks he has made his statement and Rajdeep continues his merry circus, manfully driving public opinion without their knowledge, pun intended.

Most likely to say: "There is another side the rains have to tell. Right after this break (a grim smile or grimace, depends on your interpretation)."

-----------------------

NAME: Sagarika “shake you out of your wits” Ghose

SIGNATURE STYLE: Interruptions only. No interpretations, real or imagined. She’s like that only.

USP: Voice that hits with the power of a volcanic eruption. If she ever shut up, you would hear the microphone wimper and disintegrate.

CREDO: TV is all about athletics. Her continued preference is for voice sports, a category created by her. The louder you can holler, the greater your chances of winning. She wins hands down. No other hands go up.

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY: On TV, Ghose plays another game called ‘Face me tonight’. Those who dare are stung by her vocal fangs as their words are drowned out in a rising crescendo of screams. They are suitably pulverized not to attempt another word. The real trick is in collecting ten eclectic studio names and not letting them get past their first sentence. She gets help from the voltage fluctuations caused by her supersonic efforts which silence the electronic systems in the studio. CNN-IBN renews the annual maintenance contract for these systems every day.


Most likely to say:  “Hate is real. Let’s get the Pakistanis on that. Mr Muzaffar, what do you say about the hate Australians have for Indians?”
-----------------------

NAME: Barkha “keep them guessing” Dutt

SIGNATURE STYLE: Skin of a crocodile. Her tears are real.

USP: Deceptive they may be but appearances are important. So the mask of fairness stays put.

CREDO: Life is about being democratic. So I dare to wear dangling earrings. 

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY: She’s sensible, and will never arrive at any inference at the end of her shows which is peopled by VIPs and VVIPs mostly saying, “Barkha, I don’t agree.” A summary sign-off ensues, with an enduring visual of Barkha’s mouth stretched into what could have been a smile but has lost its way. She has spunk. She has staying power. She will wilfully get soldiers in the firing line of terrorists (26/11), will can all the Radia tapes, and emerge with a halo.

Most likely to say: "Ragging is another name for abuse, or is it? Some agree, some don’t."
-------------------------------------

NAME: Arnab “The Man Who Knows and Speaks the Truth and Only the Truth” Goswami

SIGNATURE STYLE: Consistent moral outrage. He hates duplicity or falsehoods, which mostly pass for other people’s views.

USP: He invented power but eschews its worldly trappings so that we get to see him on prime time every day.

CREDO: His wondrous worldview includes all those who disagree with him but he is damned if he lets them think they can change the way he governs the world.

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY: Arnab forms  opinions quickly and then sacrifices half the world to feed that opinion because it is the right thing to do. He makes news simply by being on it. He is capable of making life-saving decisions for the nation. He is God’s personal assurance to common man that He exists and will step in when things go wrong. This is indicated by a thunderclap that sounds each time Arnab turns grimly to glare down a hostile guest. His studio guests are usually adversaries who have ganged up against the world. And Arnab braves them all to make it through the day for us. India is reworking its anthem into ‘God save the King’ for him.

Most likely to say:  "I am outraged, therefore I am. And if I am outraged, so is the nation"

--------------------------

NAME: Karan Thapar

SIGNATURE STYLE: Clipped accent enabled by a nose with a permanent cold, snap-and-grind-till-they-drop posturing and finger-jabbing that pokes into the ribs. 

USP:  Thapar uses his smile sparingly and keeps it strained because he knows overuse can kill. He can shrink his subject to pulp by the sheer power of his smile that comes at the end of an interview by which time the subject is   compacted into a withered wallflower.

CREDO: A stiff upper lip is the biggest asset in interviewing skills. A stiff lower lip is an added advantage.

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY: By the time the opponent (as the subject of his interviews is identified in Karan’s mind) starts his reply, Karan has anticipated it, processed it in his uniquely angular way, and confounded the subject with a fresh bouncer that has him struggling for breath. In half hour, Karan grills, sautés and purees the opponent with his cold stares, steely squints and glacial sneers. At the end, he thanks the opponent for giving him the opportunity to speak his mind without interruption.

To facilitate this steamy interaction, his unsuspecting subjects are usually strapped to the arm rests of the hot seat with metal clasps.

Most likely to say:  "Why would you say Advani was not the first woman speaker? Any logical reason?"

August 29, 2011.

Much has been written about the media blitzkrieg in favour of Anna Hazare. And why not? The media has been the biggest weapon in Anna’s armoury. He hadn’t quite expected it to unleash itself in this manner. To give the devil its due, the media itself had not anticipated the agitation to grow into a movement. The media kept agitation before the public eye and the burgeoning numbers fed the coverage. It was a happy cycle.

The English media, however, was not much enamoured of Anna barring Times Now. The three most-watched English channels behaved differently. CNN-IBN gunned for Anna but in a veiled way (Rajdeep Sardesai would ask negative questions all too often, putting words in the mouths of his hapless panellist); NDTV (read: Barkha Dutt) would have been happier with more boo-boos by Kiran Bedi (Her ghunghat act was repeated ad nauseam on the channel for three days and every face popping up on the channel was asked to comment on it after being briefed about the sinister implications it held for Parliamentary pride).

Times Now, another personality-driven channel, was an exception. It was doggedly pro-Anna. Arnab Goswami gushed about him all day and resolutely rebuffed any criticism of the movement passing off as critique. This polarisation of the electronic media was not reflected in the print media. Most English newspapers steered clear of going for or against the movement though they were compelled to report it as much as possible, given the sheer numbers of people on the streets.

While keeping Ramlila alive for almost a fortnight, the media did end up exposing some chinks in its armour. For one, it failed in exposing and exploring a key element in the whole drama. Right through Anna’s arrest to the culmination of the fast, the media singularly refused to analyse the Congress’ role as a party and as the principal role-player in government.

Anna’s arrest, for instance, was an outrage in any democracy. It held the threat of the country’s subversion into a Pakistan-type of anarchic republic with the domination of the old rule of thumb. The media was suitably disgusted, for sure. But it studiously limited its role to reporting and criticism. It refused to travel the imperative distance from dispassionate observer to passionate vigilante. There were extensive and well-displayed reports on the horrific demonstration of government arrogance but the language was always controlled, decisively neutral. Edits conveyed that it was a violation of basic rights of a citizen but did not convey a sense of horror at this brazenness of the unprecedented act. If it was an act like the Emergency, the media did not rise to the occasion to respond like a Ramnath Goenka or a C R Irani.

Through the entire episode, few bad words were said for the government. Appeals front-paged by national newspapers took the placatory line, implicitly placing Anna and the government on the same footing as far as apportioning of blame was concerned. One would have preferred a clear stand taken by such newspapers that Anna was committing an outrage of democratic privileges of a citizen. But in the time-honoured tradition of staying politically correct, they would not fall foul of either party.

Saw 'Bbuddha hoga Terra Baap'. After years, I was watching a movie that left me refreshed, happy and pulsating with life. As films go, it's above average, especially considering the current crop of horrors we are subjected to, like I hate Luv Storys, Three Idiots etc, which are just so juvenile they depress you for days and take away your faith in human ability to make films, never mind their so-called critical acclaim.
I am a mass movie goer, not the class one who twists and turns the film in her head for every possible nuance to issue a pass or fail certificate. I watch movies for fun and their entertainment quotient. And in that, Bbuddha.. scores seven on ten, strictly as a film and away from the lead actor. There are problems with the movie of course, some parts sit odd and are over the top, some dialogues are plain silly; some characters like the saint gone wrong are unnecessary and needlessly makes a mockery of religious preachers.
But what makes Bbuddha... a 100 on ten, what makes it breathe is the genius of the man called Amitabh Bachchan. The man  towers in every department: looks, energy, carriage, charisma, class, style, pomp, panache, attitude, acting, emoting, diction, voice, dialogue delivery. He overcomes the flaws in the film not just effortlessly but in a way you dont mind them at all, if at all you notice them: his garish clothes and eyewear, over-the-top dialogues which are delivered with such flair you want to appreciate them with applause and dont feel silly doing so, his larger-than-life role that would be so unconvincing on any of the Khans but which suits Bachchan to an A. He takes over the film in every scene in a way you notice only him, and your overworked brains collapse into rest, letting you soak in every moment of his joyful majesty unfolding on screen. You are hooked and when the film ends, you are begging for more.  He overrides the shortcomings of the script, limp ends, insipid acting of co-stars like Sonu Sood, Hema Malini and that wooden wonder, Sonal Chauhan, and of course, his sheer defiance of age. Comparing the Khan brigade and others after or before him is a bit like comparing a lamp to the Sun. It's laughable.
Comparing Al Pacino to AB is pointless because you'll not find this energy in any Al Pacino film. Al Pacino is the god of underacting and often carries the weight of his personality on his face. Bachchan is the god of acting and carries no baggage of who he is. At times, he catches you unawares by the way he transcends his role.  As in the last scene, when he gets emotional before his wife. Suddenly, you see his guard lowered;  the vulnerable side to the man who was invincible throughout the film is bare and naked for all to see. It's an amazing switch. His eyes betray his emotions so graphically you are tempted to believe they caught this action in real life. If you think this is all he did, pl check out the songs; all sung by him. A professional singer would do no better and he would still not have that baritone.

To say Bachchan is a treat, a delight to watch is an understatement.  To say he is the best actor produced by India or the world is to pull him down to the level of comparison. Words cannot suitably describe him; they do no justice to the sheer magic of the man who stands in a class of his own.
Check out the man offscreen: he radiates intelligence. He has charisma, grace, charm, humility, poise, his linguistic mastery and a facility of articulation that perhaps no scholar can match.

The movie brought alive the memories of the Bachchan mania of my childhood. It revived me at every level of being and made me grateful that I am living in an age and in a country where I get to watch him and see him. Ya, I have seen him twice, once as a kid at a funds collection rally organised by the film industry for floods in some part of the country, and second in Times of India building, when I sat in at a press conference just to bask in his presence.

I cant help drooling. For all those who say he should retire, I feel sorry for them.
 
AB, thanks for coming into our lives. You rock! And, you rule for all times to come.

http://epaper.dnaindia.com/epapermain.aspx?edorsup=Main&queryed=9&querypage=5&boxid=31781456&parentid=142000&eddate=06/08/2011

Kapil Sibal is in this very special place reserved for a few in the Congress like Manish Tewary and Abhishek Singhvi. And, for some unfathomable reason, only Congress boasts of such stalwarts on its rolls who can scalp a few honorable men anytime they wish.
These three gentlemen specialise in a genre of attack which could perhaps be called chew-till-mince for want of a more suitable coinage. Come to think of it, devising a nomenclature for their unmatched calibre is something they can apply their overactive minds to. Not to mention that this would spare some deserving rival a few moments of breathing space.
Check out Manish Tewari on any news channel any evening. You dont have to visit any particular one. All you have to do is surf a couple of them and he is on. The channels need him for the weighty discussions they host every evening on some issue of national importance. In a tele-version of musical chairs, the same players surface on different channels every day. It speaks volumes for their commitment but we are not on that.
Regardless of the subject under discussion, you'll find Manish frowning. When asked for his take by the anchor (I suppose that process follows the alphabetical order and with M ranking before N for BJP's south-accented Nirmala, Manish gets in first), Manish heads straight for battle. The issue could be the new education policy announced by the PM, and Manish shoots off like a pit bull hit by a tornado: "The BJP did nothing for years and here we are trying to help the poor but they wont let us. All they like to do is attack.   They are vicious, negative, .... " During the delivery of  this high-decibel lava, the ever-appreciative anchor would have tried to nudge the debate in the direction of some other issue or some other person. After a few attempted interventions, he succeeds when Manish pauses for a half-breath.
As this spiel was pronounced before the BJP had begun any of this much-anticipated attack, Nirmala is asked to comment. Nirmala simpers in response about how it is a good idea to provide right to education. Manish, half-hooded eyes and disgust in place, snaps, "What do you know about education? It would be in the interests of the people of the country if the main opposition party supports us. But that's not going to happen. They dont have the interests of the nation at heart. Look at what Vajpayee did when he was in power. He let Pokhran II happen. That has killed the natural appetite for education in the people. They want to live and learn but the BJP wants war."
The anchor, being a sound news journalist, is always eager for a new assessment of an issue and therefore listens respectfully. Some educationists yanked onto the pulpit then get a few murmurs in on the suitability of the policy. Manish listens with a grim scowl, his eyes radiating sparks through the screen at anyone who dares to look like he may dissent on the fact that Vajpayee intended to kill his countrymen.
No, this particular debate never took place. Probably because Dr Manmohan Singh cannot be seriously bothered with an education policy until Madam finds some stooge in that arena who can stuff her purse and signals the PM to let the stooge do his job.  Remember telecom policy for 2G, 3G and SG?
But this is certainly the drift of Manish's vocal contributions to any television "debate", as these time-spongers are called. I have often thought Nirmala should consider changing her name to something starting with a letter from A to L -- she will still be mauled every day but it will get her a word in first, see? -- and perhaps her party if she wishes to live. It is not humanly possible to be reborn every day.
But we were talking about Kapil Sibal. Unlike Manish whose mission is to save the world from every non-Congress alien and whose strategy involves biting the head off every panelist from the word 'go', Sibal belongs to a gentler breed. He is suave, or so the media would have us believe in the assumption that we dont get to watch him. Sibal achieves the same purpose as Manish but with less effort -- he demolishes any wannabe opponent by pulverising him out of business with his superior sneer.  Sibal does not speak in a forked tongue; he speaks with a forked face. His cold eyes take in the picture condescendingly while his lips, stretched into a smiling grimace or a grim smile (depending on your outlook), speak soft, happy words that kill without bloodshed.
Unlike Manish, he is not agitated but like Manish, he outwits every potential opponent on the panelist by the sheer force of his personality and power of his voice rather than his reasoning. It could be poor old Nirmala, Jaitley (often paired with Sibal for the the tempting sparring; Jaitley looks like a sulking child while Sibal scoffs and gruffs), or even a frail old man called Anna Hazare.
Sibal is unsparing and indiscriminating. He brooks no evil like an opponent. Compared to him, Manish looks warm and Abhishek Singhvi looks part-human. It is difficult to believe a Congressman is chosen on the basis of his hostility quotient. It is probably the other way round. Hostility becomes the Congressman in due course.
What is most intriguing is the media obliviousness to their charms. In a rote manner, the channels continue to indulge them, address them respectfully and actually pretend that the gems emerging from their mouths is distilled wisdom.
After having lived through Sibal's thousand barbs at the IIT faculty in the past single year alone, they innocently believe he will stand by them when a fellow minister and fellow media-digger Jairam Ramesh (known best for his ability to survive on a diet of his own words) casts aspersion on the quality of the faculty at IIT. All that Sibal said in response was, that since Ramesh was an IIT student himself, he perhaps knows. This can by no means be fashioned into a dig at his colleague. More like an endorsement of his take. Yet, the papers were full of Sibal’s moralistic standing by his team.
A day later, he said 25 per cent of the faculty are former IIT students. This could be implied to mean that Sibal meant that by Ramesh’s own reasoning, they were therefore good enough for the job. Well, this nothing statement sparked media frenzy and you had headlines screeching, ‘Sibal snubs Ramesh’ and 'Sibal defends IIT.' Never mind that Sibal said not a word about the 75 per cent faculty left out in his “defence.” Never mind that Sibal did not even say that at least 25 per cent were good.
If the media were smarter, they would see it for what it is. Sibal was actually wholeheartedly agreeing with his Ramesh that the IIT faculty was pathetic! Consider that he did not once make the basic statement that he was satisfied with the quality of IIT faculty and or that they were good. He made two smart statements- the first clearly declaring his agreement with Ramesh and the second, evidently made after a strong protest lodged by the IITs, still not standing by his team but making apologetic noises for one-fourth of them. But you could be forgiven for not getting this sense while reading the paper or watching the channels.

http://www.thehoot.org/web/home/story.php?storyid=5237&mod=1&pg=1&sectionId=1&valid=true

Bhrasht media sceptical of Anna’s fight

All media were plugged into the fast from the word go and stayed there till the last sip of lemon water went down the throats of the protestors. Both scepticism and enthusiasm marked the frenzied coverage of Anna Hazare’s fast at Jantar Mantar.  SEEMA KAMDAR comments on the subtle differences in their stance.

Posted Wednesday, Apr 13 18:42:03, 2011

Anna Hazare’s fast threw up an unexpected surprise in media coverage. The media usually goes to town whenever there is a semblance of mass frenzy and this one was no exception. There was no way the media would not cover this national event exhaustively. But the difference lay in the interpretation of the same set of facts by the channels.   To be sure, each channel aired Anna’s crusade throughout the day. There were live reports from every city; senior journalists parked themselves at Jantar Mantar for live feeds; anchors stuffed studios with every familiar face - preferably celebrity but not necessarily cerebral - who could mouth an opinion on the subject; opinion polls streamed along the bottom; SMS campaigns were drafted and disgorged in no time. In short, all that goes with the baggage of building on an ongoing, super-hot development was on display on every channel.   Newspapers, forever anxious not to fall behind television, sported banner headlines for days and followed the mood of the people. Forgotten activists were dusted out of the archives and quoted extensively with pictures along with random citizens, perhaps to balance the overdose of Bollywood; and editorials sung odes to the new Gandhi. All media were plugged into the fast before the word go and stayed there till the last sip of lemon water went down the throats of the protestors. The treatment of the news however differed and the difference was subtle. While some put up a furious show of solidarity with Anna, some others demonstrated motivated scepticism at a campaign that had the potential to grow into another Tahrir Square-scale of agitation and which could give them reason to worry.  Arnab Goswami of Times Now was wholly with Anna and dismissive of any voice of dissent or cynicism. Every few minutes, he would tell one of the panelists crowding his studio that what he was witnessing was “incredible”. His child-like enthusiasm was not shared by the other two leading English news channels, CNN-IBN and NDTV. At one point Rajdeep Sardesai of the former squatted amidst protestors at Jantar Mantar getting a first-hand feel of the place and for some reason not liking it. Unlike 26/11, when all channels were in their element, the latter two split ranks with Goswami this time round. Otherwise easily excitable, Sardesai sat grim and unhappy at Jantar Mantar with Arvind Kejriwal, and a bunch of young protestors. He was raising questions of credibility, sustainability and viability. He had little hope for the future of the campaign and did not see where it was going. The movement was “directionless,” he said derisively. Kejriwal and the crowd around him indulged him patiently. He asked Meghnad Desai whether this mass support would be visible after the camera crews left. Desai responded, “Yes. In this instance, the media has followed us, not led us.” Sardesai then posed that the IPL would stem the tide of humanity flowing in to support Anna. The youths around countered this perception gustily. But his face remained unyielding.  While he is entitled to his resolute scepticism, the disconcerting part was that his questioning seemed noticeably designed to brainwash the viewer and perhaps a prospective participant in Anna’s crusade. More worryingly, the questions were rather facile and did not pertain to any sensible aspects of the movement such as the supporters, the bill, or the government.  A similar situation was unfolding on NDTV which was not as direct in expressing its displeasure over the campaign. The anchor steered cautiously by covering every visual aspect of the campaign but showing little enthusiasm about the movement, the way he would about the World Cup or a movie about to be released. When Sonia Gandhi wrote to Anna on the third day of his fast pleading with him to end it, Anna graciously thanked her and told her he would continue. Soon, CNN-IBN and NDTV flashed, “Anna thanks Sonia Gandhi.” This continued for a few minutes without any explanation at all. Somebody in one newsroom had a different idea of clarity; the flash was changed to “Anna thanks AICC president Sonia Gandhi.” One got the impression the fast was over and Sonia had been instrumental in achieving the breakthrough. Times Now mercifully kept it straight and told us Anna had rejected Sonia’s appeal instead of seizing on his perfunctory courtesy of thanking her for her concern. However, most of the media including dailies missed the bigger point made by Anna. Anna had made a simple but potent statement in response to a question that if Sonia tells the government, it would act. Curiously, none of the key channels picked up this bit though this clearly was THE breaking news. This was Anna’s gentle way of saying that Sonia can move it if she wants. Not only did the media miss its cue, one prominent national daily had an eight-column headline the next day telling us that Anna’s crusade was backed by Sonia. It needs some stretch of the imagination to think that Sonia would back Anna’s crusade considering that his crusade was against her government’s reluctance to move on the bill. A similar absence of mind was on display when Kapil Sibal, shrewd and playing to the gallery as always, smartly diluted the climb-down of the government by declaring the government and the people were united in the fight against corruption. This new knowledge was promptly flashed on the channels relentlessly and the government emerged as Anna’s willing partner. There was no doubt in the far-seeing minds of the channel heads that Anna’s fast was not against the government and he was fighting some alien enemy all this while.  Newspapers too gave away little of value. Sonia came out looking as heroic as Anna, given the selective leaks about her disapproval of his fast, her keenness to eradicate corruption and her excessive pressure on the government to comply with Anna’s demands. Will the media ever shed its opinions, biases (often questionable) and plain dumbness to play fair? If one can’t get an honest and intelligible coverage of a straightforward public agitation, where does that leave complex issues facing the nation?

http://thehoot.org/web/home/story.php?storyid=5186&mod=1&pg=1&sectionId=1&valid=true

Yes minister, we are with you’

It’s nobody’s case that the environment minister is not clean. We don’t know. But it's our job to ask uncomfortable questions of the man who has gone back on his word repeatedly.  Why does the media not do its job in a level-headed way, asks SEEMA KAMDAR

Posted Sunday, Mar 20 22:07:27, 2011

In a short time after taking over as union environment minister, the debonair Jairam Ramesh became a darling of the media and has stayed put. The past six months in particular saw him take on two to three big projects and suddenly he was all over the papers, talking of cleaning up the environment and the country and looking as though he meant it.   The media hyped him up big time. It took every word uttered by him seriously – actually the first word because, each time he shamelessly went back on his word, the  media kept its blinkers on and refused to pull him down from the exalted pedestal it had happily perched him on.   Ramesh first sniffed at the Navi Mumbai International Airport. He declared that what was till then considered to be a minor point about the airport affecting two rivers and a hill nearby was a major issue and could not be condoned. “Diversion of the rivers is the most serious issue. We all know what happened to Mithi. In case of a flooding or monsoon, what will happen to Panvel town?” said the concerned minister.   The airport fell into a limbo even as Ramesh was on air and in the papers giving back-to-back interviews. He was showered with rosy epithets that variously called him feisty, gutsy, sincere, serious, etc.   Enter aviation minister Praful Patel and after some days of grandstanding, Ramesh capitulated completely. He let the hill be leveled and a water body be re-coursed, not to mention the all-important mangroves be razed. Some 32 conditions, which amounted to precious little, were invented to save face. In a note written by him, he said the Navi Mumbai location was a fait accompli and he had “decided to accept the fait accompli in good faith”. Not a single newspaper questioned why he had gone back on his statement, let alone ask if building an airport was just a matter of a minister’s faith and whim. Even after he accepted everything in toto, newspapers defended him as “straight-talking” and argued that he’d tried his “best”.   Next came Lavasa. This one followed identical protocol, with the minister making extreme announcements before the media and doing an about-turn in a matter of days after a rising crescendo of anticipation. In November last year, the environment ministry threatened to close down Lavasa, a multi-crore project of Ajit Gulabchand’s Hindustan Construction Company, for violating green rules. Newspaper grimly predicted doomsday for the project.   Nothing of the sort happened. After a much-publicised court intervention which upheld the stop-work notice issued by him, Ramesh strangely cottoned on to a “negotiated solution” as Lavasa called it. This was dutifully reported by newspapers none of which saw it fit to remind him of his own assertion that the project was illegal.   By February, Lavasa had applied “afresh” for a green clearance and from all appearances, all’s well with the world. Even if Lavasa does not get the go-ahead eventually, there is something amiss in a situation where the minister gives a war cry and then inexplicably furls his tail. Throughout the controversy, no one asked the righteous Mr Ramesh why he did not see it coming in the first place? On what basis had he jumped the gun to declare the project illegal when there was a way out? Nah. The whiteness of his halo stayed intact.   In the latest episode, it appears from a DNA report on March 18 that Ramesh has now cleared a six-million ton Jindal Steel and Power project in Orissa which too had received the environment ministry’s notice along with Lavasa and which too was part of Ramesh’s supposedly strident pitch against large projects.   Congress MP Naveen Jindal is the executive vice-chairman and MD of the company though that need not be important. In this case, Ramesh may have gone a bit far if the report is true, as it said the ministry issued a circular merely to bail out the project and then withdrew it in two weeks. Work on the project had begun before forest clearance which violated the Forest Act guidelines and had attracted the show-cause notice. The circular however softened the stipulation by saying it was merely "advisable" not to start work before the clearance. Soon enough, the notice was withdrawn and a week later, the circular itself was conveniently scrapped.   Jindal's was the only project that benefitted from the short life of the circular, a fact admitted by Ramesh in Parliament. "It remains to be seen it this one dents Ramesh’s well-cultivated public image. For years, he was the Congress face on national news channels. As minister, he has widened that access a lot. He is constantly photographed and written about. Even a brief visit to the BNHS in Mumbai gets him a prominent picture and report in the papers. His high visibility notwithstanding, many newspapers and channels call him, by some obtuse twist of logic, “low-profile”.   Only a couple of scattered business papers have made some uncharitable noises about him but those were for his perceived “anti-development” actions and not for his contradictory (and too many) assertions. Unfortunately, that perception too – that he was refusing permission to a large number of projects on environmental grounds - may be misleading, if one goes by a report from the IBN website. It cites records obtained under RTI to show Ramesh cleared the same number of projects as his predecessor A Raja.   On the other hand, we have Suresh Kalmadi, a man who can do no right. Sure, he deserves the whiplash. But in the hysterical anxiety to project him as a no-gooder, we have lost balance. The overwhelming attention focused on him eclipses the role of everyone else in the Commonwealth Games scam.   Having appropriated for itself the role of public custodian of right and wrong, the media has made it a habit to pick a suspect, declare him a convict and hang him. Kalmadi is its prey of the moment. And Ramesh is its invincible mascot, at least till now.   It’s nobody’s case that Ramesh is not clean and has acted irresponsibly. We dont know. But it's our job to ask uncomfortable questions that are not being asked.  Why does the media not do its job in a level-headed way? Why does it always overdo or under do?   In a greater concern, why is the media always willing to be played? The abject dearth of heroes cannot be reason enough for the instant glorification of anyone who claims to be one.  This kind of naivette is appalling particularly in the notorious times we live in, even when we overlook the primary necessity for journalists to be cynical human beings.

I am a reasonably compassionate person. I feel for the plight of a wounded animal or bird though not as much as my mother and sister. They love all living beings. My sister has the unique ability to admire a scary crow cawing grossly on the window pane, watch a repulsive lizard's movements with awe and run to the SPCA animal hospital with an injured crow in a cab. It is common to find her squatting in the middle of a room trying to save an invisible insect from certain death beneath someone's feet. She scoops up the little fellow very gently on a tiny piece of paper, finds a safe spot for him and deposits him there. Periodically, she also checks on him if possible and, if further possible, she drools over his God-given personality.
No, I am not in that space. I feel sorry for creatures with four legs or two wings; the others can take care of themselves. But I was always wary of the four-legged fellows. I stayed away from them as much as possible. I would be slightly nervous when a dog hovered nearby. All this changed when we met Pixie - the tiny pup we had a tryst with for a few months. When I saw her in our garden, she was a month old. It was pouring and she was in a drain, shivering. My heart went out to her. But being too finicky about touching an animal, I couldnt bring myself to pick her up and bring her home. That job had to be done by my husband. I could get myself to clean her poop, much as I resisted it internally, but even that was not good enough to get me to touch her without a mild sense of fear and revulsion.
For almost a month that she stayed in our car shed, I took care of her without so much as touching her. At times, I would stroke her gently, and withdraw the moment she turned to look at me. This went on for a while till she had to be hospitalised for a severe bout of jaundice. On discharging her, the doctors told us Pixie would have to be kept at home under strict watch for at least two weeks so that she does not eat any junk. We put a leash on her and kept her at home. Her debilitating weakness notwithstanding, Pixie hated the leash. She chewed up two of them, and when she couldnt eat the third one because it was metallic, she tugged and pulled at it fiercely all day. She hated being indoors and would pull towards the door all the time. She equally hated her medicines and would wildly shake from side to side the moment the offending dropper appeared in sight. The strong-willed woman kept us nervous and on our toes all day.
Whenever my husband took her out for a walk, she would literally dig her heels into the ground and refuse to turn back. All our pulling at the leash had no effect. It strained her neck and made her breathless but to no avail. She was clear in her head that she would rather die than get back in that hellhole where she was chained to a table and had no free air. When this clash of wills had played itself out, my husband had to pick her up and carry her home. She always re-entered our home after every walk  in my husband's arms.
All these days, my phobias were intact. I shuddered at the thought of lifting her till the day I had to. Hubby had not woken up and I had to take her for a walk. We went through the routine of  me pulling at the leash and she digging forcefully into the ground. I looked around desperately for a sign of my husband and cursed myself for forgetting to take the phone with me. The house was well within sight but he wasnt. Eventually, I realised there was no go. I sighed, shut my eyes, lifted her, and walked back, all the while furiously wishing my home moved closer.
On entering the house, I dropped her hurriedly on the floor and earned a morose look, "Why do you bring  me back here? Its horrible." After that, there were occasions when I ventured to lift her either to make her squat on the window for a view of the world outside, or to deposit her in the car or on our fight back home from a walk.
After the doctor gave the green signal, I began bathing her too. Since it took all of hubby's might to hold her in place, the job of soaping and scrubbing her fell upon me. By the time Pixie recovered, I too had grown free of my thousand inhibitions.
And by the time we removed the leash, Pixie had decided she wanted to bound back to her hell hole on her own. It was home after all.

After recovering, we went back to our normal lives. She hung around my husband's office for two-three months, following him like a shadow everywhere till one day, we didnt see her. We dont know where she is to this day though it is certain she would not have left on her own. It is a wrench and we live in hope.  

Today,when I see a dog, I see Pixie and there is tenderness in place of anxiety. 

Thanks a million, sweetie, for teaching us a few things about life and helping us grow. We love you and miss you. Hope someone is taking care of you.  

In the last one week, I met two amazing individuals. Both have been known to me for over a decade, or close to two decades but this was the first time I had the opportunity to meet them at leisure for two hours.
One is a retired IPS officer, a thoroughly fine, refined  and gentle human being. The other is at the top echelons of the one of the country's foremost corporate group. Both are in their mid-sixties and settled in family duties. While one continues to work but in a way that work defines pleasure for him even after forty years, the other is gainfully pre-occupied with contractual obligations outside government and other intellectual pursuits.
What was so refreshing and reassuring about them was their outlook to life and their total lack of whine about it. I'm sure it gave them lots of complain about - like it does to everybody else. But they appreciated the beauty of life, took its challenges and pain in their stride and found interesting ways to resolve them.
The retired IPS officer was bed-ridden two years ago when he saw Baba Ramdev on television demonstrating exercises that could be done lying down. In two months, he cured himself of a terrible sciatica condition that had immobilised his right leg.
From then on, he has stuck to his daily regimen with a child-like enthusiasm which radiates on his face as well. He wakes up at 4, does his yoga, picked up from various schools after keen and careful observation, makes tea for him and his wife, and then gets on with his day just as he would have 40 years ago as a young officer on a field posting in rural Maharashtra.
He looks nothing of the archetypal burly cop. With kind and gentle eyes and a smile playing on his lips, his face sparkles with compassion and sweetness. Blessed with an intelligent sense of humour and impeccable manners that can make you nervous while dealing with him (if I wasn't thick-skinned enough, I with my journalistic brusqueness would have scrammed long ago), he appreciates the small and big things in life, is open to new ideas and thinking, and is generous to a fault.
He hardly talks about himself, but is a walking encyclopedia on policing and reads copiously. The Mantralaya mandarins havent been unkind to him but havent exactly venerated him either. Once, in a weak moment perhaps, I was complaining to him about how one suffers for having integrity, and he calmly said, "Seema, that's the price we have to pay." It occurred to me at that point that he too may have felt at some point that he deserved better but he slept on it.
Sure, he could have made his millions and got quoted in the press every second day, like some of his illustrious colleagues. But THAT thought must never have bothered him. What mattered to him was his peaceful sleep and a collected conscience.
To be fair to his political and policing bosses, he certainly got a good deal right till his retirement and was hugely respected. There was a time when he was given a huge responsibility and he was in the papers every day. He may have given in to the temptation of indulging the media every day but the fact was he simply had no such temptation. He did not once call me to ensure his name in the papers. In fact, whenever he did talk to me, it was always about information - he would devour information - and not about him.
A little bit of lobbying would have ensured him the topmost job that every police officer covets (quite without  reason actually because it is a ceremonial post and a boring one too. All it does is get you the salute of every policeman in the state). But he steered clear of nudging the men who mattered. Karmanye vaadhikaraste, maa phaleshu kadachana.
This brings me to the other protagonist of this piece, who quotes this line from the Gita as his guiding principle in life. The corporate bigwig is a simpleton at heart. A very savvy customer in the wheeling-dealing of his world, he however refused to be bogged down by the sinister manifestations of human nature around him. He looks as fit as he did a decade back, even though he is definitely putting on in years as the rest of us.
"What is past is gone, what is tomorrow is  not known. So why get into either?" is his simple but impossible-to -practise take on life. This would sound perfect coming from a saint but loses value in the thick of boardroom intrigues and colleagues pulling you down wherever possible. Sure, unlike my retired IPS officer friend who remained meticulously honest and clean all through his career, he must have pulled a few tricks of his own too. But none of his professional persona percolates to his core. With a friendly face, he remains pulsatingly positive about life and holds no grudges.Even today, he steps into the Byculla market to buy his weekly supply of fruit and when he gets to his 2500-sq feet home in his plush sedan, he is reassured that he will live. "If you can survive that market, you can survive everything, " he grins. He is a rare breed in his class who keeps a ear to the ground. He has made some (not much) sartorial concessions to his calling, but likes to stay grounded by roughing it out in small hotels and walks when necessary without much ado. "To keep in touch with the pulse of the people," he says. He knows he belongs to the 5 per cent of society that makes it easy for him to cut off from the rest of the world. But he wont. And to prove it, he has a hardy stomach that digests sugarcane juice off the street.

When I met him, the idea was generally to touch base with him as both of us had the time to spare.
I came back with the feeling that not life's imperfections nor mine mattered.

When the retired IPS officer, with his extremely likeable and lively wife, visited my place last week, I had looked forward to a nice, cosy meal with some intellectual stimulation  and warmth. What he and his wonderful wife left behind was a positivity and feeling of satiety that endures.



Most men cant handle retirement. Especially government officers who suddenly get stripped of their status, sheen and glory in one fell swoop. They end up living in the past. I have seen IAS and IPS officer who talk endlessly of all the milestones and  events in their career. They can be pardoned for being that way as it is tough.

Here are two individuals who have stayed strong, fair and fresh all through life's tugs and pulls, leading the Gita way by example.

Sorry for having been away for so long.
Life was a maze. And yes, Pixie was a crucial part of it. How can it be otherwise. Without her, life's rather static, the same chores at home and work. Work, of course, has improved and I shouldnt complain. I had feared I would be back in journalism in a flash considering its symbiotic hold over me. But this time, I have persevered well, thanks to some angelic intervention.
It's been almost a year since I went off the media radar and I've loved every moment of it, all the while expecting to dread it. All it takes sometimes to get your life back is to steel yourself to make that one decision you run away from.
For those who came in late, I have branched into communications consultancy- a nascent field and a much-in-demand one too. As I realised the moment I quit my last job. Terrible as I am with peddling my skills, I didnt inform most contacts that I had quit. The issue came up in casual conversations with a few people and there I was, with work pouring in from all kinds of people.
Having become very picky about what I do, - blame it on middle age hormones - I chucked some work and took up some. Soon, I found I enjoyed what I did and as I worked with known people, the comfort level was high.
Apart from corporates, I work with NGOs too and that, is just so satisfying, even if not in terms of moolah. You feel you're contributing to society in some way.  It assuages my guilt for having neglected social work all my life in spite of being born in a family that knows no other way of living. 
Believe it or not, I have yet to print my business cards. I didnt even realise it myself until a friend's friend working with a well-known NGO called me to ask if I could send her my "portfolio". I grinned and said I had none. I listed out my clients and told her I have never needed to make a portfolio. I later realised that almost sounded unprofessional. If I am a consultant I should have my end covered. With business cards, profile,  references from clients, blah blah. But then I told myself, hey, I cant be bothered. I havent needed it yet. So why waste time?
Ciao for now. God bless.
 

Have thought of writing a million times but simply never get down to it. Not for want of ideas or issues or general chatter but the futility of it all.

All through my life, right from college, I have wondered at the worth of all our labours. The way we hold such store by our everyday activities -- brush, bathe, eat, dress, learn, talk, work and even sleep. Of these, many will count as daily chores that are required for the body, such as sleeping, eating, brushing, etc. And I shall therefore ignore them in today's dissertation!

What about studying? What about working? What about cooking those elaborate meals that seem to signify an evolved taste? (By the way, the level of processing of a food item such as pasta or cheese is, in an unintentional coincidence, directly correlated to the degree of evolution of a food item in the world of the upwardly mobile).

Is any of this really worth it? As so many philosophers have advised us since time immemorial (please dont squirm, I love that phrase!) to treat every day as our last. Alas! How many do? I certainly dont. I put off my must-dos, my patch-ups, my investments, my projects, my search for the Ultimate Reality (assuming there is one) -- all for tomorrow.  I spend each day pondering afresh over the value of my rigours.

Why blog when no one will read. (I rarely accept that people dont read because I dont blog and the rare fan [ok, reader, if you insist] or two clicks out my blog from her list of favourites after a year's patient wait!) ?

Why write about those murderous scandals when the dust will settle on them a day after my piece is published and nothing will come of it (assuming the editor sieves it through for want of any potential harm to the MD, the owner, the publisher, the advertisers, the general manager or him) ?
Why sweat over your health when all your workouts are only firmly pushing you towards your own grave? All the  fitness in the world cannot save you from a certain death?

Why crusade for a better governance or government when its results are at best ephemeral?

The bottomline of this refined discourse is that nothing lasts. Since our birth, as someone morbidly and mournfully discerned, we are inexorably hurtling towards our end. Nothing lasts. So what's the point of everything I do? After death, waits another birth, another endless rigmarole of chores, studies, jobs, kids, and what-have-you.

So far so good. I completely endorse every bit said above. That has never stopped me from giving my best to whatever I am doing, even though the thought at the back of my head springs to the front every now and then to make me question the worthwhileness of everything I do. The world is insensible. Think about it. 

Let me look at the same thread again to argue another point. The joys are futile and so are the sorrows. Dont cry but dont laugh either. On second thoughts, laughter makes you happy for a while, so why not? Tears are painful. So let's decide to only be happy, never sad.

Now, can we do that? If we agree that this seems to be the inference at the end of a process of logical deductions, we should as logical creatures, be ready to accept what it serves up as right. So, can we always promise to be happy come what may? And we are not talking to the saints here.

Moral of the story: Never believe in logic.

Hang on, there is more. Therefore, as logic doesnt quite get it, we can safely believe that all that defies logic doesnt necessarily not exist. Which means God, karma, rebirth and other surreal phenomena that we dismissively box into religion could possibly, perhaps, likely exist. The trouble is that all the illogical books on these esoteric issues (anything that is non-evidentiary ends up in the esoteric definition) cannot convince a dyed-in-the-wool logic-hater dying to believe in them. She is convinced there is more to the world than meets the eye but wants to know how to see some of that.

That's when the soul-churning begins. Is there one God or two or three or many? Is he formless? Is he the creator? Why should my soul pass out just when my body stops cooperating? Why doesnt it leave before or after? Who created the creator? How can space be infinite (this is one point where science and religion concur shamelessly)?  Why is education superior to religion (here, I mean Hindu religion, as other religions seem to co-exist with their learned followers.This is truly befuddling. Every Hindu who has studied beyond Grade IV believes religion to be rubbish and is mortified if ever found prostrating before an idol) ?

Here are some of my top-of-the-head logical extrapolations (all my own work, as Busybee would say)

If a mobile phone can catch invisible frequencies and give us crystal clear sounds, why not telepathy?

If the moon, at a distance 30 times the diameter of the earth (at 1000 kmph, we would take 24 hours multiplied by 16 to reach the moon), induces tempests in tides, why not the fluids inside our bodies, our moods and the people around us?

If the earth's magnetism, which we call gravity, can hold us steady all round its oval surface, why can't other spatial objects such as satellites or planets affect our movements and thinking?
Just as magnets are proven to have negative and positive powers of attraction, why can't the aura of your personalities draw certain types of people and repel certain other types?
And last but not the least, if we survive --and rather well - without any knowledge of the goings-on inside our bodies, why cant the world believe that what it doesnt know can exist?

Sigh!

P.S. This piece has smartly ambled from meaninglessness of everything to meaningfulness of the unexplained phenomena. I hate confessing it was inadvertent, but then the credit, like everything else, would be futile. As is the tectonic shift in my philosphical rumination. Godbless.