Teachers’ Day is for Teachers

Happy Teachers’ Day to all Teachers.

In these days, when a meaning of a word can be stretched far from its actual and intended meaning, even the meaning of “teacher” has fallen victim to Unspeak. It has now come to mean any and every person who is responsible for anything that we learn.

That’s not a teacher. A teacher makes a conscious commitment to nurture and develop young people to do better. The act isn’t incidental nor accidental. It’s a deliberate choice that requires a dedication to continue “teaching” for a lifetime. I don’t disagree that we learn from people who aren’t “teachers”, yet, if we were to ask these people to do what they do, day in and day out, we’d probably not get the answer we think we will. The attitude, the patience, the rigour of a teacher is different from a person from whom we learn.

It is not that these non-teachers are seeking to be acknowledged on this day. It’s us. We are expanding the meaning of the word and the purpose of the day to make it inclusive. Very inclusive. Perhaps it is our laziness. To take time to think of our teachers and be grateful to them, specifically. Open the gates wide enough, and we could pretty much include every person we met, for we have learnt something from every person we met.

Irrespective of whether that person intended to teach us.

We could thank the others on all of the 364 days of the year, but that would take effort, to think of who it is we are grateful to, and for what purpose. It’s a lot of work!Teachers’ Day is a good blanket that covers it all. And one message, which includes, “… to all the people who have taught me along the way…” covers it all. While we may learn things from people, I am not sure if everyone intended to teach us.

This day is in celebration of those who have made it their life’s work to teach – who have held their patience for years together, while we fumbled and fell. They picked us up time and again, without judgement and urged us on towards success. They loved us without discrimination, and we went on ahead in life while they stood in the same place, awaiting the next generation, and did the same with them. In return they get a paltry sum, but their biggest payment is in our happiness and success.

For all the others who helped us learn, we’ll celebrate it all through the year.

There is a sanctity to this day. Let it remain Teachers’ Day.

Happy Republic Day

Happy Republic Day, to all fellow Indians.

This day that year, we got our own Constitution. It is the Supreme Guide. That Supreme Guide provides us ways and means to amend the Supreme Guide itself, if we think that the Supreme Guide is not helping, or lacking. Laws of society have been codified for thousands of years. In all the thousands of years, they have changed according to how society has changed.

“It’s a stupid law. I won’t follow it.”

I have heard the above statement often. It’s a gift that we live in a democratic society. I agree that many of the rules and laws are archaic, stupid, even, and they are not applicable given how society has evolved. I feel, however, violating law because you do not agree with it, is not the right way to protest. Frankly, it is counter-intuitive. Given that we have a dynamic constitution, we can change the law. But therein lies the inherent problem. We do not want to struggle to get the relevant laws in place. I often do not celebrate the freedom struggle anniversaries; mostly because I feel that I have failed those who got us independence. I do not know, how we got set in comfort of the “static quality” of independence.

Independence is always work-in-progress. Our Freedom Fighters were lucky, if I may say so with due respect, to able to point a finger at someone and say – I want to be independent of you. And they struggled, and we are now a free country. That was 1947. Three years before we became a Republic. We are now in 2018. And 1947 and 1950 have to dance together: an independent republic.

 

Mine is a big country. As a democracy, all are allowed to do and say what they want. So, it is difficult to understand the idea of India. With all the voices in the ten directions. And all the voices are allowed. I understand, how we may come across as a confused nation.

But, come, watch us celebrate a festival. Any festival. We promise you, you will be more confused than you were before.

Happy Republic Day to all my fellow Indians.

Happy Teachers’ Day

Every year this day comes. On this day. And you find yourself wondering what will you say different from all the times before. Things are changing so slowly, they are hardly noticeable. The most important serviceperson of the nation is getting disillusioned and I have not much to offer that makes real sense to a teacher.

I hope things will change for the better. The teacher’s life will become better. I will do all that I can, along with like-minded people who share the same beliefs. For now, the people you work with, are the best motivation for you.

Courtesy: Akanksha Photo Shoot

Thank you, dear architects of the future of this country. Thank you for your relentless service to the nation against the most challenging odds. Thank you, especially, for standing tall and strong through the seemingly hopelessness of it all. That takes a different type of courage.

#RESPECT

It All Comes Together

Bugis Junction

It was early in 2000 or 2001 that I took this photo. As the caption (on Flickr) says, “A photo that has eluded me for long. I probably took more than sixteen pictures of this place. I wonder why…” These were the days before the digital camera, when you can take a few hundred photos of one thing, choose the best, and happily delete the others. Film photography was expensive, and perhaps that is why we spent more time composing a photograph and ensuring perfect exposure. But it never comes easily to an amateur. Some exposures (photos) will go bad.

As you can see, I still didn’t get it right, after sixteen exposures. Yet, this has remained one of my favourite photos. Why this place and this name fascinated me then, was also a mystery. (Fifteen years ago, I wasn’t inclined as much to curiosity as I am now.)

Cut to today, after that evening with an elusive photograph, fifteen years later.

I am reading The Spice Route, and early into the book, one and a half decades later, I see the word again. Instantly the elusive photograph comes to mind. Something about travel, photography, and reading, makes perfect sense.

Bugis.

By foreigners — Asian or European — seeking to usurp control of the most obscure extremity of the spice route, all such indigenous operators would be termed ‘pirates’, a pejorative freely applied to any rivals and especially to local seafarers who attempted to defend what they considered their own territorial waters and maritime rights. The Bugis of Makassar, in particular, invited obloquy. Master-shipwrights and excellent navigators who were supposed to be able to detect a reef purely by smell, they darted in their rakish prahus (sailing vessels, sometimes with outriggers) from unsuspected anchorages on the coasts of Borneo and Sulawesi to challenge all rivals. Against monopolistic Europeans the Bugis would continue to wage a rearguard action well into the nineteenth century, by which the term ‘bogey’ or ‘bogy’ was entering common English usage. This may have been a coincidence; but allusion to the spice trade being not uncommon in nursery rhymes, those who as children were hush-hushed to bed by ‘here comes the Bogey-man’ may well originally have been threatened by a ‘Bugis-man’ who, at the helm of a piratical prahu, would certainly ‘catch you if he can’. ~ The Spice Route, John Keay

The online-etymology dictionary that I frequent often, has a different tale. But I did find other references for the etymology of ‘Bogey.‘ The disagreement about the etymology notwithstanding, it was an excitable moment for me, to encounter the word.

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I am enjoying the coming together of my travel, photography, and reading. The fascination with a word or an image, the context and meaning coming to you, years later, is a wonderful experience, even if it is not new. I recently told a friend, that I watch movies twice; just like I want to visit places, at least twice.

There are times when you can visit places again, without actually going there, and that’s a fine feeling.

Shame, Honour, and Dignity

India lost to Australia today in the semi-final game of the Cricket World Cup. I am quite sad about it, but I am very proud of my team in the way it has conducted itself through the stages to get to this particular game. A few of my friends, who are more passionate about the game than I am, are devastated. No doubt there will be analysis of how and why we lost the winning streak, of the mistakes we made and such. And if we are to improve, it is important that we do. Analysis, however is an exercise devoid of emotion and it is necessarily impersonal, at least in sport.

One of the news channels — Times Now — in India, decided that we were shamed at the venue by the loss. As is its nature, it asked its viewers to trend a #hashtag on Twitter that said that we were ashamed of what happened, in foreign soil — Sydney, where the game was played. Our team did everything that they could to win the game. We are the defending champions, and there is no reason to believe that we spared any effort in winning the game. On this day, however, it was clear that Australia was the better side. Given what little I know of cricket, I can tell you that we made some mistakes. But none of them were to be ashamed of. Fans of the game came out in strong support against the hashtag that Times Now had proposed. Instead, the hashtag #ShameOnTimesNow was trending on Twitter, not just in India, but worldwide. Hopefully it sent a message to the channel about their blunder.

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Perhaps a larger issue hides comfortably in this incident. Is defeat shameful? We prepare for a game, an exam, or a life event to the best of our abilities. When that comes to an end, we get to know if we have won or not. And if we don’t win, and if that is shameful, what would motivate us to participate, in the first place? Every day a coach, a teacher, a parent teaches us about winning. Trains us. Provides us with means to win. Yet very few tell us, if at all, about what it means to be defeated, in spite of giving your best. Sadness and despair are perfect (and natural) responses to a defeat. But shame? That is one feeling that has to be eradicated from any duel.

“In war, resolution; in defeat, defiance; in victory, magnanimity.” ~ Winston Churchill

I recently saw a video that described honour. Of the many things the video said about honour, it talked of gaining and receiving honour from honourable people. If you award (or, for that matter devalue ) yourself, it means nothing. It follows that dishonourable people giving you an award (or taking it away from you) means nothing. I believe this is what the channel has done. Without having the honour, they tried to dishonour an honourable team. That’s what failed.

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Shame and honour may be public issues. They are seen, expressed, and experienced publicly. Dignity is not. Dignity is as personal as it gets. Your judgement of what makes up shame and honour, is dignity. And a flawed or a biased judgement, or just pure malice, exposes how undignified you are. The people see it. It becomes public. And then you are stripped of any honour and are publicly shamed. It doesn’t matter if we are the highest rated TV channel or an unnamed census statistic in 1.2 billion people. We have to maintain dignity.

You just lost it.

The Scale of Experience

Yes. I can use words to explain what I felt when I saw this monument. It’s quite possible that my words will help you understand exactly what I felt.

As much as you may agree, I strongly disagree. You have to be here, with me,  to understand what I experience. Period.

PS: This post got stuck in the WP Mobile app, because it had an image, and is being posted now. Now you know exactly, how I felt on the 26th. 🙂

CHILDREN SIMPLY CANNOT BE A PART OF IT

Late seventies, I think. I don’t recall very well and none of those who recall are at hand for me to ask.

I think, it was the day Emergency was declared in India. So, maybe 1977. I was five or six, then, assuming it was 77. Schools closed in the middle of the session and we were all asked to go home. There was a general state of panic. Our school rickshaw (as against a school bus) obviously wasn’t there. My sister and I had an option either to stay back at school or find our way home.  For some reason, we chose to find our way home. It must have been our response to the panic we saw in the school. We thought we’d walk back. I was confident, I knew the route. So we started towards home and somewhere in between I lost my bearings. The distance between our school and our home was not much; about 5 – 6 kms.

Suffice it to say, in the days when mobiles didn’t exist (we didn’t even have a landline), we walked a bit, flagged down a local rickshaw and made it home. Much happened during our way back home as my mother was calling our school, and my father.

We didn’t have enough money to pay the rickshaw, which was paid by the neighbours. Mom was out (looking for us) so we stayed a while at our neighbours’ house. After a while, our parents discovered we were home. They came back.

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For the life of me, I cannot forget the expression on my parents’ faces when we got home.

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I dare not imagine, what’s happening with the parents, in Peshawar, Pakistan. The words: wrong and senseless keep resonating in my head. If ever the phrase, “I wish this wouldn’t happen to my worst enemy” ever made sense, it is today. Our countries have had wars between us: direct and indirect; open and proxy. We have openly hated each other. And that’s fine. Yes, I said that. That is FINE. We did that as adults knowing where it will lead to and we paid the price and are willing to pay the price.

The incident has nothing to do with India and Pakistan as such, yet, whatever your grouse, take it to the people with whom you have the grouse.

CHILDREN SIMPLY CANNOT BE A PART OF IT.

History’s Freedom Struggle

The number of blogs (not posts) I write, has increased by one. I’ve started a new blog to redeem old historic texts from the grips of scanned PDFs and machine OCR’ed text files. The blog is at History Telling: Open; a take on His Story Telling; a blog which I have maintained for some time about history, of posts that are mine. History Telling: Open (aims to be) a collection of all open-source resources related to Maratha History between 1600-1820. Most of this content is available on sites like Archive.org and Project Gutenberg, and other OS sites. So, I am not creating any new content on this site. However, the idea is to free this content from restrictive and unfriendly formats and offer an accessible way to consume this content. When you think of the disparate sites that host open-source content, you cannot but imagine, why there isn’t a design-oriented way to present it all. As an example, I suggest you have a look at UNESCO | Women in African History. I think that this is a wonderful example of design, presentation, context and content. I’ll get there, some day. For now, I am a lone wolf. And since I have all the time in the world, this blog will progress, slowly.

Histories, unfortunately, get locked down to the languages in which they are written. So we end up knowing only the popular, generalised, and biased versions of it. It is true of Maratha history, it is true of so many other histories. The written word needs propagation, and that in turn, often, means, translation. But translations have lenses, perspectives, and cultural connotations.

“Anthony Burgess once wrote: ‘Translation is not a matter of words only: it is a matter of making intelligible a whole culture.’ Each language has gems waiting to be retold.” : Lost in Translation: The Fine Art of It | Swarajya:

I am extremely grateful to the various sites that are the source of this content, and I will make it a point to contribute back as much as possible to these sites.

Something Like Lament

I often write posts based on single words. Like Lament. Then I quote the dictionary definition, and go ahead and dissect it in all possible ways, usually from an etymological point of view, and try to make some meaning, fill up the post, and show-off how smart I am. Most posts that follow this format have failed, and a few times, have been marauded by fierce attacks by those who are experts in vocabulary, as has been taught to them.

This is not such a post.

Five weeks ago, a gentle, soft-spoken, and an intelligent friend; and I, went on a road trip, which was in planning for a couple of years. Without much warning, there was a meteor shower of cosmic conspiracy, and we were on a road trip. He lives in Madras, I live in Mumbai. I flew to BLR and he drove down there. We drove thus: BLR – Tiruvanamalai – Gingee – Puducherry – Madras. I took a flight back to Mumbai from Madras.

A dear American friend was once visiting Mumbai, and we had a full day to ourselves. We decided to spend the day in South Mumbai. We took a taxi and went from the airport to the south. Much construction littered our route. I prepared him for the delays, somewhat apologetically (Only for the delay, not much else) He ignored it and asked me about the construction. I told him about it: here a flyover, there some road-widening, here an over-ground metro, there a swanky residential building, and such. You must be very excited, he said. I thought he was being sarcastic. More often than not, Americans are known to be direct. And then, he said:

“You are living in a Renaissance,” he said, finally. “You are living in the time of change.”

It’s true. We are. We all are. We all have. Almost everybody who has ever lived in this world has lived in a time of change. But a renaissance is different. To me, you live to see the change; that’s renaissance. And therein lies the problem. There is world view and our understanding of the world as it is, and simultaneously there is a change – which we are excited about.

Then comes the transformation – the change taking over. Somewhere along the timeline the excitement attains Nirvana. There is awareness, but it does not exist; seems unreal. But, let me bring you back to something that was real – the drive from BLR to Tiruvanamalai. It was a ‘renaissance road’ – so to speak, and my friend who was driving talked of options that were smoother and faster. We chose Renaissance.

And we experienced the romance of a road that does not divide the traveller and the roadside vendor. We stopped for chai. Even though we were in coffee country. Late that evening, it was the first time in my life that I ever had Bournvita-laced chai. Perhaps the beautiful young lady making the chai was influenced by my friend’s lofty description of how I had travelled all the way from Mumbai (I don’t speak the local language) and I had this sudden (insert: dramatic hand-waving-based-presentation by my friend, which I saw, but did not understand) urge to have chai here; must have inspired her to make the best chai she could. Perhaps I was imagining things. And while I was lost in imagination, my friend, by way of how he had majestically introduced me, made me a centre of attraction, not just to that young lady, but also to the other peripheral uninterested customers. I was half-thinking they’d take my photograph, post it to Foursquare, geo-locate, and comment, “Achievement unlocked; saw an unlikely Mumbai specimen.” Some lofty ideas about Indian identity are circling my head, but for this moment, suffice it to say, that most of us (Indians) stand out when we travel far away. In spite of my inclusive and adaptive upbringing, I am no exception. The advantage of my upbringing, is just this: that I do not feel out-of-place anywhere, though I may look out-of-place. Thank God for that.

The young lady at the chai stall asked me a question about the chai. I did not understand the word, but I knew she used the words: sugar, milk. I told her I liked it. I had no idea how I’d tell her that it was a unique experience drinking Bournvita-laced chai. We bid farewell to her and went on our way. On a local (or a state road) that was in a state of repair because of which we arrived in Tiruvanamali a couple of hours later than we expected.

All through the wretched road, we debated if we should have taken the longer Expressway, which is better. We could have driven faster and reached in time. But then, we would have missed the Bournvita-laced chai. By common consensus, we agreed we took the right decision, and lamented the lack of such an experience on these new balustraded, railing bound, monotonous, experience-less expressways.

We drove all night. Reached Tiruvanamalai late in the night. We lamented the luxury of the expressway, but we loved our experience of the Bournvita-laced chai. Thank God for state and district highways.

As a person who lives in the times of a renaissance, I have the luxury to traverse the old world and the new. My adventure is this journey.

I am blessed, and in no small measure, because of my friend who drove through that state of repair.

Onward, Education Minister

Dear Ms. Irani,

I have a few good reasons to write you an open letter. One, I’ve never done it before and there’s always a first time for everything. Two, it’s the season of open letters. The PM must have received more open letters in the last few days than he has ever received sealed letters. Three, there’s a point missing in this qualification debate.

I am sure, by now you must have seen the national debate (and argument and bickering) about your suitability for the post of the Minister for HRD, and effectively for Education. If you haven’t followed the debate, I highly recommend you ignore it. I doubt if the messages affect you much; they should not at all. Neither the critics nor (most of) your supporters are doing a good job. Those against are talking purely in terms of a formal qualification, and those in favour are mostly enumerating previous people in high positions with no or low qualifications. And it is a happy coincidence that while this debate was raging on social and mainstream media, I was reading a book by Sri Aurobindo – The National Value of Art. Early in the book, he says:

The majority of mankind do not think, they have only thought-sensations; a large minority think confusedly, mixing up desires, predilections, passions, prejudgments, old associations and prejudices with pure and disinterested thought. Only a few, the rare aristocrats of the earth, can really and truly think.

And I call your attention to the next part of the paragraph:

That is now the true aristocracy, not the aristocracy of the body and birth, not the aristocracy of vital superiority, wealth, pride and luxury, not the aristocracy of higher emotions, courage, energy, successful political instinct and the habit of mastery and rule, – though these latter cannot be neglected, – but the aristocracy of knowledge, undisturbed insight and intellectual ability.

For me, that will be your true test. Not the value, quality, or the content of your formal qualification. If the manner, in which the PM has presented himself and his team is anything to go by, this aristocracy will have to be amply demonstrated. Neither knowledge, insight, or ability are subordinate to a formal education and, therefore all arguments based on the lack your formal qualification fall short of making their mark. And while it is inherent to the nature of open letters, and I am tempted to list the top ten things that you should do during your tenure, I’ll refrain from doing so. You will have many qualified people around you who can tell you that. It is for you to judiciously ascertain what is priority and what is not.

What was should matter less than what should be. Again, in the words of Sri Aurobindo, in the same book:

Mankind is apt to bind itself by attachment to the means of its past progress forgetful of the aim.

Finally, your vision, if you stay true to it, should be a shining light towards executing your duty.

I wish you all the best.

Sincerely

Inside the House of Cards

I read an article today, where an actor expressed his desire to act in an Indian remake of House of Cards. I thought it would be interesting if a remake was made, in the Indian context. No better time, even, given the politically charged atmosphere here in the country.

24 was recently adapted in India and I was pleased with production quality. So to speak. The performances were less than lacklustre. I’ve been an Anil Kapoor fan from his debut, and I was upset, to say the least, with his performance. Everybody in the cast failed miserably to capture the tension and urgency that was Jack Bauer’s 24.

I have always believed that when you remake a successful series, you should adapt the context, not the concept.

And that’s what I’d expect from a remake of House of Cards (HoC). It’s a political drama, but there’s a lot to learn, or at least evoke curiosity, about the nature of the structure and mechanics of  how governments function. Funding, majority, PAC, rules and exceptions of the senate and congress, roles of the politicians and leaders and such things.

This is something that we need in India desperately. There’s a famine of civic knowledge, and a general laid-back ignorance of how our government functions. During the last few weeks I asked many of my friends, some of them passionate card-carrying members of various political parties, how members of the Rajya Sabha (the upper house of the Indian Parliament) are elected. Of the 30-odd people I asked, only one knew. While the new government in India has a clear majority, why will it not be a cakewalk for them to pass legislation? And in spite of that seeming difficulty, why does it have an amazing opportunity to bring about necessary change? These are the some of the questions we should understand than bitch about politicians and personalities.

Rhetoric in politics is a global phenomenon; so is mud-slinging. But the electorate has to understand and be aware of the parts of the machine and the nature of its operation, not just ideologies and leanings. The Indian news media, which I believe should shoulder this responsibility, completely ignores this in favour of sensationalism. It therefore falls upon the Indian entertainment media to take this up. Storify governing, lyric the constitution, cast the politicians, dramatise government, without compromising on — what we in the curriculum-making-business call — accuracy and sufficiency.

Every critical civics lesson is a potential for drama and a plot twist, if only writers would take the time to study the government. It will require decent research, which is rare; however the newer crop of entertainment content producers show a lot of promise and are quite talented.

Elections, government, and this country should be less about taking sides. It should be more about knowing what’s inside.

Saga of the Sarees

I have always been partial to the Saree. I have always believed that is a very graceful garment, and accentuates elegance. Notwithstanding that I am partial, I also once said that the Saree is the one thing that is Decidedly Indian.

Kosa Silk; Chhattisgarh

Since fashion rediscovered the Saree, it has entered the designer category, and is evolving as more celebrities take to it and bring it to the front-lines. Yet, little is known about the different sarees that exist in the country. I am sure women know more about it than men do; as I am equally sure that there are many things about the saree that even women don’t know. For example, did you know that there are 80 different ways to drape a saree?  How many types of sarees are there? What do you know about the different types of silk used in different parts of the country?

Whether you are a saree aficionado, or have just curious interest to know more about this versatile garment, or need to make an informed decision when you choose the perfect gift, here’s one place you should visit:

SAREE PE VAREE – The Many Sarees Of India – a blog on discovering Sarees, by Punam Medh, who says:

In my years of being important, I never stopped loving sarees and continued learning and reading about them – through books, knowledgeable friends and my masi, my biggest source of information. Through the weaves of this garment I discovered my country’s history, traditions and culture. I understood how saree craft was at one time tightly woven to the economics of a region. And my love for the garment continued to grow.

I hope you will enjoy learning and loving the garment as much as I will.

The Temporal Tapri

I love chai. Not tea, chai. Not the chai that is served in unnecessarily expensive coffee shops, but chai. Chai as it was originally and has remained so pretty much in most of India. In homes like yours and mine, and in the ubiquitous chai tapris in India. Tapri doesn’t have an exact English-equivalent, though you could say it is the same as a “road-side, makeshift stall” – but this phrase construction doesn’t do enough justice.

Some of my friends like tea, I prefer chai. Tea, for me is hot water lightly infused with tea-like flavour with a hint of milk (optional) and the almost absence of sugar (often always). Chai, is a concoction that arises of a process. The tea characteristic is subtle in one and dense in the other. One is not better than the other – they are branches of the same family.

There’s good conversation with a chai ka gilaas (a glass of tea, not a cup, mind you) and a cigarette. Conversation isn’t the domain of a coffee; tea and talk go equally well together. There’s a different romance to a talk with tea (I would have liked to say talk, tea and tobacco, just for the sake of the alliteration, but then, this post would have to come with a statutory warning and disclaimer. That is why I have also avoided saying coffee, conversation and cigarettes).

The tea and the talk at a tapri will occur standing, usually on a pavement, or in some corner of the street, and will be equally refreshing. The language will perhaps be coarse, to suit the grungy environment, which is where you’ll usually find a tapri. Classically, the clientele of a tapri has been the blue-collar, but it seems to be finding favour with the white-collar as well, perhaps because of the recession; perhaps because it is hip. I suspect, it is because, you gotta love the tapri chai!

Chai tapris do not offer discounts, loyalty cards, or combo offers. There are no menu cards and they do not accept debit or credit cards. There may be a simple snack of a cream-roll and stale nan-khatai, but that’s not what you go there for. If you want your chai done differently, you will have to wait till it is made for you. The chai-maker is usually the chai-server; the overheads are low and therefore, the chai is cheap.

And while it is not very difficult to find a chai tapri (just ask your rickshaw or taxi driver nearby, he’ll tell you); I’ve started making it easier to find. I have recently started curating (for now, only listing) all tapris that offer wonderful chai all along the streets of Mumbai, as well as in other towns, where life takes me. Introducing The Temporal Tapri:

The chai is sweet and thickened with milk and over-brewing and I love my tapri-chai.

Here’s a preview of some of the recent tapris I have been to.

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A Mind Captivated by Space

I fondly remember our first colour TV.

For many years we had to make do with an EC Televista (Black and White). When we relocated from Hyderabad to Vasco-da-Gama, Goa, the movers overestimated the strength of our TV and loaded a huge crate atop the TV crate. We lived for about six months in Goa, with a broken TV. Colour televisions had been launched a few years ago, but very few could afford them, at that time. My father took a long time, before he finally invested in a colour television. Circa late-1983.

Crown TV – was our first colour TV. [Not very much unlike the one below]

Image Courtesy, Quikr.com

In school, our science teachers were telling us about the INSAT-1B. We prided ourselves on knowing what INSAT stood for, even though we didn’t quite understand how geosynchronous satellites really worked. At that time, it was enough for us to know that we could watch colour television because of the INSAT. All this learning of the space and satellites didn’t have much do with our curriculum. The entire country was excited about the first Indian to go to space. In early and mid 80s, anyone who was everyone, knew almost everything about space and satellites.

Ravish Malhotra, Image Source SpaceFacts.de. Click for Bio.

Wing Commander Rakesh Sharma and Air Commodore Ravish Malhotra of the IAF, were the two people the country was watching. I always wanted Ravish Malhotra to be the one to go to space, he definitely looked better, smiled better and had a better personality in my opinion. And of course, he had the most amazing moustache. (These things mattered for a 12-year old). If I remember well, he was even taller. While he never went to space, he will always be my first space hero. Go figure.

Well, it wasn’t to be.

Irrespective, both Sharma and Malhotra were our heroes and my friends and I were carving out space helmets using junk material, plastic sheets, cello-tape and writing our names in Russian. (We used to just mirror the letters, for the effect; it looked Russian enough). Remember, the broken EC Televista? That was converted to a Mission Station. The screen was cracked, but we still managed to launch missions. A cardboard pasted with inverted matchbox drawers, stolen from the kitchen and from my father, painted in red and green, were our launch buttons. You could say, there was space fever, all around us.

So it was a GSLV, the INSAT-1B, that allowed us to watch the proceedings of sending the first Indian in space. When asked by the then Prime Minister, how India looked from space, Rakesh Sharma replied, “Saare Jahan se Accha” [“Better than the rest of the world”; is actually the start of a famous patriotic song in India]

It may have been a pre-planned response, but for us at that time, it made a world of a difference. The pride and fervour, that we felt, was unimaginable.

Over the years, my fascination regarding space exploration has declined, but little has hurt my curiosity and excitement. I watch news of space exploration, but am I not as obsessed as I was in 1983-84.

*

Today, India successfully launched its Mars Orbitor Mission [Mission Brochure – PDF 10MB].

The spacecraft is now in the Earth’s orbit. And as I watch the launch on TV (no doubt because of a spacecraft launched by ISRO), some of that fascination returned and took me back to 1984. That sense of pride has yet again enveloped me and it is an amazing feeling to experience the same feeling so many years later. Thank you, ISRO. While you may not have the luxury of being an international brand like some other space agencies, it should more than enough compensate for, that you make a 41-year old feel like a 12-year old all over again.

You are the real heroes, leaders and inspiration that this country and its youth have always sought. Know that.

Happy Diwali

I do not know how this year has been for you.

As far as I am concerned, I’d like to put it behind me. It’s Diwali and the start of a New Year, soon. I was perhaps irreverent last year, when I welcomed this year that is to pass us by. Perhaps it was circumstantial, or perhaps the year lived its life in a way that I cannot fathom. Whatever the case, I am happy to bid it a good-bye. A bad year, or a difficult time is not new to me or my best friend. We started our life together with difficulty. So, the semblance of sense and balance we have maintained this year is noteworthy. As much as how we have dealt with pain in the past.

But this is not the time to dwell in the past. Soon, the physical calendar will change and we can allow ourselves hope of better things. Importantly, we can strive for something better.

 

Any long journey, through unpredictable paths will have dark tunnels. But every tunnel will end (has to end), and at its end it will show us the light towards what our life is meant to be. We’ll slip, fall, and stand up again. We have to choose, if we will mark our lives with the slips and falls or the number of times we stood up and dusted off the grime. We’ll participate in the rituals that someone, a long time ago defined for us, or we can have our own, with our own meaning and make sense of what this day means for us. Hold hands, and walk together; perhaps that’s all we need.

This is a time to make your own meaning of what light means to you. For this is a festival of lights; while convention and tradition may ask of you to brighten your environment; take time and advantage of the holiday (if you have it) to make sense of the meaning of light.

Other than what it shows you. Try and see what it wants you to see in its Brightness and Glory.

Wishing you all a very Happy Diwali and a Peaceful Year. Thank you for walking along, and enjoying the light together.

Solitude at the Sea

A little bit of solitude
Within a little bit of infinity.
A little bit is all that we seek.

Greatness, Personified

Second of October is a special day in India. It is famous for two reasons: one, it is a national holiday, and we pray that it falls on a Monday / Tuesday or on a Thursday / Friday. Allows us to create long weekends off a single holiday. Two, we have to ensure we buy alcohol on the first of October. Our friendly neighbourhood wine shop sends us reminders on the 1st. I am not sure, but, I believe the concept of a “dry-day” is unique to India.

While we seem to be preoccupied with these two factors of this particular holiday, the real reason for this holiday is that we celebrate the birth anniversary of Mahatma Gandhi. Few people know it, but it also happened to be the birthday of our second Prime Minister, Lal Bahadur Shastri. Born 35 years after Gandhi, he was a staunch follower of Gandhi and his principles. There’s a conspiracy theory surrounding LBS’s death, and it seems to be the focus of his life (funny, that the circumstances of a person’s death should be the focus of his life), there’s more to his life. Discover. Research. Explore.

Some things are constant in most Indian cities and towns. Especially when it comes to the name of major roads and streets. Almost every town and city in the country has an MG Road, LBS Marg (Marg, is Hindi for road) and SV Road. There are a few Tilak roads, but they are never abbreviated as KGT or LGT Road. Mumbai, of course has CST. The airport is CST, the train terminus is CST, and in days to come, many more locations will be CST-ified. The CST-ification of Mumbai calls for another post. For now, on this august day, let it be either MG or LBS.

As a late-sixties and early-seventies junkie, I regret being unborn during this period. I am glad to be alive and kicking in this renaissance of the early 2000s, but I wish I was there. Take my two strong interests—history and photography, and you will know why I wanted to be alive then. Of course, history would seem irrelevant, because I would be in it but it was a great time for photographers. Thankfully, I have access to archives that show me the moment I would have experienced, but I would have done it so differently. And, I would have enjoyed my self to no end. Sigh, the era of black & white and your own developing room.

I do not want to get into the relevance of MKG or LBS in these times, I have no view on that. Depending on what you read, they are or not relevant. Most posts and articles that talk of relevance are comment baits. A wise man and I were having a conversation, long time ago. I respected him much, and expressed a desire to be like him.

He smiled, and said, all that is good of me, feel free to be, all that is not, try not to be.

I don’t believe that MKG or LBS ever sought to be great; greatness was thrust upon them in classic Shakespearean manner. We seek and create idols and Gods so that we can use, abuse and discard them to our convenience. Seth Godin’s Book – Tribes, comes to mind. The tag line for the book is: “We need you to lead us”

History is dynamic, she said a few hours ago before she concluded her short visit to the city; it changes places. I met her for the first time ever, although I have known her for a while. One person’s history is another man’s current affairs.

I’ve always known that, but I have never been able to say it, so beautifully.

There’ll be articles galore, which we will very easily ignore on this day. Some will focus on the popular notion of why today is a national holiday, some will vie to bulldoze attention for our second PM. They will make you question why 2nd October isn’t an LBS day, often blanketed with the guilt of how little you know of that man. Greatness of any human is how you perceive that human, not about how much is written about that person. Unless you have an opinion about what greatness is, you will never discover the greatness in any human being. As years pass and what was once current affairs becomes history, remember, naming roads and transport buildings never made those people great. Roads and building were named after them because they were great.

But it will be never enough for you to know that these were great people, just because there were roads and buildings named after them. They were great for a reason.

You will have to discover why they were great.

Perhaps, in that discovery, you will discover your own greatness.

Being a Tourist

It is sometimes better to be a tourist. The vastness of what this country has to offer, can be overwhelming. To be able to only say, “yes, I was there,” is I think, a blessing in itself. When someone talks of a place, the sheer recall of being there once, should feel like an accomplishment.

Cave 16, or The Kailashnath Temple, Ellora, MH, India.

This was where I was sitting – Cave 16 – Kailashnath Temple, Ellora Caves – looking up, when I wrote this small note in my small camera-bag Moleskin, on 2nd July 2011. Haven’t written much in it since then, till I rediscovered it last month.

Teacher for Life

“The older I got, the smarter my teachers became.”  ― Ally Carter, Out of Sight, Out of Time

Happy Teachers’ Day

It’s an endless cycle – teachers trying to make us know, learn, and live better, and we continue to ignore them. Then life happens. And everything that we once heard, starts become true – one thing at a time.

And we remember our teachers. We remember what they taught us. Teachers’ Day has become more significant to me after I left school, and more so with each passing year. The gravity and the serious nature of being a teacher becomes brighter with each year and a few more experiences.

So, here’s to you, my dear teachers, a big Thank You!

I didn’t listen then, but I am learning now. You are still teaching me, you’ll be my teacher for as long as I live.

Happy Independence Day

Malvan Beach, MH, India

Ours is to fill up our hearts with all things good, so that there is no place for anything else.

Happy Independence Day!